Letters of affaires love and courtship. Written to several persons of honour and quality; / by the exquisite pen of Monsieur de Voiture, a member of the famous French Academy established at Paris by Cardinall de Richelieu. English'd by J.D.

Letters of affaires love and courtship. Written to several persons of honour and quality; / by the exquisite pen of Monsieur de Voiture, a member of the famous French Academy established at Paris by Cardinall de Richelieu. English'd by J.D.

Table of contents

Title page

TO THE Worthily Honoured GEORGE BOSWELL Esquire.

To the Generall READER.

THE TABLE.

TABLE Of the AMOROUS LETTERS.

THE LETTERS Of MONSIEURE de VOITURE.

The Letter of Monsieure de Balzac; To Monsieur de VOITƲRE. LETTER I.

To Monsieur de Balzac. LETTER II.

To my Lord Marquiss de Rambouillet, Amb•ssador for the King in Spain. LETTER III.

To my Lord Duke de Bellegarde, with an Amadis. LETTER IIII.

To Madam de Saintot, with an Orlando Furioso in French, Translated by du Rosset. LETTER V.

To the Marchioness of Rambouillet, under the name of Callot, an excellent Grauer, sending her from Nancy a Book of his Figures. LETTER VI.

To the Same. LETTER. VII.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, under the name of the King of Sweden. LETTER VIII.

To the same. LETTER. IX.

To Mademoiselle de Burbon. LETTER. X.

To my Lord Cardinal De la Vallette. LETTER. XI.

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER XII.

To Madam du Vigean, with an Elegy he had made for her, and which she had often demanded of him. LETTER XIII.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, upon the death of her second Brother, who dy'd of the Plague, and whom she attended during his sickness. LETTER XIV.

To the Lady Marchionesse of Sablé. LETTER XV.

To Mademoiselle de Chalais

To the Same. LETTER. XVI.

To the Same. LETTER. XVII.

To the same. LETTER XVIII.

To the same. LETTER XIX.

To Mademoiselle de Paulet. LETTER XX.

To the Same. LETTER XXI.

To the Same. LETTER XXII.

To Madimoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER XXIII.

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER. XXIIII.

To the Same. LETTER XXIX.

To the Same. LETTER XXVI.

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER XXVII.

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER. XXVIII.

To the Same. LETTER. XXV.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER XXIX.

To Mademoiselle de Paulet. LETTER XXX.

To the Same. LETTER. XXXI.

To the same. LETTER XXXII.

To Monsieur de Puy-Laurens. LETTER XXXIII.

To the Same. LETTER. XXXIV.

To Monsieur du Fargi•. LETTER XXXV.

To the Lady Marchionesse de Rambouillet. LETTER XXXVI.

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER. XXXVII.

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER XXXVIII.

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER XXXIX.

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER XL.

To the Same, With divers Lyons of red Wax. LETTER XLI.

To the Same. LETTER XLII.

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER XLIII.

To Monsieur — LETTER. XLIV.

To Monsieur — LETTER XLV.

To my Lord Marquess de Montausier, who was since kill'd in La Valteline. LETTER. XLVI.

To my Lord Marquesse de Pisany. LETTER XLVII.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. XLVIII.

To Monsieur Gourdon at London. LETTER XLIX.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER L.

To my Lord Cardinal de la Vallette. LETTER. LI.

To Monsieur Godeau, since Bishop of Grasse. LETTER. LII.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. LIII.

To the Same. LETTER LIV.

To the Same. LETTER. LV.

To the Same. LETTER LVI.

To the Same. LETTER. LVII.

To the Same. LETTER. LVIII.

To the Same. LETTER LIX.

To my Lord Marquesse of Sourdeac, at London. LETTER LX.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER LXI.

To the Same. LETTER LXIL

To the Same. LETTER. LXIII.

To the same. LETTER LXIV.

To my Lord the Duke of Bellegarde. LETTER. LXV.

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER. LXVI.

To the same. LETTER LXVII.

To the Same. LETTER LXVIII.

To the Same. LETTER. LXIX.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, with a dozen fancies of English Riband, for a Discretion he had lost to her. LETTER. LXX. To apprehend the wit and humour of this Letter, note the French word, Galen, is ambiguous, signifying either a Fancy, or knot of riband, and a Gallant; and that a Discretion is a Wager, which lost it is refer'd to the Discretion of the Looser to pay what he pleases; there having been nothing named before.

To the Same. LETTER. LXXI.

To the Same. LETTER LXXII.

To the same. LETTER. LXXIII.

To Monsieur — After the re-taking of Corbie, from the Spanjards by the Kings Forces. LETTER. LXXIV.

To Madam — LETTER. LXXV.

To Madam de Saintot. LETTER. LXXVI.

A NOTE from Madam de Saintot, to Monsieur de Voiture.

De Voiture's Answer. LETTER LXXVII.

To an unknown Mistris. LETTER. LXXVIII.

To Madam de Saintot. LETTER LXXIX.

To Monsieur Arnaud, under the name of the sage Icas. LETTER LXXX.

To my Lady Marchioness de Rambouillet. LETTER. LXXXI.

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER. LXXXII.

To the Same LETTER LXXXIII.

To my Lord Marquesse de Pisany. LETTER. LXXXIV.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, with this Inscription, To the Infanta Fortune, at the Palace of the Perilques. LETTER. LXXXV.

To the Same. LETTER. LXXXVI.

To the Same. LETTER. LXXXVII.

To my Lady Marchioness de Sablé. LETTER. LXXXVIII.

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER LXXXIX.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER. XC.

To the Same. LETTER. XCI.

To the Same. LETTER. XCII.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. XCIII.

To the Same. LETTER. XCIV.

To my Lady Marchioness de Rambouillet. LETTER. XCV.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER XCVI.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. XCVII.

To my Lord Bishop of de Lisieux. LETTER. XCVIII.

To Monsieur de Lyonne, at Rome. LETTER. XCIX.

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER. C.

To My Lord — LETTER. CI.

To Monsieur — LETTER. CII.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. CIII.

To Madam la Princesse. LETTER. CIV.

To Mon•ieur Chapelain. LETTER. CV.

To Madam — LETTER. CVI.

To Madam — LETTER. CVII.

To my Lady Marchioness de Sablé. LETTER. CVIII.

To Madam — LETTER. CIX.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER CX.

To Monsieur Chapelain. LETTER. CXI.

To My Lord Marquess de Montausier: LETTER. CXII.

To my Lord Marquess de Pisany. LETTER CXIII.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. CXIV.

To my Lord Cardinal Mazarin. LETTER. CXV.

To my Lady Dutchess of Savoy. LETTER CXVI.

To Mademoiselle Servant one of the Ladies of Honour, to her Royal Highness. LETTER. CXVII.

To the Count de Guiche. LETTER. CXVIII.

To my Lord Marquess de Pisany. LETTER. CXIX.

To Monsieur de Serisantes, Resident for the King with the Queen of Sweden. LETTER. CXX.

To Monsieur de Maison-blanche, at Constantinople. LETTER. CXXI.

To Monsieur de Chavigny. LETTER. CXXII.

To the Count de Guiche. LETTER. CXXIII.

To the same. Upon his promotion to the charge of Marshal of France. This Letter was written eight dayes after the precedent. LETTER. CXXIV.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER. CXXV.

To the Same. LETTER. CXXVI

To the same. LETTER. CXXVII.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. CXXVIII.

To the same. LETTER. CXXIX.

To my Lord President de Maisons. LETTER. CXXX.

To the same. LETTER. CXXXI.

To Monsieur Chapelain. LETTER. CXXXII.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. CXXXIII.

To Monsieur Esprit. LETTER. CXXXVI.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER. CXXXV.

To the same. LETTER. CXXXVI.

To my Lord Marquess de Roquelaure. LETTER. CXXXVII.

To my Lord Marquess de St Maigrin. LETTER CXXXVIII.

To Mon•ieur de Chavigny. LETTER CXXXIX.

To my Lord President de Maisons. LETTER. CXXXX.

To my Lord Duke d'Anguien, upon the success of the Battel of Rocroy, M DC XLIII. LETTER CXLI.

To my Lord Marquess de Montausier, Prisoner in Germany. LETTER. CXLII.

To the Same. LETTER CXLIII.

To my Lord Duke d'Anguien, when he pass'd the Rhine with those Troops, which were to join the Marshal de Guebriant. MDCXLIII. LETTER CXLIV.

To my Lord Marquesse of Pisany, who lost all his money and baggage at play, at the siege of Thionville. LETTER CXLVI.

To my Lord D' Avaux Sur-intendant of the Finances, and Plenipotentiary for the peace. LETTER CXLVII.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CXLVIII.

To Monsieur de Chaveroche. LETTER CXLIX.

To my Lady Marchionesse de Vardes. LETTER CL.

To my Lady Marchionesse de Rambouillet. LETTER CLI.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER CLII.

To the same. LETTER CLIII.

To M. de B. M. de B. & M.C. LETTER CLIV.

To the Lady Abbesse — to thanke her for a Cat she had sent him. LETTER CLV.

To Monsieur de Mauvoy to thank him for the Terra sigillata he had sent him. LETTER CLVI.

To my Lady Marchionesse de Rambouillet. LETTER CLVII.

To my Lord the Count d'Alais. LETTER CLVIII.

To my Lord Marshal de Grammont upon his Fathers death. LETTER CLIX.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER CLX.

To the Same. LETTER CLXI.

To Monsieur de Chantelou. LETTER CLXII.

To my Lord de'Avaux. LETTER CLXIII.

To my Lord Marshall de Schomberg. LETTER CLXIV.

To the same. LETTER CLXV.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CLXVI.

To my Lord d'Avaux. LETTER CLXVII.

To Monsieur d'Emery controller Generall of the Finances. LETTER CLXVIII.

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien. LETTER CLXIX.

To my Lord Marshall de Grammont, LETTER CLXX.

To Monsieur de Chantelou. LETTER CLXXI.

To the same. LETTER CLXXII.

To the same. LETTER CLXXIII.

To my Lord Marshal de Schomberg. LETTER CLXXIV.

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien. LETTER CLXXV.

To my Lord Duke de la Trimoville. LETTER CLXXVI.

To my Lord d' Avaux. LETTER CXXLVII.

To the Same. LETTER CLXXVIII.

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien. LETTER CLXXIX.

To the Queen of Poland. LETTER CLXXX.

To my Lord Duke de la Trimouille. LETTER CLXXXI.

To the same. LETTER CLXXXII.

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien, upon the taking of Dunkirk. LETTER CLXXXIII.

To my Lord d' Avaux. LETTER CLXXXIV.

To the same. LETTER CLXXXV.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CLXXXVI.

To the same. LETTER CLXXXVI.

To my Lord d' Avaux. LETTER CLXXXVIII.

To the Same. LETTER CLXXXIX.

To my Lady Dutchesse de Longueville at Munster. LETTER CLXXXX.

To the Prince of Condé, LETTER CXCI.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CXCII.

To the same. LETTER CXCIII.

To the same. LETTER CXCIV.

To the same. LETTER CXCV.

To my Lord d'Avaux. LETTER CXCVI.

To the same. LETTER CXCVII.

To the same. LETTER CXCVIII.

To the same. LETTER CXCIX.

BUTILLERIO CHAVIENIO. V. VICTURUS S.P.D. LETTER CC.

In obitum N.

THE AMOROUS LETTERS OF Monsieur de VOITURE.

LETTER I.

To Madam — LETTER II.

To the Same. LETTER III.

To the Same. LETTER IV.

To the same. LETTER V.

To the Same. LETTER VI.

To the same. LETTER VII.

To the same. LETTER VIII.

To the same. LETTER IX.

To the same. LETTER X.

To the same. LETTER XI.

To the same. LETTER XII.

To the same. LETTER XIII.

To Diana. LETTER XIV.

To the Same. LETTER XV.

To Climene. LETTER XVI.

To Mademoiselle de — LETTER XVII.

To M. D. LETTER XVIII.

To — LETTER XIX.

To Madam — LETTER XX.

To Madame. — LETTER XXI.

To Madame. LETTER XXII.

LETTER XXIII.

To M. D. B. LETTER XXIV.

To the same. LETTER XXV.

To the same. LETTER XXVI.

To the same. LETTER XXVII.

To the Same. LETTER XXVIII.

To the Same. LETTER XXIX.

To the Same. LETTER XXX.

To M. de V. LETTER XXXI.

To Mademoiselle — LETTER XXXII.

LETTER XXXIII.

To Madam — LETTER XXXIV.

To — LETTER XXXV.

To Madam — LETTER XXXVI.

To Mademoiselle — LETTER XXXVII.

To Madame — LETTER XXXVIII.

To Madame — LETTER XXXIX.

To — LETTER XL.

To — LETTER XLI.

To — LETTER XLII.

To — LETTER XLIII.

To — LETTER XLIV.

To — LETTER XLV.

To — LETTER XLVI.

To — LETTER XLVII.

To Madam — LETTER XLVIII.

To — LETTER XLIX.

§

§

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LETTERS OF Affaires LOVE and COƲRTSHIP. WRITTEN To several persons of Honour and Quality; By the Exquisite Pen OF Monsieur de VOITURE, A member of the Famous FRENCH ACADEMY established at PARIS by Cardinall de Richelieu.

English'd by J. D.

LONDON, Printed for T. Dring and J. Starkey, and are to be sold at their shops, at the George in Fleet street near Cliff [...]rds Inne, and the Miter at the West end of St. Pauls Church, 1657.

TO THE Worthily Honoured GEORGE BOSWELL Esquire.

[Page]

[Page]

SIR,

WEre I to make this Addresse to a person unacquainted with my Authour, and the Work I now publish, it were, haply, pardonable in me, to give it and him, the greatest Elogies a piece and person of so much worth might justly claime. Nor were it hard to imagine, what I might, did [Page] I make it my businesse, say of one of the most eminent members of the FRECNH ACADEMY (an Association of VVits, such as no age till this ever saw) a man so rarified by Travell and experience into the noblest heights of an elaborate Eloquence, and one so versed in Criticisme, that hee could raise beauty and lustre out of the ruines and rubbish of the m [...]st ancient Authours. But, Sir, since my application is to you, whose correspondence with Learning is so universall, the trouble is spar'd, and if there be any thing remarkable by way of account of him, it is but fit it were done (pro more) in another place. Nor is there, in this, any more necessity, I should (though I might easily take the occasion) celebrate this kinde of writing as the most advantageous of any. It is in a manner the Cement of all [Page] society, the foundation and superstructure of all Friendship and conversation, the remedy of absence, the Intelligentiall part of all Loves, which which layes the plots and carries on the designes of united hearts at the greatest distance; in a word, it is the generall Agent of all inclinations and passions, and what, out of the roughnesse of Barbarisme, hath raised man to the highest Gentilesses, courtships, and civilities. My designe therefore is, not to make, but, renew your acquaintance with the exquisite de VOITƲRE, yet farre from a presumption, that your entertainment of him in this language will be proportionable to your esteem of him in his owne. But, if I may measure it by the infinite affection, and consequently, the generall indulgence and patronage you have for all Learning, that you will afford [Page] it such as it may in some sort deserve, is, I must confesse, a confidence I know not how to avoid, but presses so much upon me, that it contributes not a little to that it is in me, thus publickly, though with t [...]e greatest submissions and respects, to expresse my self,

SIR,

Your most humble
Servant,
J. DAVIES.

To the Generall READER.

[Page]

WHen I have given my Authour, the great recommendations he might but justly claime, and that the present work beare not a sufficient proportion thereto, I know what it will signifie, by interpretation, with the many; That it is done purposely to ensnare the Reader, and gain the more reputation to the work, or amounts to no more then a compliance with the custome whereto all that employ themselves in Translations are strictly tributary, that is, to say, something of their Authours. This indeed is easily imagined, but, for my part, what I have to say of mine, seems, [Page] at least to me, to be the effect of a certain necessity, or, if you will have it so, a convenience, that I should give some account of him. For certainly, when there is so much briguing and courtship used to procure Letters of Naturalization here by persons that have lived long among us, for me to naturalize a person, who only took occasion to see this Country, some three and twenty yeares since, and never thought of travelling into it again so long after his death, without the least satisfaction given, whether he be such as may be made a free Denizen, and enjoy the priviledges of an English man, were certainly a presumption I know not how to answer.

The person I sollicit for is very famous in his own Country, but one of the most eminent Members of the FRENCH ACADEMY, a Consort [Page]of wits assembled together to harmonise the language of that Country, and amidst their contributory Labours to all Learning in general, to endeavour the cultivation thereof so farre as to make it capable of the highest Eloquence and ornament. But this haply is a recommendation not calculated for the meridian of the ordinary capacity, which [...]xpecting to find him more particularly characterized, I have thought fit to take him asunder, and consider him in his severall qualities and perfections.

He was excellently well furnished with all those qualities which are any way requisite or advantageous to Conversation, having a certain confident familiarity, whence all he did or said, was attended with a more then ordinary grace. His carriage was full of mildnesse, affability and complaisance, [Page] far from all animosity, deriving neither reputation nor envie from other mens works, but judging of things soberly, without prejudice or passion. When any discourse was advanced about any point of Learning, or that he was to give his judgement of some opinion, he did it to the infinite satisfaction of all the Audience, with a certain Gallantry which spoke him much free from the supercilious contentiousnes of the Schools▪ Insomuch that many imagine his Wit and Genius naturally expressed under the name & person of Callicrates in the third Volume of the Grand Cyrus. He was an excellent pattern of a good and reall Friend, which disposition of his Heart attended by those others of his mind gained him so great a number, and that of so great ones▪ He never contracted friendship with any he had once convinced of falshood, whence it [Page] came to passe, that laying the foundation of his affections on vertue and not on Fortune, they were not shaken by disgraces.

These endowments, though they are not so frequent in Courts, yet do they often bring men thither. They at least forced our Authour, and gained him a reputation there, such as that, by the means of Monseigneur d' Avaux, (sometimes his Fellow-Collegian, but always his Friend and Patron) the doors of Lords and Princes were open to him. Nay nature seemed to requite the smalnesse of bulk she had bestowed on him with certain letters of recommendation writ in a character that purchased him the esteem and caresses of the greatest, and raised him to acquaintances much beyond what a Courtier of his birth and quality could have expected.

This would be thought a fair step [Page] to publish charges and employments, but his Genius directed him to other things, as having a great dis-inclination for whatever was of Affaires, by reason of the distraction and attendance incident hereto. Yet, I know not how it happened, he was a kind of Master of the Ceremonies to the Duke of Orleans, his businesse being the introduction and entertainment of those Ambassadors that came to visit his Highnesse. He was also sent as an Envoy to the Great Duke of Florence to acquaint him with the birth of the present Lewis XIV. King of France. He went twice to Rome, and was once here in London. During the Broyls of France he accompanied the Duke of Orleans into Languedoc, whence he was by him sent to the Spanish Court, where he was very familiar with the late great Favorite the Conde Duke d' Olivares and other [Page] Grandees. He staid so long in this negotiation, that he arrived to such perfection in the Spanish Tongue, that he made those much celebrated verses, which were taken to be Lope de Vega's, one of the greatest wits of that Nation.

For his Correspondences they must needs be great, that is, consonant to his Friendships and acquaintances, which were with the greatest. The late Prince of Conde, he that is now, and his Brother the Prince of Conti, had very great respects for him; he was also much in favour with the King and Queen, the late, and the present Cardinall, with whom he had been a long time acquainted, and had received divers good offices from him. His familiarity with the Cardinall de la Valette may be much seen in his letters. Nor is it lesse manifest what particular obligation he had to the house of Rambouillet, (a place dedicated [Page] to be the mansion of vertue, where, in the chamber of the illustrious Artenice, met a Club of the most excellent persons about the Court;) he having written more letters to Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, since Marchionesse de Montausier, then to any other.

But among his more letterd acquaintances, that is, such as were more conformable to his humour and quality, are to be numbred Monsieur de Balzac, Monsieur Chapelain, Costart, and indeed all that pretended any thing to wit, had a reverence and admiration for his, and have now no lesse veneration for him dead, then they had esteem for him alive. Among his letters, we find but one to Monsieur de Balzac, which gave us occasion to premise that of Monsieur de Balzac whereto it was an answer. But in de Balzac's letters there are many to Mr. de Voiture, [Page] both in his Volumes, and his choice letters, not yet published in English.

His Estate consisted for the most part in pensions, as may be seen partly in his letters. His great Benefactour Monseigneur d' Avaux allowed him 4000. Livers per ann▪ by a place (which yet obliged him not to the least trouble or attendance) he gave him in the Revenue. The Authour of the history of the FRENCH ACADEMY, will needs make him a great Gam [...]ster, but unfortunate, and sayes he lost 1500. pistols in one night, which was somewhat high for a person of his fortunes. That story and much more concerning him, as he was a member of the Academy, who is desirous, may find in that History, newly published and sold by T. Johnson at the Key in Pauls Churchyard.

He was also courted to be one of the [Page] ACADEMY of the HUMORISTS at Rome, such a reputation was his wit in even in forreign parts, before any thing of his was yet abroad in the world. As to his Person, he who best could, describes himself, in his letter to an unknown Mistresse, Letter LXXIX.

The Authour of the history of the French Academy, gives this account of his way of writing; His Prose, saith he, is more correct and exact, having a certain aire of gallantry, which is not found any where else, and something so naturall and elaborate together, that the reading thereof is infinitely pleasing. He many times slights Rules, and liek a Master thinks himselfe above them, as scorning to be fettered by them, so that his writings are not Copies, but Originals; having, out of the Ancient and Modern wits, made a certain new character, wherein he imitated no man, and scarce any can imitate him. This I shall [Page]have something to say to anon, taking thence at the present only occasion to give the account I think fit of his LETTERS, which in this addresse was my particular designe.

The present Collection was made according to the directions of Monsieur Chapelain, and Monsieur Conrart, two Members of the Academy, who, out of the esteem they had for the Authours memory, took the paines to cull out of an infinite number, these, as fittest, a [...]l circumstances considered, at that time, to be published. For the order, it is according to the time as near as could be guessed, but it was the Authours negligence, that he seldome dated his letters, especially as to the yeare. There are [...]ome few words in the Italick Character, which signify something particular, which, out of the same modesty, as those who have [Page] put out the severall Editions of this book in French, I have forborn to give any explication of, not so much for fear of mistake, as a tendernesse for the Correspondents. Let therefore the Reader make what he can of them, it suffices that I have acknowledged that there is in them some extraordinary meaning. The letters of Love are disposed by themselves, for their sakes who shall not haply think them so full of wit and vigour as might be expected. In both these and the other, there is abundance of variety, as to expression and somthing particular as to matter of invention. Only his familiarity, with such great persons as he writes to, may seem strange; but it may be supposed he knew how far he might be free, and that that was excusable in him, which, in any other haply would not, yet on some occasions he hath expressed [Page] much reservednesse, a great conduct of judgement.

But to take the just value of this work we are to appeal, from even the most judicious men, to the women, whose approbation and suffrages, we shall, in this case, look on as most considerable. Those were they that thought his writings and discourses their noblest entertaiments. Nor indeed is it lesse difficult, or lesse glorious to be favourably heard in the Cabinet then on the Theatre. He made it his businesse to please the Court, that is, the noblest part of it, the Ladies. Among these, there was (why may I not say?) a Trium virate (since in their judgements and their comprehension of things of this nature they were more then Masculine) which had an infinite esteem for him, and to please them▪ signifies no less then to please all the wits of the sexe. They [Page] are, the Dutchesse of Longueville, and the two Marchionesses de Sable, and de Montausier, such as a man no sooner hears named, but his soul is filled with the image of three the most accomplished persons in the world. Such they are, that Princes, Ambassadours, and Secretaries of State preserve their letters as so many rarities of the French Tongue. So fortunate was this Author in this particular, that it caused two impressions of his works in the first six Months, since which, they have had 4. or 5. other Editions both in France and Holland.

And now I come to what I intended to say to the foregoing character of his writings, given by the Authour of the History. I produce of him the judgement of his great Friend and Correspondent Monsieur de Balzac, in the XXIX. Letter of the second Book of his [Page] familiar Letters to Monsieur Chapelain. Le CAR (saith he, alluding to the LIV. Letter of Monsieur de Voiture's) de nostre Amy est une fort jolie chose, & il faut av [...]uer qu'il a le genie de la belle & de la noble raillerie. Je voudrois seulement qu'il travaillast un peu a purifier son stile. Dans ses Escrits la construction est souvent embarassēe, & niles choses, ni les paroles ne sont pas tousjours en leur juste place. All the concernment I have in this, is, that if there cannot be a greater affectation then the slighting and scorning of Rules, and that it must be ever attended with obscurity, an imperfection in any Authour, he who employes himselfe in the translation of such things, must expect to meet with much ambiguity.

But of all writings there are not any lye more open to various construction then LETTERS, it being supposed there is ever something particular [Page] between the two correspondents which a third person cannot possibly imagine. To this therefore may the defects of the present work be justly attributed; and that so much the rather, that the Authour never intending any thing of these Letters to the publick, and seeming to write all he did only for his Friends, does it in such characters as were only intelligible by them.

His Poetry is excellent, but free and unconstrained, as having been rather his diversion then his Businesse. He began a kind of Panegyrick for the Conde Duke d'Olivares, to expresse his gratitude, and acknowledgements of the favours he had received from him; As also an History under the name of Alcidalis, mentioned severall times in his letters; but both are so imperfect, that there is little probability the world will [Page] ever see them. Of his Correspondence with Monsieur Costart (for whom it seems he had an infinite esteem) there is a great Book extant.

As to the advantages may be made of the present work of his Letters, I doubt not but they will be thought considerable by those whom Conversation, generous acquaintances and Affaires, have any way raised above the Multitude. Besides these, it is not unfitly addressed to the greater number of young Students in the Ʋniversities, who wanting the forementioned conveniences, may by their serious perusall of these Letters, learn to shake off their nurseries, and pedanticall correspondences, and be refin'd in some measure proportionably to the Eloquence and stile of Courts and Cities.

J. D.

THE TABLE.

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TO Monsieur de Voiture from Monsieur de Balzac LETTER 1.

Monsieur de Voiture's Answer. 2.

To the Marquesse de Rambouillet 3.

To my Lord Duke de Bellegarde, with an Amad [...]s 4. 66.

To Madame de Saintot with an Orlando Fu [...]oso translated by du Rosset 5.

To the same 77, 78, 80.

To my Lady Marchionesse de Rambouillet under the name of of Callot, an excellent Graver with a Book of his Figures 6.

To the same 7. 37. 82. 96 151.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet under the name of the King Sweden. 8, 9.

To the same upon the Word CAR 54.

To the same 14. 23. 30. 49. 51. 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60▪ 62, 63, 64, 65. 71. 86, 87, 88. 94, 95. 98. 104. 112. 115. 129, 130. 134. 152, 153. 160. 161.

To Mademoiselle de Bourbon 10.

To my Lord Cardinall de la Valette 11.

To the same 52. 67, 68, 69, 70. 83, 84. 101.

To Mademoiselle Paulet 12. 20. 21, 22, 24, 25, 26. 28, 29. 31, 32, 33. 39. 41, 42, 43.

To Madame du Vigean, with an Elegy he had made for her, and which she had often begged of him. 13.

To [...] my Lady Marchionesse de Sab [...]é 15, 16, 17, 18, 19. 86. 109.

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne 27. 38. 40. 54.

To Monsieur de Puy-Laurens 34, 35.

To Monsieur du Fargis 36.

To Monsieur 45.

To Monsieur 46.

To my Lord Marquesse de Montausier, fin [...]e slain in la Valtel [...]ne 47. 107.

To the same, prisoner in Germany 143, 144.

To my Lord Marquesse Pisany 48. 85. 94▪ 120.

[Page] To the same, having lost all his equipage at play at the siege of Thionville 146.

To Monsieur Gourdon, at London 50.

To Monsieur Godeau since Bishop of Grasse 53.

To the Marquesse of Soudeac, at London 61.

To Madame 73, 74.

To Madame [...]6.

To Monsieur upon the taking of Corbie from the Spaniards by the Kings forces 75.

To Monsieur 103.

To an unknown Mistresse 79.

To Monsieur Arnaud under the name of the sage Icas 81.

To Monsieur Costart 91, 92, 93. 97. 126, 127, 128. 136. 148. 166. 186, 187. 192, 193, 194, 195.

To my Lord Bishop of Lisieux 99.

To Monsieur de Lyone, at Rome 100.

To my Lord 102.

To Madame la Princesse 105.

To Monsieur Chapelain 106 112. 133.

To Madame 107.

To Madame 108.

To Madame 110.

To my Lord Cardinall Mazarine 116.

To the Dutchesse of Savoy 117.

To Mademoiselle Servant 118.

To the Count de Guiche 119. 124.

To the same upon his advancement to the charge of Marshall of France 125.

To the Marshall de Grammont upon his Fathers death 159, 170.

To Monsieur de Serisantes Resident for the King with the Queen of Sweden 121.

To Monsieur de Maison-Blanche, at Constantinople 122.

To Monsieur de Chavigny 123. 140.

Butillerio Chavienio, V. Victuru, S. P. D, 200.

To my Lord President de Maisons 131, 132. 141.

To Monsieur Esprit 135.

To the Marquesse of Roquelaure 138,

To the Marquesse of St. Maigrin 139.

To my Lord Duke d'Anguien upon the successe of the battell of Rocroy, 1643. 143.

[Page] To the same, when he crossed the Rhine to joyn the Marshall de Guebriant, 1643. 145. 174, 175. 179.

To the same upon the taking of Dunkirk; 133.

To the Prince 191.

To my Lord d' Avaux surintendant of the Revenue, and P [...]enipotentiary for the Peace 147. 153. 167. 177, 178. 184, 185. 188, 189. 196, 197, 198, 199.

To Monsieur de Chauchroche 149.

To the Marchionesse de Vardes 150.

To M. de B. M. de B. & M. C. 154.

To my my Lady Abess — to give her thanks for a Car she had bestowed on him 155.

To Monsieur Mauvoy to thank him for the sealed earth he had sent him 156.

To the Count d' Alais 158.

To Monsieur Chantelou 162. 171, 172, 173.

To the Marshall de Schom [...] e [...]g 164, 165. 174.

So the Marshall d' Emery, cotroller generall of the Revenue. 168.

To the Duke de la T [...]imouille 177. 181, 182.

To the Queen of Poland 180.

To the Dutchess of Longueville at Munster 190.

TABLE Of the AMOROUS LETTERS.

TO Floricia 1.

To Madame 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13.

To Diana 14, 15.

To Climene 16.

To Mademoiselle de 17.

To M. D. 18.

To — 19.

To Madame 20.

To Madame — 21.

THE LETTERS Of MONSIEURE de VOITURE.

[Page]

The Letter of Monsieure de Balzac; To Monsieur de VOITƲRE. LETTER I.

SIR,

THough one half of France lye between us, yet are you as present to my Thoughts as the Objects I see; and you are concern'd in all my imaginations. Rivers, Plains and Cities, may well oppose my content, but cannot take off my memory from the entertainment of, and a frequent reflection on those excellent Discourses you have honored me with, till I recover the happiness of hearing them again. Should you grow proud of any thing, I must confess, it should be only of those seeds you have scattered in my soul; and your company, which at first was extreamly pleasing, is now become absolutely necessary to me. You may therefore well think it is much against my will that I leave you so long in the Embraces of your Mistress, or suffer her to enjoy what is mine, and not be accountable to me for it. Every moment she allows you of entertainment, are so many usurpations made [Page] upon me; your whisperings are secrets conceal'd from me; and to enjoy your conversation in my absence, is for her to inrich her self to my disadvantage: But there is no reason I should envy so fair a Rival, were it only because you are both equally happy; or build my affection upon your mutual enjoyments; provided (at my coming) I find my self after four Moneths absence fairly character'd in your memory, and that Love hath there assign'd some place for Friendship, and thence hope your condoleances for the miseries of the times, and injustice of mankind. In the interim, as my joys, where I now am, are but slender, so are my afflictions inconsiderable; I am at an equal distance from good and bad Fortune; that fickle Goddess, who is employed in the depopulations, and subversions of States and Cities, is not at leisure to do mischief in mean places. I converse with Shepherdesses, who can say I and no, and are too dul to be deceaved by understanding persons; and though they are equally strangers to Painting and Eloquence; yet because I am master of them, they would suffer me to shew how small a distance there is between Power and Tyranny. Instead of the fine words, and quaint discourses wherein your Ladies abound, there issues from their mouths a pure and innocent breath, which incorporating it self with their Kisses, affords a taste, which ordinarily the Court does not. If therefore you prove not happier in your choice there, then I shall here, I make over-particular profession to rely on your judgment, and be

SIR,

Your most humble Servant,
BALZAC.

To Monsieur de Balzac. LETTER II.

SIR,

IF it be true that I have ever had that place in your esteem, you tell me, you have not been, in my opinion, as careful of my satisfaction as you should, since that in not affording me the knowledge of so great a piece of News; you have continu'd me in the ignorance of my being the happiest man in the world. But, it may be, you conceiv'd that happiness to be so far beyond any thing I could hope, that you thought your self oblig'd to take time to bethink you of expressions, such as might represent [Page] it to me as credible; and were to master all the forces of your Rhetorick, to perswade me that I still live in your memory: This indeed I must confess, very much speaks your justice, since that, being to make me no other return of the affection I might claim of you, but Words, you have made choice of those so Rich and Noble, that, to be free with you, I am in some doubt whether the Effects would signifie much more; and am absolutely of belief, that any Friendship besides my own, might take it for good satisfaction. But what I quarrel at, is, that so much Artifice and Eloquence cannot shadow the truth from me, and that I therein am like your Shepherdesses, who, through an over-great simplicity, cannot be ca [...]oll'd by too much wit. You'l however, excuse me; if I am a little distrustful as to that Science, which can finde Elogies for Quartan Agues, and Nero's; and wherein I know you have stronger charms then ever any man had. All those Gentillesses, which I admire in your Letter, I take to be expressions of your greatest wit rather then of your good affection; and of so many excellent things as you have said in my commendation, all that I can flatter my self to beleeve, is, that Fortune hath been pleas'd to make me some part of your Dreams; and yet I am to learn whether the resueries of a soul so Elevated as yours is, are not too serious, and too rational to descend to any reflection on me; and I shall accordingly acknowledg you deal too favourably with me, if you have afforded me your Love but in a Dream. I dare not imagine, that amidst those high designations, whose present employment is to make distributions of glory, and to proportion rewards to all Vertues, you may have reserv'd any place for me; no, I have a greater opinion of your worth, then to be drawn into such a disesteem of it, nor should I wish your enemies had so much to reproach you with. I am satisfied, that that measure of affection which you may with justice have for me, is that which you should have. That precept of knowing ones self, which all others should look on as a memorial of humility should have on you a contrary effect, that is, oblige you to a contempt of whatever is without you. For my part, I must profess to you, that, disdaining all pretence to your Friendship, I should have been content, if you had only preserv'd, with some little tenderness, that which I had vow'd to you, and had dispos'd it, if not among those things for which you have any esteem, yet at [...]east among those you would be unwilling to lose. [...] that you have left me here so neer this fair Rival, whom you mention, not to disguise my thoughts to you, signifies that your jealousie is not very strong, and you give her so much advantage, that I have some reason to beleeve you hold a correspondence with her, to my prejudice. If so, I conceive [Page] I have much greater cause of complaint then you, since she hath enriched her self by your losses, and that you have suffer'd her to gain that whereof I thought to hav eluded her Tyranny, by disposing it into your hands. Had you made the least opposition in the world the better part of my self were yet at our disposal; but your negligence put it into her power, and enabled her so to improve her conquests over me, that when I have posses'd you of all that remains, you shall not finde the one half of what you have lost. Yet I dare assure you, on the other side, that you have recover'd in my esteem the same place that had been taken from you in my affection, and that my love no sooner began to decrease towards you; but I thought my self oblig'd to honour you the more. I have not met with any thing of yours since your departure, which seems not to me above whatever you had done before; nay, by these late pieces of yours, you have gain'd the honour of having excell'd him who had out-gone all others. I cannot in the mean time but think it strange, that having so much reason to be content as you have, yet you cannot be so, and that all Great Persons expressing their satisfaction of you, there wants only your own. All France is become your Audience, and there is not any one that hath arriv'd to reading, looks indifferently on you. All those who any way concern themselves in the glory of this Nation, are not more inquisitive to know what the Marshal de Crequi does, then what you do; and we have more then two Generals, who make not so much noise, amidst an Army of thirty thousand men, as you do in your solitude. You are not then to wonder that so great Reputation should be attended by much envy, but bear it patiently, if the same Judges, before whom Scipio was found a Criminal, and who condemn'd Aristide's and Socrates, allow you not, by a joint sentence all your merits can pretend to. It was ever a Custome with the people to hate the same excellencies in any man, which they admire in him, every thing that is out of their Road, being offensive; whence they are more ready to bear with a common Vice, then an extraordinary Vertue. So that if that Law, which ordered the banishment of such as were over-powerful, either as to Authority or Reputation, were still in force among us; I beleeve the greatest burthen of the publique Envy would fall upon your shoulders; and that the Cardinal of Richelieu would not run so great a hazard as your self. But be it your care, that you call not that your misfortune, which is properly that of the Times, and complain not any longer of the injustice of men, since that all those who own any worth, are of your side, and that among those you have found a Friend, whom it is not impossible but you may lose once more. At least give me leave to assure [Page] you, I shall do all that lies in my power, to put you into a capacity of doing it; since it is now become so great a vanity to be numbred among yours. I have hitherto made so publique a profession thereof, that if it should happen, I cannot but love you less then I was wont, assure your self you will be the only man to whom I shall presume to acknowledge it, and that to all the world besides, I shall as I have ever, express my self,

SIR,

Yours, &c.

To my Lord Marquiss de Rambouillet, Amb [...]ssador for the King in Spain. LETTER III.

My LORD,

I could never have beleeved it possible, that I should give you any cause to complain of me, or that ever Libels should be written against me in Madrid. And, to deal ingenuously, I should not easily have been appeas'd for the one or the other, if, when I receav'd that unhappy tidings, I had not at the same time met with an account of your well-fare, and the great Reputation you dayly gain among a sort of men, who, before they saw you, could not admire any thing but themselves. But since I number all your happinesses amongst my own, I must think it absolutely unlawful for me to be sad at a time when all the world speaks so advantagiously of you; nor can I do less then rejoice as often as I hear it said here, that you have taught the Spaniards humility, and that they have as much honour for you, as if you were of the blood of the Guzman's, or that of the Mendoza's. You may therefore hence conclude, my Lord, that my soul is more tender then you make it, and that I have this, at least, common with all the vertuous, that I concern my self in whatever good fortune happens to you. 'Tis true, I had once resolv'd to smother this sentiment, so as not to communicate it even to you. For amidst those great affairs whereof you have now your hands full, I thought it a breach of the publique peace to occasion the least diversion of your thoughts, by any unnecessary address; and how much liberty soever you might have given me to do it; yet should I not have had confidence enough to make use of it, if I had not another extraordinary adventure to acquaint you with. Be pleas'd then to [Page] know, my Lord, that upon Sunday the twenty first instant, about twelve at night; the King and the Queen, his Mother, having assembled the whole Court; there was seen at one end of the great Hall in the Louure,, where nothing appear'd before, a great brightness brake forth on a suddain, and immediately there appear'd, amidst an infinite number of Lights; a company of Ladies cover'd all over with Gold and precious Stones, and seem'd as it were newly descended from Heaven: But there was one amongst the rest so easily observable, as if she had been all alone; and I have a certain faith, that humane eyes never saw any thing so excellent. She was the very same, my Lord, that upon another occasion, had been so much admir'd under the name, and in the habit of Pyramus, and that had, another time appear'd among the Rocks of Rambouilllet, with the bow and countenance of Diana. But imagine not that you can represent to your self above half her Beauty, if you measure it only by what you have seen; and know, that this night, the Fairies had shed on her those secret advantages of Beauty, which make a difference between Women and Goddesses. For even when she had mask'd her self with the rest, in order to the Ball, which they were to represent, and consequently had lost the advantage her face gave her over them, the Majesty of her stature and carriage rendred her as remarkable as before; and whithersoever she went, she drew along with her, the eyes and hearts of the whole presence. In so much, that renouncing the errour I was in, in beleeving she could not dance excellently well; I now confess, it was only she that could. And this very Judgment was so generally given by all present, that those who cannot endure to hear her praises, must needs banish themselves from the Court. This, my Lord, acquaints you, that while you receive great honours where you are, you miss great enjoyments here, and that Fortune how nobly soever she may employ you elsewhere, does you no small injury, when ever she takes you from your own house. For, in fine, now that you have gone over the Pyrenean Mountains, if you should passe that Sea which separates Europe and Africa; and proceeding further, would visit that other side of the World, which Nature seems to have dispos'd at a great distance, purposely for the greater safety of her Wealth and Treasure, you should not find there any thing so rare, as what you have left behind you; and indeed all other parts of the earth, cannot afford you what may equal that you have left at Paris. This puts me into [...]belief, that your absence will be as short as may be; and that as soon as his Majesties affairs shall give you leave, you will return hither to enjoy those Goods, which none but your self can be worthy of. But, my Lord, I am not satisfi'd, whether we are not over confident of a [Page] Nation, that hath made so great usurpations upon us, to have trusted you in their power, and accordingly fear the Spaniards will be as loath to part with you as la Valteline. This fear certainly would put me into a far greater disorder, were I not confident that those of the Councel of Spain, have not since your coming into the Country, been Masters of their own resolutions; and that you have already made too many servants there, to stand in fear of any violence. We may then hope, that as soon as the Sun, which scorches men, and dries up Rivers, shall begin to re-assume his heat, you will return hither and overtake the Spring, which you had already pass'd over there, and gather Violets, after you have seen the fall of Roses. For my part, I expect this season with much impatience; not so much because it furnishes us with Flowers and fair weather, as that it brings your return, and I promise you I shal not think it pleasant, if it come without you. I am of opinion you will easily believe what I say for I am confident you allow me to be so good, as that I should passionately wish a felicity wherein so many are concern'd; besides that, you know how particularly I am,

(My Lord)

Yours, &c.

Paris March 8.

To my Lord Duke de Bellegarde, with an Amadis. LETTER IIII.

My LORD,

IN a time when there is such a confusion in History, I thought I might presume to send you Fables; and that being in a place where you only study a remission of your spirits, you might afford some of those hours you spend among the Gentlemen of your Province, to entertain Amadis. I hope, considering the solitude you are in, he will find you some pleasant diversions, by the relation of his Adventures, which certainly must be the noblest in the World, till you shall think fit to acquaint it with your own. But what ever we may read of him, we must acknowledg your Fortunes are as extraordinary as his, and that of all those Enchantments which he hath dissolv'd, there is not any one which you could not have master'd, unless it be haply that of the Ark of the faithful Lovers. In a word, my Lord, you have rais'd in France a more amiable, and a more accomplish't Roger then he Greece, or that of Ariosto, and this without any enchante [...] [Page] Arms, without the assistance of Alquif or Urganda; and without any other charms then those of your own person, you have had both in War and Love the greatest successes imaginable. Besides, if we consider that exactness of courtesie, which could never degenerate, those powerful graces whereby you gain the affections of all that see you; and that height and constancy of mind, which would never permit you to decline into any breach of duty, or civility; it will be hard not to conclude you descended from the Race of the Amad's. And I am of opinion, if you'l beleeve me, that the History of your Life will be one day added to those many Volumes we have of theirs. You have been the Ornament and Esteem of three several Courts, you have so behav'd your self, that you have had Kings to your Rivals, yet not to your enemies, and at the same time possess'd their favour, and that of their Mistresses, and in an Age, wherein Discretion, Civility, and true Gallantry were banished this Court; you have given them a Retreat in your self, as in a Sanctuary, where they have been admir'd by all the world, though not imitated by any. And truly one of the chiefest reasons whereby I was perswaded to send you this Book, was to let you know what advantage you have even over those who have been dressed up by imagination to be the patterns of others; and how far the inventions of Italians and Spaniards come short of your Vertue. In the mean time, my humble suit to you, is, that you would be assured among all the affections it hath gain'd you, it hath not rais'd in any so much admiration and true passion as it hath in me, and consequently, that I am much beyond what I am able to express, and with all manner of respect,

My Lord,

Yours, &c.

To Madam de Saintot, with an Orlando Furioso in French, Translated by du Rosset. LETTER V.

MADAM,

THis certainly is the noblest Adventure, that ever Orlando was engag'd in, nay, when he alone defended the Crown of Charlemaigne, and snatch'd Scepters out of the hands or Kings, he could not pretend to any thing so glorious, as now that he hath the honour to kiss yours. The Title of Furioso, under which he hath wandred [Page] all over the earth, must not divert you from granting him that favour, nor frighten you from affording him your presence; for I am confident he will be civiliz'd by being near you, and that he will forget Angelica assoon as he shall have seen you. This at least I know by experience, that you have already done greater Miracles then this, and that you have sometime, with one word, cur'd a greater madness then his. And certainly, it were far beyond all that Ariosto hath said of it; it he should not acknowledge the advantage you have over the Lady, and confess, if she were plac'd near you, that she would address her self, with much more necessity then ever, to the Vertue of her Ring. This Beauty, who of all the Knights in the world, met not with any compleatly arm'd, who never smite the eyes of any one, whose heart she wounded not, and who by her love, burnt up as many parts of the world, as the Sun enlightens, was but a faint draught of those Miracles which we are to admire in you. All the Colours, all the Adulterations of Poetry have not been able to represent her so fair as we finde you, it being a thing even beyond the reach even of Poetical extravagance; for to say truth, it is much more easie to imagine Chambers of Chrystal, and Palaces of Diamonds; And all the enchantments of Amadis, which you look on as so incredible, cease to be such when once compar'd to yours. At the first sight, to fix the most obstinate minds, and settle such as are at the greatest distance from slavery; to kindle in them a certain love, that submits to reason, yet knows not what hope or desire means; to Crown with Glory and Delight those souls whom you have depriv'd of all rest and Liberty, and to dismiss those infinitely satisfied, whom you do not any ways oblige; these are effects more strange, and more remote from probability then Hippogryphs and flying Chariots, or whatever our Romans furnish us with that is yet more wonderful. I should make a greater Book then that which I send you, if I continue this Discourse; but this Knight, who could never be brought to give any man precedence, is troubled that I wait on you so long, and advances to entertain you with the History of his Loves. 'Tis a favour you have often deny'd me; and yet I shall, without jealousie, allow him to be in that more happy then I, since he promises me, in lieu thereof, to present you but with this Discourse in my behalf, and to oblige you to read it before any thing else. This enterprise is too great for a heart less confident then his, and I know not how fortunate he may be in it. However, it is in my opinion, very just, since I afford him the means to entertain you with his own passions, that he give you some account of mine; and among so many F [...]b [...]es, [...]ain [...] you with some truths. I know you will not hear them always; but since [Page] they finde you impenetrable, and that it amounts not to so much as should oblige you to any resentment thereof, there is no danger to let you know, that I esteem you alone above all the world beside, and that I should not be so ambitious to command that, as to obey you, and be,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

To the Marchioness of Rambouillet, under the name of Callot, an excellent Grauer, sending her from Nancy a Book of his Figures. LETTER VI.

MADAM,

OF so many several imaginations as have been the productions of my mind, the most rational I ever had, is that of presenting your Ladyship with this Book; your Ladyship I say, Madam, who excell all others in that part of the soul which inspires Painters, Architects, and Statuaries, and who by your example exemp it from that blame which is cast upon it, which is, that it admits not excellency, where there is a perfection of judgment. For not to mention that great illumination of mind, which enables you at the first sight to apprehend the truth of things, you own a Phantasie, which, beyond any other in the world, can discover their beauty. And as there is not at this day any one seems so much concern'd, that Noble things should have the esteem that's due to them as your self; so is there not any knows so well how to commend them. It is a very modest Flattery, Madam, to tell you, that you can judge of them, since I durst affirm, that, when you are so pleas'd, you can exquisitely do them. And indeed it hath happened, that even when you have not been serious you have done some Designs, that Michael Angelo, would think it no disparagement to acknowledg his own. Nay further, it may be boasted of you, that you have put one Piece into the world, which excells the best things that ever either Greece or Italy produc'd, and discredits even the Minerva done by Phidias. It is not hard to imagine that I speak of the Noble Lady your Daughter, in whom alone, Madam, it may be said, you have done many Miracles. But it must be a hand more confident then mine, that shall undertake to represent what is either in you or her, and I should not be able to do [Page] it, though I can dispose into one sheet of Paper numerous Armies, and represent the vastness of Seas and Mountains; I shall therefore only tell you, but with infinite respect, and truth, that I am

Madam,

Yours, &c

To the Same. LETTER. VII.

MADAM,

EVer since I have had the happiness of your sight, I have been inexpressibly troubled, and yet, all notwithstanding, I have not been unmindful of what commands you had layd on me. As I pass'd by Espernay, I went, by your order, to visit the Marshal Strozzi, and was so much taken with the Magnificence of his Monument, that considering the condition I was in, and finding my self not able to get thence, I was very desireous to be buried near him. But this was a little boggl'd at, because it was perceiv'd I had yet too much warmth about me: I resolv'd therefore to cause my Body to be translated to Nancy, whither, at length, Madam, it is come, but so out of case and flesh, that I assure you, there are many interr'd, that are not so much. Eight days have I spent here, yet not recover'd my self, and the more rest I take, the wearier I am. Besides there is so vast a difference between the fifteen days wherein I had the honour to be with you, and the fifteen last past, that I wonder how I can suffer it; and me thinks, Monsieur Margone, who is a School-Master here, and my self, are the two most deplorable examples of the inconstancy of Fortune, that ever were seen. I am troubled with certain obstructions and weaknesses, which spare me not a day, there being no such thing here, as Theriacon; and consequently, I am sicker then ever I was, and that in a place where I can finde no Remedies. So that Madam, I much fear, Nancy may prove as fatal to me, as it was to the Duke of Burgundy; and that after I have run through great hazards, and oppos'd great Enemies, as he had done, it is decreed I shall end my days here: But I will hold out as I can, for, I assure you, I never am so much in fear of death, as when I think I shall not have the honor to see you again. And therefore having miss'd death by the hands of one of the most excellent Ladies in the [Page] world, and neglected a many opportunities to dye in your presence' it would trouble me very much to come and lay my bones three hundred Miles, from you, and to think one day, when I should rise again, that I should have the dissatisfaction of finding my self once more in Lorrain. I am

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Nancy, Sept. 23.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, under the name of the King of Sweden. LETTER VIII.

MADAM,

BEhold the Lion of the North, and the Conquerour whose name hath made so much noise in the world, casts at your feet the Trophies of Germany, and, having defeated Tilly, broken the Fortune of Spain, and the forces of the Empire, comes to submit himself to yours. Amidst the acclamations of joy and Victory, which my ears have been so long accustom'd to, I have not heard any thing so pleasant as the report of your good inclinations for me; which I had no sooner understood, but I changed all my designs, and directed to you alone that Ambition, which aim'd at the whole earth. This is so far from abating any thing of my designs, that it elevates them; for the earth hath its limits, and the desire of being absolute master of it, hath fallen into other souls besides mine. But that Mind, which all admire in you, and which is immeasurable and incomprehensible; that Heart which is so far above Crowns and Scepters, and those Attractions, whereby you command all Wills, are infinite Treasures, to which none but my self durst ever pretend; and those who wish'd worlds, were more moderate in their wishes then I. But if mine prove effectual, and that Fortune, which makes me every where victorious, attend me into your presence, I shall contemne Alexander and all his Conquests, and acknowledg, that those who have commanded all mankind have not had an Empire of so vast an extent as mine. I should tell you more, Madam, but I am just now going to give battel to the [...]mperial Army, and some six hours after I intend to tak Nuremburg. I am

Madam,

Your most passionate Servant,
GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS.

[Page]

To the same. LETTER. IX.

MADAM,

ALL the inventions you have furnish'd me with for my diversion, have prov'd ineffectual in this Country, and the more rational your advices seem to me, the lesse reason I find to take any heart, since they are only my remembrancers, that I can no more hear a person, whose discourses are so excellent. All those I converse with here, tell me the place is pleasant enough; and there is not one of the quality of a Monsieur who hath not a Highness, much more a Princesse to entertain. But how gallant soever the Court of Lorrain may be, I find my self as much alone, as I was eight monthes since in my Travels through La Because; and I remember I have met better company in the streets at Paris, then I have in the Datchesse's Chamber. I know not whether it may be an effect of the Spleen, which I have for some time, been extreamly troubled with, but am of opinion, there are not any more conversable persons in the world then those I met in the last journey I had the honour to make with you; and I should be infinitely more pleas'd with the entertainment of Monsieur — then with that of the Dutchesse of — The melancholy which hath fastened it self on my heart and eyes makes all faces seem to me as if I saw them through the fume of Aqua-vitae, and I perceive not any thing which carries not a certain frightning with it. Those hours, which my Lord Marquess calles the hours of digestion, last with me from morning to evening, and I am become so ill company, that Monsieur de Chaudebonne is somewhat vex'd at it, nay to speak truely, takes it very ill. But I have made my peace with him, with a promise that he shall hear me speak one of these days two hours together, and that I will entertain him with a history more pleasant then that of Heliodorus, and that done by a greater Beauty then Cariclea. You may easily judge, Madam, that my promise can aim at no other then that of Zelida and A cidalis; for there is not any other in the world, whereof it might be said. What stupidity soever I am arriv'd to, fear not I shall put her to any losse of Beauty in the relation; for amidst all my misfortunes, I have still preserv'd my memory sound and entire, and doubt not but I shall find it faithful, were it only for your sake, since you are as much concern'd in it as any, and that I am, much beyond what I can expresse,

Madam,

Yours, &c

[Page]

To Mademoiselle de Burbon. LETTER. X.

MADAM,

UPon Friday in the afternoon, I was tess'd in a blanket, because I had not made you laugh in the time assign'd me to do it, according to the sentence of Madam de Rambouillet, upon the motions of the Lady her Daughter, and the Lady Paulet. They had once put off the execution till the return of Madam la Princesse and yours, but they have since resolv'd not to delay it any longer, out of a consideration that punishments ought not to be referr'd to a season that should be absolutely consecrated to joy. It was to little purpose for me to cry out, or to resist; the blanket was brought, and four of the strongest could be met with, were chosen to do the businesse. All that I can tell you, Mâdam, is, that never was any man so high as I was, nor could I ever have believ'd Fortune should ever have exalted me so much. Every tosse sent me out of their sight, even beyond the Soarings of Eagles. The Mountains I saw infinitely below me, and could observe the winds and the clouds travelling under my feet, I discover'd countreys which I had never seen before, and Seas which had never come into my imagination. There cannot be any thing of greater diversion, then to see so many things at a time, and to take a survey of one half of the earth at one sight. But I assure you, Madam, that all this cannot be seen without disturbance, when a man is in the air, and is certain to fall down again. One thing I was extreamly frightened at, was, that when I was gotten up very high, and look'd downwards, the Blanket seem'd to me so little, that I thought it impossible I should ever fall back into it, and this I must confesse put me into some disorder. But among so many several objects, as at the same time entertain'd my eyes, there was one which for some minutes put me out of all fear, and found me a m [...]re then imaginary pleasure. And that is, Madam, that desirous to look towards Piedmont to see what was done there, I saw you at Lions just as you were crossing the Saone. At last, I perceiv'd on the water a great light, encompass'd with an infinity of beams, such as are those of the greatest Beauty in the World, I could not well discern who was with you, by reason that at that time my head was downwards, so that I believe you saw me not your self, for you look'd another way. I made signes to you [Page] as much as I could, but as you were going to lift up your eyes, I fell down still, and one of the tops of the Mountain Tarara depriv'd me of your sight. I was no sooner got down, but I would needs give them an account of you, assuring them I had seen you, whereat breaking into a laughter, as if I had told a thing absolutely impossible, they began to make me dance up more nimbly then before. There happened one strange accident, such as will seem, to those who saw it not, incredible; in one toss which they gave me, as I came down again, I fell into a cloud, which being very thick, and I extreamly light, I was for a good while entangled in it, and could not get out so that they below were at a loss for a long time, stretching the Blanket, and looking up to the skies, not able to imagine what was become of me. By good fortune there was not any wind stirring, for if there had, the cloud passing along would have carried me some [...]way or other aside, and consequently I had fallen to the ground, which could not have hapened, but I must needs hurt my self very much. But there fell out afterward a much more dangerous accident, the last cast they gave me into the air, I fell amongst a flight of Cranes, who at first sight were amaz'd to see me so high, but coming nearer, they took me for a Pigmey, with vvhom, as you know, Madam, they have carried on a war from the beginning of the world, and thought I was sent as a spy to see what they did in the midle Region of the air. They fell upon me pell-mell, pecking at me as fast as they could, and that so violently, that I thought my self stabb'd in a hundred places vvith Ponyards; and one of them, having fastened on my Leg, pursu'd me so importunately, that it let me not alone till I vvas fallen into the blanket. This put my persecutors into a certain fear of returning me to the mercy of my Enemies; for there vvas an infinite number of them got together, that hung still in the air, expecting I should be sent among them. They carried me therefore to my Lodging in the same blanket, so bruis'd that it vvas impossible I could be more. And to deal ingenuously, this exercise is somevvhat violent for a man of so much vveaknesse as I am, You may judg, Madam, vvhat Tyranny there vvas in this action, and hovv great reason you have to disallovv it, and to be free vvith you, since you are borne vvith such endovvments as dispose you to command, it concerns you in time to accustom your self to hate injustice, and to take the oppressed into your protection. It is therefore my humble suit, Madam, that you vvould declare this manner of proceeding illegal, and such as you must disapprove; and for reparation of my Honour and strength, to order that a large Canopy be set up for me in the blevv-Chamber at Rambouillet-House, [Page] vvhere I may be attended and treated magnificently for eight days, by the tvvo young Ladies, vvho have been the cause of all my misfortune, and that at one corner of the chamber, there shall be Svveetmeats made, that one of them shall constantly blovv the fire, the other shall not do any thing but put Syrup upon plates to cool it, and bring me of it, as often as I shall call for it. Thus, Madam, shall you do an act of Justice vvorthy so great and so excellent a Princesse as you are, and I shall be oblig'd vvith more respect and reality then any man in the World, to be,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

To my Lord Cardinal De la Vallette. LETTER. XI.

My LORD,

I Am novv satisfy'd that the ancient Cardinals assume a great authority, in comparison of such as are but lately admitted to the dignity, since that though I have written divers times to you, and not receiv'd any thing from you, you yet quarrell at my sloth. But in the mean time I meet with so many persons of good quality, who tell me, that you honour me too much in the remembrances you are pleas'd to afford me, and that accordingly I am oblig'd to write to you, and send you my most humble thanks, that I am resolv'd to follow their advice, not minding any concernment of my own therein.

Be pleas'd then to know, my Lord, that six dayes after the Eclipse, and fifteen dayes after my death, Madam La Princesse, Madam de Burbon, Madam du Vigcan, Madam Aubry, Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, Mademoiselle Paulet, Monsieur de Chaudebonne and my self, left Paris about six of the Clock in the evening, to go to La Barre, where Madam du Vigean was to entertain Madam la Princesse at a Collation. We met not with any thing by the way worth the observation, save that at Ormessan, we saw a Dog, which came to the boot of the Coach, and fawn'd upon me. You may be pleas'd to take notice my Lord, that, as often as I say, we met, we saw, we went, &c. I speak in the quality of a Cardinal. From thence we arriv'd at la Barre, and came into a Hall strew'd all over with Roses and Flowers of Oranges. The Princesse much admiring [Page] that piece of magnificence, would needs visit the walks, in the interim between that and supper-time. The Sun was then setting in a cloud of Gold and Azure, and scattered no more of his beams, then would suffice to shed a pleasant and gentle light; the Air had dismiss'd all wind and heat, and Heaven and Earth, in a certain competition to Madam du Vigean, would needs entertain the noblest Princesse in the world. Having pass'd through a spacious Court, and large Gardens full of Orange-trees, she came into a wood, into which, Day had not been admitted for a hundred years, till that hour that it came in along w [...]th her. At the end of a spacious walk, as far as we could see, we found a Spring, which alone, was guilty of a greater liberality of water, then all those of Tivoli. About it were dispos'd four and twenty Violins, which had much ado to drown the noise which the falling of the waters made. Being come near it, we discover'd in a hollow Seat, which was within a Palisado of fruit-trees, a Diana about the age of eleven or twelve years, and more beautiful then the Forrests of Greece and Thessaly had ever seen her. She carry'd her Bow and Arrows in her eyes, and had about her all the Beams of her brother. In another Seat not far from it, there was one of her Nymphs, handsom and gentile enough to be of her retinue; those who give not much credit to Fables, thought them to be Mademoiselle de Burbon, and the Virgin Prianda, and indeed they were very much like them. All the company stood in a profound silence, as admiring so many objects, which at the same time charm'd both eyes and ears, when on a sudden the Goddess, issues out of her Seat, and with a grace, beyond all representation, began a Bal, which lasted for some time about the Spring. What is most remarkable, my Lord, is, that, amidst so much pleasure, which should absolutely take up and surprize the minds of those engag'd therein: there wanted not remembrances of you, and it was the general acknowledgment of all, That there was something defective to so great enjoyments, in that you and Madam de Rambouillet were not there. Whereupon I took a Harp, and sung.

Pues quiso me suerte dura,

Que falt ando mi Sennor

Tambien faltasse mi dama,

[Page] And went through the rest so melodiously and so mournfully, that there was not one in the company, who shed not abundance of tears; and this had lasted a long time, had not the Violins suddenly struck up a Saraband so full of life, that all rise up as jocund as if nothing had been, and so leaping, dancing, vaulting, turning, and tumbling, we came into the house, where we found a Table so well furnish'd, as if it had been serv'd in by Fairies. This, my Lord, is such a circumstance of the adventure, as cannot be describ'd, and certainly there are no colours or Figures in Rhetorick, can represent six Bisques, which were the first entertainment of our eyes. But this was particularly remarkable, that there being only Goddesses at the Table, and two Demi-Gods, that is to say, Monsieur de Chaudebonne and my self, they all fed, and that neither more, nor lesse heartily, then if they had been really mortal. And indeed, to say truth, never was there a handsomer service, and among other things, there were twelve sorts of F [...]esh, so disguiz'd, no man ever heard any talk of, and whereof the very name is yet to be learn'd. This particularity, my Lord, hath unfortunately come to the ears of the Marshal of Saint — Lady, who, though she had given her twenty drams of Opium more then ordinary, yet could never sleep since. At the beginning of Supper we had not your health up, as being otherwise very merry, and at the end there was no more done, by reason, as I think, it was not thought on. You must not, my Lord, expect that I should flatter you, but that, as a faithful Historian, I give you a true account of what past; for I would not have posterity misapprehend one thing for another, and that some two thousand years hence it should be believ'd your health was drunk to, when there was no such thing. Yet dare I not but do truth this right, that it was not for want of remembrances of you, for all Supper-time, there was much discourse of you, and the Ladies wis [...]'d you there, some of them very heartily, or I am much mistaken. At the rising from Table the noise of the Violins drew up the company into an upper chamber, which was so well enlightened, that the day, which was gone from above the ea [...]th, seem'd to be wholly retir'd thither. Here the Bal was reassum'd in better order and more handsomely, then it had been about the Spring, and that which was of greatest magnificence in it, was, my Lord, that I danc'd my self. Mademoiselle de Bourbon was indeed of opinion, and that justly, that [Page] I did not dance well, but that I was a good Fencer, because that at the end of every cadence, I seem'd to put my self into a posture of defence. The Bal continu'd with much pleasure; when on a sudden, a great noise was heard without, which oblig'd all the Ladies to look out at the windowes; and there issu'd out of a great wood, which was about three hundred paces from the house, such a number of Fire-works, that all the boughs and bodies of the trees seem'd to have been turn'd into crackers, that the Stars were falling out of Heaven, and that the Sphere of fire were to take possession of the middle region of the Air. These three Hyperboles, my Lord, well priz'd, and reduc'd to just value of things, are worth three dozen of crackers. When all were recovered out of the astonishment, whereinto this accident had put them, it was resolv'd we should depart, and we took our way towards Paris, by the light of twenty Torches. Having cross'd over the quarter of Ormesson, and the great Plains of Espinay, we pass'd without any opposition through the midst of St. Denis's. Sitting in the Coach immediately next to Madam — I repeated to her in your behalf, a whole Miserere, whereto she answer'd with much courtesie and civility. We sung by the way, abundance of Scavans, Petits-doigts, Bonsoirs, and Bon-Bretons. By that time we were got a League beyond St. Denis's, it was two of the clock in the morning: the trouble of the journey, watching, and the exercise of the Bal, had made me extreamly heavy; when there happens an accident, which I thought would have prov'd my final destruction. There is a little Village between Paris and Sr. Denis's called La Villette, at the end whereof we met three Coaches, in which were gotten the Violins, whom we had entertain'd all the day before. Take then, my Lord, the strange accident that happened; the Devil would needs put it into the mind of Mademoiselle — to give order they should follow us, that we might spend the whole night in Serenades. This proposition made my hair stand upright, and yet it was seconded by all the rest. The Coaches were stai'd, and the order sent them what they should do; but, as good fortune would have it, the Rascals had left their Instruments at La Barre, for which Heaven reward them. Hence, my Lord, you may easily judg, that Mademoiselle — is as dangerous a Lady for the night as any in the world, and that I had much reason to say at Madam — there was a necessity of sending away the Musick, otherwise that it was [Page] in vain to entertain any thoughts of a departure. We kept on our way without any disturbance, till that, entring the Suburbs, we met six lusty Plaisterers, who being stark naked, pass'd by the Coach wherein we were. At last we got into Paris, and what I am now going to tell you, is more dreadful then all the rest: We found the whole City cover'd with a horrid obscurity, and whereas we had left it about seven hours before full of noise, Men, Horses, and Coaches, we now meet w [...]th a general silence, and a frightful solitude; the Streets being so dis-peopled, that they could not afford one man, only we saw another sort of Creatures which at the light of the Torches hid themselves. But my, Lord, for the rest of this adventure, you shall have it another time;

Qui el fin del Canto, a torno ad Orlendo,

Adio Signor, a voi mi raccommando.

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER XII.

MADAM,

THere were never certainly any Enchantments so strong as yours; and all those Magicians, who have made use of Images of wax, have not known so strange effects as you have: That which you have sent, hath caused amazement in all those that have seen it; and, what is much more to be admir'd, and which I think beyond all the power of Magick, it hath rais'd in the Marchionesse of Rambouillet a Love, and in me a Joy, the very day of your departure. I cannot apprehend how that could happen to you. But the Letter and Present which came from you, made me forget all my misfortunes, and I received the little Europa with as much satisfaction as if I had been presented with that which makes one of the three parts of the world, and which is divided into divers Kingdomes. And indeed it is of greater value, since it is like you; and upon that account my Lady Marchioness took it away from me by force, and swore by Styx, it should never come out of her Cabinet. Thus hath Europa been [Page] raivsh'd a second time, but much more gloriously, (in my opininion) then when she was carryed away by Jupiter. 'Tis true, that by way of satisfaction, I have received two Dogs, which have snouts so long, that, in my judgment, they are worth a Gentlewoman; and I know not whether there be any one in Paris, for whom I should part with them: Nor indeed, the humour I am in, consider'd, ought I to converse any longer with rational Creatures; and in the despair I am in, I should wish my self in a desert, within the paws of the most cruel Lyons; though I said, there should nothing be lov'd but Dogs. Be you then pleased, who have made them so gallant, to make them also grateful; and that they may bestow some remembrances on me, since I honour them above any one in the world, and am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To Madam du Vigean, with an Elegy he had made for her, and which she had often demanded of him. LETTER XIII.

MADAM,

I send you herewith the Elegy which you have but too often demanded of me, and which heretofore hath indeed been heard by divers, but till now hath not been read by any. It should be my wish the same fortune might in this happen to me as hath befell you; who, after you have for so long time conceal'd the noblest things in the world, have, in the discovery of it, dazzl'd all those that have seen it. But it is an over-great fondness of my own Verses, to wish them that advantage, nor indeed should I wish them better, since they were not made for you: If you think them very ill, you are so much the more oblig'd to me for them, in that knowing it as well as you, yet I have not forborn to send them you. And, to deal freely with you, to prevail with me to do it, a lesser power then what you have within these few days gain'd upon me would not have been sufficient: And without your command [Page] Madam, they had never known any other place then that of my Memory. But it is high time it were delivered of them, to make room for something more delightful, and that which Mademoiselle — afforded me the sight of, the other day, fills it so much at present, that I doubt whether there be place for any thing else. I perceive, Madam, that where it was my design to send you a Letter of excuse and complement, I am fallen into one of Love; but I wish all the other defects you shall finde in it, were as pardonable as that. In the mean time let me assure you, that I have not of a long time been so ingaged, and that there are a many in the world to whom I would not say so much, even though they held a Dagger at my Throat. But since there is no fear of any scandal, you are oblig'd, Madam, at least in my opinion, to look favourably on those Elements of affection, were it but to see, how I should behave my self, if I should fall in Love; and, if I were permitted, what might be the consequence of it.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, upon the death of her second Brother, who dy'd of the Plague, and whom she attended during his sickness. LETTER XIV.

MADAM,

HAving no less admiration for your courage and good Nature, then Sympathy with your grief; I am so highly sensible of both the one and the other, that if I were capable to render you those commendations which are justly due to you, and that comfort whereof you stand in need, I must confess I should be much troubled where to begin; for what obligations can be more equally inforcing, then to render to so eminent a Vertue the honour it merits, and to so violent affliction the comfort it requires? But I am to blame to put a distance between these two things; since Charity hath so perfectly united them, that the incomprehensible assistance you afforded your late Brother, should now prove an extraordinary comfort to you, and God bestow that on you out of Justice, which others obtain out of his indulgence; his infinite Goodness being such as will not suffer unrewarded so [Page] exemplary an act of tenderness, as what, through a contempt of your own life, engag'd you in the offices of the best Sister of the world, beyond the limits of all obligations; and by an admirable constancy, made you assur'd amidst a danger that terrifies the most daring. Upon this account am I confident that he will preserve you from it, and will shower on you, as a reward of your Vertue, the blessings are wish'd you by

Madam,

Yours, &c

To the Lady Marchionesse of Sablé. LETTER XV.

MADAM,

I Know no better way to ease you, as to the bad news you have already received, then to put you into a fear for your self. Know then that I who write this to you, have been three days together in a house, out of which two persons dy'd of the plague. The best thing you ever did, was to leave Paris, since it was the time that all the Vertuous were to expect persecution. Madam de Rambouillet hath lost her Grand-Son, who in three days made a shift to dye of the plague, yet would she not hear of leaving the House while there was any life in him. You may easily think, Madam, that nothing could divert me from being constantly among them, since you were not here: But I am afraid I frighten you too much, and that the Remedy I apply to your affliction is too violent for the Disease. Know then, that I who write unto you, am not the writer hereof, but have sent this Letter twenty Leagues from this place, to be coppy'd out by a man I never saw. I think my self very much concern'd, Madam, in the trouble now lies upon you, and apprehend that this disaster could not have happened in a more unfortunate time; yet the moderation I know your mind subj [...]ct to, and the dis-care you have for the things of this world, raises in me a hope that you have a better penny-worth of this affliction then any other would, and that the Loss of fifty thousand Liures, per annum, now gone from your House, whereat some other more [Page] interress'd then your self, would be more then ordinarily disorder'd, will cause in you an affliction not exceeding mediocrity. But, Madam, I must not, by a consolatory Letter, think to answer the most obliging Love-Letter in the world; for the latter part of yours cannot be tearmed otherwise. My humble Suit therefore, Madam, is, That you would not repent you of your writing so favourably to me as you have, for amidst all my discontents, I have entertain'd that joy with as much resentment, as if I had known the greatest serenity in the world, and I cannot conceive my self unhappy, while I have the honour of your affection. I am so fortunate, and so confident, that I am not in the least doubt of it; and my good fortune is great in this, that I esteem that the greatest good of this world, which I conceive my self most assuredly possess'd of. You are so well satisfy'd with me, Madam, that I know you will more favourably receive those assurances which I express of your affection, then those I might give you of mine; and though you wish my happiness in all things, yet can you not desire any thing more advantageous for me, then that I should believe you love me; and those who have seen what alteration your absence hath wrought in me; and how great a part of my mind you have carryed away with you, may one day satisfie you, that I, in some measure, deserve that honour. But Madam, I cannot forbear to tell you, that Monsieur Le Maistre, who saw with what tenderness I bade you adieu, will be confirm'd in his former opinion, and hopes one day to finde our Characters engrav'd together upon the Tree of Bourgon; at least, it is no small joy to me, that he hath observ'd the acknowledgment, and reciprocality of our affection. For my part, Madam, I once more tell you what I so much press'd upon your faith at your departure, which is, that I shall not esteem or effect any thing in this world as much as I do you, and shall ever, with all manner of respect, remain,

Madam,

Yours, &c

[Page]

To Mademoiselle de Chalais

MADAM,

IT was not my designe, to put you into any danger, no more then my Lady, by forcing you to the reading of this Letter; but I believe that those who have taken off the tincture of Gold, cannot be prejudic'd by any infectious Air. For my part, I take every morning thirty grains of Antimony, and fix eyes of the fish you wot of. With this Antidote I can go any where without danger. Be you pleas'd to continue me the honour of your affection; for if it fail me, I shall take my Antimony without preparation. I am, Madam, most sincerely,

Yours, &c

To the Same. LETTER. XVI.

MADAM,

I have with your Letter receiv'd, the greatest joy I met with, since your departure hence. If you please to call to mind with how much ingenuity and Friendship, all the Letters you do me the honour to direct to me, are written, you will no longer doubt of it; and you would discard the opinion you are in as to my negligence, if Fortune had not pleas'd, the last I writ to you should miscarry. 'Tis a miscarriage you should be the more sensible of, in regard there was one enclos'd from Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. She entreats you to satisfy your self from Madam de St. Amand, to whom it was directed, what is become of it; for she is much troubl'd, by reason of diverse things she writ to you about. But for my part, Madam, assure your self I take so much delight in writing to you, that I take not much more in being idle. And my Letters are the productions of so sincere an affection, that if you judg aright, you will esteem them much beyond those which you are so importunate for. Those were only the issue of my invention, these of my heart, those I was at some charge at, these extreamly divert me. Should I not have troubl'd [Page] you a little, Madam, if I had repeated these and those five or six times more, and would you not have been surpriz'd at the novelty of the stile? I thought to have done it, meerly to see what you would have said, but since you are not here, I am in no great inclination to laugh, and I should have been gone hence long since, if a certain change of my affairs had not detayn'd me. My sloth is born under the most fortunate constellation that may be, it never wants some pretence or other to avoid the doing of what it hath no mind to do, and I have put off my departure from one week to another, yet it is no fault of mine, that I am here still. I believe, Madam, you will not think this strange, since you would have staid here till now, had not the Chariot of the Post-house forc'd you hence. But I am resolv'd to snatch my self out of Paris within ten or twelve days, and I conceive I shall find no great difficulty in it. At least, the greatest inducement I had to stay here, was taken away the day of your departure; and if any thing could at the present enforce me thereto, it should be Madam, and Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, who tell me every day that I should be gone. I can assure you, Madam, without any violence done to the sincerity I owe you, that you are lov'd by these two Ladies, as much as you can desire, and I hear them dayly discourse of you with so much tenderness, that one of those things I so much at this present esteem in them, is the affection they bear you. Be therefore as much assur'd of them, as of me, and place not their Friendship among those Goods which you may lose. I am extreamly glad that you have satisfy'd some others who are not of this nature, and that you have taken that order in your affairs that you desired. I return you my most humble thanks, that among your own you have had a careful reflection on mine. The indifference I am guilty of as to that particular, bespeaks a necessity of knowing what I should do, so as I durst not disobey, and that I should entertain the advice of a person, whose counsels are commands. That about which I was so much troubl'd, and was the cause of my stay, is in a better condition then I could have hop'd, and I doubt not but we shall take some order in it, by the advance of a certain sum of money. But I shall think my self well out of the Bryars, if I escape so: Besides Madam, I shall henceforth be the lesse troubled for wealth, now that I am assur'd you will not want any. If it come to the worst, the Secrets I know in Physick and Chymistry, may prevail with you to afford me a [Page] retreat, and to cloath me like a Gentleman, when you shall think fit I should usher you. You were very much in the right, when you thought I should want your recommendation to Mademoiselle d'Atichi, and I humbly entreat you, Madam, to write to her in my behalf. I have seen her but once since your departure. That with what Monsieur Nerti shall be able to acquaint her with, will, I hope, satisfy her, that you recommend unto her a person you look not indifferently on, and one, whom you have found so faithful, as to have deserv'd that good office from you. If she believe it, I conceive, Madam, that she will think better of it, then of many other things; for there is nothing more certain (pardon me, Madam, if I speak it not with respect enough) then, that I love you beyond any thing this world affords, and with all sincerity, am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To the Same. LETTER. XVII.

MADAM,

THe beginning of your Letter gives me occasion to admire your Judgment, for I must acknowledg you have been more apprehensive of a resentment, which lay dormant in my heart, then I was my self. Me thought I was extream earnest to depart: but what pleasure soever it may be to me to hear from you, yet I must confesse that when I saw Robin, I was somewhat at a losse to think I had no pretence for any longer stay, and I think I should have been content to wait seven or eight days for that joy. However, Madam, I cannot have been so far surpriz'd, but I should easily recover my self, through the care you are pleas'd to have of me, and I am extreamly satisfy'd, to see that you have written more Letters for me in one night, then you have done in four years for Madam Desloges and Madam D'aubigni.

It is questionlesse, the greatest expression or affection may be expected from you, especially if I consider the circumstances wherein you write to me, and I must no longer doubt, that you will direct all things to the advancement of my Fortune, since you [Page] contribute thereto your own pains, I acknowledg it, Madam, with such a heart as you know I have, and besides the great satisfaction it affords me, as to my own particular, I think it a far greater, to find you as generous and as noble a friend as I have ever wish'd you. And I am to professe to you, I am so far at rest, as to that part of my Fortune, that I am afraid I shall neglect it in others things, and shall slight the friendships of Queenes, whenever I shall think my self assur'd of yours. Be not therefore, I shall entreat you, Madam, the least troubl'd at what you have done for me, or what may be the issue of it, nor what effect your Letters may have; but if you have written any, either for my advantage or reputation, assure your self they have prov'd as effectual, as you could have wish'd. I shall not fail to observe the order you have given me for the delivery of them. For the rest you have done very well to excuse the stile, for, not to dissemble with you, that jargon of Marfisa, Merlin, and Alexis, is to me insupportable. And yet I cannot amidst all this, but observe abundance of wit, and a strange vivacitty, but above all, an extraordinary inclination to do me some favour. I am extreamly pleas'd at what you tell Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, that if they be not more careful, I shall go into Flanders, as if I went to Vaugirard; and in my judgment, that very word is worth a good Letter. 'Tis very true Madam, that had they not been so careful as to give me notice of it, I had gone with the Messenger of Brussels. And to deal truly with you, I go this journey with so much regret, that I cannot imagine I should fear to be taken; and were it not for Madam — I should be content to passe the rest of the Winter in a chamber in the Bastille, so that it may be allow'd good fires. The — is absolutely ruin'd; Monsieur — hath for these four months past, profess'd a strict friendship with him, and Monsieur de Bellegarde: you may easily judg, Madam, he will never be the better for it, no more then I. Mademoiselle d'Atichi hath promised me wonders, and that with so much affection, as you could have done your self. I acknowledg I have not deserv'd so much at her hands, and know not whether I ever shall; assure your self of Madam de Villeroy, and be not troubled for any thing else, I have receiv'd all your instructions, and shall observe them. Madam and Mademoiselle de Rambouillet have an infinite affection for you. I bid you farewell Madam, with the tears in my eyes, and assure you, I love you proportionably to your merits, and much beyond your imaginations.

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To the same. LETTER XVIII.

MADAM,

TO deal freely with you, It is an impardonable ingratitude in you not to have taken the pains to send me some Answer, and to be more slothful then I am, speaks a sloath absolutely insupportable. What fair pretences soever I made a shift to finde for my not writing to you for six Moneths together; yet have I not dismiss'd Robin, without something to assure you, That notwithstanding all that, I am more yours then ever. But it is certain, Madam, that you cannot loose me, be as careless of me as you please. I could sometimes heartily wish, that I might, with Mademoiselle de Chalais, deliver my self out of your service, and there are not here awanting those who would endeavour to convey me away, but I cannot consent thereto; and me thinks, that to save my self in that manner were the only way to lose my self. Madam de Rambouillet hath commanded me to tell you, that out of a belief you may want an able and discreet person to supply her place, who is gone from you, she hath sent you Madamoiselle — who by good fortune had not been entertain'd any where; she hopes you will receive her as a person she hath chosen for you, and accordingly hath dismiss'd her two days since. I should not have written so confidently if I had not been commanded; for, beleeve me, Madam, my heart is too too sensible of your indifference for me; be pleas'd to cure it of that disorder, for I assure you it is all your own. I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

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To the same. LETTER XIX.

MADAM,

IF you concern not your self in my content nor my quiet, yet at least be not so negligent of my fortune. I am upon the point of my departure, which yet I must put off till I hear from you. I fear me, that the Letters you have sent me bear too old a date; if you have not broke off all correspondence in that Country; I beleeve it were much to my advantage that you gave me others, or took some occasion to speak in my behalf, if you think fit. But if otherwise, it will be but necessary that you speak for your self, and that by your Letters you renew the assurance of your fidelity and service. And that, Madam, will prove a continual kind of recommendation for me. I humbly beseech you to send to me with all possible diligence, for there is not any thing else stays my departure. I bid you Adieu, Madam, with so great affection, and so much tenderness, that it were much more dangerous that Nerli should see this then the other, and assure your self I am much more troubled to live at a distance from you, then to quit the Ladies I leave here. Thus, Madam, are you more considerable with me then all the world besides, and if you knew after what manner it is, you would be satisfy'd with it, though nothing but whole hearts wil content you. I tell you this with as much sincerity, as if they were my last dying words: Never shall I love, honour, or esteem any other person, as much as I do you, as resolv'd, at all times, and in all places, to be,

Madam,

Yours, &c

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To Mademoiselle de Paulet. LETTER XX.

MADAM,

I Return you my most humble thanks that you quarrel not at me, and withal assure you that you have as little reason to abstain at any one in the world. I am extreamly surpriz'd at what you tell me, that those who honou [...] me with their affection, quarrel at my sloth, when they themselves are so far guilty of it, that they employ others to reproach me with it. The condition I am in consider'd, it were much more rational to send me Consolatories then complaints, and it seldome happens that the persecuted, the banished, and such as are sequestred, finde others sport. When I say so, I shall entreat you not to think that I mean any thing against that excellent Person, whose excess of merit, and want of health, exempt her from all obligations of this nature. But those whose business is to complement, and only to exercise their wits, are not, in my judgment, to be pardoned, the neglect of doing me that honour. I assure you there never was any sadness comparable to mine, and if I durst write pittyful Letters, I could tell you things would make your heart burst: But to say truth, I shall be glad it should remain whole, and should much fear that, if it were once in two, it would be shar'd away in my absence. You see how well I can apply those ingenuous things I hear spoken; but Madam, it concerns you, (from whom I have this, since I forget not any handsome expression of yours not in two years after I have heard it) to send me some, since I can so well make my advantage thereof, and send me some words which I may think my self oblig'd to remember as long as I have those: All I have ever seen from your departure till now, is so indifferent that it hath not taken away any thing of my affliction; and therefore I would entreat you to send me some thing of greater vertue, since you can furnish others with as much as you please. Otherwise I shall beleeve the precipitate reconciliation which was made so suddainly before my departure, was feigned, and that there was not any thing of sincerity in you, but what signifies your coldness, and your indifference. [Page] I leave it to you to judge whether it is possible I can live with this imagination, and whether you are not the most ill-natur'd in the world, if you put me into that danger. I beseech you therefore to be more careful of me, for you are more then ordinarily oblig'd to be so, since it is certain I am, more then ever,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

When I had written this Letter, me thought it contain'd five or six Drams of Love, but it is so long since I have so much as made mention of Him, that I could not abstain; besides that, I am of so small a bulk, that you know there is fear of me. On the other side, the Person you speak of, hath been dead long since, it remains only that he should be buried, but he is let alone through negligence.

To the Same. LETTER XXI.

MADAM,

I was extreamly happy to receive your Letter before I left Brussels and with it so much comfort on the very Eve of my departure. Since that, I have known no disturbance though I have had much pain; for I would not have it said, That a man, for whom you are pleas'd to have any providence, can be unhapy, and should be asham'd Fortune had a greater influence over me then you. I have Travell'd twelve days without any resting from morning till night; I have pass'd through Countries where Wheat is a rare Plant, and where Apples are preserv'd with as much tenderness as Oranges in France. I have come into places, where the most aged cannot remember they ever saw a Bed; and for my Recreation, I am at this present in an Army where the stoutest are wearied out: And yet I live still, and do not finde any one in better health then my self. I know not what to attribute such an extradinary strength of constitution too, unless to the power of your Letter; [Page] and me thinks I am like those men who do things more then humane after they have swallowed certain Characters: Assoon as I came, I got my self, by the favour of Monsieur de Chaudebonne' Listed in a Troop of Tories; and I dare tell you, Madam, and that without vanity, that I behave my self as gallantly as any of them. Nevertheless, I have not as yet ravish'd any Wife or Maid' as having not yet shaken off the weariness of my Journey, nor recover'd my ful strength, and all I could do was to set three or four Houses on fire; but I grow stronger and stronger every day, and am resolute beyond all faith. To be serious with you, I am quite another man then you have known me, and he should not escape my clutches now, who heretofore might easily give me the slip. And yet I beleeve, how mischiefous soever I make my self, you do not conclude I am become such, and that you think I am not much to be feared; especially by you, Madam, since you know you have absolute power over me, and that I am most Cordially,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

June 27. From the Port Igoin, upon the Loire, which we are now going to cross.

At my departure from Brussels, I sent to him that was to bring you this Letter, certain Pictures; and I intreated him to leave them with you, and I humbly beseech you to direct them to the Person to whom you conceive I send them, and tell her that they are a Parcel of my Plunder; and that I send her that in part of what I lost to her at Moure.

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To the Same. LETTER XXII.

MADAM,

YOu should hear from me oftner, were it in my power; but ordinarily we come into places where any thing is more easily found then Ink and Paper; besides that it being expected I should write with so much reserv'dness, I am at such a loss, that I tremble when I take Pen in hand, for fear of saying too much and endeavour what lies in my power to avoid it. Even at this present, I am almost out of my self to write things which it were more convenient not to mention, and such as haply you your self would not think too well of: For I remember, in your last Letter you forbad me to speak of Love, and I must needs obey, though with ever so much violence to my self. And yet Madam, I cannot forbear telling you, that how strong soever the passion I have for the war may be, yet I have another that is much more prevalent in me, and am not ignorant that our first inclinations are ever the most predominant. We meet nothing that opposes us, we make dayly nearer approaches to the Country of Musk-millions, Figs, and Muscadine-Grapes; and we go to fight in places, where we shall not gather Palmes, but what are mingled with Flowers of Oranges and Pomgranates; but I assure you I should willingly quit my part of our Victories, for the hononr of being at this present at your feet, and that I shall not so much esteem the Title of a Conquerour, as that of,

Madam,

Your Slave, &c.

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To Madimoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER XXIII.

MADAM,

I am very far from having any thing to object against your Prudence, since it is accompany'd with so much Goodness, and that it is not less employ'd for the advantage of others then your own. I must confess I should have been very much troubled to be the first unfortunate man that you should have given over for such, and that you should have exercis'd on me the apprentiship of that dis-compassionate Vertue which never yet could claim any acquaintance with your Generosity. And whereas those actions which are not perform'd without danger are of greater esteem then others, it cannot be expected there should be always security for doing well, and you are, Madam, in my opinion, particularly oblig'd to be tender of the unfortunate, since that to change their condition you need apply nothing but words. Those I have had the honour to receive from you, have wrought on me the effect you could imagine, in so much that I have not since known any affliction save that of being unable to express the resentment I have of them. There is nothing so certain, Madam, as that when you are pleas'd not to be cross, you are the most accomplish'd person in the world; and Goodness, which is so delightful wherever it is found, is much more adorable in you, where it is better attended then ever it was in any one. You had long ere this met with my most humble thanks for what you are pleas'd to have for me if I had had the feast favourable opportunity to send them you: and I put this Letter into the hands of Fortune as a forlorn, though I perceive not how it shall passe through so many difficulties and fires, wherewith we are encompass'd. And yet I believe it will not be so unhappy as to miss you, meerly because it is directed to you, and that you must needs receive it through the assistance of that good fortune, which you say you have in things of small consequence: I should here take occasion to acquaint you with divers that are of great, and which I could wish within your knowledg; but I conceive it is your desire I should be discreet as well as your self, and that I should not write any thing, that mightlye open to censure. [Page] In the mean time, though we are of contrary parties, I suppose I may affirm, without any crime, there is not any one of ours whom I would so readily follow as I should you, and that I shall be while I live, with all manner of respect, and sincere esteem,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER. XXIIII.

MADAM,

IT concernes me much more then you, that the accomodations you had sent me, should not fall into other hands then my own. Of all the Goods I have left me, there are none I am more unwilling to part with, then those I have receiv'd from you, and I shall easily digest the want of all the others, if I may but enjoy those. If the Stones you have bestow'd on me, are not able to break mine, they will at least help me to bear my pain with greater patience; and me thinks I should never complain of my cholick, since it hath procur'd me so great a fortune. And yet I must needs tell you, that this generosity was like to cost you dear, and it was not improbable, that these Stones might prove so many rubs in your way. He at whose house I sojourn, knows you honour me with your Letters, ever since I shew'd him that wherein you remembred your selt to him. He was in place, when your Letters came to my hands, and he either knowing or guessing by the superscription, it was your hand, I acknowledg'd it was so. My first curiosity was to look into a paper, which seem'd much heavier then the rest, and having opened it, I disburthen'd it of a Bracelet, the most glittering and gallant that ever was. I cannot expresse the greatnesse of my surprisal, to find a thing so little expected from you, and to see how indiscr [...]et I had been in the first favour I had receiv'd from you. I out-blush'd the Riband you had sent me, and he who was present, put on a Countenance so severe, as if it had been sent me by Mademoiselle — But having read your Letter, I found that, what seem'd to be a favour, prov'd a Remedy, and that the Bracelet was not sent to a Gallant, but to a sick person. You may say your pleasure, Madam, but me [Page] thinks I am of a very good nature, for though I should have given all I have in the world, that you would have done a piece of Gallantry of this nature to me, yet was I much pleas'd on this occasion, that it was not any, and was very glad to be my self, lesse happy, that so you might seem lesse censurable. So that for this time, L'Ejade hath had for you an effect which you expected not from it, and its Vertue justifyes yours, which was accus'd, and in my opinion, ready to receive a severe Sentence. This suppos'd, I cannot but esteem it very precious, and coming from so good a hand, I have a great faith in it. I stood in much need of such a remedy, in a Country where there is no other to be had, and where relief is rather to be expected from stones then men. And if you call to mind a certain particularity, which was told us heretofore concerning this place, you would have a greater pity for those that have the Colick. Though you should not find out what I mean, I shall not be much mov'd, for in a man that should think himself felicified, but with a moment of your favour this discourse is not over-gallant. I shall only tell you, Madam, that you are more then ordinarily oblig'd to be careful of me; For besides your having been subject to the same infi [...]mity, I am to acquaint you that at this time, mine proceeds from the same cause, and the Physitians of Madrid give me the same advice, as we receiv'd formerly from Monsieur de la Grange, and Monsieur de Lorine. When you were at the height of your melancholy, you never were more solitary, more intractable, nor indeed more inhumane, then I am here. You can hardly imagine how different my present life is, from what I have formerly led, and you will one day be astonish'd, when I shall tell you, that I have pass'd over eight months without speaking to any woman, without quarrelling, without contestation, without playing, and what is more strange, without putting on a pair of shoes. This is a very lamentable thing to relate. I have endur'd a Winter more piercing then that of France, in a place, where there are no such things as Nightgowns or Chimneys, where there's never any fire made, unlesse it be for a Victory, or the birth of a Prince. Amidst this misery, I have often wish'd the fire at Rambouillet-House, here, and regretted the time, that I refused to be the Cyclops, of a much more amiable person, then she that governs their master. There's a great deal of Learning requisite to understand this. But if you guesse at the person I mean, I humbly crave your pardon, [Page] Madam, to assure her hence, that I honour her with a greater passion then ever, and that I should not quarrell at my absence, if I thought it had wrought in her the same effect it hath done in me; for, to deal sincerely with you, it hath reinforc'd the affection, which I ever have devoted to her Service, and having past an Act of oblivion for all the injuries she hath done me, I can now only remember those excellent endowments, which rende her both so amiable and admirable. However I might dissemble it in my countenance, yet had I still a secret grudge against her, nor could I ever, till my last sicknesse, be induc'd to forgive her, the affront she once did me in your presence, when she thought to have murther'd me with a Bason of water. [...]ut now, I have chang'd all desires of vengeance, into wishes to see her, to honour and to serve her; and if there be any one in the world, that I love beyond her, it is only one, whom she also loves beyond her self. For that other, I shall ever, in my mind and in my esteem, reserve for her a particular place, she shall never have in my affection, either company or competitor, no more then she hath in the world: and if the love I bear you, proceeded only from friendship, I must confesse, I should have a greater affection for her then for you. Frown not at ihis, nor think it strange, that I avoid not in my Letters, those things you may take offence at, since you have not that tendernesse for me in yours. For what necessity was there you should tell me that, those two persons had made such new acquaintances, as might oblige them to forget their old friends? And to what end must this come at the close of the most obliging Letter in the world? If my disease could be cur'd like the quartane Ague, by some extraordinary apprehension, this crossenesse might serve for something; aud yet I should be little oblig'd to you, when curing me of the Colick, you will needs force me into jealousie. Be pleas'd therefore to endeavour my quiet as to that particular; for, to be free with you, I am thereby so much discompos'd, that e have taken very little rest since. I was already in some inclination to that fear; not that I any ways question the goodnesse of those Ladies, but I often think what great danger there is in a great distance. In a word, Madam, it is of you that I dare assure my self, for, to struggle with so long on absence, there is not only a constancy requisite, but an obstinacy. But since you have done me the favour to number me among your Friends, I am confident [Page] my unhappinesse will not give you occasion to retract it, and that you will not suffer Fortune to bring that about, which so many religious men, and other good people have attempted without effect. If there be any other who afford me the honour of their affection, it's a happinesse I enjoy not without some distrust, as being a good which I may loose, and from which, time haply takes away somewhat every day. You tell me, your Mistresse's Mistresse hath not forgotten me. This I question whether I can decipher. Your Mistris, is it not a young Gentlewoman, very much Eagle-sighted, having somewhat a short nose, one that is subtle, fierce, scornful, self-conceited, and obliging, one that is of a good and bad nature, much given to chiding, and yet is ever pleasant, a very vertuous Gentlewoman, who hath a mother that useth her very harshly, and whom I lov'd one time from Bagnolet to Charronne? If it be the same, her Mistris, without question, deserves to be Mistris of all the world, and I have maintain'd for eight months together in this Court, that there is not beneath Heaven any thing so good and so glorious as she. I have not so great a resentment of all my own afflictions put together, as I have of hers, and I have shed abundance of tears, wherein she hath been the most concern'd. It is certainly a thing very strange, and pleads much compassion, that there should be so much happinesse in her birth, and so little in her life, and that the same person own at the same time all the graces, and all the disgraces in the world. I receive the honour she does me, with all the respect and all the joy I ought, and my prayers to God are, that he would comfort her, as she doth others. This goodnesse should cause no small shame to the Lady, on whom were once found a brace and a half of lice. But me thinks your Mistris is too retentive to let me know any thing, and yet she might without any danger of jealousie, have afforded me a complement. You make it much your business to assure me of the friendship of your Servant, but if it be not the same I mean, I should not take it well, you bestow'd so much of your thoughts on him: but that person deserves all things, and I know not any thing I should envy him. For Madam de Cl [...]rmont, though you had said nothing to me, yet should I be satisfy'd she does me the honour to love me; having the experience I have of her charity, I cannot doubt of her affection, and there needs no more to come into the number of her friends, then to be listed among the miserable. [Page] Amid'st the joy, the honour I have done me by so many excellent persons, brings with it, it is an extraordinary grief to me that you tell me nothing of a man from whose remembrance you know, I derive no small comfort. I am satisfy'd Madam, that it is not your fault; that is, that you have not any thing to acquaint me with concerning him. There's not any circumstance of all my misfortune troubles me so much as that, nor for which I can have less patience. I fear me, he takes it not well that I mention him; but neither this consideration nor any other shall make me ungrateful, nor hinder me from declaring wherever I am, that there is not any man can deserve the affections of his Friends, and the esteem of his enemies, more then he. If the Count de Guiche be at Court, be pleas'd to give me leave, humbly to entreat him to spend some few thoughts on me, and to give an instance of his constancy, by loving a person at so great a distance, and withal so unserviceable. I was the other day very much pleas'd to find Madamoisele de Montausier in the News-Book; but me thinks it were much more reasonable that the young Gentleman had been there, and by what acquaintance I have with him, I should not think the fame of his Sister should spread further then his: I wish he knew how much I am still his humble servant, and wish him all the happiness and noble adventures he merits. But I must except a certain Lady, in whose Embraces I once wish'd him; and I now assure her, that she will be guilty of the greatest ingratitude in the world, if any thing cause her to forget me: For, without flatery, the passion I have for her, is beyond any thing she can imagine. Which yet if after all, she reward with a treachery, I shall one day not stick to make use of Steel or Poison to revenge my self: You can hardly guesse, Madam, who it is I mean; and it is a secret too important to be trusted to any one. I only desire you to shew this passage to Madamoiselle du Pin. But I fall into a custome of writing large Letters, though afraid to be too tedious; and yet I have a thousand other things to acquaint you with; nor is it without an extraordinary violence to my self, that I can only tell you, I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

From Madrid.

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To the Same. LETTER XXIX.

MADAM,

YOu have more reason then any one to grant that though my body is, my inclinations are not capable of any change, for you may assure your self I am inalterable as to what ever relates to you. If you think I am furnish'd with Affections of all Rates, know also that those Rates are just and proportion'd to the value of the Persons. While I observe this Rule, you may be satisfi'd I shall never own any passion more violent then that to serve you. If you allow this to be according to reason, it is no less consonant to my own inclination; and therefore you may sa [...]ely believe, I shall never cease to love y [...]u, though you tell me I am nothing cautions, and that I cannot improve my pleasures with discretion. I know not any, I pro [...]ess it, greater then to honour you, and to flatter my self with frequent imaginations of all those Goodnesses, and all those perfections which I know raigne in you. Though the Presents you send me are poisoned, yet I receive them with a wil [...]ing mind, and shall no otherwise what ever comes from your hands. It hath been no small joy to me to finde my justification in the same pieces, whereby it was expected I should have been condemn'd. Those two Rowes of bl [...]ck, mention'd in the Stanza's of the Youth, are easily discovered not to be for the young Gentlewoman, She deserves that name as well as Madamoiselle de N [...]uf-vic, and I assure you the Tablets are come to her hand after the same manner. The business of Madamoselle Mandat is much more innocent, and if you have opened the Letters concerning it, 'tis a great injustice to quarrel so much with me about it: However, I have read, not without shame, the Stanza's yon sent me, and I am much more excusable for being unfortunate in Verses then in Courtship; Thence I perceive, that since Monsieur Chaud [...]bonne hath reinstated me with Madamoielle de Rambouillet, I have deriv'd from them another mind, and that I was but a simple Lad in that time, that Mademoisel [...]e du [Page]Plessis says I was so ingenuous. But, Madam, when any will needs put these affronts on me; I beseech you take them not upon your account. They write to your Hu [...]band to have a great care of me, as, that he should wrap me up in Silk and Cotton; and in the mean time they endeavour what they can to take away my life. I finde the advice of Madamoiselle de Bourbon excellent good, that I should be preserv'd in Sugar; but it will take up a great deal to sweeten so much bitterness, and then I should taste like Lemmon-Pill candy'd. Thousands of thanks most humbly presented reach not any acknowledgment of the trans [...]ndent honour she does me by her remembrances of me. I wish with all my soul, that that Aurora (for the name you have given her suits her very well) may be seconded by as fair a day as she deserves, and that all those of her life may be free from all cloudiness, and express a clearness and serenity consonant to that of her mind and countenance. My most humble services, with the greatest passion that may be, presented to Madam de Clermont, and to the Ladies her Daughters. I return my most humble thanks to Monsieur Gedeau, for the Verses he sent me; I finde them suitable to the rest of his works which I read over dayly, employing my whole Study in what he hath done.

To the Same. LETTER XXVI.

MADAM,

ABout a Moneth since I received a Letter you were pleas'd to write to me of the twenty of January; the last Post brought me another of the twenty sixt of the last Moneth, and both came accompanyed with a many Papers you also thought fit to send me. You may well think it unreasonable, say what you will, that I should moderate the praises I am to give you, and that I should begin to speakless well of you when I receive most good from you. I could not answer the former, because I was sick when the Messenger departed, and to shew that the joys of miserable people are but short liv'd, the next day after I had received it, I was taken with [Page] the Colick, which I thought I had lost, and one days ease cost me seventeen days torment. Madam de Clermont honours me beyond all possible desert of mine; and I am throughly sensible of the extraordinary obligation she hath cast upon me. And yet I shall not beleeve she loves me to that height she speaks, nor that I am so much concern'd in her Prayers, if I continue in this decay both of health and fortune. And yet it is a greater then I can ever hope that the Lady, whom you know I ever place above all the rest, will be pleas'd to look after my concernments. There's no Oracle I should more willingly rely upon then her Providence; and I receive her counsels and her commands, as if they came from Heaven. Though I cannot find a place high enough for her in my own mind, yet I dare assure her, that I have ever thought her present at whatever hath befallen me. She hath often comforted me in my greatest afflictions, and that part of my Soul, wherein she was, hath been free from all troubles and disturbances, into which my miseries had hurryed me. I adore her as the noblest, the most beautiful, and most perfect thing that ever I saw: And yet all the respect, all the Veneration I have for her, cannot hinder me from having a most tender affection for her as the best creature in the world. I must also confesse, the Lady her Daughter owns no lesse goodnesse, if it be true, as you tell me, Madam, that she is pleas'd to think of me. I should gladly some way acknowledg this honour, but me thinks one heart will not suffice both and her mother, and that when one hath taken her share, there will be little left for the other. The favour done me by three persons so accomplish'd, frees me from all troubles, yet gives me withall a new one, which is, that I can never deserve it, nor expresse, as I would, the resentment I have of it. And since it requires infinite thanks, I humbly beseech you, Madam, to employ yours together with that Eloquence, which is so natural to you, for to thank them; and let me not want your assistance in this, which you afford me in all things. When I reflect on the honour you and they do me in your remembrances; I wonder, that, being so happy in that, I am so unhappy in other things, and that so much misfortune can befall a man that hath so many Guargian Angels. I am not yet satisfied, whether be greater the happiness of being belov'd, or the unhappiness of being absent; and I finde that of all men I am the most to be envy'd, and the most to be pittyed. I have the greater reason to say this, that I am not [Page] mistaken in your Letter; and if it be true the Lady, whose generosity you so earnestly maintain, though not impeach'd, hath done me the honour to write to me, I shall eesily swallow down all the checks you gave me upon that account. Nevertheless, I shall entreat you not to think I raise a particular quarrel against her; but not having receiv'd any recommendations, save from two or three persons; the complaint was general against all the rest, from whom I had not receiv'd a word since my coming hither. 'Tis true, I think her much more to blame then any other, that she who hath the greatest memory in the world, should be so scanty of it towards her friends; and since her thoughts have often pass'd the Pyrenean Mountains for Alcidalis, and to imagine in Spain persons that never were there; I could not but wonder she should forget those that are, and are at her service. And if she hath done me the honour you tell me, she hath gone much beyond my hope, and done for me more then I durst have desir'd. But it being past, it is a loss I know not how to brook. I know, Madam, that, though I had said nothing to you, you will easily imagine with what regret I suffer it: But me thinks, you, who take the pains to send me the Letters of Monsieur de Balzac: and Coppies of all the best things, should not have forgotten that. I have perus'd with much satisfaction, what was sent him upon the death of the King of Sweden, and am glad to see the greatest Wits pay him the homage and acknowledgment due to his mem [...]ry. The Sonnet I am much taken with, and the Letter is excellently well Pen'd. I have particularly observ'd this in it, that the Author of it, must needs be well acquainted with the humour of [...]he person to whom he writ; since that having lost a Lover, he says not one word to him by way of consolation. By good fortune for us, she is more tender for her friends, and since she remembers the most inconsiderable, and indeed who can never deserve that name, ther's no doubt of the rest: For my part, whatever I may have sometimes heard from that man, who you say is so severe, and for whom I durst say nothing here; I have thought it impossible that a person that begets a friendship in all that see her, should have none in her self; and that having deriv'd so many excellent qualities from the Lady her Mother, she hath mist the most Noble, which is, that of being the best Friend in the world. You see Madam, how I can correct those faults you reprove in me. I bileeve I have reform'd them by what I have said, and answered those reproaches you cast [Page] on me for commending you to her prejudice. I have chosen rather to retract my thoughts of her, then what I had said of you, and I have thought it easier to add to her praises, then to abridge yours. I have receiv'd you Judith with extraordinary satisfaction; I say, with extraordinary satisfaction, because it deserves it, besides what I do therein for your sake. For I think you are extreamly taken with this History, and are well pleased to see an action of blood and murther justifi'd by the Scripture; I could not in the reading of it, stave off an imagination, that I saw you holding a Sword in one hand, and the Head of Monsieur de St. B— in the other: You tell me it is done by the Author of the Translation of St. Pauls Epistles; you consider not Madam, that a Person who hath waded through so much sickness and affliction, must needs have forgotten abundance of things, especially since what is left is taken up in things wherein it is so well employed. You put me to a like non-plus in another Letter, telling me, your servant desired to be remembred to me; what likelyhood is there to guesse aright who it should be? My first imagination was it might be a Cardinal; the next, a Doctor of Divinity: Afterwards I thought it might be a Merchant of Aubry-Boucher-Street, or a Knight of Malta; a Privy-Councellor, a Poet, or a Judge; and there is not any Rank, wherein I found not some cause to doubt: But if it happen to be a young Gentleman, flaxen hair'd, of a very fair complexion, and a person infinitely ingenuous, nothing could happen more to my satisfaction, then the least expression of his remembrances of me; and it shall be the main business of my life, by my most humble services, to deserve his affection. As poor as I am, I would it had cost me a thousand Crowns, that I could have play'd a Game at Tennis with him, which had not been impossible, had I been suffered to take my own course; for I was fully resolved to return by Paris, and you might have seen me within a while of the Religion of Monsieur d' Aumont; but I submit and obey, though with no small trouble. I am not certain when I shall leave this place, whether within a Moneth, two, or three. I have told one man here how much he is oblig'd to you for your remembrances of him: He returns you his most humble thanks, and hath engag'd me to tell you he is infinitely your Servant. We keep house together, and live in the greatest Friendship possible: I crave pardon of the Lady you know; and I leave her to judge, who is so skilfull in things to come, what I may promise my self [Page] thence, and whether I may not one day arrive at a good subsistance as well as he. Behold, Madam, another large Letter, whereof you know but the least part, and whereof I have said nothing of what most nearly concerns me. Behold what it is, not to answer the Gallantries which you write, and to send me Letters, wherein you speak only of your Friends, and say in a manner nothing of your self. Nevertheless I have not made it so much my business to be reveng'd, as that I can avoid professing in this place, that I repeat for you alone, all the expressions of esteem and affection, which I have directed to every one of them in particular; and that I am, much after another manner,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

From Madrid.

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER XXVII.

SIR,

ABout ten or twelve dayes since, I writ to you, and thank'd you for two Letters, which I have at length received from you. If you could apprehend what satisfaction they brought along with them, it would be your grief you had sent me no more; and that you had not afforded me this comfort, in a time that I stood in so much need of it. Madrid, which is the pleasantest place in the world for the healthy and the debauched, is the most wearisome to the temperate and the diseased; and when Lent comes in, and makes a Vacation among the Players, I know not of any one Recreation which a man may conscientiously make use of. The sorrow and solitude I struggle with here, have wrought on me at least this one good effect, that they have reconcil'd me to Books, which I for a while shaken hands with; and meeting here with no other entertainments, I have been forc'd to admit those of Reading. Expect therefore, Sir, to finde me almost as great a Philosopher as your self; and imagine what great advantages he may arrive at, who for seven Moneths together, hath constantly studied or been [Page] sick. And if it be granted that one of the principal ends of Philosophy is the contempt of Life, I know no better Master for it then the Colick, then which Socrates and Plato are much less perswasive: It hath read me lately a Lecture which lasted seventeen dayes, which I shall not in a short time forget, and hath made me many times consider how weak we are, since there needs but three grains of sand to cast us to the ground. If it oblige me to be of any Sect, I shall not be of that which maintains that pain is no evil; and that the Wise-man is always happy. But Sir, happen what will to me, I can neither be the one nor the other, if I am not near you; and nothing can assist me so much to attain both, as your example and your presence. I am yet to know when I shall depart hence, and, expecting men and money to come to me by Sea, I am afraid I shall stay longer then I desire, for these are two things that come not alwaies at the time appointed. My humble suit therefore is, That you would not forget me so long as you have done, nor to express, by honouring me with your Letters, that you are satisfy'd with the sincere affection which speaks me,

Sir,

Yours, &c

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER. XXVIII.

MADAM,

SInce the favour I receive by your writing to me cannot be valu'd, and that it was not in my power to deserve it, you ought not to discontinue it, though I come short in the acknowledgment thereof. The condition I was in two Moneths since forc'd me to suffer the ordinary Messenger to depart without a Letter, and if that be only the reason, as in all likelyhood it must, that he is return'd again without any from you; I assure you it is the greatest discourtesie my Colick ever did me. Since then your Letters are so necessary, I beseech you Madam, let me not want that assistance, and you, who are so charitable towards those who are in any affliction, [Page] express your self such towards one that wrestles with so many kinds of it. You are further obliged to be so, out of this consideration that my greatest, and which I am least able to resist, is, that I am at such a distance from you. And if this regret be accompany'd by any other equally apprehensive, it is for persons whom you love as your self. I humbly desire you to acquaint them, and that often, that the passion I have for them is too great to be express'd, and let me ever have some place in their inclinations, where you your self have so much, that we may there, since we cannot any where else, be together. For your own part, Madam, I beseech you once more not to forsake me, the honour of receiving Letters from you, is a happinesse, which though I could not have hop'd, yet I cannot be without, now that I am so much accustom'd to it. Deprive me not therefore of it, after you have so generously afforded it me, and do not herein oppose two vertues which are so natural to you, your liberality and your constancy, and though it is beyond my power to satisfie this obligation, yet shall not I be awanting as to wishes, nor shall importune Fortune for any thing, so much as that I may be able to express otherwise then in words, how far I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To the Same. LETTER. XXV.

MADAM,

THere cannot be any thing more acceptable in your Letters, then the Letters themselves; I have met with in the beginning of yours, what you would not have had me to hope till I came to the closure, and you have granted me the satisfaction which you promis'd me elsewhere. It is very p [...]obable you did not read what was added to your Letter by another hand, and that you, who send me gold and precious stones, or words of greater value, would not entertain me with reproaches. And yet I must confesse that I do in some sort deserve what hath been written to [Page] me, and that I am not very much a Gallant, since I have not the confidence to be such towards you. It is a great shame to me that I have written such large Letters to you, which yet contain'd nothing of that stile, whereof a Female Friend of yours sayes, that it seems to her to be all poetry; and that being so many leagues distant from you, never durst acquaint you with any thing of my thoughts. But I will not be disgrac'd any longer upon your account, and if you cause not some satisfaction to be made me for this affront, I am resolv'd to treat you with Letters wholly made up of Love, full of fires, darts, and pierced hearts, and shall break forth into so many gallantries, that it shall repent some, they have offended me. I am at this present extreamly troubl'd to keep my hands in, and I find no other inducement to refrain, then to think on that excellent person, of whom I have learnt to prevent in all things what may be to be fear'd, and whose very memory obliges me to respect and prudence. I humbly beseech you, Madam, who are acquainted with all the transactions of my mind, to let her know in what posture she is there, and with what resentment and sincere affection I return the honour she does me. You may also if you please, since you own so great a goodness, engage in the same manner, Madam de Clermont to continue her affection to me, and her prayers to God for me. I shall for my part, as much as lyes in me endeavour to deserve the favours I shall obtain through her intercession, and it were certainly very hard, that a man, whom you preach to, and she prayes for, should not be converted. But you may let her know, that I beg not so much her prayers as her affection, and though I believe she can make me constant holy and happy; I care not so much for all this, as to be lov'd by her: I have read, with inexpressible apprehension of joy, what you tell me concerning that divine person, before whom I once made my Epitaph. I dare assure her, that when I had two and was in the power of my greatest Persecutresses, I was not more to be pittied then I am now, and that I should wish rather to die in her presence, then live far from her. After the extraordinary honour she does me, there were not any thing I could desire additional to my glory, save that I were so happy, that the Lady, who should have been carried away once at Lima, had but remembred me. But it is the pleasure of Heaven, that the Lady her mother should remain yet in the world unparalell'd, and if [Page] haply there may be any thing as fair as she, there cannot be ought so good. Me thinks, she, for whose sake I once made the Dryads laugh, Madam de C— (I think there were no danger to put her name at length) should not be so much incensed against the Rebels, but that she might do me the honour to think on me sometimes. If the report be true, that we had a design to carry her away, it should have been after the same manner the Greeks took the image of Pallas out of the power of their enemies, in confidence that Fortune and Victory would alwayes attend the side where she were. But for my part, I had no hand in it; she knows, that my pretences, if ever I had any to her, have been in a fair way, and she may remember that my addresses have ever been full of respect and esteem. Seriously, I cannot be so passionate for our affairs, but I must be also very much for her. When ever I reflect on her, I silence my wishes, and I have much ado to continue well affected to my own party. I have been more generous in commending her, then she hath been in her remembrances of me. It's not eight daies since, that I found means here, to represent her so like her self, that I scru'd up a man, who hath no reason to wish well to all her Friends, if not into a Love, at least into an extraordinary esteem of her. I am your Servant's most humble Servant, and I dare assure him, he hath not a greater passion for you then I have for him. You tell me, Madam, that one of your house hath a greater esteem for me then for any man, and that I should look on it as an extraordinary obligation: but it were also but fitting you describ'd him more particularly. I wish it him I mean; if so, I desie all misfortunes. You may easily guesse for whom I make this wish. I know not whether it may be any thing dangerous to mention me to him, but I beseech you, Madam, let not that frighten you. What countenance soever he may put on it, he is not so much to be feared, he is better then he is taken to be, at least I know thus much of him, that it is impossible he should not love those that love him. I have divers times thought to have sent him half a dozen Spanish — the neatest and most glittering can be had. Be not frightned, Madam, I mean Blades; and if as I passe through Granada, I meet with a pretty Sarazine Lasse, I shall not fail to send her to him: I believe I shall take that way when I go hence, and to follow the directions, or rather the commands I have received, I must go two hundred Leagues out of my way by Land, [Page] and be forc'd to measure five hundred by Sea. I quarrell not so much at the hazard and inconveniences of it, as it troubles me that I cannot passe through France. Though I have long since been engag'd to promise, I shall be much troubled to perform it, and it never cost me so much to effectuate any resolution as this. Had I been left at liberty, I should have taken the Road, with as much freedom, and safety as ever, and should have gone from hence directly to Bourg-la-Reyne. I should have had at least the satisfaction of passing one night in Paris, and I had resolv'd to have bestow'd on you by the way, Ravergarde, and Rousette, and assure your (If you should have had it home. I think that while they diswade me from that design, and seem to have a fear for me, they also stand in fear of me, and imagine they might learn so much at the office of Addresse, and that I fool-hardily durst venture my self any where. But I was resolv'd to be a little more circumspect. I should have been glad to have bestow'd Serenades on three or four persons, with a little Roaring, and away; but I must obey, and believe that what is imposed on me is the better. This submission therefore ought to be acknowledg'd, since in my opinion, it speaks both Obedience and Sacrifice. At least I hope never to be reproach'd with obstinacy, since I have been so complyant in this. That, and the itch of writing so much, that I know not how to end my Letters, are two notable alterations in me. Pardon me the one for the others sake, and be pleas'd sometimes to remember, that I am mostcordially,

Madam,

Yours, &c

§

Madrid,

I humbly crave your pardon, Madam, to return two or three words, as gently as I can, to the person who falls so foul upon me in your Letter. I have a long time consider'd who this little man should be, of whom I hear such great things, and who is esteem'd so much above and below me. It cannot be Monsieur de Vigean, for I am but two fingers breadth taller then he, and he is but ten times more gallant then I. After a long reflection, me thinks it smells very much of his story, and that it is not possible, there should be in the world a man so little or so gallant. I humbly beg, Madam, a true account of this businesse.

[Page]

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER XXIX.

MADAM,

IF your other Letter was of the same mettal as that I have received, I have not been so unhappy in the losse of it; and it had been to be wish'd this second time that I had only known, without seeing any thing, that you had done me the honour to write to me. Having read what you sent me, as that you had been much troubl'd to send your complements as Forlornes, I expected to meet with some of them, and this past, I find none save that you take occasion to tell me, I am but a little man, and assure me that I am guilty of very little gallantry. If you had no other to make me, you needed not, Madam, to have put them under the protection of the most valiant Lady in France; and though they had been found, you would not thence have been thought well affected to the Rebels, and as to the manner your Letter was written in, you should fear nothing so much as that it should be delivered me. After so much earnestnesse as I had for a Letter from you, that I can assure you I made it my only businesse, you take the pains to write five or six lines, wherein you chide Fortune very much for offering to lay her hands on any thing that came from yours. And for what concerns me, There is a man there now, not so tall as you by a Cubit, and il'e take my oath a thousand times more gallant. This indeed is an excellent consolatory Letter, after so long expectation, and words finely shuffled together, to make me forget so many sorts of afflictions. If I am not mistaken, I have often told you, Madam, that you are fitter to write a challenge then a Letter. Having done as you have, there needs no more then to adde, that you will justifie, in the Court of Trebizonda, what you have written, and sign it ALASTRAXAREA. Is it possible, that being mistresse of so many excellent endowments, and having so great power over me, you should make use of neither, but to hurt me, and be like those Fairies, who are never well but when they do mischief, and disturbe the good which the others do. When Mademoiselle Paulet, had written me a handsom obliging [Page] Letter, when my Lady Marchioness assures me of the honour of her Friendship, when Madam de Clermont promises me her prayers, nay when the most excellent and most accomplish'd person in the world honours me with her remembrances, you come last of all, to trouble the general joy, and spoil all that they had done for me. 'Tis strange the Pyrenean Mountains, the Limits of two great Kingdomes, cannot defend me from you. You are it seems, so far from being moved by my misfortunes, that you persecute me to the worlds end, and torment me much more then my own ill-fortune. At a time, when my choicest Friends durst not hold any correspondence with me, and when it was dangerous even to write to me, you trample on all considerations, to tell me, you find me not very gallant, and that there is a Dwarf whom you are a thousand times more taken with then me. My opinion is, Madam, that I have just cause to chide, and raise all these complaints. But that you may not be confirm'd in what you say of me, and to shew you that I am not so small a gallant, as not to entertain mildly what comes from so good, hands, I shall tell you, Madam, that,

I thought my misfortunes had been absolutely irrelieveable, and I had no sooner read over what you did me the honour to write, but they are extreamly moderated. Not that I was mistaken in their greatnesse, but it is because nothing is impossible to you, and that you can apply remedies to things uncapable of any. The miracle is, that, though you speak nothing but ill of me, you should be able to do me so much good, and that, not regarding what you write to me, I have been satisfy'd with the bare sight of your hand: Those that professe Magick produce not such admirable effects, whence it is manifest, that you can, as well as the other, instill into words a secret vertue, and other force then they have of themselves. That in objecting my imperfections to me, you have cur'd all [...]y afflictions, and that I should [...]ake pleasure to read that you es [...]em another beyond me, is a miracle beyond my comprehension But; Madam, it is long since I have sought for any natural reason in the greatest part of what comes from you. I know that a person [...] full of Miracles, may very well do some: but how great soeve [...] [...] may be, the strangest that ever you did, is, to have rais'd joy in a person of my condition, and felicify'd a man out of Poverty, banishment, [Page] aud sickness. Herein you make it appear, that Fortune who hath the world under her feet, is her self under yours, and that you can pardon those, whom she condemns to be unhappy. Besides, if I am but under your good influence, I matter not the malevolence of the Stars, and though they all conspir'd my ruine, yet if you protect me, I shall think the better part of Heaven benevolent to me. Forsake not, Madam, I beseech you, a person that reposes so much confidence in you. There needs no more, to make me happy, but your will I should; and if you can afford but good and hearty wishes, I shall immediately feel the effects thereof. You are oblig'd to direct some of them hither to me, for I assure you all mine are for you, and the most passionate I own, are, that you want not any thing your Beauty and your Vertue merit. It is true I am also concern'd in that; and if so, there were no differences of parties, nor no distinction in the world, all men should have but one will, and the whole earth would obey you.

This, Madam, is to give you notice, to be more cautious of what you say another time, and that I am not so small a Gallant as you conceive. But if you will needs oblige me to believe you, command your Little man to write a Letter a thousand times more gallant then this. But though he had that advantage over me, I should have another which I esteem no lesse, which is, that I dare confidently say, I am, a thousand times more then he, or any whatever,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

To Mademoiselle de Paulet. LETTER XXX.

MADAM,

THough I may not be allow'd any satisfaction when I want your sight, yet it is some excuse, that I have not any but what I receive from you. 'Tis to you that I owe all the joyes I have here, and though I have lately been to see the Escurial, and Aranw [...]z, and have seen the entertainment of the Buls, [Page] and that of the Canes, I should not have seen any thing I could esteem in Spain, had I not receiv'd your Letters there. Your trouble takes off a great part of mine, and I forget my unhappinesse, when I think that you allow me a place in your memory. This obligation is so excessive, that I doubt much whether any besides my self could satisfie it. But if you please to consider, you will find I have long since paid all by the way of advance, and from the first moment I had the honour of your acquaintance, there hath not pass'd a day, wherein I have not deserv'd what ever good you should ever be able to do me. I am confident, Madam, you will not attribute this to any vanity, but to an extraordinary apprehension of that passion wherewith I honour you, and to a certain faith I am of, that a perfect affection is to be preferr'd before all things. That which I have to serve you, is at such a high point, that no other then your own can recompence it; and though you should give me my life a hundred times, and with it all the goods of this world, you were still very much in my debt, if I wanted your affection. And certainly herein you shew your self very just, in that, since you cannot make me full satisfaction, you strive to give me content otherwise, and cover an injustice with abundance of Civility. But a grain of good-will cannot outweigh'd by all the fair words, if any could, they were certainly your own, n [...]r should you need to make use of others. I wonder much, that when I receive from you a large pacquet, I find but one small Letter, and what comes through your hand makes but the least part of what comes from you. And as I very seldom had the honour to visit you at home, but there have been five or six persons in your chamber, so also you take occasion to engage as many into your Letters, and not to write to me but in publick. Imagine not however it shall oblige me to be the lesse free with you; I will make those confidents whom you seem to appoint for my Judges, and I should choose rather to discover my Secret to them, then conceal it from you. But to be more earnest, Madam, for I know you wish I had not spoke all that you have read, instead of complaining of it, I return you thousands of thankes for the extraordinary honour I receive from so many excellent persons through your means, and which I should never deserve without you. I must needs acknowledg that my wishes cannot aim at a greater satisfaction then to see your Letters, but I am very glad that you [Page] therein exceed them, and shew me more favour then I durst desire. If I mistake not, I discovered in your last certain lines drawn by the best hand in the world, and I have entertain'd them with so much veneration, as is requisite to compose the leaves, whereon a Sybil wrote her Oracles. I have a greater esteem for these four Verses, then for all the works of Malherbe, and I, who have in my time seen some upon the subject of Love, and were done to praise me, assure you, I never met with any thing of Poetry, that I was so much taken with. I know not of what kind the affection is, which I have for that person, but I never hear or see any thing from him, which searches not into my very Soul, and I cannot apprehend how it comes to passe, that esteem and respect work in me the same effects as an over-violent passion. Though you say nothing of Madam de Clermont, yet am I confident she cannot have forgotten me, and I humbly desire you, Madam, to do me the favour to tell her, that to become more worthy of her affection, I endeavour to grow better and better every day. The Lectures you read to me, and the Books you send me, contribute not a little thereto. I thank you for the Psalm, but why, in the condition I am in, do you send me such heavy things? What better Paraphrase can be had upon the Miserere, then my self? I have at last gotten St. Paul's Epistles. The two Books, whereof you sent me one in December, the other six weeks after, I receiv'd the same day; and for ought I can judg, the person, whom you represented to me as so little, is one of the greatest men in France. The Preface, amongst other things, I extreamly like, and have been mightily satisfy'd with the reading of it. I should say more, but that at the present I can admire nothing but Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. This I cannot but acknowledg, Madam, whether it happen through stupidity or presumption: I had seen, without jealousie, all the gallant things, which till now you have thought your self concern'd that I should, but when I had read over the answer of the Infanta Fortune to Master Lac, I was much troubled who should be the Author, and, to be free with you, was extreamly vex'd it should be any other then my self. I reflected a long time on the most deserving persons to find out the Author, yet was not able to pitch on any one; but when I understood by your Letter who it was, for I keep it still for the last, I must confesse, it was the greatest joy I had had of a long [Page] time. I was extreamly satisfy'd to find the glory due to a person whom I honour'd so much before, and to whom I resign'd so great a part of my Soul, that it is a question whether the writing of so gallant a Letter may be attributed rather to his then to mine. But indeed, she seems rather to be actuated by that of all the world, if it be consider'd how apt she is for all things, and be [...]ides, that no other hath so much as she, there is not any hath so many different lustres, or the advantages of all lights as much as hers. It may be he may take it ill; but I must needs tell you▪ that I thought to have continu'd in the same incrredulity I was in once before, for another miracle of her understanding; and I could not think it possible, she could be so fortunate in things of that nature, having never read any Books of that kind. But she is not to be discover'd by Reason, but by Faith, and as she composes Histories, wherein all the passions are represented to the life, though she never was subject to any; makes a description of Italy and Spain, though had never seen the map▪ of them, and is acquainted with all the earth, having never been further then Chartres: In like manner, without sight of the ancient Romanes, she speaks the Language of Lancelot du Lac, better then the Queen Geni [...]ura could have done, and I believe she could speak Arabick, would she but undertake it. It must be acknowledg'd she is a person very hard to be comprehended, and that if Madam de Rambouillet be the greatest perfection in the world, the Lady her Daughter is the more admirable. Be pleas'd, Madam, to understand the praises I give with their due restriction, knowing you as I do. It hath hapen'd moreover very fortunately for me that I have not met with this expression of her understanding, but at a time when I had another of her Civility: for it would have troubled me very much not to love a person, whom I was oblig'd to esteem so highly. The five or six lines she hath honour'd me with▪ I have received with all the respect, affection, and joy she can imagine, so that they have taken away the resentment I had of the other Letter. This is one advantage that persons that are mischeivous have over those that are not, that all the good offices they do, are much better taken, and the rarity seems to set a value on the action. And though I know she hath not done me this favour, but to make me the more sensible of an ill-turn another time, yet can I not avoid being drawn in by it, and loving her, at this present, as if she were [Page] the best natur'd person in the world. As for the reproaches which she hath in store to cast in my dish one day, 'tis a menace takes away nothing of the ambition I have to see her, and I shall so far justifie my self, that she shall acknowledg I have merited even in those things, wherein she thinks I have fail'd. Amongst a many things which have given me extraordinary satisfaction in your Letter, I am particularly pleas'd at one thing you tell me, that, as you were writing, a deserving person was troubl'd that he was forced to retire at one of the clock in the morning, without seeing me. It is long since I have passionately wisht some assurance of the honour he does me in his remembrances. I shall not stick to tell you, there is not any man in the world, for whom I have a greater respect; but I dare not acknowledg how much I love him, least the interest of your Husband oblige you to take it ill, and reproach me with an ill disposal of my affections. You, who hold it as a general rule, that all persons of that quality cannot love, ought to admit of some exceptions as to him; and as I have heard you often affirm, that he had more generosity then others, you may also conclude, he hath also more Friendship. But grant it were not so, and that he had absolutely forgot me, yet is it certain, I could not possibly abate any thing of the passion I have for him. I can no more oppose this inclination then that I have for you, and you should not think it strange I should love an ungrateful man, when you know I have so long lov'd a woman, that is such. Nay, to be free with you, even at that time that I thought he had quite forgotten me, I have not passed a fair evening in the Prade, but I have wished him there. The Gros-d' [...]au were as acceptable at Madrid as at Paris, and if I had been here; I would carry him to sing before gates which should open more easily then yours, and where we should be better entertained then we were at your house. There are in this place certain Creatures, which those of the Country call Morenites, which as to their shape are very handsom, having a very smoth skin, being mild, active, and gamesome, very easily tam'd, and naturally compliant to mankind. The coolnesse of the night, which they are much taken with, causes that about that time, they are ordinarily found in the steeets, and if I mistake not his curiosity for things of this nature, I am confident he would be extreamly glad to see some of them. I humbly beseech you, Madam, since I am endebted to you for all things, to employ [Page] all the interest you have in him, to oblige him to honour me with his remembrances; and if you can engage him to love me, I will bear with you six months longer, for what you owe me. I know not whether your Servant hath done me the honour to write any thing to me, I am ever his most-humbly, with as much passion as ever, and it's not three days since I lock'd my self into a chamber, and in memory of him sung Pere Chambaut, half an hour together: There are at the bottom of your Letter three several hands, which I know not whose they are, and if I mistake not, never knew. I had once resolv'd to have got them answer'd by three of my Friends, Spaniards; but I have not had the time, being on the eve of my departure. I hope to be gone hence within three or four days, in order to the progresse I writ to you of, as also to see Portugal and Andaluzia. Some endeavour'd to disswade me from it, by reason of the great heats of this season; but to improve my experience, I am resolv'd to see the world a little, and to recover my self of a Winter I have pass'd over here without so much as warming my self, I am going to find out the Dog-days in Africa, and to spend the Summer in a Country where the Swallows spend the Winter. The danger I am like to meet with in this Voyage frighten me not at all, it may be I should meet with greater near you. All I am troubled at, is, that, if I chance to dy in it, Mademoiselle de Rambouillet will be much pleas'd to say, that three years since she foretold I should dye within four. But, Madam, a preson concern'd in your prayers ought to hope for better fortune. I know not whether I have yet a long time to live, but me thinks I have a great many years to love you in, and therefore, my affection being so great and so perfect, I conceive it impossible, I should so soon quit the relation of

Madam,

Yours, &c.

[Page]

To the Same. LETTER. XXXI.

MADAM,

THere is nothing awanting to your fortunes, save that you have never been guilty of High-Treason, and now see I furnish you with a fair occasion for it. Fortune, who hath not neglected any to bring you on the Stage, will not haply fail to make use of this, I easily perceive that I put you into some danger by writing to you, and yet that very consideration cannot oblige me to forbear. Hence you may also inferre, that I would set any thing at stake to put you in mind of me, since I bring your self into danger, on whom I set a higher value then on all this world affords. This I tell you, Madam, in a time, when I would not dissemble, no, not in a Complement. For, (that you may know how the case stands) I have made an extraordinary advantage of the sickness which you have been told I have had. It hath engag'd me to take such good resolutions, that if I had them not, I should gladly purchase them with all the health I have. I do not doubt but you will laugh at this, as knowing my weakness, and will think it unlikely for me to execute simple resolutions, who have broken so many vowes. And yet it is certain, that I have look'd on all the Spanish women as if they were no other then the Flemish of Brussels, and I hope to prove a vertuous man, instead of a man of this world, where there are so great temptations, and where Satan shelters himself under the handsomest shapes. In all this reformation I am troubled but with one scruple, which is, that I think too much on you, and that I desire with much impatience the honour to see you again. Though I have moderated all my affections, I cannot reduce that I bear you, to that point, wherein it is permitted we should love our neighbour, that is to say, as our selves, and I fear me, you have a greater part of my Soul, then should be bestow'd on a Creature. Be you pleas'd to consider, Madam, what remedy there is for it, or rather, what may be said to maintain it; for as to remedy, I cannot believe there is any, and withall that it is impossible, I should not, with all manner of passion, ever be,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

[Page]

To the same. LETTER XXXII.

MADAM,

THe consolation I have received from you was but proportionable to the greatnesse of my misfortune, and I have receiv'd your Letter as a reprief that Heaven sent me after my condemnation. I cannot call by any other name the newes that engaged my return hither; and I assure you there are many sentences of death, that are not so cruell. But amidst all my disasters, I should do ill to complain, when you honour me with a place in your memory: and it were not hard, me thinks, to scorn the favours of fortune, when one is so happy as to enjoy yours. Upon this consideration, I shall be content to stay here, and not upon that you mention, viz: that, it is better be an exile in a strange Country, then to be a captive in ones own. You see but one half of my unhappinesse, if you consider not that I am both together: and if you observe well, you will find, that two things seemingly incompatible conspire in me, to be banished and a Prisoner at the same time. You will be troubled, Madam, to find out this riddle, if you call not to mind, that I have taken up a custom to say somewhat of Love in all my Letters, And whereas you tell me, I should have here some Liberty, which I should not in France, I humbly desire it may be only that; and give me leave to assure you, that I am extreamly passionate in the affection I have to serve you. I were too ungrateful, if, for a person, that doth such extraordinary things for me, I should have only an ordinary Friendship, and I ought to be in Love, though it were only with your generosity. I have been acquainted with the obligation I ought a Gentleman and a Lady, (from whom I had receiv'd a many before) and the pains they take to have an account of me. For the rest, they have sacrific'd so much to Silence, that I have not so much as heard them nam'd these six months. I know not whether it be forgetfulness or prudence, and to tell you truth, I know not what construction to make of it. Besides it seems more excusable, not to say any thing to a person whom one hath no remembrance [Page] for, then to remember him, and not make any expression of it. I leave you to judge, Madam, how much what you have done for me is hereby magnify'd, and how highly I am oblig'd to you, for a large Letter, in a time when the rest durst not send me commendations. Which goodnesse, I must assure you, if I cannot acknowledg, yet shall I celebrate and esteem as it deserves [...], nd, to the utmost of my power, remain,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To Monsieur de Puy-Laurens. LETTER XXXIII.

SIR,

I Have received the Letter you did me the honour to write to me, with more joy then I ever expected to meet with here, insomuch, that though I have abundance of things in desire, am at so great a distance from the place where I wish my self, am here in a languishing condition, and cannot without infinite difficulty get hence, yet was I satisfy'd as to all, when I once perceiv'd your tenderness towards me. And since, as you tell me, I have an interest in your Friendship, I look on it as a happiness that out-weighs all others, and that those on whom you have bestow'd Riches and Honours, have not been so well dealt with as I. I assure you Sir, it is the only consolation I have receiv'd in this Countrey, where the continual want of health makes me incapable of any diverssion, and where I have not seen any women unlesse it were in the Prade, or upon the Stage. I shall therefore without any violence agree with you, as to what you say in disparagement of the Ladies of Madrid in comparison of those of Brussels; and before either your presence or theirs oblige me thereto, I now subscribe to whatever you can say to their advantage; Innocency, Youth, and Beauty, for which you say you so much esteem them, are Qualifications, which here never met together, and which yet are not so common where you are, but they give me occasion to guess at the reason, why you take that side with so much earnestnesse. If it happen to be the same person I mean, I should cross my inclination and my [Page] judgment, were I not of your opinion, and acknowledg, that though Xarifa, Daraxa, and Galiana should return into the world again, Spain would not have any thing comparable to the other. The artifices they use on this side, and the illusions wherewith they would appear what they are not, cannot represent any thing so beautiful; and the very white it self of this place, is not so white as she. The most accomplish'd beauties that are here can no more compare with hers, then brasse and ebony can Gold and Ivory, and between the handsom faces of this place and hers, there is a difference proportionable to that between a light Night and a fair day. So that, Sir, whereas I have often affirmed that of all the Ladies, the Spanish only deserv'd to be courted, I now acknowledg that a single Lady of the Court where you are, were enough to baffle them all, and that the only advantage they have over those of that side, is, that they can be more amorous: nor do I think that to be generally true, and that if the same fortune which you meet with every where, attends you in Flanders, you have taught some not to yield to them even in that. But this discourse should have been reserv'd for the confidence you promise me when I shall be neer you, the hopes whereof augments the impatience I have to return. I therefore humbly beseech you, Sir, to remember that promise, and be pleas'd to have a care that the multitude of your adventures make you not forget any circumstance of it. For my part, whereas all those that approach you do it to advance their Fortunes, and beg either employments or pensions of you, I shall never desire any thing of you so affectionately, as the honour of your conversation, nor do I beleeve you can bestow any thing on me of greater value. I know it is an iudulgence, whereof you are much lesse liberal, then any of the other, and that there are very few persons, to whom you easily communicate it; but the passion I have for all yours, gives meadmittance into that n [...] ber, together with the extraordinary sincerity, wherein I am on all occasions,

Sir,

Yours, &c.

Madrid. March. 13. 1633.

[Page]

To the Same. LETTER. XXXIV.

SIR,

YOu have in five or six lines compriz'd all I can think acceptable in this world, and by promising me the presence of my Master, your conversation and Friendship, you have answer'd all my wishes. Being put into this hope, there are no difficulties I should think insupportable, the Sea will afford me an easie passage to come and possess my self of so great advantages, and all the gallant men upon earth were once embarqu'd upon a design lesse considerable then this. But I must first dissolve the enchantments of Madrid, and overcome the destiny of this Court, which hath decreed, that every one be stay'd here ten or twelve months after the last day he proposed to himself to be here. This, Sir, is so certain, that having attempted this winter to make an escape hence before this season, the force of the charm drew me back, when I was gotten forty Leagues hence, and I am here to this day, as deeply engag'd as ever: However I expect some good issue of what you tell me you have written in my behalf, and if this adventure must be accomplish'd by one of the most gallant persons in the world, I hope I must be your debter for my deliverance: I know, Sir, it is not the noblest that you have put a period to, but I assure you, it is one of the most difficult and the most just. For, to be free with you, you are somewhat concern'd to be tender of a person who honours you with that sincerity I do, and bearing the character you do, there is nothing you cannot with more ease find, then affections pure and disinteress'd as mine. Those that are in such places as yours, are commonly treated like Gods; many fear them, all sacrifice to them, but there are few that love them, and they more easily find Flatterers then Friends. For my part, Sir, I have only look'd upon your self abstracted from all things else, I see in you things greater and more shining then your Fortune, and such endowments as will not permit you to be an ordinary person. You will find I speak this with a great deal of experience, if you reflect on the discourse you gave me the honour to have with you [Page] in the meadow at Chirac, where having open'd your mind to mee, I found in it so much resolution, courage and generosity, as absolutely conquer'd and took in mine. I then discovered you had such sound apprehensions of whatever men are surpriz'd by, that those things which they look'd on, as most considerable in you, were such as you made least account of; nor could any man judge more impartially of any third person, then you did of your self. I must confesse, Sir, that at that time, seeing you perpetually engag'd on precipices, with a countenance cheerfully confident, and not thinking Constancy able to hold out at that rate, I found some reason to imagine you were not aware of them. But you soone convinc'd mee, there was nothing in your person, nor about it, which you most clearly understood not; so far, that seeing two paces from you, imprisonment and death, and so many other accidents that threatned you, and on the other side honours, reputation, and the greatest rewards, you consider'd all, without the least agitation, and saw reasons not much to envy the one, or to feare the other. I was astonish'd to see a man, that had been bred all his life in the bosom of Fortune, acquainted with all the secrets of Philosophy, and that you had learnt Wisdom, in a place where all others lose it. From that minute, Sir, I entred you into a List of three or four persons I love and honour beyond all the world besides, and made a great additional of respect and esteem to the passion I have ever had for you, which I afterward cast into a far greater affection. This is that I have still, and which I shall preserve while I live, in so high a deg [...]ee, that, it is certain, you ought to acknowledg it, and withall that it is some satisfaction to you, I am so much and so highly,

Sir,

Yours, &c.

Madrid. June 8. 1638.

To Monsieur du Fargi [...]. LETTER XXXV.

SIR,

YOu are, I perceive, as liberal of praises as of any thing else, and not being able otherwise to relieve me in the exigencies I [Page] am in, you would needs send me the fairest words in the world. I could make no better use of them, then to return them upon your self, and if I use not the same, I confesse I shall be much troubl'd to find any to requite the honour you do me. Nor can I but think, Sir, you writ them out of a fore-sight of the necessity I should have for them, and by giving me so much reason to commend you, you have also been careful to furnish me with materials to do it. This favour obliges me to pocket up with patience, the reproaches you load me with, and as I receive from you those honours I durst not own, it is but reasonable, I bear the reproaches I have not deserv'd. Were it not for that, I should call you to account for accusing me for the extream desire I have to leave this place, and to know, why you call that hatred, which you might have attributed to affection. I am as much as any man acquainted with the delicacies of Spain, but if I mistake you not, Sir, you think there cannot be any so great for me, as to be near my friends, and if I have quarrell'd with Paris it self, by reason of my Masters absence, you should not think it strange I am grown weary of Madrid, and that I can take no pleasure in a place where I cannot have my health. But though this passion were as unjust as you would have it, yet should you not reproach me with an injustice I am guilty of for your sake, nor take it ill, I over-passionately desire to see you. If I were to struggle with the same inconveniences, in a place where you were, as I met with here, they would not seem to me the same, when I were to encounter them in your company; and I wonder at that expression of your Letter, where you tell me, that there are on that side some persons, with whom, what seems most unpleasant in life you would think easily supportable. Assure your self, Sir, I am also very much eas'd by that kind of consolation, and say you what you please, being where you are, I can fear neither melancholy nor necessity; when I call to mind that even in the Mountains of Avergne, we have ever found with you, chearfulness and good entertainment. There are certain treasures in your person, which I shall enjoy maugre all ill-fortune, and never know either poverty or sadnesse. This is that which makes me so impatient to get out of this place, and if all my Friends did not oppose it, I should at my departure take the shortest way to find you out, and would my self take down those e [...]igies of you, which you say they have hang'd up upon the F [...]ontie [...]s. I suppose, Sir, your imagination [Page] is a little more brawny, then that you should expect any consolation for that; but it is not to be thought that you, whom death it self, as near as you have seen it, could not frighten, should be daunted at his picture. It is not by that posterity will judge of you. Fortune, who is alwayes unjust, will find out some other more to your advantage, and for these effigies, she will one day bestow Statues on you. All the changes she hath wrought in your life, seem to me like those pieces of Tale which is us'd on pictures, which alter nothing in the countenance, and only change what is about the person. Thus does she make sport with great men, she loves to see them in divers shapes, and in a breath she advances those into a Chair of State, whom she had expos'd upon a Scaffold. Sir, I hope, at my arrival, to find that change, and for my own particular, I only desire I may soon have the honour to see you, and that all my fortunes were so engag'd in yours, that I might never be happy or unhappy without you. Ia [...],

Sir,

Yours, &c.

Madrid. June 8. 1633.

To the Lady Marchionesse de Rambouillet. LETTER XXXVI.

MADAM,

THough my liberality were, as you say, greater then Alexander's, it were more then recompens'd by the thankes you have been pleas'd to return it. Even his ambition, as insatiable as it was, would by so extraordinary a favour have been limited. He would have valu'd this honour more highly then the Persian Diadem, and he would not have envy'd Achilles the praises of Homer, might he have had yours. In like manner, Madam, the reputation you do me consider'd, if I envy his, it is not so much that he hath acquir'd, as what you have bestow'd on him, and he hath receiv'd no honours which I conceive not below my own, unless it be that you do him, when you call him your Gallant. Neither his own vanity nor his Flatterers have ever advanc'd any thing so advantageous to him, and the quality of the Son of Jupiter Ammon was not so glorious as that. But [Page] if nothing can cure me of the jealousie I have of it, yet, Madam, knowing you as I do, I am confident, if you do him that favour, it is not so much because he is the greatest of man-kind, as because it is two thousand years since he was. However it be, we may see in this the greatness of his Fortune, which not able to forsake him so many years after his death, addes to his conquests a person which celebrates them more then the wife and daughters of Darius, and hath reinfus'd into him a Soul greater then that of the world he hath subdu'd. I should fear, by your example, to write in too high a stile, but can a man aim at one too high, speaking of you, and Alexander? I humbly beseech you, Madam, to assure your self I have for you the same passion, which you for him, and that the admiration of your Vertues shall ever engage me to be,

Madam,

Yours &c

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER. XXXVII.

SIR,

WHile you commend my Eloquence, you should have some regard to my modesty, and take [...]eed you cause me not, to lose a good quality, which I have, out of a desire to bestow on me one I have not. However, I have received your commendations with much joy, not that I believe that of my self which you say of mee; but look on it, as a signal expression of your Friendship, and that you must needs have a great affection for mee, since that to favour mee, you have been surpriz'd in a thing, whereof you are otherwise so well able to judge. Thus, Sir, do I find it more to my advantage, to think my self unworthy the honour you do mee. And that which raises me to a good opinion of your Friendship, I am more proud of, then what would have rais'd me to a good one of my self. And indeed, if I were as eloquent as you would have mee, I should desire to make no other advantage of it, then to gaine in your Soule that place, which I know, by that I have there already, and to perswade you, to love me as you do. And if, this granted [Page] I were to desire any thing else, it were in the best dresse of words that can be had, to return my thanks to those the Ladies, who, you say, honour mee their remembrances. But particularly for one of them, I would gather all the Flowers, and all the graces of Rhetorick, and should immediately write her a Love-Letter, so full of gallantry, that shee should bee ready to hearken to mee, at my return. Since they are three, me thinks neither of then should take any offence at it. They were too too cruel to deprive me of the liberty of my wishes, aud hinder me from building Castles in the aire, since it is the only satisfaction I have. I begin now to entertaine a stronger hope of my return, then I have had hitherto. The pleasure I shall find in leaving this place, will recompense the disturbance I have met with in it, and I feel, by way of advance, the joy I shall receive when I see you. Thus, Sir, is there a Mixtion of all things; good and ill are dispers'd every where, and when either of them is not at the beginning, it failes not to be at the end. I am as yet uncertaine which way to take, but think I shall take shipping at Lisbon. If it had been left to my choice, I would have pass'd through France, how dangerous soever it might have prov'd. Not that I would be thought over-confident, or take, as you do, a dangerous way, when I may take another; but the shortest seems to mee ever the surest. Besides, to tell you truth, I could never imagine my self born to bee hang'd. Neverthelesse, I am commanded to take another way, and the persons whom you have given an absolute power over mee, and should exercise it over the world, have so express'dly ordered it, that I may not so much as put it into deliberation. In the mean time, while they charge me not to hazard my self, they cast me on the mercy of the Sea and Pirates. Yet I dare tell you, I feare neither, and am afraid more of the calmes which may delay my happiness of seeing you; I shall not trouble my self for the rest, if I may but soon arrive at that, together with the opportunities, to make it one day appeare by my services, that you have made another man [...] generous as your self, and that I am, as much as I ought to bee,

Sir,

Yours, &c.

Madrid Jun. 8. 1633.

To avoid here a long Catalogue of Names, which you say is troublesome, I present my services to none. But you must give [Page]me leave, to make it my humble suite to you, that you would give order, that in case the Countesse de Moret, and the Count her Husband, and my Lord his Brother have forgotten mee, they may at least acknowledge me at my return. I cannot apprehend, by what misfortune it hath happened, that I have heard nothing from them, having written two Letters to them. However I am confident, they cannot want a goodness for me, since they have so much for all the world.

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER XXXVIII.

MADAM,

I Have now an excellent subject to write you a Love-Letter upon, and I might safely say, that I passe the days without light, and the nights without closing my eyes. At least, this hath been my course of life, since I left Madrid. In ten nights, I have made ten days-journey, and am got to Granada, without seeing the sun, unless it be at rising and setting. It is here so dangerous, that the comparison which Bordier made between him and some eyes, holds no longer: for as they did, so hee burns all hee sees, and is no lesse to be fear'd then the Elementary fire. I have made a shift to escape him by the helpe of the darkness, having alwayes the whole Earth between us. I rest my self at this present in the shade of a mountaine of snow, wherewith this City is covered. Three days since, I saw, in Sierra Morena, the place where Cardenio & Don Quixot met; and the same day I supp'd in Ven [...]a, where were accomplish'd the adventures of Dorotea. This morning I saw el Alhambra; the place of Vivarambla, and the Zaccatin, and the street where I lodge is called, la calle de Abenamar, Abenamar, Abenamar Moro de la Moreria. I am extreamly satisfy'd, to see the things I had imagin'd: but much more to imagine the things I have some times seen. How excellent soever those objects may be, which present themselves to my eyes, my imagination furnishes me continually with such as are more: and I would not exchange the images I have in my memory, for all I have seen that is most real and most precious. Yesterday, looking [Page] on the walkes and springs of Generalifa, and wishing to meet there Galiana, Zaida, & Daxara, in the condition they sometimes were in, I wish'd there moreover another person, one, to do her right, a thousand times more gallant, and more amiable, and such, as Xarifa, set neer her, would forfeit her name and her Beauty. By these markes, I think, I have sufficiently describ'd her. But it is a lamentable thing, Madam, that I am forc'd to speak with so much artifice and circumspection, and that I cannot easily bee perswaded to say, it is your self. You may indeed give me leave to bee gallant now, being the source of all Gallanterie, and at the place whence it hath spread all over the world. From hence I hope, with God's assistance, in four dayes to reach Gibralter, whence I am resolv'd to passe to Ceuta, and to visit the place of your birth, and your Parents, who raigne in the deserts of that Country. As I shall give them an account of you, so, Madam, I humbly desire you to do of mee, to the persons whom you know I most love and honour, and to do me the favor to assure particularly three of them, that how far soever Fortune may cast mee, my better part shall ever bee where they are. For your part, you cannot doubt of the passion wherewith I honour you, and know that I am but too much,

Madam,

Your, &c

To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER XXXIX.

SIR,

I Write to you in sight of the Coast of Barbary, and there is between me and it, but a channel three leagues broad, and yet is the Ocean and the Mediterranean sea both together. You will be astonish'd to find so far off a man, who takes so little pleasure in running, yet was in such hast to find you out. But advice hath been given mee, that this season is not the fittest for Navigarion, by reason of the great calmes hapning therein, and that I should hardly meet with any opportunity till September [Page] furnish'd me with the desire and leasure to take this progresse, chusing rather to undergo the toyle of the voyage, then the Sloath of Madrid So that when I had seen at Granada, all that was remaining of the magnificence of the Moorish Kings, el Alhambra, le Zaccatin, and the famous place of Vivarambla, where I had some time imagin'd so many turnaments and combats, I am come to the point of Gibralter, whence assoon as a Frigat shal be provided for mee, I hope to passe the Streight, and see C [...]uta, and at my return thence, take my way to Cadiz, St. Lucars, and Sevil, and so to Lisbonne. Sir, I have not yet had any occasion to repent me of this enterprise, which all the world thinks rashly undertaken in this season. Andalusia hath reconcil'd mee to all the rest of Spaine, and having pass'd through divers parts of it, I should have been troubled I had not seen it in that part where it is most beautiful. You will not think it strange I should commend a Country, where it's never cold, and where the Suga [...]-canes grow. But I dare assure you it affords such a Melon, as would invite a man four hundred leagues to eat it, and that Land for which a whole Nation wandred so long in the desert, could not bee, in my opinion much more delicious then this. I am waited on by Slaves, who might be my Mistresses, and, without danger, I can gather palmes any where. This Tree, for which all old Greece fought, and is not to be found in France, but in our Poets, is here as common as Olive-trees, and there's not an Inhabitant of this part, who hath not more of it then all the C [...] sars. There needs but the same [...]ight to see the mountaines cover'd with snow, and the Valleyes burthen'd with Fruits. Here is Ice in August, [...]nd Grapes in January: Summer and Winter being so reconcil'd, that when the Earth becomes hoary through the age of the year every where else, it is here alwayes green with Laurels, Orange-trees and Mir [...]les. Sir, I must confesse, I endeavour to make it appeare the most beautiful I can, and having heretofore aggravated the ill I have met with in Spaine, since I cannot retract what I have said, I think my self oblig'd to celebrate to the greatest advantage, the good I have found in it. In the meane time, it may be much wondred at, that a man of such a Libertine humour as I am of, should make such hast to quit all this to find out a Master. But, to be just, ours is such a one, as no enjoyments are to be preferr'd before the honour and satisfaction of his service; Liberty, which is thought the most amiable [Page] thing in the world, being not to be esteem'd such in competition with his Highness. You know I am not much given to Flattery, and it is one of those remarkable endowments his Highness hath, that hee cannot suffer it. But it must be acknowledg'd, that besides those glorious Vertues he derives from the greatness of his birth, his affability and goodness, the beauty and vivacity of his understanding, the delight wherewith hee heares good things, and the grace wherewith he entertaines others with them, are qualities hardly to be found any where else at the height they are in him, and were it not for the sight of something rare, that I wander about the world, I need go no further, but shall do better to get neer his person. I consider every thing here with much more curiosity, then I have of my self, to satisfy one day that of his Highness. And I doubt not, but, when I shall have the honour to entertaine him therewith, hee will bee more knowing in it then I am. The prodigious memory of this Prince is one of those considerations I found so much encouragement in during my exile, for I am confident I have a place there still, since I have some time had the honour to bee there, and I shall not bee so unhappy, as to bee the only thing, it should disburthen it self of. His Highness, who could never forget a Tribune, an Aedile, no, not a Legionary Soldier, once mention'd in History, will not, I hope, one of his Servants; and the whole terrestrial Globe being much better in his Imagination, then in any Map, how far soever I may go, I need not fear I shall go beyond his remembrance. However, since I owe all the honours, and advantages, I have receiv'd to the mediation of your goodness, I shall entreat you, to take occasion to acquaint his Highness, how infinitely desirous I am of the honour to cast my self at his feet, and what orisons I dayly put up to Heaven, for one, in whose welfare the whole world is concern'd. If this once granted, I desire any thing of you, it is onely that you bee pleas'd to see, that Time deprive me not of any part of that affection, whereof you have been so liberal towards mee. But observe where the excesse of my own carries mee, in that it makes me distrustful of the most constant and most generous of mankind. But you, Sir, who are not ignorant, that all those, who love much, are guilty of certaine agitations not strictly justifiable by reason, will bee pleas'd to pardon mee this fear, and allow me excusable, as being with so much passion,

Sir,

Yours, &c.

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I heartly wish that the Countesse of Barlemont, and the Princesse de Barbanson knew how infinitely they are in my thoughts at one of the extremities of Europe, and that I am going to crosse the Sea, to see if Africa, which they say, alwayes produces something rare, own any thing comparable to them.

To Mademoiselle Paulet. LETTER XL.

Madam,

I Am at length got out of Europe, and have pass'd the Strait which limits it, yet the Sea which lyes between us, can smother nothing of the passion I have for you, and though all the Slaves of Christendom are free, when they touch at that Coast, I am never the lesse yours for that. Be not troubled to see mee break forth in gallantries so openly, the ayre of the Country hath inspird into me something of cruelty more then ordinary, whence it comes I am grown more consident, and whenever I shall treat hereafter with you, expect to find me as a Turk does a Moore. However you should not take it ill to bee entertain'd with Love at such a distance, and if it were but onely out of curiosity, you should be glad to see the Love-letters of Barbarie; there wanted in your adventures that, of having a servant beyond the Seas, and as you have some of all qualities, it were but fit, you had some in all Quarters of the World. I grav'd yesterday the Characters of your name upon a mountain, not much lower then the Starres, and whence are discovered seven Kingdoms; and to morrow I send challenges to the Kings of Morocco and Fez, wherein I offer to maintain, that Africa never produc'd any thing so rare, and so cruel as your self. That done, Madam, my business here is at an end, but to go and see your friends, to whom I intend to propose the marriage, which hath made so much noise heretofore, and endeavour to gain their consent, that there may be no further delay in it. For ought I hear, they are people not very easily accessible, I shall be much troubled to find them, I have been told, they should be at the bottom of Lybia, and that the Lyons of that quarter are lesse, both as to nobility and growth. [Page] There are some young ones sold here, which are extreamly handsome, I am resolv'd to send you half a dozen of them instead of the Spanish Gloves, for I know you will esteem them more, and they are cheaper. Here may be had here for three Crowns the prettiest that can bee; it is but play with them, to carry away a mans hand or his arme, and, your self excepted, I never saw any thing more agreeable. Be pleas'd to prepare Mistres Anne to converse with them, and to give them the place of Dorinda. I shall send you them by the first sayl hence, and I would to Heaven, I could come along with them, to cast my self at your feet! There it is, Madam, where they will have occasion to be the cruellest creatures in the world, and think themselves the Kings of all others. But the greatest assurance I can give that the aire of Africa hath instill'd some barbarousness into mee, is, that I have now written three pages, and thought to have finish'd my Letter without speaking of M. D. R. I asture you, wherever I am, shee is ever in my heart and remembrance, and even at this moment, Ben che di tanta lontananza, li fo humilissima riverenza, and I am her most humble and most dutiful servant, Branbano. While I am out of Christendom, I dare not say any thing to Madam de C— for Mademoiselle do R— I believe shee will never wish me any thing the worse for that; I hope one day to be out of her debt, for the pleasure I had in hearing the adventures of Alcidalis, by intertaining her with my own. I shall acquaint her with things strange and incredible, and for her Fables I shall give her History. Your Servant hath still in my mind the place his merit, and the affection hee honours mee with, may justly claime. There is a Friend of yours, Madam, I love so passionately, that I forget my duty, and withall to tell you, how much I honour and respect him; The infinite desire I have to continue in his remembrance, hath almost put mee upon an indiscretion, for without considering the motives, which might disswade mee, there wanted but little that I had written to him, and had resolv'd to begin thus.

My Lord; I could not forbeare writing to you, were it onely out of an humour, to date my Letter from Ceuta. After I had view'd the places of the Kings of Grenada, and the habitation of the Abencerrages, I was desirous to see the Country of Rodomont, and Agramant, and be acquainted with the earth that produc'd all those great men.

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Che furo al tempo che passaro i Mori

D'Africa il Mar' e'n Francia nocquer tanto.

I believe, Madam, this beginning would have made his teeth water to see the rest, which I should have continu'd in this manner.

If your inclinations are not chang'd, I am confident, my Lord, you will not censure this curiosity, and that amidst the felicity surrounds you, there are certain Houres when you envy the condition of a wretched exile. If I can but get a Pass, as I hope I shall from Tetuan, and that the Alarbes who ramble about the Country, hinder not my design, I shall have the satisfaction, within some dayes, to see a City full of Turbants, a people that sweares not by any thing but Ala, and African Ladies, who have nothing barbarous but the name, and who, notwithstanding they are burnt by the Sunne, are yet fairer, and cast a greater lustre then hee. 'Tis a Country, my Lord, where women are not fooles, cold not cruel, they are all amorous, full of fire and spirit, and, what some will think the better of, they never go to Confession. By the pleasure I shall have to see all these things, you may easily judge, my Lord, that it is not alwayes Fortune makes men happy, and that there is not any so bad, wherein there may not bee good emergencies, if a man can but happen on them. While you are taken up with your good Fortune, and are troubled to make your advantages of it, and to employ it well, I enjoy leasure and Liberty, wherein my misfortune leaves mee. Me thinks, now that I am depriv'd of France, I possess all the earth besides, and that I ought no more to quarrel at the Destiny which forc'd me thence, then people troubled with the Lethargie, should with those that smite, and pinch them that they might awake. In stead of spending my life among ten or twelve persons, in five or six streets, and two or three houses, changing place now every houre, I see mountaines, deserts, precipices, flowers, and fruits, which I never had heard nam'd, different Nations, Rivers, and Seas I was not acquainted with. Every day I change Cities, every week Kingdoms; I crosse in a moment out of Europe into Africa, and I could with more ease find out the source of the Nile, then I could some time have done that of Rongis. If this condition, my Lord, admits not the enjoyments you find, in the conversation of the onely amiable persons in the world, I at least want those houres of distraction and melancholy, which poison even to [Page] the Soul, and can, in an hour, break the strongest heart in the world. In that state of innocency wherein I live, I importune Heaven every day to preserve you from it, and that it would long continue in your person, the purest generosity of our age, and so many other excellent qualities it hath bestow'd on you. If after this I may advance any particular wishes for my self, it is, that after so many wandrings, I might have the honour to entertain you therewith, and assure you, My Lord, that I resent, as I ought, the essential obligations I have to be,—

But Madam, for a man that should have written a Love-letter to you, methinks I introduce many things which could not have been admitted hee. You see what it is not to be vers'd in it, and to have kept me so long in suspence; if you had given me leave at the beginning to have sent you of that kind, I could at this present write excellent ones, and should not end my Letter so simply as I do, by telling you I am,

Madam,

Your most humble and most
dutiful Servant,
VOITURE the
AFRICAN.

August 7. 1633.

To the Same, With divers Lyons of red Wax. LETTER XLI.

MADAM,

THis Lion having been forc'd, for some reasons of State, to depart Lybia with his whole family, and some of his friends, I could not think of any place where he might retire with more honour then near you, and that he is in some sort fortunate in his misfortunes, if they procure him the acquaintance of so excellent a person. He is discended in a right line from an illustrious Lion, that about three hundred years since, reign'd in the mountain [Page] Caucasus, from one of whose grand-children, it is affirm'd here, came your great-great-grand-father, who was the first of all the Lions of Africa, that came into Europe. The honour he finds in a relation to you puts me in hope you wil entertain him with more mildness and compassion, then you are wont to have, and I believe you will think it no disparagement to be a Sanctuary to persecuted Lions. This will infinitely adde to your reputation through all Barbary, where you are already esteem'd beyond any thing on that side of the Sea, and where a day passes not but I hear some one of your actions celebrated. If you can help them by any invention to disguise themselves under a humane shape, you will do them a transcendent favour; for by that means they might do much more mischief, with more impunity. But if that be a Secret you will never communicate, you may yet sufficiently oblige them, by affording them a refuge, and the assistance of your advice. I assure you, Madam, they are accounted the cruellest and the most savage of all the Countrey, which I conceive you will be extreamly satisfy'd with. There are among the rest some whelps, who, by reason of their infancy, can only kill children, and worry sheep. But I believe in time, they will prove good ones, and arrive to the vertue of their fore-fathers. At least, I am confident, they shall find nothing about you that shall make them degenerate or abate their courage, and that they shall be as well brought up, as if they were lodg'd in the shady Forrests of Africa. In this hope, and the confidence I have that you cannot let them want any thing which your generosity might oblige you to do for them, I do now give you thanks for the good entertainment you shall afford them, and assure you that I am,

Madam,

Your most humble and most dutiful
Servant
LEONARD, Governour of the
King of Morocco's Lions.

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To the Same. LETTER XLII.

MADAM,

SInce my departure from Madrid, it hath cost me, to get this place, the travel of two hundred and fifty Spanish Leagues, which signifie little lesse then five hundred French; it is not ill gone of a man that had a pair of Leggs so intractable, that it was reproach'd to him he was not able to goe. I have thought all this pains well employ'd, when at my arrival at this place, I have met with the Letters you were pleas'd to send me of the third of July. And though I was shown at Sevil, all the riches of the Indian Fleet, and saw six millions of Gold in one chamber, yet I may presume to say, I met not with so great Treasures as that you sent me. You may easily imagine, what satisfaction it was to me, to receive so many assurances of affection from all the only amiable persons in the world. And certainly, this joy should have been greater, then a man so disaccustom'd to have any could have born, if it had not been moderated by the newes you send me of your own indisposition. The colick could never hitherto take in all my patience, but taking me that way, it hath made a shift to conquer it, and grief seizes the most apprehensible part of me, when it assaults you. I am extreamly cast down to see my soul divided between two bodies so weak as yours and mine, and that I am forc'd to be alwaies sick of your miseries or my own. In fine, Madam, I perceive there must be found out for me some more substantial remedies then the Ejacle; we shall be forc'd to submit to the advice of Physitians, and must resolve rather that one Vertue then two vertuous persons should miscarry. Charity, which is the principal, obliges us to have a compassion on our selves, and since grief and sickness are the effects of sin, and one of the curses which attend it, we should do all that lies in our power to avoid it, and consequently be the more careful of our health. You are more concern'd then I to take this advice, for mine is at this present in a better posture then it was wont to be, or the toil and agitation of the journey hath made me for a while [...]esse apprehensive. If you will enter into this course of Physick, [Page] I will expect you in England, and carry you to all places according to the custom of the Kingdom of Logres. I came out of Madrid contrary to the consent of all, with that little Prudence, which you know the Philosophers of that Sect, whereof your Husband is, admit in any thing relates to their pleasure; and in a season when the Spaniards dare hardly creep out of their houses, I had design'd to run through the greatest part of Spain, and to spend the month of August in the hottest place of Europe. In the mean time, I have, thankes be to God, effected my design, and now that I am gotten into Portugal, I laugh at those who said, I went to end my days in Andaluzia. To do you right, Madam, it is no ordinary reputation to you to have been able to fire a mans heart so cold as mine. The Sun, which here cleaves the earth, and scorches the Rocks, found it a hard task to warm me, and I have not met with any inconvenience in this journey, save only one night that I had not cloathes enough about me. Three men, who came out with me, have been forc'd to stay by the way. But for my part, neither heat, nor weariness, nor the disaccommodations of the Country for Travel, have been able to stay me, and though I have met with many beds, worse furnish'd then those of Villeroy, and many chambers more inconvenient then those of Panfou, and that I have not flept any thing, worth mentioning these three months, yet am I got hither more vigorous and more sound then ever. Think not therefore I am the same unweildy creature you have sometimes seen; I am quite another man, then you can imagine me to be. I am grown six large fingers in this journey, being extreamly Sun-burnt, my face grown longer then it was, my teeth before close, my eyes black, and my beard of the same colour, and according to the imagination, I have at the present of the Baron de Villeneuve, I am become more like him, then Monsieur de Serisay. That countenance, which stood between mildness and simplicity, is grown into a quite contrary posture, and there's nothing about me which is not chang'd, save that my eye-brows do still meet, which is a signification of a very wicked person. I hope within three or four dayes to try whether I can as well bear the trouble of the Sea, as all the others, and assoon as an English bottom, which hath already taken in two thirds, shall be fully loaden, we shall God willing take the advantage of the first wind. It must be acknowledg'd, there is something very humorous in my Fortune; since I, who could not be [Page] prevayl'd with to go so far as the Exchange in the best company in the world, have now travell'd beyond Hercules, and it is above a month since I have pass'd his Pillars: and whereas I was not able to endure a gentle wind in Madam de Rambouillets closet, I am now going to challenge two and thirty in the midst of the Ocean, and of Winter. That indeed is not the greatest hazard, but thirty Sayl of Barbary Ships continually crusing about this coast, do more frighten those that go hence, and are more terrible then a Tempest. I would gladly know, if there be any Astrologer, who having seen me ten years since in St. Denis's street in my round cap, could tell me, whether I run a great hazard of rowing in the Galleys of Algier, or being devour'd by the Fishes of the Atlantique Sea. But in case it be destin'd I should be taken by the Pirates, I wish I may fal into the hands of a famous Courser, which I have heard Mademoiselle de Rambouillet somtimes name, and whose name hath somthing in it, makes me have an inclination for him. If Mademoiselle de Rambouillet can guesse at him in four times, and afterwards name him without laughing, I will give her a little combe was presented to me yesterday, which had been made for the Queen of China. However, I am not much troubled about my ransome, or that I shall be forc'd to redeem my Liberty, for the Captain of the Ship hath assur'd me, I need not break my sleep for that, and hath sworn he would fire the ammunition first. See the excellent remedy I have, and consider if I had not better embarqu'd my self with an Anabaptist. But what is most remarkable, and is a very pleasant occurrence, is, and I professe I tell you no lye, that I go in a Ship that hath no other freight then my self, and eight hundred chests of Sugar, so that if I come to a good port, I shall arrive absolutely conserv'd, and if it happen I be cast away with all this, I shall have this comfort, that I shall dy in sweet water. Judge now whether I could have met a more favourable opportunity. All consider'd, I cannot but think this voyage will prove fortunate to me. I hope the Zephyrs, which are listed among the mild spirits, will be merciful to me, and that before this Letter comes into France, I may be in England. I humbly beseech you, Madam, to do me the favour to assure the former of the two persons, whom I just now mentioned, that, though I shift places so much, she hath still that in my memory she was ever wont to have. All the objects that present themselves to me, put me in mind of her, and when ever I see a magnificent [Page] Structure, a pleasant palace, or a gallant City, or some great Master-piece of Art, or Nature, I wish, and should gladly know her opinion of it. That, wherein she was so favourable to me, raises me to a greater satisfaction of my self, then ever I had in my life: and the value she sets upon me, coming from so good a hand, seems to me, to be beyond any. There could not any thing have hapned more to my advantage, then to receive this honour from a person that can so well judge of it, and of whom it may be truely said, never Lady so well understood gallantry, and the Gallants so ill. I have onely to wish, that when this favour was done me, it had been express'd in other termes, then saying, she gave el precio de mas galan al Re Chiquitto. It had been, me thinks, enough, to have said onely Chico: but the stile of the Gentle-woman who writ it considered, I wonder she did not make it Chiquittico, which yet might have been done to very good purpose, and with so great a glory as I receiv'd, 'twas fit I should be minded of my meaness. I do all lies in my power, to justify her goodness, for I confesse that as things stand, I were too too ungrateful, if I should any way complaine of her, after the honour she hath done me in writing to me. Nay even when she reproaches me with my meaness, she raises me above all the rest, and with a sheet of Paper, makes me the greatest man in France. The Letter I have received from her, is so excellent, and so full of ingenuity, that after this, I know not whether I shall have time and confidence enough to write to her. I am never so proud as when I receive her Letters, nor ever so humble, as when I am to answer them, and consider how far my wit is below hers. I would gladly, Madam, say some thing here of that person, who may be ever commended, yet never enough, and I could wish there were words as fair, and as good as she, to speak of her accordingly: but there is no language in the world can reach that, and the utmost effort of the imagination, can only conceive somthing worthy of her. I thank Madam de Clermont, that the extraordinary heats of Andaluzia have not made me sick, and that I have had good weather both times that I pass'd the streights. I begge the continuance of her favours, and her faith, that I shall never forget such essential obligations. I shall fully discover between this and England, how great the affection is, she is pleas'd to honour me with. They say there are in Norway a sort of people that sell winds, but I think she can bestow them; if I have it not alwayes a-stern, I shall quarrel with her: [Page] with her permission, I humbly kisse the hands of Madam Atalanta' and though her Inconstancy be one of the chiefest things I have commended in her, yet I desire her not to have any for me. I divide a thousand thanks between her and her Sister, for the honour of their remembrances of me. But, Madam, this is the fift Page I have written, without writing to you, and when you have read so many things directed to others, not saying any thing to you, me-thinks it might be ask'd you, Why so mealy-mouth'd are you for no Cake? You know it is your fault rather then mine. If you have a mind to any, you need but say so, you shall have all I promise you, and consequently the shares of all the rest. However I cannot forbear acquainting you, with the extraordinary joy I take to understand, I am wholly in that mans heart, who you know is so much according to mine. I know well enough, it is no place of rest, and think Africa affords not any more hot, nor is there any Gulph in the Sea knows more agitation. Yet all hinders not, but I am infinitely glad to be there, and think my self extream happy, to have so much room in the best heart of France. If besides there are only hands and feet left, I doubt not but the hands are fair, and the feet clean, and there would be some I should kiss with all my heart. But since he hath been pleas'd to do me so great a favour, I humbly entreat him, to consummate the obligation, that he would permit you to get in further then any other, and at least allow so much room there, as half your body will take up; for to be free with you, Madam, I cannot be entire in any place where you are not. If he have still the same inclination to well-doing he hath had, I know he will not deny me that favour, and that it will be no hard matter, to dispose us somwhere aside together. I stand in very much need of such an opportunity, that so I may have some private discourse with you, and acquaint you, so that we may not be overheard by others, with what I feel for your sake, after what rate I love and honour you, how insupportable your absence is to me, how delightsome your memory, and how passionately I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

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To Monsieur de Chaudebonne. LETTER XLIII.

SIR,

I Thought I should never have gotten out of this Country, and my misfortune seem'd to have block'd up the Havens of St. Lucars and Lisbon. I left Madrid upon intelligence sent me that an English Ship should set sayl from Sevil within six weeks, and to avoid wayting there, and to come just at the time appointed, I had gone about by Gibralter and Granada. In the mean time, besides those six weeks, there are six other past, and yet I think it will be a month ere she get out to Sea. The impatience of being so long in one place, forc'd me to leave that, yet making account to return, to come and see this. And though some had written to me, that it was no convenient sailing, yet I resolv'd to run a course of six score leagues, and to passe la Sierra Morena twice, only for my recreation. But, as good Fortune would have it, while I was on my way, arrived an English Ship, wherein I shall, with Gods assistance, venture my self. I have stay'd for her these three weeks, within two dayes she will have in all her lading, and will be gone with the first wind. Fortune disposes very odly of me; after she had employ'd me to travel through Spaine, in the month of August, she engages me in a voyage in November. The Ship carries twenty five Guns, is strong and well munition'd, all, I think, not too much, for there are a many Turks upon the Coast; and in this season, I think, I shall not be so unhappy, as not to meet with some tempest, which I may one day describe to you. This opportunity is questionless the greatest I could hope; it is an easier voyage hence, then from Sevil, and I would not for any thing I had staid there, and not have taken a resolution to see Portugal. I assure you, Sir, that Dom Manuel, and the Lady Osoria have a great Estate here, which if they could get into, they were better accommodated then they are at Brussels. Lisbon is in my mind one of the noblest Cities in the world, and deserves as well to be seen as any. It consists of three mountaines covered with Houses and gardens, which have a River of three leagues breadth, for a looking-glass to see them in, and that part of the City which is under Tagus, seems not lesse beautiful then [Page] that which is on the shore. Yet I think it tedious staying here, for I have not receiv'd a Letter since my coming, and have no account of any thing. They are acquainted here with no other France, then the Antarctick. The greatest part of those I see here, are men of the other world, and ordinarily, you have more news here of Cape Vert, and Brazil, then from Paris, or Flanders: So that though it should be some satisfaction to me, to be in the Marmalade-Country, where I have a Mistresse sweeter then it, yet all will not do, and I pray as heartily for a departure, as if I were in Norway. Spanish adventures are strange things; I have continu'd in it as chast as a young Gentle-woman, whom I believe you see every night, and yet notwithstanding all this continence, I am able to shew you one day Love-letters in the language of Castile, Portugal, and Andalusia; and if a black-Moor-Lady, who lives over against me, could write, I should shew you some in that of Guinny: but I hope the winds will blow over all these affections, and bring me to a place, where I have others more solid, and more settled. I leave you, who alone make up the greatest part of them, to judg with what impatience I desire that happiness. And I dare further assure you, I shall never quit Mistresse with so much pleasure, as when I come to wait on you again; and I, who had ever secur'd my self from the droopings, disturbances, and discontents of Love, do now meet with them all in Friendship. Sir, I think you will credit me, and be easily perswaded, that a man on whom you have conferr'd so many good things, and whom you have taught a many more, cannot want the resentment he ought to have thereof. Constancy and Gratitude are two Vertues I have learn'd of you, which I cannot better employ then towards you: and when, out of an extraordinary generosity, I shall have payd you twice over what I owe you, yet were I not quite discharged, and I should be still endebted to you for that very generosity, since I had acquir'd it through your acquaintance. It is not therefore my intention to be discharg'd from a person to whom I take so much pleasure to be beholding; and besides that my inclination and my reason direct me to you, I shall gladly entertain any thing, whereby I am infinitely oblig'd ever to be,

Sir,

Yours, &c.

Lisbon, Octob. 22. 1633.

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To Monsieur — LETTER. XLIV.

SIR,

TO satisfy you that I think your excuse very allowable, I shall also make use of it; it is more requisite for me then for you, and you should not think it strange, that I, who have alwayes less wit, and at this present, lesse time then you, should alledge it in my necessity. You will easily be perswaded when you understand, that it is reported this day, we shall be gone within five: so that I must buy a Bed, Quilts, Coverlets, a little flock of sheep, twenty Cowes and Oxen, fifty Pullets, and a certain number of such Cats as they keep in Lockers; for the Captain will not find the Passengers entertainment. Besides all this, I am to write to Sevil, to Madrid, to Flanders, to France, to Friends, to Merchants, to Ministers, (of State) to my female acquaintances and Mistresses, and what troubles me above all, I have every day to answer a Love-letter written in Portuguez, which I professe, I can neither read nor understand. Judge now, whether ever man was so overwhelm'd with business, and if I can hope to return you a Letter that shall requite yours, when I cannot do it with all the assistance of leisure. It hath brought with it all the consolation, which a fair-condition'd and a good friend is capable of, and hath in my opinion, wrought in me a wonderful effect, having shaken off the melancholy I was in, by reason of not hearing from my Father and Friends in France. I wonder I receive nothing by the Ordinary. Though I tell you of a departure within five dayes, yet forbear not to write to me, for, as you know, the dayes of this Country are not of four and twenty hours, and those of Spain are not much longer then they are at Norway, I could wish the Knight of the round-Table were in an humour to come hither, for I know not what more magnificent title to give him; and it must be confess'd no man can be more ingenious then you to find him excellent titles, and certainly he can never meet with a better opportunity. Besides that the Ships at St. Lucars are farther off by four and twenty Leagues, I believe it will be fifteen dayes ere they be gone, and [Page] so he may triumph over divers nations, and after he shall have set on fire so many Castilian Beauties, melt down the Portughezes. Certainly if I were so wise as not to love any one of those I see not, I could never have had a better time in all my life, then the three months last past, absolutely dis-entangled from all trouble, and business, and hearing no newes, but what you were from time to time pleas'd to afford me. The true Secret to gain health and cheerfulness, is, that the body be in motion, and the mind in rest; this is a benefit of Travel: but commonly it happens quite contrary; when we think to repose our selves, we take most pains. The trot of a jadish mule is not so tedious, as the expectation of Carnero in the Secretaries walk, and the least businesse ill manag'd, afflicts more then ill weather, or an ill way. Assure your self therefore, that I extreamly like the design you have to undeceive your self as to fortune, and to forsake her as a dangerous Mistresse; her caresses and her malice are equally to be fear'd, one way or other she destroies all her Servants, and those who look on her favours as real advantages, are much more mistaken then those who take an egg for an Oyster-shell. If I had not ended the sentence with that jest, methinks I should have been too serious for a man that is not wont to be such, and besides is in haste. When you have a mind to this retirement, I will wait on you, and we will get into some place, where we will call every beast as we please our selves; we will, like Adam, give all things new names, and when we shall go contrary to all other men, and call that ill which they call good, it may be we shall be in the right. But till that come to passe, and while I am in the world, I beg your utmost diligence to continue me in the friendship of these Gentlemen. There comes not a commendation from the Count de Maure, which I value not at a million; number the Maravedis the Fleet may amount to, and reflect on the wealth you have sent me. If the Count Stufe hath the same fortune with you, as he hath with me, he should have ruin'd you long since; for I cannot make my party good against him, but he hath got ground even to my very Soul. 'Tis true, you are concern'd in this losse, since it is the taking away of what is yours, from one that is wholly devoted to your Service, and is, more then any man,

Sir,

Yours, &c

Lisbon. Oct. 15. 1633

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To Monsieur — LETTER XLV.

SIR,

I Do not certainly know who you are, but I am satisfy'd, the Letter I have receiv'd must needs come from a person of more then ordinary Vertue, and I may well expect one day great assistances from you, if what you say be true; that you know better how to serve me then to write. If you be the same I imagine, the good office could not come from any hand whence I should have more highly valu'd it; and I am extreamly elevated to see so much goodness in a person, in whom I had before observ'd all other excellent endowments. As you have in this done me a greater honour then I could have expected▪ so let me assure you. Sir, that I acknowledg it beyond any thing you can imagine, and that I am as generous to resent your favour, as you have been to do it. I think you are so well opinion'd of me as to believe it, and you who by the bare communication of your acquaintance, take in the hearts of all those that see you, cannot doubt but you are extreamly belov'd by those whom you so particularly oblige thereto. But, Sir, amongst all the afflictions you have gain'd, I dare professe, there is not any attended with more respect and esteem then mine, and that I am, as indeed I ought, more then any man,

Sir,

Yours, &c

Lisbon. Oct 22. 1633.

To my Lord Marquess de Montausier, who was since kill'd in La Valteline. LETTER. XLVI.

SIR,

I Have read your Letter with all the content and satisfaction that could be expected by any one from a person so costive as to writing, and withal so deserving. Methinks now there is not any thing which I may not promise my self from your Friendship, [Page] since you have for my sake taken a little pains, and you could never have given me a greater assurance you will make good those words you have sent me, then that you have written them. Only I cannot but be troubled to think, that amidst all these expressions of tenderness, there is some occasion for which you could with me hang'd. To be free with yon, Sir, methinks it speaks some flaw in the affection you bear me, and I think, without standing much on punctilio's, I ought to take it ill. However I run so much hazard of it otherwise, and I wish with so much passion, that you had all your merits can pretend to; that if there wanted nothing else to gain a Kingdom, I deal sincerely with you, I think I should be as willing you should have it, as you can be your self. I should more easily pardon Fortune that affront, then what she puts upon you, in not granting what you might justly claim, and denying you the title she hath bestow'd on Monsieur du Bellay. But since the businesse sticks not there, and that it is possible I may have a hundred Crowns of Martyrdom, yet you not get one of Soveraignety, another course must be taken, and without hazarding the lives of your friends, you must owe this honour to none but your self. I assure you, that while I ramble through so many Kingdomes, I ever think of you, and shall endeavou to lay some plot which you may one day put in execution. Not long since, I saws even Kingdomes at one sight, whereof there were four in Africa, which I wish'd yours, and which it is a great pity you should suffer to continue in the hands of the Moors. But if you like not the air of Barbary, there is newes come that the Island of Madera is upon some thoughts of revolting, and that it will bestow it self on the first that shall maintain it against the Tyranny of the Spaniards. Imagine with your self. I pray you, the pleasure there is in having a Kingdom of Sugar, and if it be not likely our conversation there will be full of sweetness. How great and powerful soever the charmes and engagement of Paris may be, yet, if I mistake you not, they cannot divert you from laying both hands on such an opportunity; and that if any thing stays you, it must be the inconveniences of Travel, and the trouble it is to rise betimes in the morning. But, Sir, Conquerours cannot alwayly till eleven of the clock; Crownes are not gain'd without toile; nay even those that are made of Laurels and Myrtles are bought at a dear rate; and Glory expects that her Suitors should suffer for her. I must needs confess, it is [Page] almost a miracle to me, that Fame should not have br [...]ught some tidings of you, before I had the honour to receive them from your self; and me thinks I am farther then I thought I could have gone, when I consider I am in a Country where you are not known. Suffer not a reputation so just as yours, to admit any limits, nor stop at the bottom of the Pyrenean mountaines, over which that of so many others hath flown; come your self and make it's way, and if the Gazette sayes nothing of you, let History do it. As for that, which some would needs oblige you to take ill from me, which is, that I had given you the quality of a Squire; I assure you, Sir, you had no great reason to be offended at it. I shall make it appear to you, that Amadis de Gaule, under the title of the Squire of the Sea, accomplish'd his noblest adventures; and that Amadis of Greece, while he was yet called the Squire of the burning Sword, kill'd a great Lion, and reliev'd King Magadan: but these are artifices of the Gentlewoman you know, who having sworn my ruine, is troubled to see me under the protection of one of the bravest men on earth. It will therefore be hard for her to force me out of yours; for I professe to you, Sir, (and this I speak more seriously then all the rest) it shall ever be my endeavour, by all sorts of devoits and humble services, to deserve the honour of your affection. Methinks it were a great want of judgment, generosity, and vertue, not to love perfectly a person in whom all these are in so high a degree, and therefore I, who extreamly esteem these qualities wherever I find them, must needs acknowledg them particularly in you, where they are associated with so many other graces, and attended by so much Civility. Be therefore, I beseech you, assur'd, that as I understand you better then any man, so shall I ever have a greater honour for you, and while I am worth any thing, shall never be other then,

My Lord,

Your, &c

Lisbon. Oct. 22. 1633.

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To my Lord Marquesse de Pisany. LETTER XLVII.

My LORD,

IF I have any esteem for the two Letters you have so much commended, it is that they have procur'd me the honour to receive one of yours; the very sight whereof confirm'd me in the judgment I had long since made of you, that you should one day raise a jealousie in the Lady your Sister and me, and deprive us of the reputation of writing well, to which, you laid aside, we might have pretended. But since so many other wayes invite you to honour, be pleas'd to allow us the other, and propose not to your self a thing so difficult, as to imitate in all things your noble Father, who not satisfy'd with the reputation of one of the stoutest men in France, would needs adde to it, that of writing and speaking better then any other. If you are so resolv'd, my Lord, no doubt but you may arrive to it as well as he; but, beside the abundance of pains it will cost you, you neglect an opportunity to oblige us, and to give us an extraordinary confidence of your affection, by slighting, for our sakes, a glory whereof you might claim so great a part. There are others more solid, and more worthy you, whereto you should aspire. But if neverthelesse you think there is nothing so inconsiderable as that a vertuous man should despise it, and that glory is that only, whereof he ought not to be liberal, I must confess, I have nothing to object against so just an apprehension. The affection your noble Sister hath for you, I know to be such, that I am confident she will soon pardon you the wrong you may haply do her herein. And for my part, I shall suffer my self to be orecome, since it will be by you; and for the glory you shall take from me, I will participate of yours, as much as may amount to that of,

My Lord,

Yours, &c

Lisbon. Oct. 22. 1633.

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To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. XLVIII.

MADAM,

IT is a great pitty you do not take pleasure in doing good oftner, since that when you undertake it, none can effect it with so much obligation as you do. I have received, as I ought, the intentions you had to put a complement upon me, and you have not only eas'd me much of my misfortune, but have put me in some doubt whether I should call it so; and telling me the goodnesse you have for me shall last no longer then my unhappinesse, you have almost forc'd me into a wish it may never end. See Madam, what powerful charms you lay on me; two things so opposite as your presence and your absence, and whereof one is certainly one of the greatest goods, and the other one of the greatest ills in the world; you have, by the bare pronouncing of three words, so chang'd that, that I know not which is the good, which the ill, and consequently, whether of them I should rather wish. However, since I must needs be tormented one way or other, I had rather suffer neer you; and how hard-natur'd soever you may be, methinks you cannot do me a greater injury then that of not seeing you. I must confesse Madam, I fear you beyond what you can imagine, and more then any thing in the world. But if the respect I owe you, permits me to expresse my self so, I love you much more then I fear you. Though you frighten me a little sometimes, yet I cannot but be pleas'd to see you under all the shapes into which you put your self; and if you should be chang'd once a week into a Dragon, yet even in that condition, should I be in love even with your scales and your clawes. According to the prodigies I find in your person, I believe this Metamorphosis may one day happen, and where you tell me that three daies in a moneth you are not to be convers'd with, methinks it signifies some disposition thereto. I am of Monsieur de — C opinion, that you will come to some strange end, and I hope time will at length shew us what we should think of you. In the mean time, be as you will, it must be confess'd you are a most amiable creature, and while you shall continue [Page] under the shape of a Gentle-woman, the world shall not offord another so accomplish'd, or so much to be esteem'd as you, nor any man, who can be, as much as I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Lisbon. Oct. 22. 1633.

Madam, I humbly beseech you to still your Dwarfe with a Complement instead of an Answer to the challenge he hath sent me, which is, I will have nothing to do with any that relate to you, and for his Mistress's sake and his own, I infinitely esteem him, and desire his Friendship.

To Monsieur Gourdon at London. LETTER XLIX.

Sir,

I Have had more leasure then I could have wish'd, to send you what you desired of me at my coming away. The winds are so far from carrying away my promise, that they have given me occasion to keep it. They have staid me here already eight days, which I should have thought very long and tedious, if I had not brought from London imaginations that should last longer then that. I assure you, you are much concern'd therein, and that the best I have had, have been employ'd on you, or the things I have seen by your means. You will haply guesse hence that I speak not of the Tower, nor yet of the Lyons which you brought me to the sight of; In one Person you have shewn me more treasures then there are there, and withall more Lyons and more Leopards. It will not be hard for you to judge that I speak of the Countesse of Carlile; for there is not any other of whom may be said so much good, and so much ill. How dangerous soever it may be to think of her, yet have I not been able to forbear, and to be sincere with you, I would not give that representation which I have of her in my [Page] mind for any thing, though the most perfect I have seen in the world. Shee is, I must confess, a person full of enchantment, and there were not any other under Heaven should command so much affection as she, did she but know what it is, and carry about her the sensitive Soul as well as the rational. But considering the conditions we know her to be of, we can say no more of her, then that she is the most amiable of all those things that are not good, and the most delightful poison that ever Nature produc'd. I stand in such an awe of her wit, that it had almost diverted me from sending you these Verses; for I know she can judge what is good, what ill in any thing; and that all the Goodness which should have been in her wil, is diverted into her Judgement. But it matters not much if she condemn them. I dare not wish them better, since they were made before I had the honour of her acquaintance; and I should be much troubled to have prais [...]d or disprais'd any one to perfection, for I reserve both for her. For your part, Sir, I trouble you not with excuses, but such as are allowable; on the contrary, I conceive you very much in my debt, and ought very much to acknowledge it, that I am overcome to send you such as are not. What ever they are, I dare assure you they are the first I ever writ twice. If you knew to what a height of sloth I am arriv'd, you would acknowledge my complyance herein, no small argument both of the power you have over me, and how passionately I desire to be,

Sir,

Yours, &c.

Dover, Dec. 4. 1633.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER L.

MADAM,

BE your Letter ever so full of threatning, yet can I not but consider the excellency of it, and admire with what artifice you join Beauty and Terrour together. As the skins of Serpents [Page] presents us with Gold and azure, so you would enamel the most poisonous expressions with the livelyest colours of Eloquence; and when I read them, I cannot but be delighted with the same things I am frightned at. You begin very soon to make good your promise to me, that I was not to expect your favour any longer than while I wanted that of Fortune. Now that she seems to have rock'd me into a little rest, you will needs disturbe it, and thereby shew me, that, though I have escap'd Seas and Pirates, yet am I not safe, and that you are more to be fear'd then all; yet could I not believe, Madam, that my avoiding a quarrel with your Dwarfe, should engage me in one with you, or oblige me to answer a Challenge, being guilty of no other affront then that of returning a Complement. But if so be you think I have not acquitted my self as to that, what you call contempt, you might have termed respect and fear; and conclude that the same Creature who disarm'd Monsieur de M — of his sword, might very well cause my pen to fall out of my hand. Nay though he had some cause to complain, yet were you not oblig'd to protect him against me; and if you wish me ill for his sake, I may safely say you have quarrell'd with me upon the most trivial account in the world. But if you are resolv'd to persecute me, all my excuses will not be able to divert you, and a [...]l I wonder at, is, that you would trouble your self to find out any pretence to do it. It signifies nothing to me that I have escap'd so many dangers; the place where you are, will be a perpetua [...] Algiers to me; and though I am at Brussels, yet never was I neerer Captivity or Shipwrack. However, Madam, I would not have you imagine the flames of those living creatures you threaten me with, to be that which puts me into any fear. It is long since I am proof against such accidents, and, whatever you may say, I fear Death more from your hands then from your eyes. Of all the passages of your Letter, which I admire in all things, I have made a particular remarque at the exclamation you make, speaking what pleasure it had been to you, if I had been taken by the Pirates. It speaks certainly an excessive goodness in you, to wish me for two or three years in a Turkish Galley, only that there might be greater dive [...]s [...]ty in my Travels. The excellent curiosity of hearing from me how I had dress'd the Camels in Barbary, and with what constancy I had suffer'd Lashing with Lathes. By your manner of speaking of it, I cannot but believe you would have been glad I had been spitted on a stake for half an [Page] hour, to know what kind of torment it is, and how a man finds himself after it. But what is most remarquable, is, that you make these wishes, after you have as you say, reassum'd the form of a young Lady, and had acquir'd more mildness and humanity. There is as little justice in all this, as in the Quarrel you would have with me for Alcidalis. Be your self judge, Madam, whether being upon the same seas, and ingag'd in the same dangers as he, I could forget the troubles I was in my self, to relate those he had run through; and being orewhelm'd with my own misfortunes, I should make it my Business to write his: And yet I have [...]one it in the midst of all my distraction; I have written above a hundred theets of his History, and I have been careful of his life, at a time when, I assure you, I was not much of my own. And yet, Madam, I would not have you judge by this how diligent I am to please my female▪ acquaintances. When I shall have rendred you all services imaginable, these appearances would not discover to you the least part of that passion I have for any concernment of yours. If you would know it well, consider the cause thereof, rather then the effects. But your imagination, though admirable in it self, is here too narrow, and if the world can afford any thing too great for your mind, and such as it cannot comprehend, it is the respect, the affection and the esteem it hath begotten in mine. Being equally forward to acknowledge the obligations I receive from the other excellent persons, you may well believe that the Letter I have receiv'd with yours, brought me as well an infinite joy, as an extraordinary honour. You know best of any one, how farre I have ador'd the merits of him that writ it, and he may put you in mind that in the time of the Civil warres between you two, I have sometimes quitted your part to take his. But this last goodness, hath found something of new acquest in my heart; and since I have receiv'd it, I crave your pardon, if there are some intervals wherein I love him beyond any person in the world. But Madam, that you may not think that all the favours I receive from him, are deriv'd to me, through your procuration, I am to tell you, that upon another occasion, he hath not long since done me a good office, you being nothing concern'd in it. Which though it were not of the kind that I take most pleasure to receive, as being such as hath given me fresh occasion to reflect on my crosse Fortune, yet I take it as a great honour to owe him those obligations which I should be asham'd any other, and [Page] am glad to receive any expression soever of his Generosity. He shall swear to you, when you mention it to him, he k [...]ows not what you mean, and me thinks I now see him do it; but you know his inclination and his humour who never forgot a good turn to be done, and can never remember it when it is. Since the honour your affection casts upon me is the chiefest consideration that hath engag'd me in his favours, I humbly begge your assistance Madam, to render him the acknowledgements I ought, and to requite him, at least proportionably to my present condition. I kisse a thousand times, the feet of that incomparable person, who would needs with her own hand superscribe the Letter you sent me, and with four or five words make a Present inestimabl, which before was but too precious. You have justly call'd her the greatest Beauty and best woman in the world, since that at such a distance she can raise up those that are cast down. I wish, she, that hath so great an influence over her, may one day find all the happiness which such a System of Goodness, Beauty, and Vertue may claim, though I see this wish is of a vast extent. They say the starre which I sometimes call'd the Day-starre is greater and more admir'd then ever, and that it shines and twinckles through all France. Though its rayes reach not the obscurity wherein we are, its reputation does, and, as I hear, the Sun comes short of its brightness. I am glad the Intelligence it is mov'd by, hath lost nothing of its force nor its light, and that there is not any thing but Madam de Bourbon's wit can bring it in [...]o question whether her Beauty be the most accomplish'd thing in the world. The manner of her complaints, as I have met with it in a Letter of yours, I think hugely pleasant; the troth is, the many traverses I have had, may well raise a compassion in her, in her, I say, who is so well acquainted with my weakness, and knows that from the Swathingband I have not had to this present, one day of rest. It hath been also disturb'd by the discourse at the bottom of your Letter, directed to King Chiquitto. In Astaranax's Hell I have met with my own, and have wandred in it three days and three nights, yet could not see at all. I am extreamly troubled at it, for above all things, I would have had King Georgia's Comb, and it is above two years that I have long'd [...]or it. Nor are you to believe you have gotten that I propos'd to you; the Queen of China's Combes are not so easily come by; you must first be pleas'd to send in writing the name of the Pi [...]are, and tell me sincerely whether [Page] you named him without laughing, for there lyes all the difficulty: But since you pretend so much to Divination, be pleas'd to imagine Madam, all I should adde, if I durst make this Letter any longer. Guesse how much I now love you beyond what I did two years since, and how passionately I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

Brussels, Jan. 6. 1634.

To my Lord Cardinal de la Vallette. LETTER. LI.

MY LORD,

I Cannot but imagine, when you writ the Letter you have been pleas'd to honour me with, it was your opinion, that he esteem I have ever had for you, had gain'd you some reputation in the world; that upon all occasions, I had given you extraordinary assurances of the honour of my Friendship; and that in consequence thereof, I had lent you 2000. Crowns upon a Business of great importance, and at a time when your credit lay extreamly at stake. At least according to the rate that you thank me, and speak of your self and me; I have some ground to think, that not minding what you did, you mistook one for the other, and unawares put your self in my place. Otherwise my Lord, you had not writen as you have, unless it be, haply, that not conceiving there can be any greater good in the world then to do it to others, you think your self oblig'd to those who give you occasion to oblige them, and imagine you have receiv'd the good offices which you have done. If it be so, I must need confess, there is not any man you are so much oblig'd to as my self, and that I deserve all those returns you afford me, since I have given you greater occasions then any man, to exercise your Generosity, and to do those actions of Goodness, which certainly are to be esteem'd beyond all the wealth you have, or can ever bestow on me. Amidst the great number of good offices I have receiv'd from you, and so many favours you have been pleas'd to shed on me, I assure your Lordship, there is not any I more highly esteem then the Letter you [Page] have honoured me with. But if amidst the many things I have w [...]th so much satisfaction observed therein, there be any passage hath entertained me with more pleasure then ordinary, be pleased to give me leave to tell you, it is that where I conceive you speak of these two persons which at this day make up the most inestimable part of the world, and to whom, if they be not compared one to another, there is not any thing under Heaven that may. When ever I do but think my self in their remembrances, there ensues for that moment a cessation of all my sufferings; and when I represent to my self the faces of the one or the other, me thinks that of my Fortune is changed, and that imagination forces out of my mind the obscurity it is clouded with, and fils it with light. But a greater happiness is, that being so far from ever hoping to merit the honour of their good inclin [...]tions, I cannot but think my self much interessed therein, and am so happy as to believe what you tell me as to that particular. I am well acquainted with one, My Lord, who were not so easily perswaded, were he in my place, and who, after so great a distance for two years, would not live in so much tranquillity, and so great confidence. According to the satisfaction this faith affords me, be you judge, whether I am to be much bemoaned, and if there be not a many whom the world calls happy, are much less such then I: Were it not for this, I would not certainly ward that distraction which presents it self here of all sides, nor oppose the melancholy of Monsieur de C— which I am fain to beat up perpetually, and which, to tell you truely, is greater then is imagined. Besides that, he is got into an humour to let his beard grow, which already reaches his girdle; he is fallen into a tone much more severe then ever, and sounds somewhat like Astolfos Horn; unless it be on some discourse concerning the immortality of the Soul, or the Chief Good; or to carve up some of the most important Questions of Moral Philosophy; he can hardly be gotten to open his mouth. If Democritus [...]hould revive, notwithstanding his great Philosophy, he would not endure him, because of his Laughing humour: He hath undertaken to reform Zeno's doctrine, as being too mild, and he will institute a Sect of Stoicks Recollects. So that, My Lord, you desire not any thing advantageous for the Nations, over which you wish him Governour—

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To Monsieur Godeau, since Bishop of Grasse. LETTER. LII.

SIR,

YOu ought to have allow'd me some time to recover our Language, before I should be oblig'd to write to you, it being not handsome, that when I had been so long a stranger, and am now but just come out of Barbary, I should direct Letters to one of the most eloquent of all France. This consideration occasion'd my s [...]lence hitherto; but though I avoided answering your challenges, I cannot but make some return to your civilities, and notwithstanding all my evasions, you have found some other means to bring me to reason. My condition indeed is such, that it is much more honourable for you to have reduc'd me after this manner, then to have taken me in by force. It had been no great reputation to you to overthrow a man already cast down, and on whom Fortune hath bestow'd so many blowes, that the least can force him to the ground. The obscurity whereinto she hath cast us, admits not of any art or defence; it would haply fall out otherwise, if not quite contrary to what you say, if you had set before my eyes the Sum you speak of, and as dejected as you see me, I might be confident enough to fight you, if that light were equally divided between us. 'Tis a greater advantage to have that of your side, then all the heavens beside. All the beauties that shine through whatever you do, proceed only from hers, and they are her raies which produce in you so many flowers. To do you justice, I have never thought any thing so pleasant, as those which are the productions of your mind. I have seen some of them on the borders of the Ocean, and in places where Nature could not force out a passe. I have receiv'd Posies made of them, that have even in deserts entertain'd me with the deliciousness of Italy and Greece. Though they had travell'd four hundred Leagues, neither time, nor travel, had taken away any thing of their Lustre, as being indeed such as are called immortal, and so different from whatever derives its being from the earth, that it is with much justice you have offered them to Heaven. and they ought not to be bestow'd any where [Page] but on Altars. Take this Sir, as my sincere judgment of them; and when my curiosity, as you tell me, had translated me out of the ancient world to search out some rarity, I have not met with any thing can pretend so much to it as your Works. Africa was not able to present me with any thing more new, or more extraordinary; when I read them under the shade of its palmes, I wish'd them you all, and at the same time that I look'd on my self as one that had gone beyond Hercules, I found my self far behind you. What might have rais'd emulation in anothers mind, fill'd mine with esteem and affection, you then took that place you demand now, and accomplish'd at that time what you think you have yet to begin. Being so well acquainted with you, it is hard for me to represent to my self such an image as you would force upon me, or to imagine you so inconsiderable as you make your self. I cannot apprehend Heaven should crowd so many things into so little room. When I measure you according to my imagination, I cannot afford you lesse then seven or eight Cubits, nor represent your Stature other then that of those men who were begotten by Angels. Yet I shall not be sorry it should be as you would have me believe; amongst the advantages I shall receive by your means, I hope you will make our Stature famous; that shall be henceforth thought the richest, and you will lift us up above those who think themselves higher then we. The richest Essences are put into the smallest Viols, and nature seems pleas'd to infuse the more precious Souls into the least bodies, and the more or lesse celestial they are, greater or lesser is the mixture of earth. She enchaces the brightest Souls, as Goldsmiths dispose their more precious Stones, who employ as little Gold as they can about them, and no more then is requisite to fasten them. You will undeceive mankind as to that gross errour, of esteeming those most, who weigh most: and my lownes, which hath been cast in my dish so often by Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, shall be my Elogie with her. On the other side, I think the affection, which you say she hath for you justly bestow'd; as also that of five or six other the most excellent person the world affords. But I wonder you make it an argument to perswade me to give you mine, and that you should think to gain it by the same reasons which should make you loose it; you must certainly be extreamly confident of my goodnesse, to think I can love a man who enjoyes all my estate, and hath obtained the forfeiture of it. And yet I shall be so just, that it shall not hinder me, and I doubt [Page] not but you are the like so far that I fear not we shall fall out for that; they may very well have given you my place, yet so as you should not thrust me out, nor indeed may it be said it was great if it could not contain us both. For my part, I shall do all that lies in my power, that I may not be troublesome to you, and shall so dispose of my self there, as that I may do you no violence. Since therefore so powerful a concernment is not able to separate me from yours, you may believe there never shall be any thing that can do it, and that I am, at all Essaies,

Sir,

Yours, &c.

Brussels, Feb. 3. 1634.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. LIII.

MADAM,

CAR being of so great importance in our Language, I am extreamly pleas'd at the resentment you have of the injurie is like to be done it; and I can entertain no great hopes of the Academie you tell me of; since it intends to establish it self by so great a violence. At a time wherein Fortune acts Tragoedies in most parts of Europe, I find nothing deserves so much pitty, as when I see people ready to banish and prosecute a Word which hath done such faithful service to this Monarchie, and which amidst all the disturbance of the Kingdom, hath continu'd constantly a faithful Subject. For my part, I cannot apprehend what reasons they could alledge against a Word which marches alwaies in the front of Reason, and knowes no other employment then to introduce it. I cannot see upon what account they would take away from CAR what belongs to it for to bestow it on POURCE-QUE, nor why they will needs express that in three words, which they may with three Letters? What is more to be fear'd, Madam, is, that this injustice conniv'd at, will beget others; here will be no difficulty made to set upon MAIS, and I know [Page] not whether S I will be safe. Insomuch that having taken away all the words of connection, the wits will reduce us to the language of Angels; or if that may not be, they will oblige us to speak only by signs. I must confesse there's nothing more certain then what you say, that there can be no greater argument of the uncertaintie of humane affairs. Who should have told me some years since, that I should have outliv'd CAR? I had thought he had promis'd me a life longer then that of the Patriarks. In the mean time it comes to passe, that having liv'd 1100 years in force and credit, after it had been emploied in the Treaties of greatest consequence, and been honourably serviceable in our Kings Counsels, it falls into sudden disgrace, and is threatned with a violent end, I have now no more to expect then the time when I shall hear those sad exclamations which shall say, The Grand CAR is dead, whose death is of much greater consequence then that of the grand Cham, or the grand Pan. I know, if one of the greatest Wits of the Age be consulted hereupon, one I extreamly honour, he will tell you that this Noveltie deserves a heavy censure, that we ought to make use of the CAR of our fore-Fathers, as well as of their Land and Sunne, and that we ought not to cast off a word that hath been in the mouth of Charlemaign and St. Lewis: But you Madam are particularly oblig'd to take it into your protection, since the greatest force and beauty of our Language is in yours, you ought to have a supream power therein, and appoint words to live or die, as you please. Nor do I doubt, but you have delivered this out of the danger it was in, and by enclosing it in your Letter, you have given it Sanctuarie, and a place of glory, where neither time nor envie can ever assault it. Amidst all this, I must acknowledg I was extreamly surpris'd to see you so fantastick in your good actions, in that you Madam, who without any compassion could have seen the destruction of a hundred men, could not see the death of a poor Sillable. If you had been so tender of me as you have of CAR, I had been happy in spight of my ill-fortune; poverty, banishment, and grief, could hardly have fasten'd on me; and if you had not been able to rid me of these evils, you might at least have rid me of the resentme [...]t thereof. When I was in hope to receive some comfort from your Letter, I find it more concerned for CAR then for me, and that his banishment troubled you more then ours. I confesse, Madam, [Page] you do well to defend him, but you ought to be as careful of me as of him, that it may not be reproach'd unto you, that you forsake your friends for a word. You make no answer to any thing I writ to you of; to those things that concern me, you have nothing to say. In three or four Pages you can hardly take occasion to remember me once, and the reason is CAR— I beseech you consider me the more for it another time, and when you shall undertake the protection of the persecuted, remember I am of the number. To oblige you to do me this favour, I shall ever make use of him, and I assure you, you owe it me, CAR I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To the Same. LETTER LIV.

MADAM,

THough I had presented you with as many pearles as the Poets have made Aurora weep, and where I have only given you a little piece of Earth, bestow'd on you the whole Masse, you could not have been more magnificent in your return of thanks. The great Mogul's vine might be bought with the least of your words, and all the precious stones it is burthen'd with, cannot boast so great a Lustre, and so much light as the things you write. This beginning, Madam, is very glittering, and those, who at any rate will needs write high words, would be glad to begin thus that which they call a handsom Letter. But the Messenger allowes me not the time; besides that I have diligently read that of your Lady Mother's and your own, I am resolv'd not to be any further engag'd with them. To deal truely with you, there cannot be any thing more gallant or more handsom, then what I receiv'd from her, and the miracle is, that a person that writes but once in four years, acquites her self so well, as if she made it her constant study, and had all that time minded nothing else. I must now expect to be more and more acquainted with the mira [...]les of your house, but I must needs withall acknowledg my astonishment [Page] For your part, Madam, I am particularly to admire, that being able to dance so well, you are as excellent at writing, and carry the garland at the same time for three things which seldom lodge together, being the best danccr, the best sleeper, and the most eloquent young Lady in the world. But I am extreamly pleas'd that you have engag'd Monsieur Maigne into the Morrice-dance; this humour I am as much taken with as any of yours, and take my wo [...]d, we will never dance it unlesse he make one. You are further to know, that Monsieur de Chaudebonne is so deeply melancholy that he cannot shake the Bells well, and I think I should be my self much troubled to dance it well in your absence, being as I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To the Same. LETTER. LV.

MADAM,

NOw that your Letters are more to be admir'd then ever, I confesse, I should be much troubled to want them. Having since my receipt of your last, lost al hope of writing any that are good; it must needs be a great satisfaction to me to receive such; nor is it any more then justice you should restore me to that honour which you make me loose otherwise. The great opinion I have long since conceiv'd of your wit, had prepar'd me without surprizal, for a sight of all these miracles, and I was satisfy'd nothing could proceed from it I should wonder at, unlesse it produc'd things mean and ordinary. But I must confesse it hath attain'd a degree of perfection beyond any thing I could imagine, and that I was never able to imagine what you have since discover'd. I assure you, Madam, I speak without flatterie, and my indignation is not so far spent, as that I should be drawn into that humour. You are now gotten so much beyond your self, as you were before beyond all others; and the most inconsiderable Letter you now write, exceeds Zelidas and Al [...]idalis; nay though there were put with them into the scale both their Kingdomes. In the very height of my anger, I have not made any [Page] complaints against you that were not accompany'd with your praises; and one reason that now obliges me to a reconciliation, is a fear I am in, that if I should express any thing of displeasure, it would be thought an effect of envy rather then of a just resentment. In the mean time, your heart knows whether I have not cause, and without speaking any more of it, it is there I would have you make me satisfaction; besides that having been tongue-ty'd so long, I would not break forth▪ immediately into out-cries. I only entreat you to consider, what kind of creature I should have been, having at the same time lost all hope of returning into France, and the comfort of your remembrances and Letters. One of these misfortunes was enough to crush me, but I am miraculously kept up, by reason they are come together, and that the one encourages me to support the other. When after this expression of your ill inclinations towards me, I reflected on the multitude of evil Fortune delivered me from, by hindring me from falling into your hands; methinks proportionably to that, perpetual banishment was no hard measure, and that at least I should die here of a death lesse cruell. But Madam, this comfort is not so good but that I stand in need of some other, for I assure you that Monsieur de — is not so sad as I am, and that cloudy black melancholy wherein you have sometimes seen me, was but the shaddow of what I now struggle with. I humbly beseech y [...]u dissipate it, and if possible, find out words to conjure away these clouds. But who doubts your power to do it, and who knows not that your wit defies all impossibility? To that then I recommend my self, and since the least imaginable, and most extraordinary things are easie to it, let it render me capable of some enjoyment here, and make me live till such time as I shall tell you, how much I am, beyond whatever you believe,

Madam,

Yours, &c

[Page]

To the Same. LETTER LVI.

MADAM,

I Wonder not at all if you laughed your belly full when you writ me the strange report that flyes up and down of me, that I have neither goodness nor Friendship: for to be free with you, never was any thing advanced equally ridiculous, and you had as much reason to entertain it with any credit as if you had been told that Monsieur de Chaudebonne flyes along the high way, or hath marryed Monsieur de [...] Gentlemans daughter. For my part, I only admire that such a false reporr and a calumny so ill grounded, should spread so far, and infect three Provinces, and you must needs acknowledge that the raiser of it, whoever it be, must be the most mischieveous and most dangerous person in the world. I shall make a strict enquiry after him, and if I discover any thing, assure your self I shall find a way to be revenged, though it were a person as amiable and as dreadful as your self. Your L [...] dy Mother, does certanly an action suitable to her ordinary Goodness, in not permitting such an impiety to be spoken of upon her ground, but let her only forbid the mention of it in her chamber and closet, for I know some confident and resolute enough to attempt it. For poor Madam de Chalais whom you expose like a sheep to my rage, is innocent as to this crime; she hath erred only through simplicity, and I should rather complain against her Mistress, should I quarrel with other then the Authors of this importune: I do seriously think it very strange, that she, who is well acquainted with the charmes of ease, and the enjoyment there is in doing nothing, should call me an ungratesul man, for no other reason but because I let her alone, and trouble her not with such Letters as she should heartily wish she had never received, when they come to be answered. Though I trouble not my self to take any notice of it, she hath still the place in my inclinations she ought to have; she is according to her own desire at the bottom of my heart, in the most retired part of it, where she enjoys quiet [Page] without noise. I do indeed love and honour her as perfectly as she deserves, and when ever▪ I read any thing that is pleasant, eat any thing that is good, or digest it any thing well, I think on her, and wish her the like. But to the business Madam, you sent us a piece of news a while since, whereto I made no answer, because then I was somewhat vex'd, and it is such, as, next to what you write of the report, I have thought as strange as any thing I ever heard. Though I am as much as any man acquainted with the excellencies of my Lady Marchionesse — yet I cannot sufficiently admire, that, at a time when she cares not for any man living but her Cook and her Doctor, clad in the roote, as we have seen her, and hooded with three table-napkins, she should conquer a heart so hard to be taken in, as I imagine that of the Marquesse de la — should be, and send a Lover to sigh for her in the desarts of Thebais. The young Squire you tell me of would do well to follow him, or if he hath no mind to undertake so great a journey, let him turn Hermit at Mont Valerien. I deal plainly, instead of making those demands you advance on his behalf, it were better he held his peace, and would not speak for these seaven years: However, Madam, since it is your pleasure, I will answer them. To the first, why being clad in blew he seems to be clad in green, is one of the subtillest Questions I ever read of in any science; and for my part, I see not whence it should proceed, unle [...]s it be that the Squire, who was wont for some years never to get up before one of the clock, and not to be dress'd before three, is now become more sloathful, and is not seen before candle-light. However it be I am of opinion that at all adventures he put on green, to see whether it will appear he is not clad in ble [...]. To the second, which is, to know whether he should choose either to take la Motte, or deliver me into the hands of the Sarazins; I find, abating all consideration of my own interest, that the latter attempt; besides that it is more just, is much the more difficult, and consequently the more glorious. There are 25000. [...]oot and 6000. horse charg'd to guard me with as much care as they would Guelderland, and Anwerpe; which yet he should not much stick at. Hector le Brun defeated without any assistance thirty thousand men in Northumberland at an time, and I think he was not so valiant as the other. Let him not fear there will be a want of Laurels here for him; the fairest that Europe affords are gathered in this Country. For my own part, I promise him the trouble [Page] of disposing, and making them into Crowns; but besides the Sarrazins of the male there are others of the female sex he must encounter, for these will be loath I should be carry'd hence; and therefore the report which you say is so rife of me in three Provinces, never came yet into any of the seventeen. I am not thought so mischievous here, as where you are; and it is thought, that though I knew not sufficiently how to love, I am yet my self amiable enough. But Madam, I must confess I derive no comfort thence, and think my self very unfortunate, if, among the many in France for whom I have a particular adoration, there be not some one so well opinion'd of me as to believe my heart is made as it should be; that I can have a constant honour for what ever deserves it, and an infinite love for what is infinitely amiable. I know not as to your part, what you think of it, but I am confident there is not any one hath less reason to doubt it, or that I am, less then I ought, or you can wish,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Your Lady Mother will be ever the best and discreetest Woman in the world; she could not have promised me any thing should please me better, then the Galliard-dancing which she sayes will institute at my return. But you should have said, the Galliard-Feast, you corrupt the Text; this hath made me reflect on the time past, and consider how different it was from this. Then when I lay upon straw I thought my self upon three Quilts, and now though I had a dozen under me, I should imagine my self laid upon thorns. See Madam what a condition the most easeful Gallant of Brussels is in. But he who called me so in a Letter to you, knows not all my afflictions, and imagines not how much my soul is troubled that I am far from all that love me. You know how this is to be understood, and what rank, as to that point, those two admirable persons hold, which is such as no other ought to be admitted into it. All that come out of France hither speak of them with admiration, and tell miracles of their goodness and beauty. I humbly beseech you, Madam, to employ your interest to preserve me a place in their remembrances. The Person to whom you know I owe so many obligations, addes dayly now-ones to the old, and not many days since honoured me with his recommendations in a Letter to the Count de Brion. I acknowledge it, as I am obliged [Page]to do, and though I had no more goodness and Friendship, then is reported, yet shall I never want the resentment I ought to have of the honours and good offices he hath been pleased to do me; but I fear he may become too serious, which I beseech you to reform.

To the Same. LETTER. LVII.

MADAM,

THough you assur'd me that the Isle of France was not any of the three rebellious Provinces, yet I suspect some of the Islanders of the female sex, and there is particularly one I wish in my power that I might inflict that punishment on her she deserves. Though they were innocent as to any crime save that of an easy inclination to believe what is injurious to me, I should find them guilty enough, and be not a little troubled to have offended so much against them. I have had much a do to apprehend what you say of the Raven, and the King of England's Son; but if I mistake not, it is one of the wickedst devices in the world; you never did any thing against me I took so hainously, and I shal never forget it till I am reveng'd. But to what height is the persecution arriv'd, and what may I not expect now that your Lady Mother seems to declare against me? I was extreamly astonish'd when I discover'd her writing, and found she abus'd both me and my faithful Friend▪ And yet I cannot believe she did this out of her own inclination, and it must needs be that you forc'd her to write it with a ponyard at her throat. All this, Madam, put together, raise in me an extream rage, but the kindness I receiv'd from you hath appeas'd me. I have found in Monsieur de Chaudebonne's Letter the sugar you thought to have put into mine, and have tasted it with the greatest pleasure I ought. I must confess we have not so good here; send me of it often, I beseech you, I shall convert it into good temparament, and contrary to the tenet of Physitians, That all sweet things turn to choller, it shall allay mine, which is at this time much stirr'd. But to speak truely, it is horrid impiety to abuse a poor child who would take the pains to learn French for my sake, and who had the wit to make choice of me [Page] above al those that are here. In the mean time I dare answer, you that very suddenly she shall writ after another manner, and within three months she will be in a condition to revenge her self. In those days, when Madam de — us'd the words Fleering, and pittiful, & though she might not say Sad, her writing was much at this rate, and yet now her wit is cry'd up every where, and coppies of her Lette [...]s are dispers'd thus far. [...]ut to satisfy you as to the Question, you presse me to answer sincerely and conscientiously, I tell you, Madam, truely and sincerely, that I do not think there is any person ever thought that it was for my reputation I had sent the Love-letter you have seen; and were I yet to choose, I had rather have made a Letter of that kind, then such a judgement as that. But I ought not to be so f [...]ee in my opinion of any thing, not knowing of whom I speak, when I had been snapp'd so as I have in what I have said of some who can remember what they did in their cradles. I must confess I thought it would be laught at, nay that it ought, but since you and Monsieur de la — have said it, freely recant what I said, and shall take heed how I offend persons that remember things at such a distance—

To the Same. LETTER. LVIII.

Madam,

WEre you not the most amiable person in the world, you would be certainly the most abhominable, as being guilty of a certain implacability which were insupportable in any other. You demand peace after the rate that others grant it, and to decide a quarrel, you use words that might beget a war. ‘I know not how I came to dishonour my self so much; give over your snarling, let me hear from you every week.’ This certainly is a strange humility, and an excellent method to exercise the Christian Vertues. You command me further not to take any thing amisse from five and twenty years to five and twenty years, as if your favours were not to be expected, but when those of Heaven are open, and that there is requisite a Jubilee to absolve those whom you have offended. Thus far, Madam, had I proceeded, [Page] when I received your second Letter, which hath appeas'd me very much, by acquainting me that you desire not I should be hang'd unless you were present. It is certainly an infallible argument of the good inclinations and the great tenderness you have for me, that you wish not this accident should befal me, unless you had also the satisfaction to see it. When I had so long implor'd the assistance of your wit to find out words that might allay my unhappiness, you could not have be thought you of better. For know, nothing could more encourage me to continue at Brussels then to tell me they wish me hang'd at Paris, so that this place which I have hitherto look'd on as a prison, I must now consider as a sanctuary against your persecutions. I cannot easily cre [...]it what you tell me of Madam de — nor that she should take your part against me. If she have, Fortune is more righteous then either of you, by hindring her Letters to come into my hands. To be free with you, it is much to be lamented, that you have spoild so good a nature, and I shall be more troubled that you have corrupted her Innocence, then to see that you have condemn'd mine. However it be, assure your selves, you cannot take any resolutions against me which are not unjust, and which I shall not one day make you both repent. This, Madam, is not spoken out of Vaine-glory, but of that confidence which ordinarily accompani [...]s such as deal uprightly, and is the effect of a good conscience. Were I conscious but of the least default, and had any way deserv'd your menaces, I should not have these good intervals which you see I somtimes have, and insteed of curing others of the Spleen I should dy of it my self. If I have cur'd your Mother of that misery, I shall willingly undergo what other soever may befal my self. The assurance I have of the honour of her remembrances, and the affliction it is to me that I cannot see her; divide my happiness and my misery, and I wonder not so much, that she wishes to see me above any one, since I believe not any man can be more pleasant then my self, when I am but neer her. That Philosophical Friend of ours whom you have so opportunely remembred with his little twinkling eyes, had them almost started out when I read to him that passage of your Letter. To say truth, Zeno's soul would have been startled at such an emergency, and that of Monsieur Mignon afflicted and cast down. Philosophy, which hath remedies for all other misfortunes, knows not any to qualifie the least losse may happen to a man in the esteem of Madam Rambouill [...]t. For [Page] how great an Enemy soever it may be to the passions, yet I cannot disapprove what may be had for so rare a person, not think it much a man should do that for her sake, which she would have done for Vertue's. I know not Madam, whether she can as easily instruct me not to love you; but what likelyhood is there I should ever learn it, when Monsieur de Chaudebonne is my Tutor therein? I do not, I must confesse, much hope it, but am resolv'd, what misfortune soever it may procure me, ever to remain,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Brussels. June 30. 1634.

To the Same. LETTER LIX.

MADAM,

I am extreamly troubl'd that you can give me no greater hope of peace, and that you are never at a loss, as to wit, so much as when you are to do me some good. For knowing it, as I do, capable of all things, I must needs think the default rather to be in your will, and while I shall find you so litle favourable to me, I shall have cause to believe you are not so good as you pretend to be. I fear me the assurance your Brother gives of your Justice, will prove rather an argument of your Tyranny, which once strengthened takes away the liberty even of complaint. Were he as far from you as I am, he would haply be of my opinion, and were I in his place, it may be I should be of his. In the mean time, Madam, whether it be an absolute peace or only a Truce that you afford me, I am glad to make my advantage of it, I have already perform'd one of the conditions on which you give it me; M.D. having propos'd another way to me how to write to her, I could not but make use of it, though I was much desirous my Letter should have pass'd through your hands, for I hop'd it might have been better'd thereby, and was resolv'd earnestly to entreat you to correct it. It's not above four daies since it was sent, Monsieur Frotta who is yet here, having with much sollicitation, [Page] taken charge of it, For Alcidalis, I shall not leave him, till I have brought him into Africk, which I hope will be very suddenly, for we see Land already. But Madam, I cannot make him happy till I am become such my self; I cannot bring him to see Zelida till I have met with Monsieur Mandat; and it must be another spirit then what I have at present, to expresse his joy, and his good fortune. To be free with you, next to his Story, what you relate to me concerning Martha, hath pleas'd me as much as any I ever heard; but it is but the beginning thereof, her Fortune shall not stop there, nor would I swear that we shall not one day see her Queen of Mauritania. All which notwithstanding I despair not but she may be hang'd, but it will not be so soon. I am infinitely glad for what she hath procur'd you from the Dutchess of Savoy, and that honours attend you from all parts of the world. I could also have easily gotten you one of the Mustachoes of the King of Morocco, and a handful of the beard, and two of the grinding teeth of the King of Fez. But since the death of his Majesty of Sweden, I conceived you would no longer hazard your Friendship among that sort of people, which obliges me to be more reserv'd; for I remember you have often blam'd me for engaging you alwayes to Lovers, such as you care not for. If I am discreet for your concernments, Madam, I must be such for my own; what opportunity soever Fortune may favour me with, I shall have a care not to be trapann'd by her, and I shall live longer then I expected, if the Prophecy of the sage Enchantresse prove true. I humbly beseech her to believe, she cannot more justly assume that title with any one then with mee; to say truth, whatever she does, enchants me, I have spent a whole day in reading the four lines she hath written to me. I shall take her advice, and avoid Gradafilea, as I would Scylla and Charybdis. Give me leave to return my most humble thanks to my Lord Cardinal de la Valette, for the remembrance he hath honour'd me with in a Letter to the Count de Brion; as also to tell you how far I am troubled at the indisposition of Mademoiselle Paulet. Her favour which you tell me should not last above twenty four hours, will put me into one for many dayes, nor shall I shake it off, till I have had other newes. M. d'A. would not pardon me the freedom which you will, if she saw how ineffectuall her advice proves, and that I cannot avoid speaking of other persons in your Letters. She [Page] would utterly despaire of any good of me, and would, with much more reason then ever, conclude me defective as to gallantry; but though she place you above all this world affords, if she knew what rank you have in my inclinations, I assure you, she would find me as much as might be desired,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

March 3.

To my Lord Marquesse of Sourdeac, at London. LETTER LX.

MY LORD,

THough the crosseness of my Fortune should have hardned me for all sorts of Afflictions, yet can I not digest that of not receiving somthing from you: and me thinks the want of your Letters is a misfortune able to shake the constancy of a Vertuous man. I have with much impatience, these many days expected that you would honour me with an answer of the last I writ to you and which I put into the hand of your noble Lady. But now my patience is quite spent, and I can no longer adjourn an humble suite that you would put me out of paine, and acquaint me by Letter what accident hath hitherto depriv'd me of that happiness. You see my Lord, what assurance I have in your words, and how great confidence I repose in your goodness, since I dare beg so boldly, a favour I can never deserved, if you had not promis'd it me, and which I presse you to pay me with as much rigour as if it were a just debt, though it be only an effect of your indulgence and liberality. And since you have ever express'd so much inclination to that Vertue, I think you will not be a little pleas'd to see, that, in spight of Fortune you can still practise it, and that it is in your power to do him a Courtesie who desires it of you. All I can assure you, is, that it shall be well employ'd, and duely acknowledg'd, and that you shall not in any thing make [Page] a greater demonstration of your Goodness, then by assuring me of the honour of your affection, and giving me leave to pass every where under the quality of

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Brussels, Aug. 25, 1634.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER LXI.

Madam,

I Have not pass'd one Hour of the day wherein I read not the Letter you writ to me at midnight, and though I am not wont to be much pleas'd with the courtesies are done me at those hours, yet I have entertain'd this with more satisfaction then can be express'd. Having considered it well, I have found it not to proceed from one asleep, and am confirm'd in the judgement I somtimes made of you, that at that time your mind is more vigilant, more clear, and more vigorous than at any other. While I would find out the reason of it, I shall not admit the least suspicion of any ill of you, nor take notice as a strange thing, that you keep Robin-good-fellows hours. I am more inclind' to believe, your understanding knows no night, and being, as it is, a spring of Light, the obscurity which makes others dull and heavy, cannot hurt it; for when all things else are covered with it, that breaks forth with greater lustre, the shadow of the Earth being as unable to reach it as the starres. Though I express'd my self in termes yet fuller of Hyperbole's, I humbly beseech you to conceive me far from speaking so much good of it as I have receiv'd from it. The choice it furnish'd you with of three or four words, which render your last Letter more obliging then all the rest, hath rais'd in me unhop'd for enjoyments, and forc'd on me a joy I make some difficulty to entertain, as being such as I ought not to be capable of but in your presence. But, Madam, be pleas'd to consider the extent of your Empire, at the very moment that you writ and wish'd our misfortunes at an end the Elbenes departed hence to find out some remedy therein, the Heavens began to clear up, and gave us greater likelihood then ever. Which since it is so, and that in you [Page] to do good and to wish it, is the same thing, I humbly beg the continuance of your good desires for us. I can easily imagine that sufficient to raise some fortunate emergency; your good fortune will qualify the malignity of ours, and you can contribute more then any one to that accommodation, which so many are engag'd to bring about. But Madam, be pleas'd it may be suddenly, for, to deal truely with you, I am almost out of my self to see the Miracles that are at Paris. I do not think the Lady you mention to Monsieur de Chaudebonne can discover the greatest, when the ape, who was taught to play on the Guitarhe, could also sing to it. I know where there are things far more extraordinary, and where I may see greater wonders; besides that, as to my own particular, I shall shew you one beyond all, which is the change of my humour, which I promise you, shall be if not as noble, equally constant as yours. Fear not therefore Madam, that a Melancholy which you dissipate at such a distance, can ever come neer you, and trouble not your self for the losse of my Letters, when you shall have me; I shall make you acknowledge I am better then they, and find I have not put my best thoughts into writing. In a word, I dare assure you, that unless it be in abundance of grey haires, there hath happened no change in me which is not for the better; though I doubt not but those will fall with the cares that begat them, and questionless I shall become quite another man then what I am, when I shall be able to tell you my self with how great passion I honour you, and how much I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Brussels Oct. 15. 1634.

To the Same. LETTER LXIL

MADAM,

I Know not who those Abencerrages are whom you prefer before me, but I conceive they were no more born in Granada then I was. The greatest advantage haply they have over me, is, [Page] that they are neet you, and that all my crime, is, that I am at so great a distance. You have indeed reason to believe me guilty of some enormous offence, since Heaven punishes it so heavily, nor do I wonder much you should condemn me thereupon, nor that you should be deaf to the reasons of a man that makes his defence so far off. It hath been the custome of all Gentle-women both Moores and Christians to do so. Yet I should wish, that while you deprive me of your Friendship, you would not endeavour my dishonour, and that you would not take so much paines to accuse me, only to clear your self. You might with more humanity follow the example of Madam — and Mademoiselle — the former without alledging any reason in the world, broke off all correspondence with me on a sudden, conceiving that in time things would come to that passe. The other hath forsaken me but lately; but as without dishonour, so without noise, and growing silent through pure weariness of talking, speaks no more of me, neither good nor ill. But however, Madam, if there be that little remainder of Justice in your mind as to think that Friends are not to be forsaken without some pretence, I wonder you could bethink you of no better, since you are so fortunate as to invention, and have ever dress'd up your Fables with so much probability. Besides Madam, you have not judg'd so favourably as you ought of the Letters you have seen of mine, if you think that Monsieur Mandat hath receiv'd the more excellent. My judgement of yours is otherwise, and, though I knew nothing of those you writ to others, I durst swear you never writ better. It must be a Goodness great as mine to speak after his manner, and I am the only man can celebrate the Satyres are writen against me. To be serious, a man that undergoes ill so mildly, deserves Good should be done him, and it should be some affliction to you to treat with so much rigour a person that takes it with so much patience, and who is, with so much constancy,

Madam,

Yours, &c

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To the Same. LETTER. LXIII.

MADAM,

I Should have torn this Letter after I had receiv'd yours, if I had credit enough for what you write to me; but I am so accustomed not to receive any thing but what's ill, that I must now expect nothing else, Peace it self being suspected when it is offer'd by you. I wish heartily there were some marke of reconciliation between us, as there is between Heaven and Mankind, and that you know some means how I might be as much assur'd of your promises as I am afraid of your Threats. I look on it as a good omen, that Mademois [...]le — who had a while since forsaken me hath renew'd her correspondence with me; me thinks she is your Rainbow, and like that in the Heavens, appeares after the Tempest. It was never seen while Heaven was incens'd against me, and while it thunder'd and lightned. The truth is, the season was so tempestuous, that I had given over all thoughts of remedy and given my self for lost. Being in this posture, Madam, you may imagine with what joy I opened my eyes to those beams which you darted on me through so much obscurity; but I must confess I dare not be overconfident. I know you many times condescend to a reconciliation, that you may take a greater pleasure to fall out again. I am afraid the light you shew me should be a false one, and that this light is but the flash of the Lighting, and the surprisal of the Blow which haply it will not belong ere I feel. If it be otherwise; and that it is a true peace you grant me, I entertain it which such a heart as you would desire, and with what conditions and Qualifications you are pleas'd to accompany it with. But Madam I must have this proviso in, that you would acknowledge my Innocence, and confess that you did not so much as suspect me to be guilty of those crimes, which you pretended to accuse me of. Till this be granted, and you have made me full satisfaction, I cannot answer your demand concerning Chocolate, nor speak of Comedies, when my mind is full of Tragedies: Yet I could not avoid laughing, when I read what you say, that Monsieur de R is as fierce and full of blows as My Lord Amadis. Your Eloquence is not so high flown as to raise any [Page] wonder in me, for I have ever foreseen it. That which I am more surpriz'd with, is, that you are become so infinitely pleasant. You may say what you please of Madam de S— I cannot entertain the least suspicion of her fidelity. They are considerable elogies of her Servant, that he is handsome, young, and a Gascon; but when all is done, you shall find she will be simple enough not to forsake me for him. It is ten years since, I have known by experience how she hath treated the handsome and the young; and for the Gascon, it's a quality you will not number among those that shall pretend to any love from her, if you call to mind I have heretofore told you that she said of one, that he was either a Gascon or Picard. I am not much taken with his finding of epris in her Anagramme, I have found prisé, which happens somwhat mischievously. To come to the worst, Madam, I can find here, when I please my self, a Mistresse handsome as the Infanta Briana, amorous as Mademoiselle Arlande, and strong and fleshy as Madam Gradafilea. I speak seriously, one of the stoutest Whenches in all the 17. Provinces longs to be acquainted with me. But Monsieur de Chaudebonne advises me not to hazard my self with her. In the interim, I make this Letter too long, where I thought to have said but one word to you, and Mademoiselle d'A— would think it guilty of very little gallantry since I speak of so many persons in it besides your self. But Madam, how infinitely should I be oblig'd if you would but afford me a handsome Letter for her! If you deny me this favour grant me at least another I beg of you, to let me know what condition I am in with you, and whether you have prolong'd the four years you had assign'd me to live. You shall dispose of me as you please; but to be just, you ought to own more humanity towards me, for I am infinitely,

Your, &c.

The poor rogue will be well in time, he is almost recover'd already. I humbly thank the sage Enchantresse who hath furnish'd me with the adventure of Astaranax; I think there never was any thing so dreadful as her Hell should be, and I imagine I see there Cerberus, the three Furies and all their Snakes, in one only person. But what part does poor — act amongst this damned crue?

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To the same. LETTER LXIV.

MADAM,

BEing so infinitely obliged, as I am to Madame de C— I should be ashamed, not to have mentioned her; but in a Letter wherein I said nothing of your Lady-Mother, me thinks I might be pardoned a forgetfulness of all the World. I believe it was shee writ the four lines in Spanish, of King Chiquito: I am not well acquainted with her hand; but I know the ordinary air of her writing, is so Spritely and so particular in her, that a man cannot be deceived in it, as being such as n [...]ne can imitate. For what concerns you, Madame, I now tell you softly, and in a meaner stile then the beginning of this Letter, and consequently the more to be credited, that I look on all; I receive from you as so many Miracles. They are much beyond those for which I admired you so much heretofore, and which I thought the noblest in the World; and though I am not much guilty of envy, I should be much troubled, there were any man in France could write as well as you. Mademoiselle Paulet is not pleased to honour me with a Letter; The large Letters I writ to her out of Spain, I perceive have tired her: I shall easily reform that, and it will be much more easy for me, to avoid over-writing to her, then over-loving her. The only man of whom I have said nothing, seems to be only he of whom I never should, it being more necessary, I should give him some assurance of my discretion, then my affection: My speaking so often of those that are about him, will satisfy him, that it is not out of forgetfulness; that he is only unmentioned, and that he can never entertain that opinion of me, as that I could forget a person, whom I ought to honour and serve beyond all the World, upon so many different accounts: But I know not why he sayes, we shall have so many disputes about the Spanish; unlesse it be that having alwayes had the advantage of me in all those, we have had together heretofore, and what pleasure it is to dispute and to overcome, he will needs prepare that entertainment for me against my return by challenging me on a subject, wherein I have all the advantage that may be. I presume, Madmae, on your pardon, For all I have added in this Letter, since it concerns such as you love [Page] no less then your self. Be pleased further to give me leave to tell your Brother, that I love him as much now, as when I bid him Adieu; and that I am his most humble and most dutiful Servant. I once more Madame kiss your hands for the honour, I receive by your writing to me. I am not so much joy'd to be here my self as to find your Letter here; but if you can condescend to so much goodnesse for me; I should wish they were somewhat lesse eloquent, so they were more passionate. I speak seriously, you frighten me, and when I see your mind so high-flown, me thinks it is impossible, I should ever reach it, or have any place therein. Among so many fair Words, let there be some good ones. Rid me of this fear; for to deal truly with you, I stand in much need of, and in some sort deserve something, of your care.

To my Lord the Duke of Bellegarde. LETTER. LXV.

My Lord,

MR de Chaudebonne is guilty of the boldnesse, I take to write to you, as being the only comfort he could give me in the affliction, he sees me almost orewhelmed with: T'is true, my my Lord, the trouble I take not to have found you here, I number among the greatest, I have met with in this Country. I prepared my self for this banishment, the more out of some hopes I might spend it in your Company, and doubted not to find France whereever you were; But this would have been too great a comfort for a man destined to unhappiness, nor is Fortune ever so favourable to those shee persecutes. In the interim my Lord, I look on it as a good presage, that shee is pleased, we should be at some reasonable distance from you; and have some faith, shee will be reconciled with us; if shee once afford us the happiness of your presence. For to be ingenuous, My Lord, I cannot imagine shee hath absolutely forsaken you, and there needs no more then her sex to argue, shee cannot have you; and that shee will shortly see you again. But though you want her, you are not without that extraordinary prudence, and height of courage, which attends you every where, and which you have not long since so nobly expressed, that I question [Page] whether those unfortunate years have not been more advantagious to you then others. I could easily, My Lord, spin out this discourse to a great length; but I would not be thought indiscreet, in the management of the freedome is allow'd me—

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER. LXVI.

My Lord,

I would gladly know how long it is since you questioned, whether the four last Books of the Aeneids were written by Virgil or not, and whether Terence be the true Author of Phormio. I should not ask so confidently; but you know that in Triumphs Soldiers are wont to jest with their Commanders, and that the joy of a Victory permits that freedome, which without it might not be assum'd. Confesse therefore freely, how long it is since you have thought on little Erminia in the Verses of Catullus, or those of Monsieur Godeau. But, My Lord, though you had forgotten all the rest, you should ever be mindful of his Benedicite; for no man had ever so much cause to say it as you, or was so highly oblig'd to render thanks to the Lord of Hoasts: To do you right, the Conduct and Fortune whereby you have secur'd us, is one of the greatest Miracles ever were seen in War; and all the circumstances so extravagant; that I should put them into the Chapter of Apparent falsities, were there not so many witnesses, and that I am satisfied nothing of Miracle can happen to you, which ought not to be believ'd. The joy wherewith all you love here are fill'd at this news, is a thing beyond all representation: But can you imagine, My Lord, that those Persons who were heretofore ravish'd at your singing and Poetry, must needs be now infinitely satisfied, when they hear it said that you raise sieges, take Cities and defeat Armies, and that the greatest hope of good successe in our Affairs lyes in you. I assure you, this is entertain'd here with the greatest resentment you could wish, and, which is more then you think; your Armes gain Victories, more desireable then all those you can have beyond the Rhine. How amibitious soever you may be, that consideration should engage you to return, for assure your [Page] self, My Lord, a Battle is not now the noblest thing that may be gain'd, and you will acknowledge your self, that there may be a Rose or a Shoe-String, fit to be preferr'd before nine Imperial Ensigns. I am

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Paris, Oct. 23. 1635.

To the same. LETTER LXVII.

My Lord,

I Have shewn Monsr. de St. H— Monsr. de St. R— and Monsr. de St. Q— that passage of your Letter where you speak of my Lord's menial Servants; I am to acquaint you, that they have taken it very ill, and am consident, that Mr des Ousches, to whom I have not yet communicated it, will be of the same opinion. So that, were I to arme my self against your menaces, you may easily judge, I shall not want Friends, and that my writing to you now proceeds not so much from fear, as from a sincere Affection, and a natural inclination, I have to obey you; Besides those I have named, this place affords a many other gallant Persons, such as it were a little more dangerous to quarrel with; who take it not well, I should take paines for your diversion, and think it unreasonable, you should take any, wanting their presence. And truly, my Lord, since your absence smothers all their enjoyments, it were but just, you should with no other then that of seeing them again; and that in the mean time you would not admit any divertisement. I can assure you, that whatever is taken here at this time, hinders them not from thinking on you, and making continual wishes for your return. The cold and snows of the Mountains of Alsatia benumb them, and make them tremble even in the greatest Assemblies; and the fear of the ambushes of the Cravates perpetually Alarms them in the midst of Paris. But what is most remarkable, and which will haply seem incredible to you, is that I have observ'd M. de B— & M. de R— melancholy in the midst of the Bal, and that upon your account, and sighing in the height of the Musick. What judgment, My Lord, or what advantage you will make of it; I know not, but [Page] for my part, let them do what they can hereafter, I am confident they shall never be able to give you a higher expression of their affection. Taking out the other day the last Letter, you honour'd me with, and reading that passage where you tell me, that you were upon your departure; instead of saying into Alsatia, I read Thracia. Iron-armes, who, you know, is not wont to be easily mov'd at any thing grew as pale, as a clout, and said, full of amazement, into Thracia Sr. and another who stood by, and is a little better acquainted with the Globe then the other, could not but be a little disturb'd. I would gladly entertain your Lordship, with somthing concerning your Spouse; but I know not what to say of her, for whatever shall be said of her will be incredible, and there is not any thing in her, exceeds not the limits of description. Whatever you have observ'd in her, that might raise love or admiration, is augmented hourly, and there are daily discover'd in her new Treasures of beauty, wit and generosity. But with all I dare assure you, shee hath in your absence behav'd herself, with all the circumspection you could wish. I know there is a certain report, which questionless hath raised in you some jealousy; for I am not ignorant of the humours of your Africans; and it is true, there is a young gallant of a good family, and who may one day come to a good estate, who waits upon her often; but I assure you, that all this notwithstanding, she hath no other apprehensions then those of a most discreet, and most reserv'd Woman, and such as you your self may have instilled into her. To be free with you, my Lord, if your heart be not grown brawny among the Swedes, the remembrance of all these Persons might raise in you a great desire of returning, and how strong soever the charms of Fame may be, you should not think them stronger then theirs. Hasten therefore your return as much as you can, and for a while at least; let them be the objects of your ambition; for though Fortune attended you with victory even to Prague, I do not conceive you really in her favour, while shee keeps you at a distance hence. There are no Conquests beyond the Rhine, not beyond Danuhius, can absolutely satisfy you; and all Germany cannot ballance the suburbs of one City, that is on this side. I am,

My Lord,

Your, &c

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To the Same. LETTER LXVIII.

MY LORD,

YOu think it seems, there's no more to do, then to write, and speak as slightly of it, as may be expected from a man that hath nothing else to do, then to command twelve thousand men, and oppose thirty; but if you were taken up with the sight and consideration of three or four Persons that are here, you would find abundance of other employment for your thoughts. Were you in my place, you would think time as precious as I do; I would to Heaven you were, that it might be seen how well you would come off, with the assistance of that Conduct, which you are so much celebrated for, and that miraculous prudence, whereby you have escaped so many other dangers. For I am to acquaint your Lordship, that when you have put a period to the War, you are now engag'd in, you will be drawn into another more dangerous one here, you shall deal with an Adversary more gallant, and more stubborn then the German; and you, who have delivered so many millions of Souls, will have much a do to escape your self. There is no retreat to be thought on, and there needs no more to make a total rout, then the very sight of them. There is among the rest, a certain Iron-arme, the most terrible Creature the Sun this day beholds. There is no armour can keep off his blows, he crushes whatsoever he but touches, nor are all the cruelties of the Croates comparable to his. I doubt not, but your Lordship knows whom I speak of, and that you have had some engagements with them already; but conceive not, you shall find them such as you left them. Their forces are encreased very much lately, and their power is come to that height that they are grown irresistible; there passeth not a day, but they get something, though they venture for it to the gates of Paris, they take, they kill, they plunder all wherever they come; and while you are employed to defend the Frontiers, they set the heart of the Kingdom on fire. Ye [...] I would [Page] not this should frighten you from returning, but having known no fear in all those engagements, wherein any other would entertain not any in these; for though they put all to the Sword, yet they may haply afford you Quarter, and if you fall into their hands, they will treat you with as much mildnesse, as may be expected by a Prisoner of your quality. By as much as I can learn, they hope to see you in that condition, for me thinks they should not be so much over-joyed at your Victories, as I perceive they are, if they thought not they would augment the Glory of theirs; but they will be transported to see at their feet the Reducer of Galas; and [...]ole [...] the World know that he who hath been the Buckler of all France, was not able to ward off their blows: On the other side, I know they are excessively impatient of your return, and am confident, France affords not another man, whose Company they are more desirous of. I send you this intelligence, My Lord, that you may accordingly provide to make your party good; or at least, not to be so much ena [...]mou [...]'d of the tittle of a Conquerour as not to expect to lose it here. For my part, happen what will, I must confesse I wish you here; for I shall not much enjoy my self, till I have the honour to see you, and to entertain you, at your own f [...]re side with the cares, the disquiets, and the Alarms you have given to all those that love you. I am,

My Lord,

Your, &c

To the Same. LETTER. LXIX.

My Lord,

YOu must needs admit somthing of mortification amidst your Triumphs, in that having alwayes the satisfaction to entertain the Children of Mars, you have a minutes patience for the entertainment of a Child of the Muses. We cannot at Paris endure, you should live so pleasantly at Ments; and not being able to hinder your enjoyments, yet we endeavour what we [Page] can to interrupt them. Yet should I not have presum'd it, had I not been commanded by a certain Lady, who will not be deny'd any thing, and whom even those, to whom Armies and their Generals submit, would make no great difficulty to obey. I assure your Lordship that, when ever I imagine a sight of you with eight or ten great Commanders about you, I much pitty Terence, Virgil, and my self, and am extreamly troubled for those who here are so ambitious of your frequent remembrances; and yet I am confident there is no bastion about the place where you are, so inconsiderable, which you care not for more then you do for me: However, it is not for me to murmure. I consider'd there were a many others, who had greater reason to quarrel, nor was I desirous to be at difference with a man, who they say, hath the disposal of all the Marshal de la Forcès Troops. But now that I am forc'd to this confidence, and that there are some here, who will maintain what I write; I shall presume to tell you, that it is a very sad thing, that your affection, which not long since was divided among the most excellent Persons in the World, is now become the pillage of a sort of Soldiers. I can hardly contain my self, nay, I am at a losse of all discretion, when I think that the place which the most adorable Creature in the World had in your heart is now taken up, for the Quarters of Colonel Ebron; that Madam de C— and Madam de R— have theirs taken up by some Commissary or Major, and that you have bestowed mine on some wretched Lanspresado. This consideration, my Lord, puts us all here into an inexpressible sadness; there is but one person hath a greater constancy then the rest, and would perswade us not to believe, you can be guilty of so great an injustice. Shee I speak of is a Gentle-woman of — fair-hair'd, of a very clear complexion, more cheerful, and more beautiful then the fair weather of this season; and indeed such, as you shall not find three so handsome in all the Country of M [...]ssin. Shee hath Eyes wherein all the light in the World seems to unite and centre, a complexion that darkens all things, a mouth which all those of the World beside cannot sufficiently commend, as being full of attraction and charms, and is never shut or opened, but with the keyes of wit and judgement. By the description I make of her, you will easily conclude her a beauty, far different from that of Queen Epicharis; but if shee be not so much an Egyptian as shee, yet hath shee as good a Talent as to stealing as the other. For in her very infancy, shee rob'd snow [Page] and Jvory of their whiteness, and Pearls of their lustre and clearness, shee took beauty and light from the Star [...]s, and yet there passes not a day but shee gets some ray from the Sun, and is not asham'd to deck herself with it before all the World. Not long since, in an assembly at the Louvre, shee took away the grace and the lustre from all the Ladies, nay from the Diamonds that cover'd them, and spar'd not even the Jewels of the Crown on the Queen's head; but took from them what was most beautiful, and most glittering. In the mean time, though all the World perceives her violence, none opposes it, shee does what she pleases without any fear of punishment, and though there are those at Paris, who take Dukes and Peeres the next day after they are married; yet are there not any will presume to lay hold on her: But though she have a cruelty for all the World; yet me thinks shee hath a great mildness for what concerns you; shee hath commanded me to tell you, shee hath not those distrusts of you which others have, and in requital thereof shee desires you to send her six triumphant Arches, of those are left of your entrance; four dozen of publick acclamations, and the Poetical works of the Landgrave of Hesse. I advise you to answer her desire exactly, and above all things, to hold a fair correspondence with her; for if shee once endeavour to do you a mischief, your Life-Guard, and your Troop, will not secure your person. Mets is not a place strong enough to shelter you from her power: But, my Lord, I consider not that I entertain you too long amidst the great affairs you have, and that if I should make my Letter any longer, I fear you would put off the reading of it, till this peace were concluded. I should indeed be much troubled you did not see the end of it, since what concerns me most, is that there you should not find the most sincere professions I make to you, That of all those whom you have so much obliged, there cannot be any, with more zeal and respect then I am,

My Lord,

Yours, &c

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To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, with a dozen fancies of English Riband, for a Discretion he had lost to her. LETTER. LXX.
To apprehend the wit and humour of this Letter, note the French word, Galen, is ambiguous, signifying either a Fancy, or knot of riband, and a Gallant; and that a Discretion is a Wager, which lost it is refer'd to the Discretion of the Looser to pay what he pleases; there having been nothing named before.

MADAM,

SInce Discretion is one of the principal qualities of a Gallant, I conceive that when I send you a dozen, I am much more then out of your debt. Be not afraid to entertain so great a number, though you would never yet receive one; for I assure you, you may be confident of these, as such as shall not divulge the favours you do them: How glorious soever it may be to receive of yours, yet hath it been no small matter to have found so many of this humour, in a time when they are all so full of vanity; which indeed occasioned so long a journey as to fetch them from beyond the Sea. I need not tell you, Madam, that they are not the first of that Country, that have been well entertained in France. But these certainly are the most fortunate that ever came thence, and if you but give them a reception, they need not envy those who have waited on Princesses and Queens. For, to do you right, Madam, the Earth affords not any thing above you, and whoever were plac'd in your mind might presume to be in the highest place in the world. I speak confidently for a man that payes a Discretion; but be pleased to consider, that one Love-letter is little enough for a dozen Gallants, and that those for whom I write, at least, those of their Country, have such a strange way to expresse themselves, that they seem to discourse of Love, when they do but complement. Take it not amisse, that, being their Secretary, I have in some sort imitated their stile, and be assur'd, that had I been only to speak for my self, [Page] I should have been content to tell you, Madam, that I am, with all manner of respect.

Yours, &c

To the Same. LETTER. LXXI.

MADAM,

I could never believe it possible that the receipt of a Letter from you should add to my affliction, nor that you could ever have sent me such bad news, as that you might not comfort me up at the same time. I thought my unhappiness at such a point as could not admit of any addition, and that since you were able sometimes to strengthen my patience to endure the absence of your Lady-Mother and your own, there could not be any mis-fortune which you would not have encouraged me to suffer. But give me leave to tell you, that I have found the contrary in the affliction, I have for the death of Madam Aubry, which hath been heavy enough to crush me, and wanted not much of spending the remainders of my patience. You may easily judge, Madam, what an excessive grief it must needs be to me to have lost a friend so good, so considerable and so accomplished as shee, and one that having alwayes given me so many expressions of her affection, would needs do something when shee had not many hours to continue here. But though I reflected not on my own concernments; yet could I not but infinitely regret a person by whom you were infinitely lov'd, and who, among many particular endowments, had that of knowing you as much as may be, and esteeming you above all things. Yet I must confesse, that if this disturbance can admit any remission, it is, to reflect on the constancy shee expressed; and the fortitude wherewith shee hath suffer'd a thing whereof the name would make her tremble at any time. I am extreamly comforted to understand, that at her death, shee had those qualities which only she wanted in her life, and that shee so opportunely found courage and resolution. When I consider it seriously, it is somewhat against my conscience to bemoane her, and me thinks it speaks an over-interessed affection, to be sad because shee hath left us to better her condition, and is gone into the other World to find that quiet shee could never [Page] meet with in this. I very heartily entertain the exhortations yo give me thereupon, which is, often to con a lesson so profitable and necessary, and to prepare my self for the like one day, I know how to make my advantage of your remonstrances, and this is not the first time that I must acknowledge my reformation their effect. The miseries we have run through all this while is no small preparation for it; There's no better lecture to instruct a man how to dy well, then not to take much pleasure in living. But if it be not impossible for the hopes that Fortune proposes to prove effectual; if after so many unhappy years, we may presume to expect some few fair dayes, be pleased to give me leave, Madam, to entertain thoughts more divertive then those of death; and if it be true that we are likely shortly to see one another; let me not yet fall out with my life. Where you say that you think me destin'd to great things, you give so great securitie of my life and give so happie a presage of the adventures that shall happen to me, that I shall not be sorry it continue yet a while. For my part, if destinie doth promise me any thing that is good, I assure you, I will do my utmost to get it. I will contribute all I can thereto, that your Prophesies may be fulfilled. In the mean time, I humbly beseech you to be consident, that of all the favours I can beg of Fortune, what I most passionately desire, is, that shee would do for you what shee ought, and for my self only afford me the means to acquaint you with the passion, obliges me to be so much.

Madam

Your, &c.

Madam, give me leave to return my most humble thanks to my Lady Marchioness for the honour of her Remembrances, by sending me word that shee admires mee; but her silence teaches me how I ought to reverence her.

To the Same. LETTER LXXII.

I cannot for a Brevet ow you lesse then a Letter, and how fair soever the Words I put in it may be, they will not be so rich as [Page] those of the Parchment you have procured for me; since those of that amount to ten thousand Crowns. Monsieur de Puy-Laurens hath dispatch'd it to me with all the care and diligence that could be expected. I had indeed some suspition, that he, who hath in his time done so great things for the Ladies, would not be awanting on this occasion, to serve the most accomplished of all, and was confident the most excellent mouth in the World could not have been open'd ineffectually upon my account; This good fortune having once happen'd to me, I imagine there is not any but may, and me thinks the least I can expect is to be rich, since it is your desire I should be happy. In the mean time, though I am not much taken up with the things that relate to my own settlement; yet I must confesse I have entertain'd this with extraordinary joy, and should think my self over-interessed in this occur [...]ence; were it not, that what I consider of greatest importance in this favour, is that I owe it your procurement. And certainly, those who place riches among things indifferent, would not rank your good inclinations among them; and for my part, I think it unjust to number amongst the goods of Fortune, a benefit that vertue hath obtain'd for me. I conceive, Madam, I may without any Indecorum call you so, and if I am not mis-inform'd of your proceedings, you may with much more right take that name, then tha [...] you go under: At least this may be affirm'd, she never appear'd so glorious to the World as shee doth in you, and those who have known her heretofore, and said, shee would raise in all men a love of her, if shee were but seen naked, would have found her more powerfully attractive cloath'd with your person. And certainly when I consider that conflux of Miracles, and that diversity of favours heaven has shower'd on you, me thinks, that for which I now send you my acknowledgements, is the least you ever did me. The place you somtimes give me leave to take in your closet, I prefer before that you have gotten for me, and I think you cannot lay a greater obligation on me, then that of your sight and company. And yet, Madam, it is not impossible; but that the last you have done me is more to be esteem'd then it appears; and since it is not yet known on whom you have bestow'd me, it may be the courtesy will prove greater then you have imagined; for haply you have made a present of me to a Mistress, who shall deserve the addresses of all the World, one that shall have a great, noble, and liberal soul, a high and generous heart, a person [Page] accomplish'd, full of attractions and charmes, and shall have for all men those secret allurements, which every one finds in her whom he particularly loves. Shee will have, it may be, a wit beyond all imagination, full of fire and flame bright and pure, as that of the Angels; will be seen in all excellent learning; acquainted with three or four Languages; understand the Scituation of the earth as that of little Luxembourg; know the motions of the Heavens, the names and places of all the Stars, and when all's done, not any among them so bright, so clear, or so strongly i [...]fluenc'd as her self. You will give me leave, Madam, to wish it may happen so, as also to make vowes for it, since I can make more advantageous ones for the good of France then you; besides the hope I have, that mine may be answered when those of others shall not, endeavour not therefore, I beseech you, ever to divert me from this wish; for I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To the same. LETTER. LXXIII.

MADAM,

SInce my addresses to you are in an honourable way, I think there's no gallantry, which I may not safely practise, and that having p [...]e [...]ented you with verses, I may well send you posies. 'Tis a present which the Gods have deign'd to receive from men, and since Flowers are the purest and noblest productions of the Earth; I think there is not any to whom they may be with more justice offered then to you; at least you ought to love them for this consideration, that there is not one among them, whose beauty is not attended by some vertue, and that they will not be touch'd, not even by Kings nor Princes. But though they are the Daughters of the Sun and Aurora, and dispute for lustre with Pearls and Diamonds, I am confident they will loose their brightness as soon as they come neer you; and you discover, that the beauties of the Earth are not comparable to those of Heaven. I doubt not, Madam, [Page] but you will give me leave to call yours so, nor that you, who in all things represent Heaven, will deny it the honour of having alone produced so excellent a person. It were too great an advantage to the things below, to rank you among them, and since we are commanded to despise them; there is much reason to believe you are not of them, since Madam, you are the object of the esteem and affection of all that see you, and have never cast your Eye on any rational soul, which you have not gain'd. I see what consequence you may draw hence, if you think me endu'd with one; but Madam, I humbly entreat you to believe, the greatest effect you have caused in it, is that of admiration, and that I am in all manner of respect,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To Monsieur — After the re-taking of Corbie, from the Spanjards by the Kings Forces. LETTER. LXXIV.

SIR,

I Must needs acknowledge, I love to be revenged, and that after I had suffer'd you, for two months together to laugh at the good hopes I had of your affairs, had heard you condemne the conduct thereof by the events, and seen you triumph for the victories of our Enemies, I am not a little glad, to acquaint you that we have re-taken Corbie. This news will no question, startle you as well as all Europe, and you will think it strange, that those people, whom you think so circumspect, and who have particularly this advantage over us, to keep well what they have once gotten, have sufferred a place to be re-taken on which it was imagin'd all the brun't of the War would have fallen, and which being kept or re-taken, should for this year have disposed the reward, aud honour of armes to one side or other. In the mean time we are the Masters of it, those who were cast into it, were glad the King gave them liberty to be gone, and have cheerfully left the Bastions they had raised, and under which it was thought they would have been interred. [Page] Consider then, I pray, the issue of that expedition, which hath made so much noise. It is three years since the Enemy hatch'd this design, and threatned us with this Tempest. Spain and Germany had done all that lay in their power towards it; the Emperour had sent his ablest Commanders, and his best Cavalry; the Army of Flanders had contributed their best Troops. Of these is form'd an Army of 25000 Horse, 15000 Foot, and 40 pieces. This cloud great with thunder and lightning is disburthen'd on Picardy, which it finds unprovided, our Armies being engag'd elsewhere. They presently take in la Capelle, and le Castelct; they set upon, and [...]n nine dayes, take Corbie. Now are they Masters of the River, they crosse it; they over-run all that lyes between Somme, and Oize, and while no body opposes them, couragiously keep the Field, put our peasants to the sword, and burn our Villages. But upon the first news they receiv'd, that Monsieur was advancing towards them with an Army, and that the King was not far behind him, they retreat, fortify themselves behind Corbie, and understanding they were marching towards them with all expedition, our Conquerours quit their entrenchments. These valiant and warlike people, and who you say are born to command others▪ fly before an Army which they gave out consisted only of our Coachmen and Lacquayes; and those people that should have broke through France to the Pyrenaean Mountains, who threatned to sack Paris, and breaking into our Lady's Church, should have taken away the Colours gotten at the Battle of Avein, give us leave to draw lines about a place of so great importance, time to raise Forts, and soon after to storm and take it, while they were content to be only spectators. You see the consequence of Picolom [...]ni's bravadoes, who sent his Trumpetters, one while to tell us, that he wish'd us more powder; another, that a supply of Horse was coming to us, and when we were furnish'd with both, he took good care not to stay for us. So that, Sir, besides la Capelle, and le Castelet, places of no consideration, all the business of that great and victorious Army hath been to take Corbie, to return it again, and to put it into the Kings hands with a Counterscarp, three Bastions, and three half Moons, which it had not before. If they had taken ten other places, with the same success, o [...]r Frontiers were in a better condition; as likely to have been better fortify'd by t [...]em, then those who hitherto have had Commission to do it. Do you think the re-taking of Amiens, was any thing of greater [Page] importance, or more glorious then this? At that time the Forces of the Nation were not otherwise diverted, all were joyned together upon that design, and all France was engag'd before one place. Here on the contrary, we were forc'd to take this in the heat of a many other Affairs, which took us up of all sides, in a time when the State seem'd to be absolutely exhausted, and in a season wherein, besides the men, we had also the Heavens to fight with. And whereas before Amiens the Spaniards got an Army together but five months after that siege to force us to raise it, they had one of 40000 at Corbie before this War was laid. I am confident, if this accident make you not a good French-man, it will at least raise in you an indignation against the Spaniards, and will exasperate you against a sort of people that have so little manhood, and can make so little benefit of their advantages. In the mean time, those who out of dis-affection to the Governour, hate their own Country, and to ruin one man could wish all France destroy'd; laugh'd at all the preparations we made to prevent that surprise. When the Troops we rais'd here had taken their march towards Picardy, they said, they were only Victims sent to be sacrific'd, to our Enemies; that that Army would moulder away with the first Rains, and that the Soldiers being raw and undisciplin'd would run away at the first of the Spanish Troops. Even afterward, when those [...]roops wherewith we were threatned were retreated, and that a design was laid to block up Corbie, the resolution was thought irrational. They said, it was impossible, but that the Spaniards should have furnish'd it with all things necessary, having had two months time to do it; and that we might consume before that place many millions of Gold, and many thousands of men, to recover it haply in three years. But when it was resolv'd, it should be assaulted in the midst of November, there was not any one that cry'd not out. The best affected acknowledg'd▪ there was some precipitation in the business, and there w [...] need not others who plainly said, that out of a fear that our men should not dy fast enough through misery and want of bread, they would needs have them drown'd in their own Trenches. For my part; though I was not to learn the inconvenienc [...]s, that attend sieges undertaken in that season, yet I suspended my judgement. I thought those who sate at the helm, had seen the same things which I did, nay much more then I saw; that they would not inconsiderately engage in the besieging of a place, on which all Christendome had it's eyes; and therefore as soon as [Page] I was assur'd that it was assaulted, I was in a manner confident it would be taken. For, to speak impartially, we have sometimes observ'd my Lord Cardinal himself mistaken in those things which he hath entrusted to the conduct of others; but in the enterprises whereof he would see the execution himself, and which he hath encourag'd with his presence, we have never known him miscarry. I therefore was satisfy'd, that he would over-master all difficulties, and that he, who had taken Rochel in spight of the Ocean, would easily reduce Corbie notwithstanding the Rains and the Winter: But since it comes so pertinently in my way to speak of him, and that it is three months since I durst presume to do it; give me leave now, and take it not ill, if amidst the remission this news hath wrought in your Spirits, I take my time to tell you what I think.

I am not of their opinion; who endeavouring, as you say, to convert Eloges into Briefs, scrue up all my Lord Cardinal's Actions into Miracles; celebrate his prayses beyond what those of men might or ought to aspire to, and out of a desire of having too great things believ'd of him, advance those that are incredible. But neither am I guilty of that malicious baseness, as to hate a man because he is above all others, nor am I carry'd away with the torrent of general hatreds and affections, which I know to be many times unjust. I consider him with a judgement, which passion forces not to bend either way, and I look on him with the same eyes that Posterity shall. But when within two hundred years, those who come after us, shall find in our History, that the Cardinal of Richelieu hath dismantled Rochel, overthrown Heresy, and by one single Treaty, as it were with a Trammel, taken in thirty or fourty of it's Cities at a cast; when they shall understand that in the time of his Ministry, the English were beaten and broken, Pignerol conquer'd, Casal reliev'd, all Lorraine joyn'd to this Crown, the greatest part of Alsatia reduc'd under our power, the Spaniards defeated at Veillane and Avoin, and shall observe that while he had the steerage of our affairs, France had not a neighbour, of whom it got not either places or [...]attails; if they have any French blood left in their Veins, or any love for the glory of their Country, can these things be possibly read and not raise in them an affection for him, and in your judgement, will they love or esteem him the lesse; because in his time that Revenue of the Hostel de Ville was paid some what later then it should have been, [Page] or that there were some new Officers thrust into the Exchecquer? All great things cost dear, great attempts prove too violent, and strong remedies weaken; but if we are to look on States as immortal, and to consider the future advantages as present, if we cast up a right▪ we shall find this man who they say hath ruin'd France, hath sav'd it many millions, by the bare reducing of Rochel, which for these two thousand years, in all minorities of Kings, all discontents of Grandees, and all opportunities of revolt; would have been sure to rebel, and consequently oblig'd us to eternal expence. This Kingdome had but two kinds of Enemies, that it had need fear, the Huguenots and the Spaniards. My Lord Cardinal coming to the helm of affairs, designs the ruin of both. Could he attempt any thing more glorious, or more advantageous? He hath effected one, and hath not yet accomplished the other; but if he had fail'd in the former, those who now cry out, that it was a precipitate resolution, unseasonable and beyond our force to think to break, and give a check to that of Spain, as we yet find by experience, would they not also have condemn'd the design of destroying the Huguenots, would they not have said, that it was to no purpose to re-assume an enterprise, wherein three of our Kings had mis-carried, of which the late King durst not think on? And would they not have concluded, as falsly as they now do in the other business, that the thing was not feisible, because it had not been done? But let us consider, I pray, whether it may be attributed to him or to Fortune, that he hath not effected that design. Let us consider what course he took to do it, and what Engins he set on work. Let us see whether he wanted much of overturning the great Tree of the House of Austria, and if he shak'd not to the very Roots that trunk, which with two of it's boughs covers the North and the East, and ore-shadowes the rest of the Earth. He went under the Pole to find out the Heros, who seem'd to be destin'd to put the axe to it, and lay it on the ground. He was the Spirit that animated that thunder, which hath fill'd Germany with fire and lightning, the noise whereof hath been heard all over the World: But when this Tempest was blown over, and that Fortune had diverted the stroak, did he sit down content? Did he not afterward put the Empire into greater hazard, then it had been by the losse of the Battles of Leipsic and Lutzen? His policy and his intrigues got us presently an Army of 40000 men, in the very bowels of Germany, with a General who had all the [Page] qualities requisite to work a change of State. But if the King of Sweden would hazard himself beyond what a person of his designs and quality should, and if the Duke of Fridland's design was discover'd, because not put timely in execution; could he charme the bullet that took away the former in the midst of his Victory, or make the latter invulnerable to the thrusts of a Partisan? And if after all this, to bring all things to a total ruin, those who commanded the Army of our Allyes before Norlinghen gave Battle at an unseasonable time, was it in my Lord Cardinal's power, being 200 leagues off, to change that resolution, and stop the precipitation of those, who for an Empire (for that was the prize of that Victory,) would not expect three dayes? You see then that to secure the House of Austria, and to divert his designs, which are now thought so temerarious, Fortune was forc'd to do three miracles, that is, to bring about three great accidents, which in all likelihood should not have happened; the death of the King of Sweden, that of the Duke of Fridland, and the losse of the Battle of Norlinghen. You will tell me that he ought not to quarrel with Fortune, for crossing him herein, since shee hath been such a faithful Servant of his in all other; that it was shee by whose assistance he took places before they were besieg'd, who hath made him a fortunate Commander of Armies without experience; who hath as it were alwayes led him by the hand, and delivered him out of those precipices into which he was fallen, and in a word, who hath made him appear valiant, wise, and circumspect. Let us consider him in the displeasure of Fortune, and see whether he were defective as to wisdome conduct, or courage. Our affairs were not over successful in Italy, and as it is the fate of France, to gain Battels and loose Armies, ours was extreamly weakned since our late Victory over the Spaniards. We were not much more fortunate before Dole, where the continuance of the siege gave us occasion to expect no good successe of it, when intelligence came that the Enemy was gotten into Picardy, that he had immediately taken la Capelle, le Castelet, and Corbie, and these three places which should have found them work for divers months, had hardly kept them eight dayes. All is a fire even to the banks of the River Oise; we could see from our suburbs the smoke of the Towns they burnt us; all take alarm, and the Metropolis of the Kingdom is in disturbance. Upon this, news comes from Burgundy that the siege of Dole was rais'd; and from Xain [...]onge that 15000 peasants are [Page] revolted and keep the Field, and that it was much fear'd Poicto and Guyenne might follow their example; Ill news come one in the neck of another, Heaven is all overcast, the tempest falls on us of all sides, and there appears not from any the least beam of good Fortune. Amidst all this obscurity, was not my Lord Cardinal as well sighted as before, did he loose fight of the North Star in all this Tempest; hath he not held the rudder with one hand, and the compasse with the other; hath he got into the skiff to save himself, and when the great Vessel, he was in, seem'd neer a wrack, hath he not been as willing to perish with it as any other? Is it Fortune that led him out of this Labyrinth, or was it his own prudence, constancy and magnamity? Our enemies are not fifteen Leagues from Paris, and his are within it. Every day discovers some plots laid to ruin him. France and Spain, conspire, as a man may say, against him alone. Amidst all this, what face hath that man put upon it, who they say was startled at the least ill success, and who had caus'd Haure de Grace, to be fortify'd to cast himself into it, upon the first frown of Fortune? Yet all hath not forc'd him to step back; his thoughts were taken up with the hazards of the State, and not his own, and all the change could be seen in him, in all this time, was, that where before he was not wont to go abroad without a Guard of two hundred, he is now content with the attendance of five or six Gentlemen. It must certainly be acknowledg'd, that an adversity born with so much courage and gallantry is to be preferr'd before much prosperity and Victory; I thought him not so victor [...]ous the day he entred Rochel, as he seem'd to me then, and the journeys he made from his own House to the Arsenal, I look on as more glorious for him, then those he made beyond the Mountains, and which brought along with them Pignerol and Suze. Open therefore your eyes, I beseech you, to so much light, envy not any longer a man who can with so much Fortune be reveng'd of his enemies, and cease to wish him ill, who can turn it to his glory, and bear it with so much courage. Forsake your party before it forsake you; nor are they a small number, of those that were dis-affected to my Lord Cardinal, that are converted by the last Miracle he did. And if the War shall end, as there is some ground to hope, it will not be long ere he reduce all the rest. Being wise as he is, so much experience must needs have taught him what is best; and he will direct all his designs to render this State the most flourishing of any, after he hath [Page] made it the most terrible. He will bethink him of an Ambition more noble then any other, and which no man reflects on; which is, to become the best and best-belov'd man in the Nation, and not the most powerful and most fear'd. He knows that the noblest and most ancient Conquests are those of Hearts and affections. That Lautel is a fruitless plant, which affords at best but a shade, and is not to be compar'd to the fruits and harvests, which are the Crowns of Peace. He sees that it merits not so much elogy to add a hundred Leagues to the Frontiers of a Kingdom, as to take off one peny of the Tax; and that there is lesse reputation and true glory, to defeat 100000 men, then to settle and secure twenty millions. So that this great Intelligence who hath hitherto been employ'd, in finding out wayes to defray the charges of the War, in raising men and mony, in taking of Cities and gaining Battails, will be henceforth taken up wholly in introducing & setling peace, wealth, and abundance. The same head that was deliver'd of Pallas arm'd, shall restore her with her Olive, peaceable, mild and knowing, and attended by all those Arts which ordinarily accompany her. We shall have no more new Edicts; but such as tend to the regulation of Luxury, and settling Commerce: Those great vessels that were built to carry our Armes beyond the streights, shall be employ'd in convoying our Merchants, and keeping the Sea open, where we shall have no War but with Pirates. Then shall my Lord Cardinal's enemies have nothing to say against him, as they have hitherto been unable to do any thing. The Citizens of Paris shall be his Guards, and he will find how much more pleasant it is to hear his praises in the mouth of the people then in that of Poets. Prevent that time I conjure you, and delay not your being one of his Friends till you are forc'd to it. But if you will needs persist in your opinion, it is not my endeavour to force you out of it; but withal be not so unjust, as to take it amiss that I have maintained mine; and I promise you, I will patiently read whatever you shall write to me, when the Spaniards shall have once more re-taken Corbie. I am,

Sir,

Yours, &c

Paris, Dec. 24. 1636.

[Page]

To Madam — LETTER. LXXV.

MADAM,

SInce yesterday hath seem'd longer to me then the three last months, wherein I had not seen you, and that there is not any one here will be troubled with my Letters, give me leave to write to you, and to tell you that I never was so deeply in love. Three or four things of those you said to me that day have so taken up my thoughts, that I have not been able to apprehend any of those have been told me since. Besides, what you seemingly granted me, and which you did meerly to oblige me, is like to prove my ruin, and I find by experience that when it was your intention to give me liberty, you cast me into Prison. This makes a brighter fire then the aromatick wood you had prepar'd for me, and it must be granted the flame of it is very pleasant since I am taken with it, even when I am devour'd thereby. I do not therefore beg any relief from you in the condition I am in, I wish not any remedies that should quench it; but would rather embrace those that should augment it. My only suit to you is, that I may burn in your presence, and since I must be consum'd, that it may be near you, that you may not want my Ashes. Those of a Lover so full of respect, so reasonable, and indifferent as to his own concernments, deserve to be preserv'd, and you cannot in justice deny that favour to a man, who takes so much pleasure to dy for your sake.

Madam, when I took pen in hand I thought only to have ask'd you whether you would go to morrow to the Comedy des petites Saintot; but I c [...]uld not but write this to you, which if I am not mistaken, signifies little lesse then a love-Letter, though you have not been wont to receive any such, from any of your fourty three Servants. I entreat you to read this heartily: If you can avoid going abroad to morrow, you will extreamly oblige me. But if you must needs be at the Comedy, deny me not your pity, and [Page] when you shall behold the several deaths there represented, reflect on those I shall at the same time fuffer for you.

To Madam de Saintot. LETTER. LXXVI.

Madam,

WHile you thought only to have discovered a little piece of gallantry, you have written the gallant [...]st Letter in the World: Though I am a great Counsellour, yet am I extreamly puzzl'd to answer it, and must confess you understand the case better then I. I was already satisfy'd you had still the same great wit I have ever admir'd in you, and that of all things you had forgotten only me. But I must withal acknowledge, that I could not have imagin'd you had learn'd to write so well since I saw you last, or that I should ever have seen any thing from you more excellent, or such as I should have been more taken with, then what I had before. This done, fear not but I shall do all that lyes in my power to put off the suit you mention, and though you have sometime commenc'd one very roundly against me; yet I shall not take this occasion to revenge my self. But are you not a wicked Woman to come, and disturb me thus? I was in the sweetest slumber in the World, and I question whether I shall while I live sleep so well again. I am extreamly distracted that you come not to day to the Academy; for you may easily guess for whose sake I came. I shall use all my interest, that they may send a deputation to entreat your presence. But if you would but give me leave, to shew your Letter there, it were enough to raise the wishes of all for your Company. Farewel; I am yours sworn, &c.

A NOTE from Madam de Saintot, to Monsieur de Voiture.

I Have promis'd you for a Servant to two fair Ladies of my Friends. I am confident you will not think the enterprise too [Page] difficult, and withal that you will make good my word, as soon as you shall have seen them.

De Voiture's Answer. LETTER LXXVII.

I Would gladly see, as soon as possibly you can, that which I love, for, to speak freely; I am almost out of all patience to do it; and since you have oblig'd me to love, be it also your care that I may be lov'd. My thoughts have been taken up all this night with the two persons you know; I write this love-Letter to one of them, I beseech you give it her of the two whom you think I love best. In requital of all the good Offices you shall do me, I assure you, you shall ever dispose of my affections, whi [...]h shall never be address'd to any one so much as your self, till I shall be satisfy'd, that it is your absolute will they should be otherwise.

To an unknown Mistris. LETTER. LXXVIII.

Madam,

THere never was any inclination so extraordinary or so extravagant, as what I have for you. I am absolutely unacquainted with you, and to my best remembrance, I never, in all my life so much as heard you nam'd; However, be assur'd I love you, and that it is now a day since I have suffer'd upon your account. Though I never saw your face, yet I think it handsome, and I am taken with your disposition, though I never hear'd any thing said of it. I am extreamly pleas'd with all your actions, and I imagine in you something I know not what, which makes me passionately in love with I know not whom. Sometimes I imagine you of a fair complexion sometimes of a brown, one while tall another, low, now with a hawke's nose, anon, with a thick and short one. Under all these shapes, into which put you, I think [Page] you still the most amiable thing in the World; and though I am uncertain what kind of beauty yours is, I durst swear it is the most taking of any. If your acquaintance with me being little, your affection be proportionable, I am engag'd to love and the Stars. But that you may not be deceived, and imagining to find me a tall flaxen▪ hair'd man, be surprised when you see me, I shall, as near as I can, give you a Character of my self. My stature is two or three fingers below the meanest; my head is handsome enough, well stor'd with gray hairs, I am of a gentle aspect though my eyes are a little mis-placed, and have a countenance simple enough for a Country-fellow. But to make amends for all this, one of your Friends will tell you, that I am the best company in the World, and to love in five or six places at a time; there's not any he, can do it with as much fidelity as my self. If you can bear with all this, I shall offer you mine upon the fi [...]st sight I have of you; in the interim you shall be the object of my thoughts, though I know not whom I think on, and when it shall be ask'd me for whom I sigh, you need not fear I shall discover you, and be withal assur'd, I shall never say any thing of you.

To Madam de Saintot. LETTER LXXIX.

I Am extreamly troubled, that I cannot walk with you; for Mademoiselle la Princesse, and Mademoiselle de la Trimoville, commanded me yesterday, to wait on them to Ruel. Since you take the same walk every day, do me the honour, tomorrow or the next day, which you offer me now; in requital whereof you shall dispose of me as you please; which you cannot do more freely then you do, when you bestow me thus on whom you please. You must needs keep something that is excellent for your self when you make such presents to your Friends: but if they are handsome, as you say they are, turn me over to one of them; and let me not be divided. Could that be done, I would have it done now, that so I might go to Ruel, and wait on you two, and I assure your self you should have the better half. The advice you give me, will make me grow weary of Mademoiselle — Madam — and [Page] Mademoiselle, — be pleas'd to present my most humble Services, to the Ladies on whom you have bestow'd me. I wish Madam — were one, for, I was infinitely taken with her the other day. But consider, I p [...]ay, how much I am at your devotion. Though I know them not, yet am I not without some inclination for them, and though I have never lov'd two persons at the same time, yet I see I shall do any thing you shall impose on me.

To Monsieur Arnaud, under the name of the sage Icas. LETTER LXXX.

SIR,

THough I were ignorant of your being a great Magician, and having the science of commanding Spirits, yet the power you have over mine, and the Charmes I find in what you have written to me, would have convinc'd me there might be somewhat supernatural in you. With the assistance of your Characters, I have seen in a little piece of paper, Temples and Goddesses, and you have shewn me in your Letter as in an enchanted Glasse all the persons I love. Above all, I have observ'd with much delight, the Piece wherein you represent, amidst the shades, the brightest light of our ag [...], and let me know the affection is born me by a Person, who can not at this day be equall'd, no not by any that you know, though you are acquainted with what is past, and to come. But Sir, let me entreat you, who can discover what is most hidden, and need only say, speak Spirits, erect a figure to know what's become of that Creature, and do me the favour to let me have what you shall learn of him. It is certainly a curiosity fit to be satisfy'd, and I promise you not to reveal the Secret, for I shall in that, as in all other things, obey your commands, so to express my self,

Your, &c

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To my Lady Marchioness de Rambouillet. LETTER. LXXXI.

Madam,

WIthout citing either sacred or prophane History, whatever you write is excellent. I lay up the least Notes that fall from your hands, as I would the leaves of a Sybil, and I study therein that height of Eloquence, which all the World seeks after, and would be but necessary to speak worthily of you. And if it be true, as you say, that I have done it, and it be possible ehat I have given you your due praise, I may presume to have perform'd the hardest thing in the World, and which, as much as lay in my power, was most in my wishes. For I assure you, Madam, I have not endeavour'd any thing more possionately, then to acquaint the World with two the greatest examples that ever were of an accomplish'd vertue, and a perfect affection, by letting it know how much you are esteem'd, and how much I am,

Madam,

Your, &c

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER. LXXXII.

MY LORD,

I Saw divers reasons not to expect any Letters from you so soon, and easily inferr'd that a person who had so many things to do, could not write much. I was content to hear your name, and Victories cry'd up here every week, and to buy all the news I could learn of you. But certainly it was time you did me the honour I have receiv'd, the insolence of some people beginning to grow insupportable to me, who presumptuously gave out that the time of their Prophesies was come, and that I should shortly be rank'd [Page] among them as a private person. Nay there wanted not those who took this occasion to tempt my fidelity. You cannot easily believe, my Lord, what advantages I have been proffered, to induce me to quit your party this winter, and to let out my clawes against you twice a week. And yet though these offers have been made by the most enchanting mouth in the world, yet have I slighted them with that constancy I am obliged to have for a man of whom I have received all things, and whom I find otherwise so much to my humour that though hee had ever hated me, yet could I not but respect and serve him. So that though I have at Paris those engagements, which they never want who aspire not to the conduct of Armies, and are not capable of those high passions, which at this present take up the better part of your soul; yet am I ready to take my leave of all here when ever you shall command me, and shall quit, to wayt on you, a person that is young, sprightly, and black. To do this I only want a handsome pretence, and if your enemies, as I believe, will needs have their walls between you and them, and oblige you to a siege, I shall not fail to be with you; besides that, not to flatter you, I had rather be besieger then besieged, and the Spaniards are gotten so neer Paris, that though I did not leave it for your sake I should for my own; All the Bridges neer it are broken down, they are ready every hour to draw up the chains, and at the same time when we are terrible on the bankes of the Rhine, we are not our selves safe on those of the Seine. Amidst the trouble this disorder causes in me, I must confesse, my Lord, it is some comfort to me, to see that at a time when our affaires are declining on every side they prosper on yours; and while our Army in Picardy shrinks into its Garrisons, that we have in Burgundy moulders away in its Trenches, and that we are not much more fortunate in Italy, you have seized Galas in his Trenches, you take places while he lookes on, and may be only called the Conquerour and the Victorious. In a word, not to represent things otherwise then they are all the progress we have made this year is due to your conduct.

Te copias, te consilium, & tuos

Praebente Divos.

Be pleas'd therefore, my Lord, to command me to come and share in your prosperity, and to wayt on our good Fortune in [Page] that place only where it [...]now is. Besides that without any great pretence to valour, the exploits of Monsieur de Simpleferre suffer me not to sleep, and I have fasten'd to the hilt of my sword three of the little Flemmish Lady's Letters, which I entend to thrust into the body of some Germane. Sed quid ag [...]? Cum mihi fit incertum tranquillo, ne fis animo, an ut in bello, in aliquâ majusculâ curâ negotione versere, labor longiùs. Cum igitur mihi erit exploratum te libenter esse visurum, scribam ad te pluribus. I have not much stuck to put in this, because it is Cicero's, and shall thrust as much Latine as I can into my Letters, since you tell mee you read nothing else in them, for truly, it were great pitty you should lose yours. But if you are so unfortunate as to forget it, I promise you my endeavours to recover it this winter, I will acquaint you with the most excellent passages of Virgil, Horace, and Torence; I will explain the most difficult, and will shew you the secret graces, and the most undiscover'd beauties of those Autho [...]s. In a word I shall return you all you have lent me, &c.

My Lord, since the writing of this Letter comes a Messenger, who hath brought news of your being at Colmar; I assure you this news hath caused greater rejoicing in the Court then all the Bals either prepared or preparing; and particularly seven or eight persons are infinitely elevated at it. The absence of Friends may indeed be born with, when they do such things as you do, and there is not any one of those who have greatest affection for you that could rather have wished you here. To be free with you, my Lord, it is a glorious action to relieve the Kings A [...]lyes in spight of winter and enemies, and that you, who bear no part in the publick rejoycings, are hee only who justifies, and gives us occasion to celebrate them.

To the Same LETTER LXXXIII.

My Lord,

I Know no reason you have to quarrel with me, unlesse it be, that having your armes ready you could fall out with all the world, and foreseeing that the Spaniards will not find you work [Page] long, you seek out occasions of new differences. It's a hard thing to be a Conquerour and just at the same time, and I perceive Fortitude and Justice, are two vertues seldome lodge together in the same inne. It is not many dayes since I writ you a letter so large that I thought you would not have found no leasure to read it, and I do not find my self guilty of having slipped any occasion I had to discharge my duty. Though I should not, my Lord, consider the infinite obligations I owe you, and were not to give some account of my self to the person of most honour I have ever known, yet could I not avoid writing to you, as being loath to give any cause of discontent to a man who at present is the most to be feared of any in France. Under pretence, that you have a many things lye on your hands, that you do the business of a Labourer, a Soldier and a General, while you are employed about the fortifying of a Camp, and the taking of a City, to see order and justice observed in an Army, and to make disciplinable a Nation that had never yet been so; you imagine that all others are at leasure, and that none but your self takes any paines. In the mean time, I assure you, that if I had nothing else to do here, then to hearken to those that tell news of you, and return it to others that enquire, I should not be much lesse employed then you are, and have very little time to write to you. Some who in other yeares were content with two or three houres discourse of you, spend now six in speaking of you, without the least weariness. Those who are dissatisfied with the Government, and those who are for it, are equally inquisitive to know what you do, and there are not any to whom you are indifferent but those to whom France is such. While I write this, my Lord, I hear the Treaty with Landrecis is concluded, and that you are to march into it next Sunday. I praise God, and rejoyce with you, that you have convinced strangers it is not impossible, but that we may take some of their places, and that you have dissolved the inchantment which had hindred us from it for so many yeares. Lovain, Valentia, and Dole, had perswaded our enemies that we should never get any thing of them, and that the most we could do was to recover what they had taken from us. The most inconsiderable places seem'd to become impregnable assoo as we came before them; our Armies, which did well enough upon all other occasions, were ruined and absolutely disheartned assoon as they were engaged in a siege, and how great and victorious soever your Fortune hath been, yet was there no ditch so shallow, [Page] no work so weak but gave it some check. In fine, my Lord, you have exchanged that ill destiny, you have satisfyed those that would have sent you back to Dole that they mistook you. You have, as I may say, made your Cannon be heard as far as Brussels, and the noise hath made the Cardinal Infant to retreat as far as Gaunt, instead of advancing to the relief of a place, which you were going to take from him. But what I look on as most considerable in this Action, is, the Order, diligence, and security wherewith it was done. The very day you opened your Trenches, it might have been said Landrecis was ours, and though Picolomini and all his Forces, which were such a terrour to us the last year, had brought along with them thither all the power of the Empire, they could not have taken it out of your hands. We were not wont to take that course for the reducing of places, and it may be said, that the first siege you laid was the first regular one that hath been seen in France.—

M— hath been very earnest with me to go along with him, but I have excused my self pretending affairs of great consequence, which I made him believe I had to do here. The affairs of so great consequence is a siege: I have laid to a place that is very pleasant, and excellently well scituated. I have drawn my lines of circumvallation about it, after the way of Holland and yours, and Picolomini should not hinder me from taking it. Things being carryed on so far it would have troubled me extreamly to raise the siege, for that, among Conquerours, such as we are, is a thing insupportable.

Iuly 3. 1634.

To my Lord Marquesse de Pisany. LETTER. LXXXIV.

MY LORD,

I Am very glad you are become the hardest man in the World, and that neither labour, watching, diseases, nor the lead and steel of the Spaniards can do you any injury; I could not believe that a man bred with Ptisan and Barley-water, could have [Page] such a hard skin, nor indeed that there were any Characters that could produce such an effect. However this may happen, I am confident it cannot be natural, and yet I shall not be troubled at it, for I would rather see you a Sorcerer, then in the condition of poor Attiehy or Grinville; how well soever you might be embalm'd. To be free with you, what cause soever there be of death; me thinks there is still something of lowness in being dead. Avoid it before, my Lord, as much as you can, and I beseech you, hasten your return, for I can be no longer without your company; and it is in this principally that I am perswaded you use charmes, that I, who am very indifferent as to those that are absent, have perpetual desires for you, and have something to say to you on all occasions. At least those, wherein I wish you are, as inviting and less dangerous then those, wherein you are daily engaged. If you will then be advis'd by me, take a good Horse between your Leggs, and be as glad to return to Paris, as you were to leave it. As soon as I shall hear of your being there, I promise you to shake hands with Tours, Blois, and Richelieu; Monsieur and Madam de Combalet, and the Lady your Sister, to come and wait on you, with the fincere Professions of my being,

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Richelieu, Oct. 7. 1637.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, with this Inscription, To the Infanta Fortune, at the Palace of the Perilques. LETTER. LXXXV.

MADAM,

WE are come to this place, and have not met with any adventure worth the relating to you, and the [...] shall write our History shall have nothing to say as [...] that the fift, we came to Saumur. Yesterday, t'is true, [...] [Page] a River, we perceived coming towards us four huge Bulls, which to my fellow-Travellers seemed enchanted; but for my part, I am satisfyed they were not, because they suffered us to passe without disturbance, and did not shoot fire at their Nostrils. The day before we would have taken away a Traveller's Purse and his Horse, according to the custome of the Kingdoms of Logres, yet we did not; for, as we perceived, the man took it as an injury, and thought it as ill handling as if we should have robbed him. In a word, you cannot imagine how much Knight-errantry is decay'd, we have passed above ten Bridges that were not guarded by any body, and wherever we have been entertain'd, they were easily entrea [...]ed to take our money; which Master Lac, and I could have wish'd otherwise. We speak of nothing all the way but loves, and do all that lyes in our power to reduce the age of Uterpendragon; but we find other people little enclined that way, and I can hardly express to you how scarce Adventures are. The two best I have met with, are, that two dayes since I had a Letter from the resolute Infanta, and that I have opened another, which I think the han [...]somest I ever saw; it is in my judgement the most perfect production of Fortune, and since shee is at your disposal in all things, we shall have cause to complain of you, if we be not one day happy; for to be free with you, I think it is in your power, and that you need no more then wish it. We are resolved to be your Knights through this War; and to do such feats of arms, as shall raise a jealousy in Dom Falanges d'Astrê. In the mean time we shall not fail to send you the Gyants, we shall subdue by the way; and it is proportionably to those that I would be thought,

Madam,

Yours, &c

[Page]

To the Same. LETTER. LXXXVI.

MADAM,

I Have travell'd so far that I am come into a Country where there's no talk of War, Spaniards, Germans, Edicts, subsidies or loanes from the people, and where there are no entertainments but those of Love, Bals, and Comedies. This will give you occasion to think that I am gotten very far, haply, that I am beyond Popocampesche; or that Fortune hath brought me into the invisible Island of Alcidiana. In the mean time, the place where this is, is not at so great distance from you; it's a City seated on the banks of the Loirc, where the Cher [...]isburthens it self into that River; the Inhabitants speak a kind of Touraine French, and are in stature and complexion; somewhat like those of France. But to be serious with you, I assure you Madam, that since the expulsion of the Moors out of Granade, there hath not been known any Gallantry [...]r magnificence comparable to what is seen here; and Tours which hath been called the Garden of France, might be now, the Paradise of the Earth. There passes not a day wherein there are not Musique, Bals and Banquets, whatever is delicious is here in abundance; the sweet Orenges come from all parts, and the Bon-Chrestien-Pears have not left the Country. The Highwayes from Paris hither are all strew'd, with Violons, Musicians and Dancers, cloath of Silver, Embrodery, and Engines, which come thronging into this City. Yesterday about seven at night, came i [...] by Torchlight six Chariots, full of Loves, Laughters, Allurements, Attractions, and Invitations, who were got together from all parts of the World, to come to this Assembly. Nay it is reported that some of them are come from the bottome of Norway, as you may imagine by the wether it hath made; whence a many that are here believe there's not one left in the World; but that they are all come hither. And yet Madam, I doubt not but that those you were wont to converse with, have stay'd behind, for amongst the many that are here, I have not met with any one of yours, nor indeed [...] any of that kind. This arrival hath wrought strange effects al [Page] over the City; the air of it is become more serene and more mild, all men are fallen in love, all the Women become handsome, and the Lady President whom you [...]aw at Richelieu, is now one of the gallantest Women in France. But Madam, what is very strange, and what haply you will think incredible, is, that amidst all these entertainments, the day is extream burdensome to me, and from morning to night, I know not what either to say or do wih so many loves. There's not one fallen to my share, and of so many Beauties, there's not any one I dare pretend to; So that while the gallants that are here, are elevated with their Fortunes, and make resolutions to live here eternally, I heartily wish my self at your fire side with Mademoiselle d'Inton, or to see you, at least; through a Glasse-window, with your Lady-Mother. I know not whether I should attribute this to the two Grains, shee gave me at parting, or to something else; but I never was guilty of such passionate wishes to see you both, as conceiving no happiness desireable without it. I humble beseech you, Madam, to second my wishes thereof, and to be assur'd, that beyond all those who desire it, I am infinitely,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Tours. Jan. 8. 1638.

To the Same. LETTER. LXXXVII.

MADAM,

YOu are not to expect any Letters from me at present, but such as are tedious and importunate; and yet I cannot forbear writing to you. But you will Pardon me, if I endeavour my own diversion thus, since I have no other means to do it; for my present humour considered, that I should divert my self with Mademoiselle des Caudreaux, or with Mademoiselle Chesneau, I do not think it can fall into your imagination, or that you can believe there is any thing here, which might keep me one day from being [...] saddest man in the World. Among the many afflictions I [Page] struggle with the trouble I am in for your health lyes very heavy upon me, this last mis-fortune having render'd me so fearful, that, of one that fear'd nothing, I am become one that's frightned with any thing; and think I shall never see again, what's once got out of my sight. The more endear'd any one is to me, the greater likelihood me thinks there is that I should lose him. Which if so, Madam, be pleas'd to consider what fear I should be in for you, and if I may not conceive that, if Fortune were to do me, a worse turn then shee hath lately done me, it must be that shee will have some design upon you. I am extreamly impatient to get once out of these fears, and this place, to have some enjoyment of my self neer you, after so great sufferings, or at least some little rest after so much disturbance. I am,

Madam,

Your, &c

To my Lady Marchioness de Sablé. LETTER. LXXXVIII.

MADAM,

I Wish I had not so soon had the sight of the Letters, you sent to Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, and to — For it was my hope, that preventing your writing, and venturing my stock voluntarily in that Trade, I should have given you so signal an expression of my affection, as what I have received from you of yours. But what you have written to me is so obliging, that I must confess, I dare not pretend to any worthiness to answer it, and that the sloathfullest person in the World being in my condition, would do as much as I do. Certainly, Madam, those who will not allow you to have the tenderness you ought, must needs acknowledge, that if you are not the most amorous person in the World; yet are you the most obliging. True friendship hath not more kindness then there is in your words; and all even appearances of affection become you so well, that the most perfect souls cannot but be satisfy'd therewith. Yet can I not but imagine there is some charme in them for me, and though [...] know you have [Page] in the adulterations of friendship the Secret that Monsieur — hath for Rubies, and that when you please, you can give a little paste the lustre of a precious stone; yet am I confident that what you have made with me is very substantial, and that there is not any thing more true, or more firm: For my part, I may safely say, that I have ever honour'd and lov'd you beyond any other whatsoever, but nothing comparably to what I do now; and I dare not burthen this Letter with the sentiments I have for you, least, if it mis-carry, it should be taken for a love-Letter. I do not think that passion can pretend to greater sensibility and tenderness, then what I daily feel in my self for you. Yet I cannot personate the agitations of extravagant Lovers, nor put out my tongue like Iscaron. But certain it is that since I left you, I am troubled with such fits of melancholly as almost distract me, insomuch that all the World wonders at it, nay in some hours of the day, Father Tranquillus and the little Iesuit, would make no difficulty to exorcise me, for if I have known any divertisement, it hath been to entertain all people with discourse of you. It was discover'd that I had been at your House, and at Loudun, so that to see me prov'd a general curiosity, and I was examin'd as one return'd from Heaven or Hell. I told them, Madam, that you were as handsome as you were four years since. But when I would have told them that you were grown a greater wit, they thought I related things incredible, and there I lost all credit: And yet it cannot be deny'd but miracles are done in you, which never were in any, for the World never afforded any one that gain'd beauty by the small Pox, and was refin'd by a Country conversation. Mademoiselle de Rambouillet was extreamly pleas'd with your Letter, I took it for one of the best you ever writ, and was not a little glad to see what was so much to my advantage so excellently well written. What assurance soever I had my self of your affection; yet is it a pleasure to me to see your liberality of it towards others, and confesse that effeminate vanity, you say I am guilty of, was mov'd at it. Adieu Madam, after five Pages, I am loath to give you over, as being,

Your, &c.

Madam, be pleas'd to let me know whether you have observed, that, that, as being, wherewith I have concluded my Letter, be one of those conclusions whereof we have had some discourse.

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To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER LXXXIX.

My Lord,

ARe you not still troubled that you suspected not that those of Verceil wanted powder, or that, wanting it; they were not able to make good the place, or that you have, with eight or nine thousand, forced twenty thousand into very good Works? certainly you make no great use of your reason, if that vexation find you work still; were you in hopes to do things impossible, that you are not satisfy'd that you have done all that might be? Your Lordship will pardon me if I tell you so much, but certainly, it suits not well with a grave person to be so disordered for a thing, wherein he hath not fail'd; and me thinks it takes away much from the merit of a mans duty, when he is not satisfy'd that he hath done it. You brought a handful of people to the relief of a place besieg'd by a numerous Army; you found the lines drawn about it, and all the works in such a posture, as that it was thought you could not have gotten a single man into the City, to give them any intelligence, and yet contrary to the hopes and opinions of all the World, you have gotten in eighteen hundred. Could any thing be done more resolutely, better design'd, or more fortunately executed? It was you that brought things to that passe, Fortune hath done the rest, and if shee hath done ill, why should you torment your self so much? Accustome not your self, I beseech you to so much familiarity with her, but as well in good success as in the contrary, distinguish between what shee hath done, and what you have. Hence it will happen, that you will never have any either too high or too low thoughts of your self. If you will needs be accountable for all events, and cannot be satisfied; but when all, your own wishes can suggest, comes to passe, you must certainly wage a War upon very hate conditions, and expect Fortune should do as much for you as shee did for Alexander, and somewhat more then shee hath done for Caesar. Besides, you are ungrateful to your own, if you quarrel with her about this last accident, [Page] and it is a kind of injustice to think it a great mis-fortune to have miss'd a great prosperity. You, in the mean time, talk as if, through your own owersight, you had lost ten Battels and a hundred Cities, and you seem to be enraged at the losse of a place, which in the opinion of all the World was given over from the beginning. The taking of Verceil hath much prejudiced the Kings affairs, but your reputation suffers not at all in it. If the relief you have put into it, hath not proved effectual, it deserves never the lesse praise, nay in the height of your prosperity, you never did any thing more gallant, more resolute, or more extraordinary. Take then more moderate resolutions, then those you seem to have, and being not in a capacity to frighten your Enemies, do not your friends. You, who have taught me all I know, are not to learn, that Prudence is a general vertue, which winds it self into all the rest, and that where shee is not, Fortitude loseth it's name and nature.

To morrow or the day after, I shall do your complements to the person you tell me of; the last time I saw her, shee spoke extreamly of you, and protested to me, that upon your account, shee took no great joy for the taking of Verceil; for though all the World was satisfy'd you were not in any fault, yet shee knew it troubled you, and had a greater affection for you, then to entertain any joy for a thing, whereat you were afflicted. No doubt but shee loves you infinitely, if I am not mistaken, and there's another does it more then infinitely,

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Paris, Aug. 7. 1638.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER. XC.

Sir,

I Shall for this time observe that Imperatoriam brevitatem, you tell me of, for I am upon my departure to St German's, which is the reason I shall have, but a word to say to you. Yet shall not this cause me to be [...], according to your [Page] Theophrastus; In the entertainments we make together, or rather those you give me, I am only to say Grace,

Tantum laudare paratus.

To tell you truely what Nations were the first introducers of Polygamy, I professe I am not able, nor do I trouble my self about it,

Tros, Rutulusve fuit, nullo discrimine habebo.

However it be, I shall give you more credit then H [...]rodotus, who says that in the Indies, there are a sort of Ants, lesse then Doggs, but somewhat bigger then Foxes; this is the Text, at least of the book which I have: But I know not whether my Herodotus be the same with yours.

But to the purpose; you have put me into a great disorder about Theocritus, with whom I was the best satisfy'd in the World. But to return to the other of whom we spoke of, tell me what he means when he says that Venus sent the Women's difease among the Scythians, who had profan'd her Temple at Ascalon.

Your verse of Athenaeus, that Wine is the great Horse of the Poets, is very pleasant: but, be ingenuous, did you not endeavour to make it an Alexandrian Verse? [...] with [...] I am pleas'd with, and alludes very fortunately to the French Phrase, to baek the great Horse, as you have ingeniously observed. But that great Horse often casts his Rider, and it may be said of him, that he bites and kicks.

For the Edentulum of Plautus, I concur with you, that his meaning is not, that it doth not bite, for it were a fault, but that it is a facetious manner of speaking, to expresse it's age, that is, it's perfection.

What would you have me to do with Ulpian, who calls the Christians Impostors, idem Trebatio & Papiniano videbatur. We may be overthrown by the Digests, but the Code is much of our side.

The Sentence out of Pliny I like well, rerum naturae nasquam, &c. When I saw the Elephant, I said, that he seem'd a Creature rudely cast by Nature, and that there was greater artifice in a fly.

But it's well remembred; I think I shall take a great journey, the King hath bestow'd on me that of Florence, to acquaint the great Duke with the news of the Queen's lying in. This must needs be advantageous to me, and in some sort, pleasant; but I [Page] am withal troubled that it will deprive me a while of the happiness, of seeing you and your Letters, for I believe you will be at Paris before I return. I am in doubt whether I shall stay here till you answer this Letter, yet fail not to write, for a thousand things may happen to stay me, or hinder my departure. However I take my leave of you, and beseech you to be assur'd of my heartiest affection, and that I never met with any happiness in this World, which I esteem'd so highly, or that I enjoy my self so much in as your friendship.

But I pray forget not to dash out those — Monsieur's, which you scatter up and down your Letters ad populum Phaleras, or else I will put one in every line.

Vis le Sente coli, volebam amare,

Sed si te colo sexte, non amabo.

That is to say, I shall be so much the lesse,

Your, &c.

Paris, Aug. 25. 1639.

To the Same. LETTER. XCI.

Malè est Cornifici tuo Catullo,

Malè est m [...]herculè & laboriosè.

SEriously Sir, I was never so much disordered as I am at the present; in the mean time you write nothing but extravagances, and are as gamesome and free, as if we were still in our youthful Studies, and were not troubled at any thing in the world. Instead of saying something to me relating to my affliction, and giving me your judgement of it, (for it requires as much matter of conjecture as any the obscurest passage in Tacitus,) you quote to me Lampridius, and Athenaeus, quàm ineptè, and at a time when I am disputing in my self, whether I am in Madam — 's favour or not, and that it is become a Probleme, you come and entertain me with Pharaoh. When we return'd together from [Page] Arcueil, if I had held you in discourse with the Kings of Aegypt, consider how well you would have taken it, and what attention you would have given me. And yet I must confess, I could not but with much satisfaction read over all you writ. What you tell me of — hath made me laugh.

Ti [...]yos (que) vultu

Risit invito.

Your Patruissimè I am hugely taken with, so Plautus is frequent in such unhappy fooleries; but, certainly, sometimes his expressions are very excellent; and thus I reconcile Horace and Cicero, one says he is an unhappy Bouffon, the other, that he is passim refertus Urbanis dictis. I read in him the other day, of an old man, who having surpriz'd one neer the place, where he had hid his Treasure, search'd him, made him shew his right hand, then his left, and finding nothing, sayes, cedo tertiam. This is a pleasant personation of a suspectful old man, who imagines a man may have a third hand to rob him. I cannot express the extraordinary satisfaction you give me by writing to me as you do. I find more matter of study in your Letters, then all the books in the World, and more excellent things.

For those Gentlemen of Quintus Metellus Celer, I have no acquaintance with them; you tell me they were taken for Indians, for my part, I think they were for Cockscombs. On the other side, you talk of the Winds as learnedly as Columbus would; 'tis easily perceived you took it all verbatim out of some book, for I dare swear, that you never knew till now what a Rhombus of wind is: and as to the straight of Vegas, I cannot be too confident of your knowledge of it.

For ought I perceive [...] signifies basiare & amare; kissing and loving convertuntur. But I am satisfy'd, that — is opposite to that passage of Aristenetus.

Your Shepheard, his Sheep, and Hercules, I am mightily taken with, nay the Asse is a noble creature as you make it speak. Let me know whether you found the humour in Aesop's Fables. The application of the fable I think dangerous, and go you and preach it at Ruel. But as to our sheep, Hercules would find them good meat, might he have enough of them. The Argonauts as they sailed to Colchos, left him in an Island; diverse reasons are given [Page] for it; some say, it was because he broke all the oares in rowing: Others that he was too heavy; some, that the Argonants were affaird, he should have carryed away all the glory himself; and others, that it was by reason of his gluttony. I remember I have read in a Greek Poet, I mean, Greek and Latine, that is Ears moved as he did eat, and because it seems very pleasant to me, I have preserv'd the Verses, which are these,

Illum si edentem videris, strepunt genae,

Intus sonat guttur, sonat maxilla, dens

Stridet caninus, sibilant nares, movet

Aures, solent armenta sicut, haud minus.

I am so sorry I did not observe you, when you fed on the Cinnamon Bisket, at Gentilly, for certainly your ears were in motion.

I find your Translation of the Greek into French verse very good; but be ingenuous, how often did you invocate Apollo for it.

The expression of Achillus Tatius, that the Peacock's tail is a meadow of Feathers, is handsome, but haply a little too confident, and I think Tertullian more fortunate, who after he had said many things of the Ornaments of the Peacock, adds, nunquam ipsa, semper alia, & si semper ipsa quando alia, toties denique, mutanda, quoties movenda.

I am content Vlpian should be guilt since you will have it so, as also Papinianus; for they will do nothing but breed contention. But if will take my advice, Trebatius shall be pardon'd, for the Apothegme I have from you of his, consultus à quodam an nux pinea pomum esset, respondit, si in Vatinium missurus es, pomum eret. Farewel Sir, I am unfeignedly,

Yours, &c

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To the Same. LETTER. XCII.

SIR,

WHen I had Sheep to buy, and Love-letters to write in Castilian and Portughez, my hands were not so full of business as they are now. I am to take my leave of the King and Monsieur; I am to sollicit Monsieur de Bulion for an Order; and get my money out of the Excheaquer: I must bid all my friends adieu, and for all this I have but three dayes. In the mean time I lay all aside to divert my self by writing to you, for me thinks nothing conserns me so much, and that this voyage would not prove very fortunate to me, if I began it so ominously as to be gone hence without bidding you Farewel. I know not whether this embarcation will prove fortunate, but I never left France with so much good will, and I think it a pleasure to go and challenge upon the Mediterranean, the two and thirty winds which you know I sometime defied upon the Ocean. But now it comes into my mind, you make thirty five, you that pretend so much to Navigation, with your Rhombus and the straights of Vegas.

Heu quio nam tanti turbarunt Aethera venti.

Those who have compassed the World never were acquainted with above thirty two, the other three are yours, I could not believe there were so many. But that which I think most insupportable in you, is the Greek wind, and the ability you pretend to above me to know where a Grave, or a Circumflex ought to be placed. It was well said, thou shalt neither add not take away on Jota; but it is not meant of Accents. And yet because I have ommitted one, you blow as if you had gain'd a great Victory. Oventum horribilem! when you abused poor Philomela so much, and next to Terea, handled her worse then ever any did, I crow'd not so much, though you were not so excusable for that as I am for this.

But goodness! how partinently have you told me of your Duriter ... and the rest of that passage! certainly I must [Page] needs love you well, that I can without envy read whatever you write to me, and take so much pleasure to find you more witty then my self. To be free with you, the greatest affliction my departure hence causes me, is that I shall hear no more from you; Me thinks the Figgs, the Grapes, the Mellons of Italy, nay the Present the great Duke shall make me, cannot ballance the losse I am at for your Letters. But you would rather. I should praise you for your Poetry, then for your prose. For Aristotle says, that of all Artisans the Poet is the most in love with his own work. Your Poetical labours are certainly admirable, and let me dye if you make not as good Verses as Cicero.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. XCIII.

MADAM,

I Cannot absolutely say that I am come to Turin, for I have brought but half my self with me. You think my meaning is that I have left the other with you, you are mistaken, it is, that of a hundred and four pound, that I weigh'd at my coming out of Paris, I now weigh but fifty two. I am out of flesh and falne away extreamly, and this alteration considered, I think the Marquess of Pisany, and I shall not know one another at our next meeting. The feaver stay'd me a day at Roan, I thought my self surely laid up, and expected a sickness of some continuance. What troubled me most, was, that I imagined you would hardly believe it proceeded from the grief I took at my parting from you, & would attribute it to my riding Post. And indeed that was not improbable, and what confirm'd this opinion, is, that questionless, the three last Horses I rid on, had hurt very much that part of the body which you know Brunel shew'd Marphisa; and what was more dangerous, I had such an excessive heat, that if I had been Governour of Monsieur le Dauphin, I could not have been fitter for it, then I was the four first dayes. I mentioned it to a great Person in Roan, who being as I was told Apothecary, brought me something that gave me much ease. I pray let my Lady Dutchess know as much, since that I have not had any hurt, save [Page] that of not seeing you; but for that there is no remedy, Mercurial Salt cannot cure it. I am here ever since yesterday in the afternoon, I have not seen my Lady Dutchess yet, by reason that yesterday the Duke was thought to lye dying, to day I shall see her: to morrow I shall go hence for the Army, and I hope the next day about noon, I shall see my Lord Cardinal de la Valette, and your Brother. I doubt not, Madam, but you will be glad of this occasion, and will not take it ill I should be sensible of this joy in your absence. When I say in your absence, I include also that of Madam la Princesse, Mademoiselle de Bourbon, my Lady Dutchess of Aiguiblon, my Lady Marchioness de Sablê, Madam du Vigean, and my Lady Marchioness your Mother, whom I should have nam'd first, though there are Princesses and Dutchesses in the number. You cannot believe how much I am troubled at the sickness of Mademoiselle de Liancourt; if shee be any thing recovered, and cured of her — be pleas'd, Madam, to let me know so much at Rome; for that will oblige me to take a journey thither, and I shall see all things there with much more ease and satisfaction. But it were an extraordinary one to me, might I but tell you here how much I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Turin, Sept. 1. 1638.

To the Same. LETTER. XCIV.

MADAM,

I Wish you had seen what condition I was in this day in a Glass; you had found me among the most horrid Mountains in the World, in the midst of a dozen or fifteen men, the most dreadfull to look on that might be, whereof the most innocent had kill'd fifteen or twenty others. They were all black as Devils, their hair grown down to the midst of their bodies, every one had two or three cuts over the face, an arquebuse on his shoulder, and two Pistols [Page] and two Daggers at his Girdle. These are the Bandits that live in the Mountains of Piedmont and Genua, you would certainly have been afraid Madam, to see me among those Gentlemen, and would have thought they had been going to cut my Throat. For fear of robbing I had entreated their Company, having written to their Captain the night before, to come and expect me in my way, which he hath done, so that I have got off for three Pistols. But above all, I wish you had seen what faces my Nephew and my man put on it, who thought no lesse then that I had led them to the Shambles. Having dismissed them, I came into two places where there were Spanish Garrisons, and there certainly I was in greater hazard then before: being examin'd, I said I was a Savoyard, and to passe for such, I spoke as near as I could like M. de — upon my bad accent I was permitted to passe. Consider whether I shall ever make any excellent discourses that will stand me in so much steed, and if it had not been very impertinent at that time, that, under pretence of my being of the Academy, I should have pump'd my self for the best French. Thence I came to Savone where I found the Sea somewhat more rough then was suitable to the small vessel I had taken, and yet, God be prais'd I am come safely hither. Consider Madam, what a many haza [...]ds; I have run through in one day. In a word, I have escaped the Bandits, the Spaniards and the Sea, all which have not done me so much hurt, as you do, and it is for your sake that I run the greatest hazard I am like to meet with in this voyage. You think I do but jeast; but, may I dy, if I can any longer stave off the affliction, it is to me not to see your Mother and your self. I must indeed confess, that at the first I was in some doubt whether it were you or the Post Horses that hurt me; but now it is six dayes since I have ridden, and yet feel no lesse weariness. This convinces me that my torment proceeds from my distance from you, and that my greatest weariness is that of not seeing you; and this is so certain, that if I had no other business here, than what I have to do at Florence, I think I should immediately return hence, and not have the courage to go any further, had I not an affair of yours to sollicit at Rome. Be then pleas'd to think your self obliged to me for this; for I assure you, there's much more in it then I tell you, and that I am, as much as I ought to be,

Madam,

Yours, &c

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To my Lady Marchioness de Rambouillet. LETTER. XCV.

Madam,

I Have upon your account seen le Valentin, and that with much more curiosity then ever I saw any thing, and since you expect a description of it, I shall give it as exactly as I can possible. But you may be pleas'd to consider, that when I have executed that Commission and the other, which I am to do at Rome, I have done for you the two most difficult things to me in the World, that is, to speak of Edifices and affairs. Le Valentin, Madam, since there must be a Valentin in it, is a house within a quarter of a League of Turin, seated in a Meadow, upon the Po. As you come into it, the first thing you meet with, may I perish if I know, what you come to first: I think it is a Lodge; no, no, it is a Portal, no, I am mistaken it's a Lodge. I profess, I know not whether it be a Portal or a Lodge. Not an hour since I had all as perfect as might be, and now my memory hath play'd the jade. I shall take better notice at my return, and not fail to give you a punctual account of it. I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

Genua, Oct. 7. 1638.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER XCVI.

SIR.

I Was yesterday lodg'd in one of the noblest palaces in the World; I had for my Lodgings, a spacious Hall, two Antichambers, and one other Chamber hang'd with Tapistry interwoven [Page] with Gold, and was attended by twenty or thirty Officers; and to day, I am in one of the most wretched Inns that ever I was at in my life, and have only one man to wait upon me. To ballance so great a change of Fortune, and to raise my self to as great happiness to day as I was in yesterday, I call'd for Pen, Ink aud Paper, purposely to write to you. May I perish, if amidst the honours I received suitable to the Person I then represented, and the entertainments I was treated with, I have been as much pleas'd as I am at the present! Besides the delight, I take to entertain you, I am otherwise not a little glad to let you know, that it was not the advantage I made of the exchange of your Letters for mine, that caustd me to hold that correspondence, since that even now, when I cannot hope for any answer from you, I yet take a certain pleasure to write to you, and to assure you of my readiness to serve you. It is, I assure you, as great as you deserve, and the affection you have for me may claim. I hope within three weeks to leave Rome, and if I meet with a Vessel, to take shipping for Marseilles. You that are so well acquainted with the winds, if you have any command over them, be pleas'd to lock them all up at that time, praeter Japyga. But for that, there's no great danger, if he be somewhat high; I matter not for a little roughness of the Sea, so I may make the more speed, for I am in haste to be at Paris, and to see you there. I am,

Your, &c.

Rome, Nov. 15. 1638.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. XCVII.

Madam,

I Must crave my Lady your Mother's Pardon, I never was so weary of Rome. There passes not a day but I see something [...] that's admirable, some Master pieces of the best Masters that ever were, Gardens where the Spring is at this present: Edifices which the World cannot parallel, and ruins more noble then even those. And yet all this cannot shake off sadness, nor hinder that [Page] even while I see them, I wish my self hence. The most excellent pieces of painting, Sculpture and etching of An [...]llus Praxiteles, and of Papardelle please me not. I should wonder at this, did I not know the reason of it, that is, that who hath been accustom'd to see you, cannot well enjoy himself when he does not. To deal truely with you, Madam, I have the same consideration of you as of my health; I never know your true value till I have lost you, and though, when you are present, I observe not that moderation which might gain me a good constitution with you, yet as soon as you are once gone, I make a thousand wishes for you. I acknowledge the World affords not any thing more precious, and find by experience that all the delicacies of the Earth are bitter and unpleasant without you. I took more pleasure to see with you two or three Walk at Ruel, then I have had to see all the Vineyards at Rome, or should to see the Capitol though in it's former magnificence, and that Jupiter Capitolinus were there in person. But that you may know I am not in jest, but in very good earnest, as ill as I am; about eight dayes since taking a walk in the morning with the Chevalier de Jars, I had fallen down all along had he not received me in his arms, and the next day in the evening I swounded in my Lady d'Estree's Chamber. The Doctors tell me they are melancholly vapours, and that these accidents are not to be slighted. For my part, seeing they took me two dayes together, and that I was in danger of something worse, I have neither play'd the Fool nor Mad-man, have taken the Antimony, which I had from Monsieur Nerli. In a word, it hath given me great case, and I intend to take four dozes with me, which I shall entreat my Lady Dutchess of Aiguillon to take, for there is no Ripopé near so effectual, and this must be used till he who hath bestow'd it on me, have found out the Aurum potabile, which he pretends to do once within a year. I hope to leave this City within these eight dayes. You will wonder, Madam, I should — continue so long in a place which I seem to be so weary of; but I have been stay'd here hitherto by some occasions I shall acquaint you with, and which I could not avoid. But I assure you once more, I never was in so much disorder, nor ever had so great a desire to see you. Be pleas'd I humbly beseech you, to believe me, and assure your self, of my being, much beyond what I can express,

Madam,

Your, &c.

Rome, Nov. 25. 1638.

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To my Lord Bishop of de Lisieux. LETTER. XCVIII.

My Lord,

I Would very gladly have been my self the Bearer of the enclosed, and have give my humble thanks for the favour of your recommendations of me to the person who sends it. Besides that having gone through my devotions at Rome, I would try whether I might not advantage my self more at Lisiex, where I may learn to gain those Pardons I have receiv'd from the Pope. I believe this journey would prove more advantageous to me, then what I have lately taken; f [...]r my Lord, there's nothing so certain, as that I never see you but I am better for some dayes, and never come near you, but I feel my good Angel resuming new Forces, and disposing of me with more assurance. It is long since I am convinced in my thoughts, that if God hath decreed my conversion, he will make use of no other means then that of your discourses, and your example; and that if he should send a voyce from Heaven to call me home again, it shall come through your mouth. Hence it is, that me thinks the will I have to serve you, in some sort, sanctifies me, and that I cannot be absolutely profane, when I have so much respect and affection for so reverend a person. I must at least attribute it to you, that I am guilty of one rational passion among so many that are not such, and that I am not so absolutely irregular; but there is one part of my Soul untainted. Though I do not find it the best employments I might, and am a very ill Husband thereof; yet I doubt not, but I have secured for ever the part you have in it, nor can I ever forfeit or engage the place you have therein. It is great enough, my Lord, to save one day, all the rest, and I despair not but shortly it will be wholly your own. You daily purchase something in it, and want not much of having an interest there greater then that of all the World besides. Be pleas'd to make all your own, and be as proud of the acquest, as if it were that of some unbelieving Country, whereof you had been design'd to destroy the Idols. I am in some hopes it will so come to passe, [Page] and reflecting on the great favours you have done, and confident, that you cannot be mistaken, I look on all the good you have said of me as a Prophecy, and believe I shall be such hereafter, as you assur'd Cardinal Barbelin I was then. I cannot well expresse the noble entertainment he made me upon your recommendation, and the affection he seems to have for whatever you concern your self in. You are, my Lord, almost as well known in Italy as in France, and certainly, I have not met with any thing at Rome, whereby I have been so much edified, as the esteem and passion I found there for you. But above all, Cardinal Barberin seems to be your absolute friend, and to have for your vertue that affection and respect, which you shed into the hearts of all those who follow your example. He hath burthen'd me with some thing particular to you from him, which I reserve till I have the honour to see you, and be in a capacity to essure you my self, that I am, beyond any,

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Paris, Jan. 15. 1639.

To Monsieur de Lyonne, at Rome. LETTER. XCIX.

Sir,

THough you have caused me the most restless hours I have had in all my journey, and have treated me at Rome worse then any, yet assure your self I have not seen any man, I so much desire to see again, or have greater inclinations to serve. It seldome happens, that he who ruins a man gains his friendships; you have had that good Fortune with me, and your Genius hath in all things such an influence over nine, that I have not been able to make my party good either way; but that while you have gotten my money, you have withal gain'd my heart, and made your self Master of my affections. And if I am so happy as to have any place in yours, that gain takes away the sence of all my losses, and makes me think my self the gainer in what hath past between us. Your [Page] acquaintance, though it hath cost me very dear, hath not stood me in more then 'tis worth, and I should not stick to give as much to find such another in Paris. This granted, Sir, you may be assur'd, I shall do any thing that may secure the honour I esteem so much, and that I shall not easily lose a friend, I have purchased at so dear a rate. I have done all you desir'd in the business you writ to me about, and shall be as dutiful to you in all your other Commands; for I am, with the greatest earnestness and affection I ought,

Yours, &c.

Paris. Feb. 7. 1639.

To my Lord Cardinal de la Valette. LETTER. C.

My Lord,

IF you but reflect on the passion you saw I sometime had for Renaut, and Roger, you cannot doubt of that. I now have for your concernments, since you do in your shirt what they could but do with enchanted armes. Were you a Fairy, you could not hazard your self more freely then you have done, as having carry'd Valour to it's uttermost limits, and to the highest point, they could have done, who can pretend to no other Vertue. I must needs acknowledge my Lord, that if the War had been ended by this last performance, whereof you have been the principal cause, and that you had no more to do, then to come and Triumph, I should be extreamly elevated at what is reported of you here, and with much satisfaction sit down to write your History. But when I consider that there are other occasions wherein you may run the same hazards, and that I am not assur'd of what shall happen at the end of the Book, I cannot without some disturbance participate of that glory which all the World gives you, and the fear of what's to come takes away much of the enjoyments of things present. I leave therefore to those, who have not so great affection for you as I have, and to whom you are not so necessary [Page] as to me, to employment of celebrating your praises. For my part, all I can do at the present, is, humbly to beseech you to be more tender of the most Illustrious person of this age, and not to rely so much on Fortitude as to injure Justice. This will advise you not to hazard so freely the wealth of all the World, and be so carelesse of a Life, wherein all the excellent▪ and vertuous are concern'd, and which is more considerable to France, then the whole Country you defend. I am,

My Lord,

Your, &c

To My Lord — LETTER. CI.

My Lord,

THough you had left Paris, upon some design, or something relating to your enjoyments or your Glory, I think it would nevertheless have caused me some trouble, and raise in me a quarrel with your concernments; but the cause of your departure being so unfortunate and strange as it is, I may say, there could not any thing have happened of so great affliction to me, nor could Fortune have done what I should think more unjust, or more insupportable, since it hath disturb'd the enjoyments of all here, and that a many, who are not so much obliged to you as I am, are sensible of that disaster, I hope, my Lord, you will do me the honour, not to doubt, but I have the greatest resentment I ought, and that it was not necessary I should acquaint you with so much by writing. However I thought it my duty to make this acknowledgement, and I expect to find some ease in assuring you there is not any one can be more tender of your enjoyments, or with greater sincerity,

My Lords,

Your, &c

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To Monsieur — LETTER. CII.

Sir,

YOu had done better to have danc'd a Coranto lesse, and sent me a Letter, and the time of one of your Galliards had been better spent in writing to me. It hath been reported here, that in the same Ball, you began it thirty times over, 't was indeed well danc'd for a great Commander, and a man that would pretend to some trouble that he had left Paris. If you continue thus, I now wash my hands of all your affairs; and find that the Ladies of Lorraine are more obliged to send you fruits then those of the Court. I know not, Sir, how you understand it, nor what advantage you find in it; but for my part, me thinks, to dance at Mets is not to dance in cadence, and I dare swear it affords not twenty more amiable and greater Beauties then three or four here; who sometimes speak of you, and who take it not well, you should mind your enjoyments so much in their absence. But if you are grown so great a dancer, and cannot by any means forbear it, they entreat you not to dance Galliards altogether; but to call for some graver dances, as your Brawl's and Pavines. I thought it my duty, Sir, to give you this advice, you may take it as you please; but for my part, I shall ever be,

Sir,

Your, &c

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. CIII.

MADAM,

YHE news of the raising of the Siege at Thurin, was to me the most welcome that ever I received. And yet it was some [Page] trouble to me, to lose thereby an opportunity to express the real affection I have for my Lord Cardinal de la Valette; for I was resolv'd to get into the Town, and bring him some encouragement, by the news I should tell him of you. The Count de Guiche, whom I acquainted with my design, told me, that the ordinary reward of such as were surpriz'd in such attempts, was hanging, yet was I nothing startled, and being fortify'd by some Reasons of Mademoiselle de la Trimouille, in case I should have come to the Wheel in Italy, I thought it no great matter to be hanged there. But it had been a pleasant spectacle, if the Cardinal de la Valette, walking on the Walls should have known me upon the Ladder. The troth on't is, wanting your presence, a man would not stick to hang himself for a half penny, and feeling a great weight on his stomack, it were better be strangled then endure it. You, Madam, who have never wanted your self, or felt the grief which attends a separation from the most amiable person in the World, cannot imagine the misery of it. But if you please, I will tell you how it comes to passe: The first day, a man is extreamly drowsy, the second stupify'd, the third extravagant; and then, when he begins to come to himself again, and to apprehend things, he sighes out, whence come you? O sighes here, and sighes there; come, come, take your money, 'tis the saddest thing in the World. Fear not the mis-carriage of this, for there's no interruption. But in case this Pacquet be surpriz'd, this is to certify Prince Thomas, the Marquess of Leganez, and all those to whom these presents shall come, that no heed is to be given to me, that all I speak is in jest, and that it is but ordinary with me to write thus extravagantly. They may give it what credit they please, and yet there is nothing so certain, as that I am beyond all that may be said,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Grenoble.

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To Madam la Princesse. LETTER. CIV.

MADAM,

UNless I had been nayl'd to Paris, nothing could have hindred me from going this day to Poissy; for whatever I may have said to another Princesse, there is not any in the World, whom I would more gladly see then you. But you know Madam, that as one Nail drives out another, so was it necessary the Passion I had for you should give way to a later, that hath fasten'd on me, and which if it be not the stronger, is yet at the present more importunate. I know not whether you will apprehend this, which seems to be left as a Riddle; but I assure you I have a fundamental reason not to stir hence, which yet I dare not lean on, and whereof I think it not convenient to discover to you any more. I have a long time deliberated in my self whether I ought to go, and there is a great controversy between my heart and another part, which I name not; but to be short, Madam: I must confess, that which in all reason should have been the lowest is highest, and that I have preferred before all things, that which according to the course of nature ought to be behind. I dare profess to you, however, that in my posture I consider'd, I could do no otherwise, and that your self, who are the most considerable Person in the World, and do all things in Order, would have done no lesse then I have, had you been in my place, My Prayers to Heaven are, you never may; for in the condition I am in, there's none good for me, as being every where, as if I sate upon Thornes. I can make a shift to go a little a foot, but a Horse is a torment to me, a Coach is too rough, nay I find some inconvenience even in the Sedans of Monsieur Souscarriere. I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Paris, Aug. 5. 1639.

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To Mon [...]ieur Chapelain. LETTER. CV.

Sir,

I Shall satisfy your desire, but whether for your own sake or Monsieur de Balzac's that I do it, I know not, nor indeed could I resolve that Question though I should study it till tomorrow. The authority you have over me is so equally divided between you both, that, if at the same time one should command me to eat, the other to drink, I should be starv'd, at least according to the Philosophers, for, I should never find any reason to comply, with the one rather then with the other. But, as good Fortune will have it, you agree so well together, that you will never lay contrary commands upon me, and joyn interests, so that whenever I shall do what I am commanded, I shall satisfy both. I am troubled at your Nail, and pitty you much; but, for ought I can perceive, it is nothing in comparison of that I have; mine, est latus clavus,

—Cum lato purpura clavo.

And if you had such another on your nose, it would cover all your face: I am still extreamly troubled with it. It excuses me that I wait not on you, for that you may know the truth of it, it hath jus lati [...]clavi, I am,

Sir,

Your, &c.

August. 10. 1639.

To Madam — LETTER. CVI.

MADAM,

THE Letter you so much desire to see is not worth one line of that wherewith you demand it. But are you, who pretended [Page] to so much devotion yesterday, nothing troubled in mind at the writing of such things in the Passion-week, and do you not perceive the consequences and effects they may produce? I had clear'd and disburthen'd my conscience, and had thereupon resolv'd not to see you again; but your Letter hath put me into my former disorder, and with your Pearls and your four thousand Livers, I am corrupted as well as the other. I never thought, you should ever have been put to these shifts to reduce a Servant, nor that such things should prevail any thing with me, and to tell you truely, it is the first time I ever was dazled with wealth, or tempted with mony. And indeed, it must be confessed, the Pearls never had such a lustre as you have given them in your Letter, and your four thousand Livers, as you employ them, may well be valew'd at above three hundred thousand. You are certainly an incomprehensible person, and I cannot but wonder, how without the reading of Herodotus, or making use of the Saturnales, you have been able to write such excellent Letters. For my part, Madam, I begin to imagine you have deceiv'd us; I doubt not but you know the source of the Nile; for that, whence you derive all the things you say, is much harder to find and more unknown. In a word, what ever your Porter may say, my Lady Marchioness de Sable, is not the most accomplish'd person in the World; there are more charms in a corner of your eye; then in all the Earth besides, and all the words that are used in magick, have not the operation which those you write have.

To Madam — LETTER. CVII.

MADAM,

NO doubt but some one of the Fairies to whom you say, you recommend your Letters after they are written, hath laid hands on that you have sent me. It must certainly needshave been one of the most knowing among them, and one that is as well acquainted with the Court as the Winds. I do not believe the Kingdome of them can afford many, able to do as much; and am [Page] of opinion that the same who inspires you when you speak, hath for this time assisted you to write. Besides the Gentillesses I have observ'd, and the visible beauties that shine in it, there is something else, that smites the heart as well as the Phant'sy, and a certain secret vertue, that produces extraordinary effects. I had no sooner read it over, ere I found myself free'd from all my smis-fortunes, and as if all absence, all desires, all fears, had been banish'd this World, my Soul was immediately in an absolute calme. This, Madam, I cannot believe possible to be done; but by the science of Fairyships, for to love you as I do, and to be satisfy'd without seeing you, cannot certainly be a natural effect. However it be, I am oblig'd to you for having put me into the condition I am in, and since I was not to expect any satisfaction from Reason, you have done well to apply charmes. All my fear is, they will not last long, I distrust the joy I feel, when I am ignorant of the cause of it; and am afraid the same fate may happen to me, as to dead bodies forc'd out of their graves, which having only a Magical animation are actuated but for a while, and fall down suddenly, when the enchantment is once dissolv'd. Suffer not my case to be the same; and since I am re-animated by your words, and that your Letters are certain Characters, which while I have about me, I cannot dye, be it your care to renew them daily, and let me have at least an artificial subsistence, till I see you again, and that your presence inspire me with real life. The relation you have given me of your adventures, is, I must needs acknowledge, very pleasant, since it gives me occasion to derive a certain pleasure from the very inconveniences you have run through. I beseech you, continue me the account of all your Fortunes, and as you have acquainted me with what hath happen'd to you in the Woods; so let me know also those you haue when you shall lodg in the City. But you have very handsomely taken occasion to make it appear that you know the—

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To my Lady Marchioness de Sablé. LETTER. CVIII.

Madam,

HOw excellent soever the Letters of Monsieur de la Mesnardiere may be, yet Mademoiselle de Chalais, and I could not think our selves satisfy'd with the bare receipt of them only by this return, especially when all the news they brought us, was that you had caught a very great cold. But what is more strange, is, that I, who ever quarrel with you for being too scrupul [...]us in point of health, am at the present fallen into the same humour for what concerns you, and more troubled for your cold then a quotidian feaver I should have had. T'is true, I have now occasion enough to be troubled at it, since that thereupon depends your journey, and upon your journey all my joy. For, I assure you, Madam, I am resolved not to entertain any if you come not, and must expect to be the happiest or the unhappiest man in the World according to the resolution you shall take. I dare also tell you that you shall not want your part of the satisfaction we intend you, and that infallibly you will find greater diversion and mirth here, and consequently more health. But till you do come, it would be an extraordinary kindness, would you but send Mademoiselle — and Mademoiselle de — before, that in this interim, I might have some one to discourse withal of you, and with whose conversation I might elude my impatience.

—

T'is very confidently done, to dash out four lines together when a man writes to a Marchioness. But you know better then any one, of what consequence it is that should be allow'd, and how advantageous these blottings are to humane Society. I write not — for I am vex'd that shee sent me nothing the last time, [Page] I send you a Bourriche of Fancies, which I humbly beseech you to put into the hands of her confident: Let her dispose of them as shee pleases, and keep them herself, if shee think shee cannot present them to — without giving suspicion to her Mother. But I entreat her to pick out the best, and to present them to you, from herself, I would say, from me, if I durst, and were not confident, that you are not much taken with presents of that nature. I send them also some images, because it now comes into my mind that I had promised them some. I have nothing to acquaint you with as to your friend, the poor lasse, is, if I am not mistaken, in a very sad condition; Her Husband is never a minute absent from her; he is a perpetual torment to her, nor is her Mother lesse troublesome; in a word, never was any one so little marryed, nor so much. Madam, hasten to the sight of this — spectacle, I am,

Yours, &c

To Madam — LETTER. CIX.

MADAM,

THough I am utterly out of all hope of acquitting my self of those obligations, which your civilities have forced upon me, yet should I be troubled they were any lesse; and though I think my self unworthy all the honours you shed on me, yet can I not but derive thence an extraordinary satisfaction. Had I no other acquaintance with you then that I knew your conditions and quality, I ought to look on the honour of your Letters and commands, as the greatest I am capable of. But it having been the pleasure of Fortune, I know not by what contrivances, that, being at a great distance from you; I should know you as particularly as those who are about you, I must confess, Madam, it is a satisfaction beyond all expression, and that I feel my self troubled with a little vanity, that I should receive so great favours from a person, who I have long since thought the most accomplished of the age, and in [Page] whom I know may be found all the perfections that command affection and esteem. Were I so inconsiderable in the World as never to have heard any thing of this; yet were it easy for me to judge by your Letters, that France affords not any thing comparable to your wit and civility; nay expressions so transcendent and so full of obligation as those you have given me, would almost make me imagine there were something in it extraordinary. I cannot, Madam, but acknowledge them such, that from whomsoever they came, I should have been extreamly surpriz'd thereat; but certainly, the person, from whom they are sent, renders them yet much more considerable, and the hand that writ them, inspires them with a force and vertue, which they could not derive elsewhere. If after this my heartiest services — attend A— it will be no great miracle, you have obliged me thereto so much, that it is impossible I should do otherwise, since you have not left me the least pretence or shadow of merit. I wish, Madam, that instead of recommending to me a person, for whom I had already a great esteem and affection, you had in three words commanded me something that were difficult, and whereto I should have had some reluctancy, that so you might, in some degree, have discover'd how far I am at your devotion; and that it is not your extraordinary kindnesses, nor yet that manner of writing whereby you gain the hearts of all that read your Letters, which oblige me to obey you, but the respects I have for so many admirable endowments as you are furnish'd with, and the inclinations, wherewith I am,

Madam,

Your, &c

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER CX.

Madam,

I Am the only man that is yet dead of the Disea [...]e of your absence, nor do I much fear to tell it you plainly, because I believe you will not be much troubled at it. Nevertheless, if you will have [Page] the naked truth, when there's no danger to tell it you, I was, you know, a very jocund Bachelor, and unless it were, that I was extreamly given to contestation, and was as obstinate as your self, my other imperfections were excusable. You are then to understand, Madam, that since last Wednesday which was the day of your departure, I have neither eaten nor opened either my mouth or my eyes, and indeed all that is wanting is that I am still above ground, that is unburied. I would needs have that last Ceremony delay'd a while, for these reasons; in the first place, because I have ever had an aversion thereto, and next, I should not take it well the report of my death should be spread abroad so soon, and therefore I put the best face I can on it, that men might still be in doubt; for if they consider that, it happen'd to me just in the nick of your departure, we shall never avoid coming into the ballad called The good year, which is now so much in vogue. Were I again in the World, one of the things I should be extreamly troubled at, is, the little discretion that many have in advancing and abetting all manner of Stories. These that are a live, are not in my opinion, impertinent in any thing so much as this, nay it is hateful even to us that are dead. But, Madam, take heed you do not laugh when you read this, for certainly, it is a kind of impiety to abuse the dead, and were you in my condition, you would not take it well to be so dealt with. I therefore conjure you to pity me; and since you cannot do any thing else for me; have a care of my Soul, for I assure you, it is in extraordinary Torments. When we were separated, shee took immediately the road to Chartres, and thence straight to la Mothe, and now while you read this Letter shee is at your Elbow, and will be this night in your Chamber, and if you think it not importunate, give you five or six outcries. I believe you would be much pleas'd with the noise, for it is not unlike that of the Angels of the Lower-house; while shee torments herself, and makes such a hellish Stir, that you will think the House ready to turn upside down. I was once in a mind to send you the Body by the Carrier, as also that of the Marshal de Fervaque's Lady, but it is in such a pitiful condition, that it would have been all to pieces ere it had been with you; besides that I was afraid the heat might have spoil'd it. You will honour me extreamly, if you please to tell the two excellent Princesses with whom you are, & I desire them to call to mind, that while I liv'd, I was their incomparably [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [Page] humble Servant, and that I cannot shake off that passion, even after death; for the condition I am in, I professe I have the same honour and respects for them as ever. I shall not only presume to affirm, that there is not among the dead any one so much their Servant as I am, but will make it good; there is not among the living any more at their devotion then I am, or that can be more then I am,

Madam,

Yours, &c

To Monsieur Chapelain. LETTER. CXI.

SIR,

THough it were only out of some design upon your own reputation, or that you would cast so much honour upon me, you should write to me often, for your great wit, which is admirable in all things, is never more fortunate then in the Letters I receive from you. If you would but present each of your Judges with the like, you needed no other recommendation, and they would be convinc'd there were no more to be done in your case, then to do justice to the most vertuous man in the World. I shall do what you command me, with all the earnestness I can, and all the passion you may claim; and therefore fear not I shall forget it: my Will is not over confident of my memory in things of that consequence, but perpetually represents to me what I have to do, till it be done. What business soever I may have, I place yours amongst the first of my Agenda, sed tu inter acta refer, & pro certo habe, me in hâc re, & in omnibus, omne officium, studium, curam, & diligentiam tibi praestiturum. I am,

Sir,

Your, &c.

Apr. 3. 1640.

I humbly desire you to return my thanks to Monsieur de la Mote, but with an eloquence worthy of your self and him.

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To My Lord Marquess de Montausier: LETTER. CXII.

My Lord,

SInce your are design'd to dispose of those of our family to Reason and their duty, it were but sit you took the same course with me as the rest, and made me a more vertuous man then I have been as well as my Nephews. It does certainly very much argue my defect as to that point, since I have not hitherto return'd you my thanks for what courtezies you had done both them and me. But in a word, my Lord, without putting me into Prison, and without obliging me to fast, you have forced me, as well as the other, to do what I ought, and have shewn your self so resolute to engage me, though I was unworthy of it; that, notwithstanding my negligence, it is impossible I should not expresse my [...]esentment thereof, and to return you the humblest thanks you may justly claim. I presume you will pardon me my fault, since I acknowledge it with so much ingenuity. And certainly, my Lord, considering the reputation of cruelty that lyes upon you, it corc [...]rns you very much to do such a signal act of mercy, as that is, and to pardon a man loaden with so much guilt as I am. I beg it of you upon the account of Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, and if it be Lawful to add any thing thereto, I conjure you, by the extraordinary passion wherewith I am,

My Lords,

Your, &c

To my Lord Marquess de Pisany. LETTER CXIII.

MADAM,

YOu had perswaded me, that ere I should have continu'd here quite three weeks, I should spend my time very pleasantly, [Page] and it is now above six since I came hither, and see not any effect of your prediction. I humbly beseech you, make good your word, by affording me the satisfaction you promis'd, which you must send me from the place where you are, since I cannot meet with any here. I have done you that service at my coming hither, that you are oblig'd not to deny me this assistance, for you are to know that I have given you a resurrection in the opinion of all the World, and that you have not any friends or kindred here, who thought you not dead ever since Autumne last. If your Lordship doth think this service of any consequence, and deserves acknowledgement, it will be your fault if you do not as much for me, and restore me to life, which I cannot absolutely say, I have in this place. To do this miracle there needs no more then a Letter from you, with an assurance that you continue me the honour of your affection. If what you expressed to me at my departure be not quite lost, you will not deny me this favour, especially having in your necessity so excellent a Secretary as him you are wont to make use of. I have understood you did me the honour to drink my health; but as it is now, there are requisite stronger remedies then that to restore it, and it is only from you that I can expect any. But from the reflection I make on the love, you have for whatever belongs to you, and the protection I have sometimes seen you afford your subjects, I raise a confidence that you will not forsake me, who am as much your vassal as if I had been born in your Town of Essars, and withal do put particularly professe my self,

My Lord,

Your, &c

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. CXIV.

Madam,

IT must needs be acknowledg'd that I am remarkable for the sincerity of my friendship; 'tis a grief to me that I see you not, as if it were a loss of great consequence to me, and me thinks, I spend not my time so well here, as when I have the honour to be near you. Amiens, in your absence, seems lesse pleasant to me then Paris, and though I can every day visit Ladies that speak the Language of [Page] Picardy excellently well, yet I do not think my self ever the happier for it. The conversation of my Lord Duke de C— Monsieur de T— and Monsieur de— whom I meet here often, affords me no entertainment at all. Sometimes I think it very tedious to continue three hours together in the Kings Chamber, nay I find no diversion in the Society of Monsieur Libero, Monsieur Compiegne, and twenty more excellent persons, I have no acquaintance with, who very much celebrate my parts, and tell me they have seen of my works. I have seen the King play at Hoc all this afternoon, and yet find not the least remission of my Spirits; and though I go constantly thrice a week a Fox-hunting, I find no great sport in it, though there be in the company a hundred Dogs, & as many Horns, which together make a hideous noise, such as whereof the terrour would break your tender Ears. To be short, Madam, the Recreations of the greatest Prince in the World divert me not, and when I want your sight, I am insensible even of the enjoyments of the Court. You are, certainly, very ungrateful, if you render me not the like; but suspicious wretch that I am, I fear me you take your pleasure sometimes with the Princesse and Mademoiselle de Bourbon; nay haply since your coming to Grosbois, you have not so much as wish'd your self five or six times at Amiens. If it be so, you may recompence it with this favour, that you will be pleas'd to perswade their Highnesses, to honour me with some few remembrances, that I may not be thought the lesse considerable by them, for being in a place, where I see the King and my Lord Cardinal twice every day. And yet, Madam, you are not to expect ever the more news from me, for I have not any to acquaint you with, My Lord Fabert came hither yesterday m [...]rning, and went away at one in the afternoon with Orders to our Generals. He told me that Monsieur Arnault hath playd the Devil with his hinder feet in a battle, that happened near l'Esle, and that the Marshal de Brezê hath written it to the King, as I hear by Monsieur de Chavigny. 'Tis reported here that our Armies are returning, and that we shall not return so soon: I pray be pleas'd to chide a little at it, and honour me so far, as to believe me sincerely, and as much as you can desire,

Madam,

Your, &c.

Amiens, Sept. 10. 1640.

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To my Lord Cardinal Mazarin. LETTER. CXV.

My Lord,

BY a Letter from Madam de V. I have understood the favour your Eminence was pleas'd to do me, and with what extraordinary kindness, and what assurances of good inclinations you have thought fit to grant me — since then my Lord, I may thence infer, that amidst the affairs of greatest consequence, your E. condescends to a remembrance of your most inconsiderable Servants, and that while you are employ'd in the highest things, you neglect not the lowest, I have a certain confidence, you will excuse the boldness I take, to return you my most humble thanks, and that you will be pleas'd to take the pains to read the profession I make; that, besides the respects and veneration which we all owe a person, who hath, and doth still add to the Glory of this State, I shall through all the actions of my life, ever own, a most particular inclination, to express my self,

My Lord,

Your, &c

To my Lady Dutchess of Savoy. LETTER CXVI.

Madam,

AFter so many consolatory Letters as there hath been, but too much occasion to write to your Royal Highness, I should be very loath to let slip an occasion to write you one of congratulation. These come to you so seldome, that I think they must needs be very welcome when they do; and were there nothing else [Page] to recomend them, certainly the novelty should make them acceptable. It is long since, Madam, that I have expected what now begins to appear, and thought, the mis-fortune of the most accomplished and most amiable Princess that ever was, too great a disorder in the World to last long. How great soever the Malice and envy of Fortune seemed to be towards you, and what fate soever might crosse your affairs, yet was I still guilty of an imagination that so much goodness, generosity and constancy, and so many Divine qualities as your R. H. is furnish'd with, could not be long unfortunate, and that, at length, Heaven would be forc'd to do some miracle for a person on whom it had bestow'd so many. There is much reason to believe, Madam, that that of the taking of Turin will be seconded by a many others, and that the great success which hath happen'd in your Dominions is a certain Politick Symptome that there will be a change of all things, and such a general settlement as naturally ought to be. But what you should the more rejoyce at in this happy revolution, is, that, there's nothing so certain as that your concernment therein, multiplies the joy of all here, and that your R. H. is so well beloved, that the more generous part of the Court, do as much rejoyce for the interest you have in this prosperity, as for the advantage accrews to the Crown of France, and the great acquests of Glory which his Majesties Armies have made thereby. I doubt not, Madam, but your R. H. is satisfy'd, that amidst the publick joy, I have some particular matter of rejoycing, whereof no other can be equally sensible: if you but honour me so much as to reflect on the extraordinary passion I have for whatever you are concern'd in, and the inclination, and obligation wherewith I am,

Madam,

Your, &c.

Paris, Oct. 4. 1640.

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To Mademoiselle Servant one of the Ladies of Honour, to her Royal Highness. LETTER. CXVII.

Madam,

I Am so well acquainted with your Eloquence, that I humbly beg your assistance to render the acknowledgements, I ought, to the most excellent and most generous Princess in the World. I am certainly even orewhelm'd with her favours, and must confess, there's not any thing below Heaven so full of charme or so amiable as the Mistress you, (I thought to have said we) serve, and iudeed there is not any thing I would not contemne, that I might use that expression. The first time I ever heard her, I was presently of opinion, that of all the understandings in the World, there was not a greater then hers; but the tenderness shee is pleas'd to have for me, I am astonished at above all things; and cannot sufficiently admire, that at the same time, when shee is burthened with highest thoughts, shee can also entertain those that are so low, and that a mind which ordinarily is soaring about the loftiest things, can be guilty of so great condescensions. As to the balls, have been given me this morning, they have wrought a wonderful effect in me; and were it not that they had touch'd the hand of her Royal Highness, I see not whence the miracle should proceed. I did but kisse the Paper wherein they were, and I find my self very much better, I shall henceforth look on it as an antidote against all kinds of mis-fortunes, and unless it be one, I know not any which so pleasant a remedy cannot cure me of. That you may not put your self to too nice a scrutiny to find out my meaning, I were better explain it, and tell you, that it is the grief I take that I cannot see her enough, and am destin'd to live at a great distance from the only person that deserves to be waited on. If you consider it strictly, this mis-fortune is greater then all the rest, and it is very hard for a man to be tender of his honour, and not to take it so much to heart, as to dye of it.

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To the Count de Guiche. LETTER. CXVIII.

My Lord,

THough it must be thought an ordinary thing to see you do glorious actions, and that it is fifteen years that you have been talk'd of at this rate, yet can I not avoid being extreamly surpriz'd, when I hear of any new performances of your Valour, and your Reputation being so precious to me, as it is, I am extreamly pleas'd that from time to time it is renew'd and multiply'd daily. Those who are guilty of the greatest ambitions of honour would be satisfy'd, with what you have acquir'd within these late years, and would sit still with the esteem you are in with all the World. But, for ought I can see, My Lord, you set no limits to your self as to this point, and as if you were jealous of the glory you have already acquir'd, and what you have done heretofore, you seem every year to exceed your self, and to do something beyond your former atchievements. For my part, what passion soever I may have for your past actions, I shall not besorry they should be Eclips'd by those you are yet to effect, and that your exploits in Flanders should darken all you have perform'd in France, Germany, and Italy. All my fear is, that these great aspirations at Glory, should carry you beyond your due bounds as to matter of hazard, and accordingly, what you did in the last Battel wherein the Marshal de la Meilleray defeated the Enemy, as it affords me much cause of rejoycing, so does it at the same time put me into some fear. The expressions you there made of your conduct, and your courage find matter if general admiration here; and indeed, my Lord, if we consult Romances, we shall hardly find any thing more noble, or more worthy celebration. But yet, give me leave to tell you, that, since the invention of inchanted Armes is lost; and the custome, that Hero's should be invulnerable absolutely abolish'd, a man is not allowed to do such actions as these often in his life; and Fortune, who [Page] hath deliver'd you for this time, is but bad security for the future. Be pleas'd therefore to consider that Fortitude hath it's extreams as well as all the other Vertues, and that, as they are, so it also ought to admit the attendance of Prudence. This, if seriously consulted, will not permit a Ma [...]shal of the Field, and a Master de Camp of the Guard should become a Voluntier and a Forlorne, so as to expose to all hazards, a person of your concernment, and to venture so cheap a commodity of so great Value. I know not, my Lord, whether you will take this freedome of mine in good part; but I am certain, you cannot say I interpose in a businesse wherein I am nothing concern'd, and will find there is not any more then I am, if you make any r [...]flection on the passion, wherewith I have ever been,

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Paris, Oct. 6. 1640.

To my Lord Marquess de Pisany. LETTER. CXIX.

My Lord,

WEre it possible I could be so ingrateful as to forget you, yet the noise you make at the present is so great, that it were a very hard matter I should not call you to mind, and use all the endeavours I could to preserve my self in the esteem of a person, of whom I hear all the World speak with so much advantage. I have been extreamly glad to hear what honour you have gain'd in the last engagement before Arras, and though I am long since acquainted with the qualifications of your heart, and mind, and have ever had that opinion of you which all others have now, yet must I confess my weakness; me thinks the general esteem wherein you now are, adds something to the inclinations I have to honour you, and I feel in my self a certain vanity of passion for a man burthen'd with the applause and acclamations of all the World. The satisfaction [Page] it is to me would certainly be absolute, were it not disturb'd by the fear I am in to lose you. But I know how dangerous a vertue Fortitude is; and it is the common report, that you are as ill a Husband of your person, as you are of all things else. This, my Lord, puts me into perpetual alarms, and the fate which hangs on me to lose the best, and most valuable of my friends, puts me into so much the greater apprehension for you. To allay this, all I have, is a secret confidence in your good Fortune; my heart tells me that you have a great journey yet to go, and a many things to do, and that the friendship you are pleas'd to honour me with will be more Fortunate to me, then that of some others. I wish it both for your sake and my own, and that with all my Soul; as also that I may be happy enough one day to demonstrate to you, how much and how passionately I am,

Your, &c.

To Monsieur de Serisantes, Resident for the King with the Queen of Sweden. LETTER. CXX.

SIR,

YOur little Ode I look on as a great work, and makes me conc [...]ive, that, though you there mention your debauches, you are sometimes sober at Stockholm. The fruits of Greece and Italy are not fairer then those you bring forth under the North, nor can I but wonder how the Muses were able to follow you thither. You may safely brag that you have carry'd them further then ever Ovid did; nor indeed did ever man shew them so many Countries as you have. But if you derive these Enthusiasmes from the Wine, my advice is, that you alwayes venture to drink at the same rate,

—Dulce periculum est,

O Lenaec, se qui Deum

Cingentem viridi tempora pampino.

[Page] And you may say,

Bacchum in remotis carmina rupibus

Vidi docentem—

Sir, I am not able to tell you, how infinitely I was pleas [...]d to find Oil of Jasmine, Spanish Gloves, and English Ribands, in Latine Verses. To do you but justice, all from the beginning to the end is admirably pleasant,

Insigne recens, adhuc

Indictum ore alio,

But since I understand not Latine the best in the World, be pleas'd to explain your self, as to those words, m [...]ntis & acerbus dolor. It puzzles me very much. I shall not pretend to any concernment in your secrets, any further then you give me leave; but take it not ill, if I do in your interests, since I am most sincerely,

Sir,

Your, &c.

Paris, Dec. 15. 1640.

To Monsieur de Maison-blanche, at Constantinople. LETTER. CXXI.

Sir,

YOu would certainly do very ill to turn Turk; for I assure you, you have abundance of Friends in Christendom, and your reputation is here so great, that were your condition mine, I should rather come away thence, and enjoy the fruits of it, then command fourty thousand Ianizaries, marry the Grand Seigneur's Daughter, and be strangled a while after. I know not what kind of B [...]auties you have in Asia, but I assure you, five or six of the handsomest Ladies in all Europe are fallen in love with you, and provided you are nothing diminish'd, whereas you meet there with Maids that entreat you to buy them, you shall sell your self here at what rate you please. To deal freely with you, your Letters never [Page] made so much noise in London, as they do now in Paris; the General discourse is of them, all desire them; and if the Grand Seignor knew how considerable you are among the Christians, he would dispose of you for your life into one of the Towers of the Black-Sea. Madam, the Princesse ask'd me the other day, whether you were really so great a Wit as was reported; not above four days before Mademoiselle de Bourbon put the same question to me; and there's not any but is astonish'd at the noise, you at the present, make in the world. For, to deal truly with you, your Physiognomy discovers not all that is excel [...]ent in you; and it is a miracle, that, by your looks you were once taken for an Ingeneer. It would never be guess'd at by your nose what you are worth, and to esteem you proportionably to your merits, presupposes a conversation and acquaintance with you such as I have, or never to have seen you, or known you but by your Letters. They are, no question, pleasant beyond all imagination: and I am never thought such by those who have any affection for me, unless I bring along with me some one of them. But particularly, Monsieur and Madam de Rambouillet, the young Lady their Daughter, and the Marquesse of Pasany, are ravish'd with them, and accordingly have an extraordinary esteem and abundance of respects for pou. Be it therefore your care to preserve them by writing to me as often, and as pleasantly as you can: this you will find no hard task, the place where you are, will furnish yon with new things, though it were for these ten years. I wish it were so easie for me to entertain you, and that by describing our Garments, Actions, manner of life, our food, the fashions and Beauties of our women; I could write such Letters as you would take any delight to read. But, unless it be the Ceremonies of our Religion; I believe you have not forgot any thing that's done here: so that all I have further to say to you, is, that I honour you perfectly, and love you heartily; and that you know it as well as my self. For, if I should relate to you after what manner we relieved Casal, and how we took Arras and Turin; What entertainment could it find you who are accustomed to your Armies of three hundred thousand men; and who have yet the taking of Babylon fresh in your memory? I shall therefore tell you but one thing, which yet you will be astonisht at; The Prince of Or [...]nge is now [...]aten every year five or six times, and the Count Harcourt doth those things now, [Page] which the late King of Sweden, were he a live, would envy him for. Farewel Sir, what ever may happen, continue your affection to me, and honour me so much as to assure your self, that I am, as far as I ought, and withal manner of passion,

Sir,

Your, &c.

To Monsieur de Chavigny. LETTER. CXXII.

SIR,

YOu may hereby perceive how cons [...]derable the Interest and reputation I have with you is. Monsieur Esprit, who is coming to Court with a Letter of recommendation to you from M— thought it not unnecessary to be further recommended by me; and I, who am a little given to vanity, have chosen rather to undertake it, then to tell him I durst not. Sir, you may assure your self he is one of the best natur'd men in the World, one whose mind and Soul are of a makin [...], such as you would wish, of a free disposition, very discreet, very learned, a great Divine and a good Philosopher, with all these qualifications he is not one of those that contemne wealth, and out of a confidence that he should make very good use hereof, he would not take it amisse if he could get an Abbacy, to obtain which Madam d'Aig [...]illon writes in his behalf to my Lord Cardinal. This will ly upon his Eminence to do; but upon you to find him noble entertainment, and that is all he expects. After the Character I have given you of him, I think it very unnecessary to add the humble supplication I make to you on his behalf, nor can I give you any reason why I do, but that it is his desire, and that I am wont to do any thing he would have me. But, Sir, having acquainted you with his Interests, I conceive it is according to the rules of friendship, I should be mindful of my own, and most humbly beg your confidence, that I am,

Sir,

Your, &c.

Paris, Jun. 2. 1641.

[Page]

To the Count de Guiche. LETTER. CXXIII.

My Lord,

AFter the finishing of one great siege and two small ones, and an aboad of fifteen dayes in Flanders without Equipage, do you not think it an extraordinary refreshment to go and besiege Bapaume, and to begin a fresh in the Month of September, as if nothing had been done all the year before? Me thinks the Knights heretofore had a much easier time of it, then those that live in these dayes, for as to those the breaking of four or five Lances in a week, and now and then a brush of fighting, or haply a combat, was the main of their work. All the time besides they took their progresses in fair Forrests and Flowery Meadows, & most commonly with a young Lady or two: and from Perion King of the Gaules, to the last of the race of Amalis, I do not remember I have read of so much as one troubled with drawing lines of Circumvallation, or giving Orders for a Trench. Fortune, My Lord, is certainly the greatest Cheat in the World! Many times, when shee Loads men with honours and employments, shee makes them very unhappy presents, and ordinarily sells us at very dear rates what shee seems to give us. For, in fine, without any consideration of the hazard of Iron and Lead, (a thing not worth the speaking of,) but supposing you alwayes fought under inchanted Armes, yet can you not avoid it; but the War must cut of the best part of your best dayes: it hath robbed you of six Months of this year, nay from you, whom it hath been pleas'd to perserve a live, it hath taken away within these fifteen years, above the one half of your life. And yet, my Lord, it must be acknowledg'd, that those who pursue it with so much glory as you do, must certainly find great enjoyments in it, and doub [...]ess, this general consent of a whole people with that of the more excellent, and more vertuous, to raise one man above all the rest, is a thing of so m [...]ch insinuation, that there is no generous Soul which is not surpriz'd with it, nor no hardship which that does not represent as supportable. For my [Page] part, my Lord, (who pretend to have been acquainted with the inconveniences of War, as well as your self,) I must needs confesse your Reputation comforts me for your absence, and what pleasure soever it may be to hear you speak, yet I prefer before it that of hearing you spoken of. However I cannot but wish your sudden coming hither, to enjoy the fruits of the Glory you have acquir'd, that after so many hard marches as you have had, you may take the pleasure all this Winter, (what weather soever it be,) to go twice or thrice a week from Paris to Ruel, and from Ruel to Paris. Then shall I have the leasure to tell you what Alarms I have been in for your sake, and acquaint you with the affection, wherewith I am,

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Paris, Oct. 15. 1641.

To the same. Upon his promotion to the charge of Marshal of France. This Letter was written eight dayes after the precedent. LETTER. CXXIV.

My Lord,

OF all that I said to you prejudicial to War, I now make my recantation, and since the honour you have received is deriv'd from it, all controversy between me and it, is absolutely decided. I have indeed long since been of opinion that so great valour and Services, in a man of your quality, and a person so much in the respects of all the World, could not but meet with sudden rewards and acknowledgemets. But there being a vast difference between the things that are to be, and the things that effectually are, I could not but be extreamly glad to hear that, that had been done for you which needs must; and this news I was as sensible of, and as much surpris'd at, as if I had not expected it. It is out of all Question, my Lord, that the principal recompence of your actions [Page] is the reputation they have gain'd you; but yet, it should be no slender satisfaction to you, to ascend at your age, to the highest degree that the Fortune of War can raise men to. But, if on the other side, you consider how many dangers you have run through to arrive to this, what hazards you have been put to, and how many gallant men you saw fall, who yet run the same race with you; you will think your self somewhat obliged to Fortune that hath preserv'd you thus long, and hath not opposed your vertue. Among the many reasons I have to congratulate your happiness, there is one particular satisfaction which you cannot have your self, and which truely, at least in my opinion, surpasses all the rest; to discover by the unforc'd and unsuspected judgements of all the World, that your glory is free from all envy, and to see, there is not any one who is not as glad of your prosperity as if he were concern'd in it. The publick rejoycing at this particular good Fortune of yours, is to me a presage that it will be seconded by a many more, which it may produce; and I hope you will shortly add, to the honour you have received from the King, that reputation, which [...]ou only can, and which indeed is the most solid and most real. I think you doubt not but I heartily wish it, since you know how much I am, a thousand wayes, obliged to be, with all manner of respect and passion,

My Lord,

Your, &c.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER. CXXV.

Sir,

THere's not any thing in your Letter, I am not extreamly pleas'd with; but was not without jealousy, able to read the enjoyments you took upon the Banks of the River of Cha [...]ente; in so much that I who, upon all other occasions, am as glad of your advantages as if they were my own, and who have not the least envious thought for your reputation, your learning nor your wit, cannot but envy your having eight dayes conversation with Monsieur de Balzac. I doubt not, but you knew how to make your advantages of that happiness, for of all the men I know, you are he that can best do it.

[Page]

& Deorum

Muneribus sapienter uti.

You may enterpret that Sapienter as you please, either in it's proper signification or the Metaphorical; for if a man entertains Balzac with good discourses, it's supposed it cannot be done without good Dinners, and I doubt not, but you have an admirable Palate for the one as well as the other. Monsieur de Balzac is no l [...]sse eloquent at a Banquet then he is in his Books. He is Magister dicendi & caenandi. He hath a certain science of making good cheer, which he deserves to be no lesse esteem'd for th [...]n his Rhetorick; and among other things, he hath found out a kind of Broth, which I value beyond Pliny's Panegyrick, or the longest Oration in all Isocrates. All this hath been extreamly well bestow'd on you, for it is not enough to say that you are sapiens, but you are, as Eni [...] expresses it, sapienti potens. I say not but you may be as good in the other sence, nec enim sequitur, & cui cor sapiat, ei non sapiat palatus. This I must tell you we are oblig'd to Cicero for, least you might think, that Palatus came from me. Your Gout certainly never came so much wish'd for, as when you were there, and it is a question to me whether your health ever did you so great service; that very courtesy is such as should work a reconconciliation between you and it, or at least deserves you should not mince it into a fluxion, and be so modest as not to call it by it's own name. But be ingenuous, have you not done as that Coelius did, sanas liniendo, obligando (que) plantas incedens (que) gradu laborioso? For to deal freely with you, a Gout that takes you so seasonably, and stayes you eight dayes, to enjoy your self, to feed on Figs and Musk-melons, I cannot but entertain a little jealousy of. On the other side I cannot by any means, take it well you should grow so familiar with the Master of the house, and that he should profess so much friendship to you, as he pretends in all the Letters he writes hither. All that I was able to do, was to give way to Monsieur Chapelain, and suffer my self to be named the second.

[Page]

Non jam prima peto Mnestaeus, nequ [...] vincere c [...]rto,

Quanquam O! —

But I will never consent to be third. Sir, do you observe that Quanquam, O! it is spoken in my Spirit with greater indignation and bitterness then in Virgil. Look therefore to your self both you, and he, and the other, and behave your selves very gingerly. For, in a word I know not whether I shall be able to endure all this, and whether it will not make me bankrupt as to all patience. Certainly there's not any thing could [...]aise so much jealousy in me, as as the friendship of Monsieur de Balzac; he is one of the two men in the World, with whom I would gladly spend the remainder of my life, you may easily judge who the other is. Not to mention his wit, which is beyond any thing may be said of it, there is not under Heaven a better Friend, a better man, a more sociable, a more pleasant or a more generous; Vir (for me thinks I can expresse it better in Latine) facillimis, jucundissimis, suavissimis moribus, summae integritatis, humanitatis, fidei, liberalissimus, cruditissimus, urbanissimus, in omni genere officij ornatissimus. The Friendship, which we mutually preserve, without any mention of it in writing one to another; and the confidence we have one of another is a thing rare and singular; but above all things, of very great example in the World, and whence, a many well disposed people, who destroy themselves with the writing of ill Letters, should learn to be quiet, and give others leave to be so.

What you say of building about Balzac, as about Chil [...]y, I very much approve of, and it were certainly very seasonable; but we wits are not the greatest Builders, and lay our foundation for it, upon these Verses of Horace,

Aedificare casas, plaust [...]llo adju [...]gere mures

Siquem delectet barbatum, insania ver [...]et.

At least, Monsieur de Gombaut, Monsieur de l'Estoille, and my self, are resolv'd not to build at all, till the time come, that stones dispose themselves one upon another, at the sound of the Ha [...]pe. I know not, whether Apollo be fallen out with the Trade and hath given it over, because he was so ill paid for the Walls of Troy; but me thinks his favorites are not much add [...]cted to it, and their [Page] Genius directs them to other things much different from sumptuous Edifices. I therefore thank you for your hill; but I were none of the wisest to go and build in a place, where I have already a fair house ready built. I have be thought my self, that that passage, Nulli potest facilius esse loqui, quàm rerum naturae pingere, &c. Was the younger Pliny's, and thought it very pleasant that you durst not name him to me. But in your judgement, is it not better said, Nulli potest facilius esse loqui, quàm rerum naturae facere? For, in the first place there's more opposition between loqui and facere, then between loqui and pingere, which is something of more grace. In the next, it is an expression of greater height, Nulli facilius est loqui, quam rerum naturae fac [...]re: It is not so easily for any one to say, as for Nature to do; then to say, It is not so easy for any one to say as for Nature to paint. Will you not acknowledge this to be something flat and of a low Spirit, to refuse a word which presents it self, and is withal the better, and to keep a great Stir to find out another that's not so good, and farther from the sence? He is one of those eloquent blades, of whom Quintilian says, Illis sordent omnia quae narturae dictavit. And in another place, Quid quod nihil jam proprium placet, dum parúm creditur disertum quod & alias dixisset. He thought to have been very much refin'd with his pingere, and hath spoild all. While I write this I consider with my self, how finely I were surpriz'd if this passage belong to the elder Pliny. But if it be, his be the losse, I will not retract what I have said, why does he speak like his Nephew? Non sapit patruum in that passage, even he, who in comparison of the other is wont to be patruus Patruissimus, as Platu [...]us or T [...]rence says. Which of the two is it? I think the former.

I would gladly know where that Tree grows who bore the Roses you sent me. Certainly neither Poestum, nor Aegypt, nor Greece, nor Italy ever brought forth the like. It may very well be your self, Tu Cinnomomum, Tu Rosa. You look as if you thought this taken out of the Song of Songs, when it is Plautus's. I can hardly imagine those Verses should be the work of any moderne wit; but if they are, I should be much troubled, they were any other then yours or Monsieur de Balzac's. Whoever is the Authour, he may very well be prov'd of them, and those Roses are certainly [...]orth a many Lawrels. But I beseech you, let me know whose they are dirmi amine, mea Rosa, mea voluptas. With [Page] your Roses, you have also sent thorns, when you propose to me the two passages, you would have me explicate. In the first place, as to that of salust, we are to consider that Hunting, was a commendable exercise among the Scythians, the Numidians, nay the Grecians themselves, and particularly the Loc [...]demonians; but I do not remember I have seen any thing to prove that among the Romans, it was the exercise of the more vertuous or better sort. For, Agriculture, it is to be distinguish'd according to Time. In old Rome, consular men, and such as had been Dictators, return'd from the management of the Common-wealth to the Plough-tail, which was the ordinary employment or calling of the Papirij, the Manlij and the Decij. But they had no sooner tasted the delciacies of Asia and Greece, ere they gave it over; and you may easily judge that a sort of people, who had the hair drawn off their Arms and thighs with certain Pincers, who cured and perfumed themselves, were far enough from goading of Oxen. If I am not mistaken, it is in the lives of the Gracchi that I have read, that one of the reasons which mov'd one of them to advance and Legem agrariam, was, that having travell'd through Italy, he had not met with any at work in the Fields about Husbandry, but only Slaves, where before they were all Citizens of Rome. Now, if it was so then, it may be easily judged that in salust's time, it was yet more ordinary to see Slaves employed in Tillage; Whence it comes, that Hunting and Agriculture, which are Quaestuosae Artes, are by him called Servilia Officia, quae aut à servis exercebantur, aut exer [...]cri poterant.

For the other, I think, that where Ausonius says, arguetur rectius Seneca quàm praedicabitur, non erudijsse indolem Neronis, sed armâsse saevitiam; he does not mean that Seneca had ever incited Nero to be cruel; but that instead of commending him for having taught his Disciple Philosophy enough, to make him merciful, he is to be reprov'd for having taught him too must sublety and Rhetorick to maintain his cruelty: so that armare, in that place, is not understood of [...]ffensive but defensive Arms. And accordingly, I think Tacitus sayes, that when that vertuous man had killed his own Mother ('twas a terrible Storke) Seneca assisted him to write to the Senate upon that occasion, and to find out pretences [Page] to palliate the horrid action whom he had committed. This passage oblig'd me to read over the whole Oration of Ausonius, which had I not done, I should not have presum'd to medle with it, and while I have all the best Authors by heart, I would not willingly read a line of the others. Good God! what jargon they speak; after what rate they write; and how is a man that is accustom'd to Cicero, astonish'd when he finds himself among such people!

Of all the Letters I have received from you, I have not thought any better writ or more pleasant then the last; but the passage I am most pleas'd with, is, that where you speak of the Abbot of Lauardin. There commendations, which he desires you to present me with from him, satisfy me, that, either he is extreamly civil, or sufficiently well opinion'd of me, and whether of the two it be, it matters not, I am infinitely pleas'd at it, either for his interest or my own. Sir, let me beg your favour so far as to let him know from me, that I receive the honour he does me, withal the respects and acknowledgements, which a person of his merit and quality may justly claim; but withal, that I cannot sit down with the receipt of Civilities, that I aime at something more, and have a great design to gain one day the happiness of his Friendship.

I was not so much amaz'd to hear the Nunnes of Loudun speak Latin, as I was to see you rip so much Italian. A man cannot discover by your citations, but that you understand it. But I hope I shall be reveng'd when I hear you pronounce it; for, ordinarily the Italian learn'd in Poiton hath not the accent extreamly Romane, and therefore do what you can, sapiet Poitavinitatem.

Your, quod mirere, in the passage of Tacitus, speaking of the recreation of the Germans, is well observ'd and well understood. But it's considerable what St Ambrose says upon it, I know not by what hazard I come to know it. F [...]runt Hunnos, says he, cum sine legibus vivant, aleaesolius legibus obedire, in procinctu ludere tesseras simul & arma portare, in victoriâ suâ captivos fieri.

Your ballismos, I also like very well, as also the Medal of Vigenere. But will you believe that Cordonniers, are so said, de ce qu'ils donnent des cors, because they give Horns? I perswaded a good honest man the other day that it was a true Etymology.

[Page] I should sooner forget a thousand Mistresses then Monsieur de Chives, and Monsieur Girard, par nobile fratrum, nay I should as soon forget you. If you hold any correspondence with them, I beseech you do me the favour assure them, that I am still their most humble Servant, with as much passion as ever, and that I entreat them not to have a greater, affection for you then they have for me, and not to be guilty of an infidelity towards me such as that of Monsieur de Balzac, by forsaking me, to entertain new faces. Farewel, Sir, and be ever assur'd, I shall not love or esteem any thing as I do you. I am, most sincerely,

Sir,

Your, &c.

To the Same. LETTER. CXXVI

Sir,

I Was once resolv'd, for a while to break off the correspondence that is between us, as making a conscience, in a season when a man should do penance, to come to those great entertainments you make me: but after I had endur'd much, I was convinc'd, I was not able to be without it. I su'd for a dispensation to receive your Letters, and have obtain'd it. For your part, you may without any scruple receive what I send you, as having hardly so much as to entertain you with a light Collation. Insteod of those mullos trilibres you presented me withal, I can only return Tiberinos Catillones, which only like the banker of Tiber, and feed on the slime of the Latin Country;

Postquam exhaustum est nostrum mare.

Nay for this time I shall hardly find as many as will make up a dish, and therefore I shall only treat you with pulse.

[Page]

Impunè te pascent Olivae,

Te cicoreaea, leves (que) malvae.

You must be content to make the best cheer you can with it, I can do no more; I cannot command those Parks, nor those Champians which are design'd for your hunting, Hortulus hic, &c.

Unde epulum possis solis dare Pythagoreis.

You cannot but remember that Coecilius Atreus cucurbitarum, I shall be forced to do the like; for, to tell you truely, my stock is quite Exhausted; and,

Mihi omne penu ex fundis amicorum hic affertur.

For you Piscinarians, (so Cicero, writing to Atticus, calls certain rich men of his time, Quantum Piscenarij mihi invideant, alias ad te scribam,) for you I say, it is an easy matter to treat your friends, you are not put to such shifts to do it as we,

Nec seta longo quaerit in mari praedam.

You have your Fish-ponds ever full;

Piscina Rhombum pascit, & lupos vernas,

You need no more then whistle,

Natat ad magistrum delicata murena.

It is impossible to take you unprovided, you I say, who have Penus Varius, or Varia, if you would have it so, or Varium, or Penum or Penu, ('tis a pleasant Knave, that, he is of all genders, and shifts himself out of one declension into another, and when he pleases, is undeclinable,) I am one of those, quibus sunt verba fine penu & pecunia. Think it not strange, I should be astonished, —

[Page]

To the same. LETTER. CXXVII.

SIR,

YOu now see what it is to entertain your friends at great Feasts, there needs no other reason you should not expect any returns of them. And to put me to greater troubles, you bring along with you Monsieur de Balzac, the most delicate, and the most humorous person in the world, quâ munditiâ, quâ elegantiâ hominem? Your Diet I knew, and you were sufficiently acquainted with my Table; but it cannot entertain so great a stranger.

—Ingentem non sustinet umbram.

To speak freely, when I look on you both, I cannot but think on Jupiter and Mercury, when they came to embrace poor Philemon, (be this however spoken without any offence to either, for all comparisons are odious) and in effect, that good man had not more reason to be troubled then I have. It is certainly a cruelty in you to have engaged me to this, and that a more then Neronical cruelty, Indicebat familiaribus coenas, quorum uni mellita quadragies H. S. constiterunt, alteri pluris aliquanto rosaria. To tell you the truth, that is it hath diverted me all this while; I have often said to my self,

—Nunquam ne reponam?

But I forbore both upon your account and his:

Cupio enim magnificè accipcre summos viros.

Ut rem mihi esse reantur,

In fine, after a tedious search without finding any thing, me thinks it might have been said to me as to that other, Nunquid adolescens meliùs dicere vis quàm potes? or otherwise,

[Page]

Quid multum cupias cùm sit tibi gobio tantum.

In loculis?—

I am therefore resol'd to do what I can, and desire you to be satisfied with it,

—Rebus (que) veni non asper egenis.

You must accomodate your selves to my exigencies, I can do more; I am not Master of those great Parks, nor yet of those Champions which lye open to your Game, nor yet those vast Seas where you fish, for all you say,

Hotulus hic puteu [...] (que) brevis, nec teste movendus.

I am, I must confess, asham'd to discover my wants and poverty; and yet though I am poor, I cannot shake off Ambition.

—Hîc vivimur ambiaiosâ

Paupertate.—

I wish with all my heart, I could

Ad Palatinas acipensera mittere mensas,

Or entertain you at such a Supper as he was, before whom, duo millia lectissimorum piscium, septem avium apposita traduntur. But tell me I pray, do you gentlemen of Poitou, feed much upon Acipensers? I have sent to enquire for some here, and the Fishmongers know not the name. And yet it was a kind of Fish very much heretofore esteemed at Rome; Huic tantus olim habebatur honos, says Macrobius, (did you imagine I had read Macrobius?) Ut a coronatis ministris, & cum tibiis in convivium soleret ferri. That indeed was an extraordinary priviledge for a Fish. C. Duillius, had almost such another, Caium Duillium, qui primus Poenos dasse devicerat, redeuntem à coenâ senem saepè videbam puer, delectabatur cereo funali & tibicine, quae fibi null exemplo privatus sumpserat; tantum licentiae dabat gloria. It was not I that saw him in that magnificence, 'twas Cato the Censor; and Cicero, who tells the Story, had, I doubt not, very [Page] great respects for this Fish, and fed on it heartily: For, in his Tusculane Questions, he remembers himself of it, and names it above all others for a delicate bit. Si quem igitur tuorum afflictum merore videris, huic acipenserem potius quam aliquem soc [...] ticum libellum dabis? In the mean time, there is not a word more of it. Hence you may judge what the glory of humane things amounts to, and what account is to be made thereof afterwards,

—I demens & saevos curre per Alpes,

Ut pueris placeas, & declamatio fias.

However it be (that same, however it be, is a little far fetch'd, for it relates to my telling you that I had nothing to treat you with all.) I shall entertain you as well as I can, and will say with that other, vide audaciam, etiam Hirtio coenam dedi sine pavone. In another place he tells one who bragg'd, that he would find him as poor cheer, as I shall you, Si perseveras me ad matris tue coenam vocare, feram id quoque, volo enim videre animum, qui mihi audeat ista quae scribis apponere, aut etiam polypum, Miniani Jovis similem; crede mihi non audebis: ante meum adventum, fama ad te de meâ lautitiâ veniet, eam extimeoces. Make me, I beseech you, understand what Beast is meant by that Polypum Miniani Jovis. I profess, since you have faild me of your Letters, I know nothing at all. As for the Promulsis, it is tolerable hitherto, but you are not satisfi'd with that onely; Non enim vir es qui soleas promulside confici, integram famem ad ovum affers. Let us then fall to other meat.

As to our quarrel against those who make not their Reverence [...]s long enough, I do not think them to be blam'd so much, and the reason is, that the truest and most effectual, consist chiefly in small things; as in certain Gestures, certain motions of the body and countenance, whereby, without being as it were perceived, they work their effect.

Componit furtim, subsequitur (que) decor

That Furtim me thinks, signifies as much, as also what the Spaniards call el no se que, they are so small that a man knows not well what it is. Nor shall you need to trouble your self any [Page] further about their Husbands: Why would you invalidate marriages of so long standing? The Gods, as you said upon another occasion make up others much different. The world is full of such marriages, have they not marryed pain upon pleasure, sufferings to glory, Heaven to earth; and Mademoiselle — to her Husband,

Sic visum veneri cui placet impares

Formas at (que) animos sub juga ahenea,

Saevo mittere cum joco.

I know not whether I told you that we had given over writing one to another, and that I had been inform'd that she made heavy complaints against me: She is in the City, and I have given her a visit. Our enterview was somewhat like that of Dido and Aeneas, when they met in Hell. I did all lay in my power to pacifie her, I told her, verus mihi nuntius ergo, and per sidera juro, and nec credere quivi.

Illa solo fines oculos aver satenere,

Nec magis incepto vultum sermone moveri,

Quam si dura silex, aut stet Marpesia cautes.

As to sleep, he's not so ill a Husband as you make him, and that Grace, I know not you call her, could not be better dispos'd in order to her quiet and case, He is as gentle as a Lamb, the most patient of all the Gods,

—Placidissime somne Deorum,

Pax animi, quem cura fugit.

And were it not that there are no Gates to his Lodging, he were a very good match: You may see in Lucian the discription of his City, and how he was accommodated: Though all he could do, were to restore the complexion, enliven the over-wearied eyes, and embellish the Ladies, do you not think it enough to get into their favour? He is a Distiller of Poppy, and Mandragoras, and well skill'd in Fucus's, that are, doubtless, incomparably beyond all the white and red in Spain, no usava afeytes Dorinda, y assidesperto con los que el suemo le avia dado. Learn a little Spanish though it were for nothing else but that you might not plaugue us [Page] so much with your Italian. Nor indeed is he so heavy as you think him.

Tum levis aethereis delapsus somnus ab astris,

Nor could he have gotten so many children if he had been so weak.

Tum pater è populo natorum mille suorum.

Nay though he were as cold as you conceive him, do you place but a small succor in all those dreams which he drives before him as it were with a wand, and disposes of as he pleases? Have you forgot that expression of Fleur D'espine?—

Se non sogni questi

Ch'io dorma semper, e mai non mi desti.

And that other,

Proh Venus & tenerâ volucer cum matre Cupi [...]o,

Gaudia quanta tuli, quam me manifesta libido

Contigit—

Do you make no account of this, and do you not think an honest woman may be satisfied with it? As to what you say, that the Graces ought never to sleep; go and visit some of your Ladies the next day after a Call, when they have sate up all night, and then give me your opinion as to that point. For your somno mollior herba, and your morbida, Domine Magister noster! I think you neither understood the Latine, nor the Italian, for the one signifies to sleep upon, and morbido signifies no more then polite, smooth, lene, properly effeminate.

Your Emperor Lampridius I look on as a sober, rational man; and if Heliogabalus had made a score of such Ordinances as those, I should place him next to Titus and Trajan. I wonder you should forget that other of Tiberius, Asellio sabino H. S. ducenta donavit pro Dialogo, in quo boleti, & ficedulae, & Ostreae, & turdi certamen induxerat. Were not those Emperors? I am extreamly troubled at the loss of that Dialogue, and would you not [Page] have bin glad to see a discourse between an Oyster and a Mushrome? That Asellius was certainly an excellent person, and had I known him I would with all my heart have given him a Demicaster.

The Stones I sent you in their natural shapes you have excellently cut, and admirably wrought: They are become in your hands precious, and you have made them one of your best Dishes of your Banquet; Fecisti ut lapidi illi panes flerent. Without Saturn's stomach, or the Moons teeth, I have made a shift to eat very heartily of them, and with great satisfaction. That's a kind of meat, quam nemo coquus hactenus in jus rocaverat; but you make such sawces, as would perswade a man to eat pebblestones. I could not believe that that Story came from such grave Authors. This granted, I am not an Infidel as to that, that the stories should sometimes hear the sound of the Harp, besides that at this day we beleeve, that walls have ears.

I must needs confess I have a greater esteem for Ausonius then I had, you have made me see him in his Lustre, by shewing him me in his Poetry. He was no question a very excellent person, and I doubt not but his Oration had been very good, had he turn'd it into verse. Those you have furnish't me with of his; I am acquainted with a sort of men like him, who go very ill a foot, and can do miracles on Horse-back: but I wish those men would do only what they are best at, and that Cicero had never writ in verse not Ausonius in Prose.

Do you expect I should now speak of the other Banquet, whereof I had my part,

Ut Nasidieni juvit me caena beati,

That is to say, how I find my self after the good entertainment of Monsieur de Balzac? I shall answer you, Ut nunquam in vita fuerit melius. Lucullus Apollo, no, not that of Delphos could have been so magnificent; the least Dish is to be preferr'd before the Dodecatheon of Augustus, you know,

Cum primum istorum conduxis mensa choragum,

Sex (que) Deos vidit Mallia sex (que) deas.

Which deserves no great admiration. It is of such a Feast as this, that it may be said

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I lauri de Permesso, e di Parnaso

Andorno a coronar la Gelatina.

That man is certainly admirable in what ever he does.

I ever and anon meet with some Verses of his, which are doubtless much beyond what I thought this age could have produced, such as might raise a jealousie, I say not in Lucca, or Clandian, but even in Lucretius and Virgil. But be pleas'd to ask him, upon what grounds he beleeves that I have gotten the explication of the passage of Ausonius out of his bowels, and why he ranks me among those, qui plus ex jecore alieno sapiunt quam ex suo.

I am therefore to conceive that I know nothing but by a reminiscence of those things which my soul learn'd heretofore in his conversation. His Dish of Wind, as well as yours of Stone, I am infinitely taken with, and certainly it had been excellent food in the Island of Ruac, a place I know not whether you are acquainted with. It is an Island where the Inhabitants live only by wind, and where the sick take no other Physick then those unwholesome blasts that come in at some hole made in the place where they lye. You are certainly excellent Cooks, you season all things so well, that there's not any thing might not be eaten out of your hands, and which you would not make a man swallow down pleasantly. You can give,

Cuerpo a los vientos, y a las piedras alma.

This is a Verse of Louys de Gongora, one whom you are not acquainted with: I am very much pleas'd to understand the alliance between the Athenians and Boreas, as also that there was a Norwegian of a Citizen of Athens▪ he me thinks might have call'd himself Citizen of the world, with as much right as that other who brag'd so much of it. But indeed the Athenians had there met with a very turbulent Cockney. I did not, I must confess, believe, that the Sea was a Teare like that of his who had a better stomach to digest stones, then I have. He shed it no doubt when he was turn'd out and bound in chains by his Son. Do you think (at least if the story be true) that it may be said of Saturn, as well as of poor Pallas's Horse,

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Guttis humectat grandibus ora.

The truth is, they play'd him very unhandsome tricks; but it hath happen'd well for mankind, that as he was extreamly given to melancholly, so he could not weep much, for if he had shed but three tears what should have become of us, omnia pontus erant. It might be said on this occasion, that he wept bitterly; but tell me I pray, if you can, Did he weep both the Sea and the fish in it?

—Immania Cete,

Tritones (que) citos, Ponti (que) exercitus omnes.

I had forget to give you an account of your passage of Seneca Valde me torfit illa podagra, adeoque impliciti videntur hi pedes, ut ad illos utrosque dextros explicandos, nullum dextrum pedem habeam. Unless it be his meaning, that the Gout turn'd the left foot, which ought to be inward, outward; and that being so turn'd on the same side as the right foot, he says, utrosque dextros. But it could not be meant that the right foot was turn'd to the left side, for then he had said utrosque Sinistros. It is certainly very hard to be understood; if you can find any better explication,

—Si quid dextro pede concipis.

Let me know it.

I have heard of your sickness, but with much disturbance, though I knew it not till it was over, and was astonish'd to understand the danger I was in, when I knew nothing of it. Dear Sir, I beseech you rest satisfy'd, this World wants that I should value love or esteem more then I do you. May I perish, if ever I am so pleas'd with my own thoughts, as when I think (which I do often,) that Fortune will find out some way that we may spend the remainder of our dayes together, and that I may have you, in serijs [...]ocisque, amicum omnium horarum. I profess there is not any thing I wish so much, and that I am and ever shall be your Servant, with as much passion, as when I saw you every morning. I make this profession to you on the eve of a journey of six months, which I am to take, for I go hence with the King for Catalonia.

[Page] Be pleas'd therefore to forbear writing till you hear of his Majesty's return. I should be much more impatient to come back, if I thought to find you here in the Summer. I advise you to do all you can, that it may be so. Qui benè latuit, bene vixit, is a precept you have nothing to do with; let alone

Pana (que) Sylvanumque senem Nymphas (que) sorores,

You are a debtor to the Publick, and it were but fit such a man as you were known to all the World, omnis autem peregrinatio, you know, obscura est. Hasten therefore your return, I beseech you once more, and as soon as your term shall be expir'd, let me find you here, or M— or some — and take heed; ne quid temporis addatur ad hanc provincialem molestiam. I send you a Book, which Mademoiselle de Courmay presents you with. Farewel Sir, be pleas'd to continue me in your affection and remembrances, and assure your self I shall be while I live, and most sincerely,

Your, &c.

Paris, Jan. 24. 1643.

Your infoelix Theseus, I look on as an extream happy man, and am almost confident that Hercules did not deliver him out of Hell more fortunately, or more gloriously then you do.

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To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. CXXVIII.

Madam,

HAd I been without my — I should certainly have been extreamly troubled to be depriv'd the honour of your sight, and I believe I should have thought on you more heartily then ever I did, for to tell you truth; I felt my self extreamly dispos'd thereto, and never was so much afflicted at a departure from you. But it is beyond your faith, Madam, what strange diversion — afford a man, and what an excellent remedie they are against a great passion; one while a Horse falls lame, another, a wheel is broken, sometimes they are lodg'd for a whole night in a Bogg, and I profess all can be done with them, is that they make a man think three or four times a day on her, whom he thinks his best friend. But now that we shall travel more gently, and are to embarque upon the Rhosne, I shall discharge my duty of thinking on you better, and if I am not mistaken, I shall come to Avignon the most passionate man in the World. For your part, Madam, who take no greater journeys then from your own house to the suburbs of St Germain, and are not troubled with such ill wayes as we are, you are not by any means to be excused, if you honour me not so much as to think on me sometimes, since, I must needs tell you, yon are more oblig'd to do it then ever, and if you are not often in my thoughts; it is, when you are, with so much sincerity and such resentments, as wherewith I am confident you would be satisfy'd. Besides, who knows but I do often reflect on you, and that I express my self thus modestly, because I dare not tell you all? In this uncertainty, I humbly desire you, Madam, to believe only what Monsieur Arnaud shall acquaint you with, for I have ordered him to explain my intentions to you, and to tell you, since it is his profession to make Orispianes, how much I am, and after what manner,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Lyons, Feb. 23. 1642.

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The Resolution my Lord Cardinal had taken to go upon the Rhosne is chang'd, upon this account, that walking the day before yesterday upon the Quay, he saw a Boat full of Souldiers, very near being cast away, some, who leap'd out the Boat into the water, being drown'd; which his Eminence hath no great mind to be, because it would prove prejudicial to the designs he hath upon the Roussillon.

To the same. LETTER. CXXIX.

Madam,

I Wish you had seen me the other day, that you might have known what condition I was in from Vienna to Valentia. The day was newly deliver'd of the Sun, nor was he but weakely able to guild the Mountain-tops, when we were gotten upon the Rhosne. It was one of those fair dayes, which Apollo does sometimes adorne himself withal, and which are never seen at Paris, but in the height of Summer. Those who were of my company, entertain'd themselves one while with the sight of the Mountains of Dauphine, which were some ten or twelve Leagues on the left hand, all covered with Snow, another, the Hills on both sides the Rhosne loaden with Vines, and Valleyes as far as sight could reach, burdened with Trees which were green and flourishing. For my part, while all were thus employed, I got up alone upon the Cabbin of boughs which cover'd our Vessel, and while they were admiring at the things that were about them, I began to consider what I had left behind. I fix'd my right Elbow on the covering of our Barke, which supported my head, the left hand being carelessely stretch'd out, wherein was a Book which I had taken only as a pretence for my retirement. I looked earnestly on the River, which yet I saw not. There fell immediately tears of no small bulk from my eyes, my sighes were so violent, as if they brought some part of my Soul out along with them; and ever and anon there slipp'd from me [Page] certain words, pronounced with so much disorder and confusion, that those who were about me could not well hear them, and which I shall acquaint you with when you please. What I now write to you, would have been capable of more advantage and ornament, if I could have put it into verse, for I professe to you, the Nymphs of the Waters were troubled at my affliction, the God of the River had a compassion for me; but all this cannot be well express'd in prose. The result is, that I remain'd seven hours in that posture, without moving either hand or foot. I wish, Madam, you had but seen me thus in any exercise of Religion; it would have rais'd no small devotion in you, in so much that the Master of our Vessel said, he had in his time, carryed ten thousand men from Lyons to Beaucaire, but had never seen any that seem'd to be so much out of his senses. Having dressed up this fine story, it just now comes into my mind, that you will haply imagine there is not a word true of it, and that what I have said is meerly matter of invention to fill up a Letter. Though it were really so, Madam, yet am I still excusable, for to deal freely with you, a man is many times much at a losse what to say, nor can I conceive, how, without some such inventions as these persons, who hold not any correspondence either as to love or affairs, can often write one to another; and yet to be ingenuous with you, all I have told you, of my resvery, my sighing, and my sadness, is punctually true. Only as to the resentment which the Nymphs, and the God of the Rhosne had thereof, I am not over confident; I spent a whole morning in these thoughts without the least remission. During that time, I must confess, I thought three or four times on Mademoiselle — the rest I wholly bestow'd on the Lady your Mother, and your self. I had promis'd you, that if we went by water, I should come out of your debt as to that point; and indeed I have done so much, that if I fall into the same posture again, the Sun that first shines on me in Languedoc will enflame me into extravagance. It is already so hot in Avignon, that we can hardly endure it. The Spring hath overtaken us already, there's every where abundance of Fleas and Violets; I wish you both with all my heart, for Madam, as I shall be glad, you should not sleep too much in my absence, so can I not but wish you whatever I see that is handsome and beautiful, and remain,

Madam,

Yours, &c.

Avignon, Shrove Munday 1642.

[Page]

It was certainly a rare sight the last night, to see the streets of Avignon full of Candles, Lanterns and Torches, at all the Windows, to see my Lord Cardinal, who made his entrance at seven at night. It was as light as at Mid-day, and if the Pope had come hither himself, he could not have been more nobly receiv'd. They gave him thousands of benedictions, a commodity the people of this Country is extreamly liberal of, because it is a Papal Territory. The Jews of Avignon are very well, Monsieur the Vice-Legat full and sat enough, and the Count d'Alais somewhat more then he.

To my Lord President de Maisons. LETTER. CXXX.

My Lord,

IT is too great a goodness in you to take the pains to write to me, and to treat me with so much civility, as if I were not before the most oblig'd man in the World to you. I beseech you, and that most humbly and most earnestly not to take trouble on your self any more. You have not for the most part much to acquaint me with; but for my part, besides the obligation of my duty to write to you, the occurrences which from time to time happen here furnish me with something to say to you. Nevertheless, my Lord, I must needs confess, I was infinitely satisfy'd with the last Letter you were pleas'd to send me; and when ever you have such pleasant news to tell me, I dare not refuse the honour you do me in the communication thereof. I am extreamly glad of the great acquaintance and friendship you have, since my departure, made with Mademoiselle de Rambouillet, I understand it no more by your Letters then by hers: shee never writes to me, but shee mentions you, and that with all the affection and esteem due to you. I cannot, my Lord, but acknowledge it an extraordinary satisfaction to me, that you and Madam de Rambouillet pitty me for the indiscretion I was guilty of, and it shall be a remembrancer to me for the future, besides the solemne protestation I lately made to the same purpose to Monsieur [Page] de Chavigny. I am also to be glad, that you have had the reputation to keep Madam — fifteen dayes, and what is more, to cut off all accesse from others; all I have to quarrel at, is, that you do not dispose of her, till that now shee is in a mind to be reform'd, and in the state of repentance. However I advise you, not to let fall your suit; for, time, Fortune, and the addresses of a person of Honour may work a great change in Affairs? Having once spoken of those things, I conceive your Lordship will find no great pleasure in any news I can entertain you with hence; but to avoid importunity, I shall tell you all in a word, which is no more then that I am,

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Narbonne, May 10. 1642.

To the same. LETTER. CXXXI.

My Lord,

IT is certainly an excesse of kindness in you to give me thanks for any thing, who shall never be able to do enough for you, and should be still in your debt, though I had hazarded my life a hundred times in your service. For this kindness, my Lord, and the proffer you are pleas'd to make me, I return you thousands of most humble acknowledgements, and am extreamly elevated to see, that, amidst affairs as well of the greatest as least consequence, you take all occasions to give me assurances of the friendship you are pleas'd to honour me with. Though I have play'd almost to dotage and extravagance, yet have I kept so much wit about me as to reserve mony enough to clear me from this place, and am troubled at nothing so much, as that I have given you so ill an assignation, and put into your hands a Creditor little better then my self. On the other side my Lord, I cannot expresse the extraordinary joy, I take at the great friendship you have made with the whole Family [Page] of Rambouillet: Mademoiselle de Rambouillet never writes to me, but shee sends me some thing concerning you, expressing the great esteem shee hath for you, and that you may be better satisfy'd with the sentiments my Lord Marquess of Pisany hath for you, I send you a scrip of the least Letter he writ to me; For, Monsieur de Charigny, you are certainly oblig'd to have many respects for him, he is ready upon all occasions to speak of you, with all the esteem and affection imaginable; he acquaints all his friends with your friendship towards him, and promises it to those, whom, as the dearest, he hath the greatest inclinations to oblige. He told me the other day, that you had written him the handsomest, and most obliging Letter in the World, but being engaged in Company, he had not the leasure to shew it me. Three dayes since he took his journey hence towards the Army, to be present at the Ceremony of the Order, which the King granted yesterday to the Prince of Mourgues, and returns to morrow. Of the Kings return there is not any certainty: I shall, my Lord, in that business take the greatest care I can, as I would in all things you command me. The hopes of taking in Perpignan so soon, are very much remitted, they now give out it will not be before the 25th of the next month. Monsieur de Turene told me he would lay two hundred pieces, that it would be taken before June were past. Whenever Monsieur de Chavigny goes to the Army, he lodges at Monsieur des Noyers, it is now the greatest friendship in the World, but withal the most reall and most sincere, I am,

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Narbonne, May 22. 1642.

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To Monsieur Chapelain. LETTER. CXXXII.

SIR,

THough I am well furnished with confidence, yet dare I not return to Paris without sending you an answer, and am indeed asham'd I have been so long in your debt as to that part of my duty: but I must withal freely tell you, that, fore-seeing I should have occasion to write to you, to acquaint you with what judgement should be made of the Verses you sent, I delay'd it as long as I could, out of a design to save my self a Letter. If you are but just, you must not think it strange, that a man should be a little fearful when he is to write to a Doctor as you are: and certainly, when I do but reflect, that it is to the most judicious person of our age, the maker of the Imperial Crown, the Metamorphoser of Lionne, and the Father of the Maid, that I write, my hair stands up, and makes me look like a Hedge-Hog; but when, on the other side, I consider that this Letter is directed to the most indulgent of mankind, to the excuser of all faults, the commender of all labours, to a dove, to a Lamb; my hair lyes down as smooth and as flat, as the feathers of a drown'd Chicken, and I fear you not so much as the wagging of a st [...]aw. I shall therefore tell you, Sir, gentle as you are, that the Verses of Monsieur de Balzac, have not yet been seen by my Lord Cardinal.

O Coelum, O Terras, O Maria Neptuni!

Will you cry out. Is this the account is made of the Sons of Iupiter? Is this a treatment befitting the greatest wit in the world?

Frange miser calamos vigilata (que) praelia dele.

You have indeed reason to say all this; but you are to believe that a many other things were to be thought on all this journey, and that if Apollo, whom you know, had come in person to Narbonne, with all his light and lustre about him, he would have been [Page] received but in the quality of Chyrurgion. I have spoke of it a hundred times to Monsieur de Chavigny, who ever answered me, that for Monsieur de Balzac's sake, it must be reserv'd for a time, when the spirits of his Eminency were less distracted with affairs, and more fit to entertain things of that nature. He hath commanded me to entreat you on his behalf to return the greatest acknowledgments possible to our friend, for the Epigrams he made for him, wherewith he is infinitely satisfy'd; to say truth, they are the handsomest in the world. As for the Verses directed to my Lord Cardinal, they are absolutely Virgilian, with a little more Enthusiasme then the Authour is wont to have; and for my part, had I both my Arms broken on the Wheel, I should take a pleasure to hear them. If it be any shame, that he, for whom they were made, hath not yet seen them, the greatest part of it will fall on Monsieur de la Victoire, whose care it principally was. For my part, I have contributed thereto all the care and affection I ought, and abating all thoughts of the powerfulness of your recommendation, and the passion I have to serve Monsieur de Balzac, I should I profess, have solicited with no less ardency, for a man risen out of the bottome of Sweden, that should have sent hither what you have. All the offence I have committed, is, that I have not written to you sooner; but you have pardon'd me far greater, and consequently will this, since I am,

Sir,

Your, &c.

Avignon, June 11. 1642.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER. CXXXIII.

MADAM,

THere's nothing so certain as that I should have an extraordinary affection for you, if I should never see you again, for it being but two Moneths since I left you, it is double to what it was, and encreases dayly so much, that If I see you not suddenly, I question not but it will defie all limits. To say truth, besides the satisfaction it is to have spent some time without any contestation [Page] with you, and pass'd over a Lent without any dispute about the Almond-milk; your Letters, Madam, have, I must needs confess, contributed much to make me judge more favourably of you, and think you more amiable. The two you have honoured me with, have rais'd in me new matter of astonishment; and as if I never had been acquainted with your perfections, and that every one, to speak freely, hath some little indignation at the reading of those things, which he might have written; yet I have, I assure you, been extreamly pleas'd with them; they have dispell'd all my afflictions, they have in a manner cut'd me of all misfortunes, and have infus'd into me a joy which I could not have expected here but by enchantment or miracle. Of both which there is so much in what ever you write, that I wonder not at all that they have wrought this effect in me, but only that they have enflam'd with an extraordinary impatience to see you again, since there is not any man, who had the advantages of his wit and senses, and knew you to be so mischeivous as I do, but would rather desire to be alwayes at a distance of two hundred Leagues from you, were it only but to receive of your Letters. It should, on the other side, be your wish, that I sate down content with this honour, and that I came not neer you; for, doubtless, being far from you, the services I do you are greater, and you ought to consider them accordingly. And certainly when I reflect on all those I have done you since I left Paris; all the discourse I had concerning you with Monsieur de Roussillon; the assurance I gave of your affection to the Count d' Aleix, the professions I made to his Lady, that she was one of those Persons for whom you had the greatest honour and respects; the miracles I related of you to Madam de Saint Simon, and the expressions wherewith I assur'd the Lords Deputies of Marscilles, of the good inclinations you had for them and their City, methinks the main end of my travelling up and down the world, is to procure you Servants, to keep up your correspondecies, and to dilate your reputation. Meeting yesterday with my Lord President F— in the Kings Chamber, he fell into discourse of your excellencies; I told him, that he was very much in your liking, and that it was long since that I had discover'd your particular inclination for him. He is handsome, and believ'd it, and I assure you, Madam, as also Monsieur de Chaveroche that if ever you have any business in the Parliament of Grenoble, the first President will be your infallible friend. I am infinitely pleas'd [Page] to see what you acquaint me with of the Mistresses of my Lord Marquess of St. M— It is, I must confess, a great joy to me, and to be absolutely a person of Honour; it was but fit he should enter into that kind of life. To say truth, to fasten any thing on his mind, that should possess the place of that person which was there, it were little enough to thrustin seven at a time, and yet he will have much a do in seven others, to find all those perfections he admir'd in one. In the mean time, I cannot but think it strange, and to deal freely with you, cannot understand a possibility that a man can love seven persons at a time; for my part, I could never, when I was most prodigal of my love, go beyond six, and it must certainly be very infamous to love seven. But, Madam, since I perceive he is so much addicted to talking, and I grown so melancholy, I believe, for my part; that our souls were chang'd when he embrac'd me last, that I took my leave of him, for ever since I have been in perpetual disquiet, always wish'd my self out of the places where I was; nay, me thinks I have loved Mademoiselle du Vig [...]an, more then ordinary. I know not whether this proceeds from the honour she hath done me in her remembrances, or from a necessity there is, that an affection so well grounded should encrease dayly: but I could wish, that where he hath hitherto lov'd the gentlest nature in the world, he had made his addresses to that other you know, who expects, when any one hath declar'd himself for her service, that he persevere and dye in it, were it only to see what would have been the issue of it. And certainly, it were but expedient, that for the advantage and edification of all the world besides, an unconstant man should be punished once in his life. I call him unconstant, though he hath done nothing but what was desired of him; but it should not have been in his power to do it, and both for his reputation sake, and the respects I have for him, I wish he had dy'd rather. But we shall one day see these Gallants unmercifully dealt with in the other world. For my part, who am a sinner as well as others, I have been miraculously converted, and dare affirm, that my soul is in Paradice as to that point. But Madam, what is it that you tell me of the Marriage of Mademoiselle de V— and the Count de G— and where hath fortune been ransacking for these two persons to join them together? I have much joy to wish for that of Mademoiselle de G— and the Count de F— there is a friend of ours who wil be very — at that Wedding, and I am sorry I cannot be at it my self. All the [Page] news is, that those of Colioure capitulate; you will find by the Letter I send you, that I forgot not the delivery of yours to Madam de Lesdiguieres. I have been now writing these four hours; is it not in your judgement, time that I should tell you that I am,

Madam,

Your, &c

To Monsieur Esprit. LETTER. CXXXVI.

SIR,

IT may be said of your letter, as of the Sun's chariot; could you have imagin'd that the chariot of the Sun, and your letter, had any thing common?

Materiam superabat opus.—

To tell you truth, I could not have believ'd it possible that the Countess de T— should have found me so much pleasure, that M. la V.D— could have been so pleasant, or that any good could have been made of Madam de C— when in the mean time, you have dress'd them up so, as that I have been extreamly pleas'd to see them all, and you have embalm'd these bodies so well, that I should not be much more taken with the most young, and most healthy. Hence it may be inferr'd, that a good workman doth miracles in all kinds of matter, and this which, next to the first matter, was the most naked, and the most indigent of all, hath receiv'd from you so excellent a form, that you have made it, as it were another compositum. It is only you can make Mercury of any kind of wood; this, whereof any other but your self, could have made nothing but ashes, is so well dispos'd, and imploy'd with so much industry, that Cedar and Calambon is not comparable to it. You Swallows have a miraculous faculty, with a little earth and straw, (for you know

Et mirè luteum garrula fingit opus.

)

to do such things as are not less to be admir'd then the Master-pieces of the most regular Architecture. A hop certainly would in your hands become a rose,—Qaeicquid calcaveris hic rosa fiet.

One Swallow such as you are is enough to make a Summer. But assure your self I honour you as much as if you were an Eagle, or, if you please, an Austrich and am,

Your, &c.

Nismes. June. 17. 1642.

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To Monsieur Costart. LETTER. CXXXV.

Sir,

COnsider I pray, whether I deal not favourably and ingenuously with you, since so specious a pretence as that of a great journey perform'd with so much precipitation, (for we are come in six dayes from Paris to Grenoble by Coach,) hinders me not from giving you an answer? I received your last Letter a quarter of an hour before my departure; I rejoyce at your prosperities as much as if they were my own, and while I am unfortunate in whatever I desire, I think my self fortunate, when you are so. For I cannot say that Fortune is absolutely my enemy, since shee is your friend, and I forgive her all the mischief shee hath done me, in requital of the favour shee doth you. You will be astonish'd at what I shall tell you, and truely I am asham'd to tell you; M— is more unmerciful to me then ever, more cruel then shee was in her Letters; and what is lamentable and shameful both, this resistance enflames me, and I am fallen more deeply in love with her then ever you knew me.

O indignum facinus, nunc ego &

Illam Scelestam esse, & me miserum sentio;

Et taedet, & amore ardeo, & prudens, sciens,

Vivus, videns (que) pereo, nec quid agam scio.

It is one of the reasons mov'd me to undertake this journey, ut defatiger; but I fear me I shall have the same Fortune with that other. Do you, who are more discreet, and better acquainted with her, give me some advice in this case, and let me know, whether you conceive shee will persist in the resolution which shee seems to have taken. But deal freely with me, and in such an adventure as this, use not your ordinary compliance; It will haply prove a kind of remedy to me, to be perswaded that there is not any. You are oblig'd above all others to deliver me out of this disturbance, for besides that your affection to me ought to be greater then any man's, you are, in some sort, the cause of all the afflictions I groan under at the present, as who first brought me to the sight of her,

[Page]

Te, cum tuâ

Monstratione magnum perdat Jupiter.

I speak it not in good earnest, but me thought it came very pat to my purpose. As to the word wherein you desire my judgement, I can say as little to it as you, though I reflected on it by the way as we came. That, 'tis true, does not signify much, for my thoughts were wholly taken up with her. Farewel, get my heart from her as soon as you can, that you may have it wholly to your self, or, if shee must keep it, that it may be with some justice, I am,

Sir,

Your, &c

To the same. LETTER. CXXXVI.

Domine,

NOt to dissemble with you, all your Latine cannot exempt you from simplicity, and it is easily discover'd in you that the greatest Clarks are not alwayes the most polite. I was strangely reconcil'd with M— within one quarter of an hour after our meeting; we had hardly exchang'd two or three reproaches, but we embrac'd one another more heartily then ever. Love sneez'd above two hundred several times that day, sometimes on the right, and sometimes on the left, which brought him into a cold he hath been troubled with these thre weeks. She gave me, mille, deinde centum, deinde mille altera, deinde secunda centum. See now what you get by citing so unseasonably those two Epigrams; for to tell you truth, I conceive her very handsome about the nose, and am of the judgment of her neighbours; Sic meos, amores? There ought not such strict notice be taken of what falls from Lovers in their passion, and though Phaedria, coming upon the Stage, speaks of Meretricum contumelias, yet in the next scene, he would soon quarrel with his ears, that should affirm Thais was not a very honest woman. Had you forgot your Publius Mimus, Amantium irae, & that other, who putting things in their order, says, injuriae, suspectiones, inimicitiae, induciae, bellum, and then at last, pax rursum? According to the knowledge we have of your simplicity, and the opinion which I [Page] know you have of that fierce and impersuasible Nature, we concluded you would be cajoli'd thereby, and that you would write a Letter that should find us abundance of good sport, but to the end that you might oblige her, and pretend a regret for having endeavour'd to get away the heart from her. I assure you, I had much adoe to perswade her to be guilty of that treachery towards you. This is the reason, that you have not receiv'd oftener from her, and shee hath purposely forborn, because you should not take her in a ly twice. But we must do you that right as to acknowledge, that if you are defective as to judgement, you have, to ballance it, a great wit; I am infinitely taken with your Letter. There are some applications the most fortunate in the World, or to say the better, the most ingenious, particularly that di boni, and that fundi calamitas, but, quod me capere oportuerat, haec intercipit, how do you understand it, by your explication of hem alterum? I approve it not, for Gnatho being in all probability elder then Thraso, or at least coaetaneous, what likelihood is there he would say, that it should seem that Thraso had made the other; haud ita jussi: 'tis an equivocation upon rectè jocularium in malum, visu dignum. I shall see Monsieur de — since you command me to do it, for that makes me more considerable then if I were a Bishop. I admire the expression of Monsieur Pauquet; I have often told you that his wit went beyond yours. To deal freely with you, I believe he dictates your Letters; I wish he would also my answers. But tell me, whence came that Hemistick, I never read it, and cannot imagine it was ever apply'd on any occasion, but the wheat that grew on the Bastions of Rochel, I am,

Sir,

Your, &c.

Paris, Aug. 4.

To my Lord Marquess de Roquelaure. LETTER. CXXXVII.

My Lord,

I know not what advantage I shall make of the honour of your friendship, but it hath cost me already very dear; there passes not a Campagne, wherein for your sake, I endure not many sad dayes, and that the hazards you are engag'd in, cause me not abundance of [Page] affliction, when, in the mean time, I have a great joy to see, that, by a strange extravagance of Fortune, you find a way to purchase glory in the worsted side, and that in those engagements, which are in a manner unfortunate to all others, you make your self famous. Things well consider'd, you cannot in my judgement, with any justice quarrel with Fortune, for, if shee be not on your side, shee takes you into that whereof shee is, and at the end of all fights, I find you among the Victorious. For my part, I am more jealous of your liberty then your glory, and must confess my self not at all troubled for your imprisonment, and reflecting on what hath happened, I have a greater affection for you, when you are among the Spaniards, then if you were of our side. I wish, my Lord, you may receive from them, all the good entertainment that your merits may claim, and I do not in the least doubt but you shall; for, besides what is due to your condition, there are those excellencies in your person, which in three dayes gain the hearts of all that come near you, and I make no difficulty, but the enemies who have taken you, are by this time your friends. I would gladly, were I permitted, come and bear you Company with them, for assure your self, my Lord, there is not any thing I would not heartily do, to demonstrate to you, how sensible I am of the honour you do me every where, by the publick acknowledgements you make of the affection you have for me; and neither Paeris, nor the Court, cannot afford me greater enjoyments, then what I should find with you, and to assure you, that I am, with extraordinary passion▪

My Lord,

Your, &c

To my Lord Marquess de St Maigrin. LETTER CXXXVIII.

My Lord,

I Have been three whole dayes in suspence whether you were alive or not, with what affliction, you may easily imagine. Amidst this alarm, I receiv'd, as very good news, that of your imprisonment, and I could not be much troubled at the losse of your liberty, when I had been so much in doubt of that of your life. Nor indeed, [Page] my Lord, can I not but acknowledge, that if your destiny had been in my hands, you should have had no other then what you have: and as I should have been extreamly afflicted that you had been found among the dead, so should I not have been well pleas'd you had clearly escaped. Fortune hath pitch'd on the mean I desir'd, and I believe I jump with your thoughts of it; for I conceive you would not have enjoy'd your self much in a liberty, which you must have purchas'd by a retreat. When I am got to Paris, if you please to send for me by a Drumme, as one of your menial Servants, I shall not disown the relation, but be ready to wait on you; I am extreamly impatient for the relation of your Adventures, and now I think you are at leasure to make it. I wish, with all the passion that may be, you may alwayes meet with good ones, and if, having six or seven Mistresses to grieve for, you have any time to spare, to think on me, I humbly beseech only to honour me so far, as to remember that, I am,

My Lord,

Your, &c

To Mon [...]ieur de Chavigny. LETTER CXXXIX.

Sir,

I Professe it is out of pure considerations of friendship that I write to you, and that I cannot but tell you, that I languish away here, for want of your company. After I had made such haste to get out of Italy, I grow wearier of Paris then ever I was of Turin, and having very excellent accommodations of Lodging in Crequi-House, it happens often that I wish the Chamber of la Grave, and that of Novalaize, nay sometimes, my own bed at la Souchiere I took more pleasure, the day, that the wind and rain put my nose into a pleasant posture, then I do now in the fairest dayes of all: and to tell you all in a word, I should be content to entertain M— four hours every night, conditionally I might enjoy you but one half hour in the day. Seriously, Sir, I cannot imagine otherwise of my self then that I am fallen into a Pit, whence fourty fadome of Rope will hardly get me out; nor is there any but you that can do [Page] it, and therefore till you are return'd, I shall continue there crying and roaring after a sad manner. There passes not a day over my head, wherein I make not some addition to the affection I bear you, and whether it be that I have more leasure to reflect on my self, and consider the obligations I ow you, or that conversing with other men, I make greater discoveries of the extraordinary difference there is between you and them, I have greater respects for you then when I was upon my journey, when yet I had greater for you then for my self. You will pardon me, that I tell you this with so much freedome, and not think it strange, that speaking with much passion, I express my self the lesse considerately. Notwithstanding all this liberty, I have in my Soul the humblest respect I ought to have for you, and that, honouring you sincerely, proportionably to your merits, I am, beyond what I can express, and as much as I can be,

Sir,

Your, &c

To my Lord President de Maisons. LETTER. CXXXX.

My Lord,

MAdam de Marsilly is perswaded that I have some credit with you, and I am guilty of so much vanity as not to tell her shee is mistaken. Shee is a person very well belov'd, and esteem'd by all the Court, and hath a great influence over the Parliament. If shee have good successe in one business wherein shee hath chosen you for Judge, and shall be satisfy'd that I have contributed any thing thereto, you cannot imagine what abundance of reputation this will raise me in the World, and what esteem with all the vertuous and more considerable sort of people. I propose no more, to gain what just favour you can do, but my own interests, for I know, my Lord, that I need not mention any thing of yours, since that without it I durst promise you her friendship. That indeed is a bribe might corrupt the most upright Judges in the World, and is a temptation proportionable to your great Vertue; but you gaine it justly, since shee demands nothing but justice of you. 'Tis a [Page] thing I may also claim of you, which yet amounts to no more then the continuance of the affection you have formerly borne me, if you are but satisfy'd of my being,

My Lord,

Your, &c

To my Lord Duke d'Anguien, upon the success of the Battel of Rocroy, M DC XLIII. LETTER CXLI.

My Lord,

SInce I am now far from your Highness, and that you cannot put me on any imployment, I am resolv'd to give you an account of all the thoughts I have had of you of a long time, and which I durst not trouble your acquaintance withal, for fear of slipping into the inconveniences, wherein I had observ'd those entangled, who had presum'd upon the like freedome with you. But, my Lord, the things you do are too great to admit of silence, and it were very unjust you should think to do such Actions, and that there should be no more said of them. If you but knew how all at Paris are broke loose into discourse concerning you, I am consident it would make you blush, and you would be withal astonish'd to see with how little respect, and lesse fear to displease you, all the World talks of what you have done. To be free with you, my Lord, I know not what your thoughts run upon, and it was certainly an excesse of confidence, and an extraordinary violence in you, to have, at your age, baffled two or three old chieftains, whom you should have respected though it were but for their Antiquity; brought the poor Count de Fontain to be meat for worms, though one of the bravest men in all Flanders, and whom the Prince of Or [...]nge durst never meddle with; taken 16 pieces of Canon that belong'd to a Prince who is Uncle to the King and Brother to the Queen, one with whom you never had the least difference, and defeated the best Troops of Spain, after they had with so much mildness given you passage. I know not what Father Meusnier will say of it, but all this is disconsonant to good manners, and contains, in my judgement, much [Page] matter of Confession. I had indeed often heard that you were guilty of an inconvincible obstinacy, and that it was not safe to dispute any thing with you; but I must confess I should not have believ'd, it could have arriv'd to this height; for if you continue thus, you will become insupportable to all Europe, so far will the Emperour and the King of Spain be from being able to oppose you. But, my Lord, not to meddle at all with matters of Conscience, and to mind only those of Policy, I congratulate your Highness, the gaining of the greatest Victory, and of greatest consequence of any hath happen'd in this age, and that without being important, you do those actions that are such in so high a degree. France, whom you have clear'd from those storms it stood in fear of, is astonish'd to see you, at the entrance of your life, do an action such as wherewith Caesar would have been glad to crown all his, and which returns to your royal Ancestors more lustre then you had deriv'd from them. You now verify, my Lord, what was heretofore said, that Vertue comes to the Caesars before it's time; for you, who are a true Caesar in disposition and science, a Caesar in diligence, in vigilance, in courage Caesar, & per omnes casus Caesar, have eluded the judgements, and exceeded the hopes of all men; you have discover'd that experience is only requisite for ordinary Souls, that Heroical Vertue is acquir'd by other wayes, that it knows no degrees, and that the Masterpieces of Heaven are in their perfection, even from their beginnings. Having done this, you may easily imagine what entertaiment and caresses you are to expect from the Grandees of the Court; and how the Ladies are transported to understand, that he whom they have seen triumph in the Bals, does the same thing amidst Armies, and that the handsomest head in France is the best and best settled. There's not any, even to Monsieur de Beaumont, but speak favourably of you; all those who were revolted against you; and complained that you were still mistaken, acknowledge that for this time you are in the right, and seeing the great number of Enemies you have defeated, there is not any one who fears not to be of it. Give me leave, O Caesar! to be thus free with you, receive the Elogies which are due to you, and permit that we render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's.

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To my Lord Marquess de Montausier, Prisoner in Germany. LETTER. CXLII.

My LORD,

YOu would not be troubled that you were taken, if you knew how much you are bemoan'd. There is certainly less pleasure in being at Paris then to be there wish'd for as you are, the affliction which all of quality are in for you, being to be preferr'd before the noblest liberty in the world. If you cannot at the present be convinc'd of this truth (for in the condition you are in, you look as if you could not understand reason) I shall one day clear it up to you here, and make you acknowledge, that you ought not to number among your misfortunes, an accent that raises you the affection and respects of all the most amiable persons in France. In this general sentiment of all the world, I do not, my Lord, think it to much purpose to trouble you at present with my own; for what probability is there you should afford me any consideration among Princesses, Princes, Ministers of State, and great Ladies, and particularly among the young Ladies, who are much to be preferr'd before the others, the Ministers, Princes and Princesses? When you have bestow'd your thougets some considerable time on all those persons, I humbly beseech you to believe, that the world affords not another who concernes himself more in your good and bad fortunes, then I do, or can be with greater passion.

My Lord,

Your. &c.

To the Same. LETTER CXLIII.

My LORD,

THough I am the most confident man in the world of your friendship; and that the freedom which shines through all your actions, removes all distrust of your affection, in those to whom you had promis'd it; yet can I not but be extreamly satisfy'd [Page] when ever you assure me of your love, as thinking all the security can be given me for a thing whence I derive so much pleasure, and advantage little enough: The satisfaction I took in the reading of your Letter, is the greatest I have had ever since I left Paris; and unless it be the acknowledgments you therein make me, there is not any thing I am not infinitely sensible of. I am therefore to assure you [...] Lordship that I receive dayly new satisfactions, that I have at length suffer'd my self to be overcome by your favour, and have lost that hardness of heart, that had too long, made a separation between us. Though I make some difficulty to reflect on that time; yet I must needs acknowledg it is some pleasure to me, to remember it, so to multiply my joy by comparing it with this; nay (I hope I am not too free in what I say) there are some intervals, wherein I cannot wish it should have fallen out otherwise. For besides that the enjoyment of a Good is the greater, by as much as as there was a fear of loosing it, and that the friendships, which after some interruption are renewed, have something of ardency, and eagerness, which those that are constant, and of a long standing have not; this misunderstanding hath given me occasion to receive a signal expression of your goodnes, by letting me know with what mildness and affection you have entertained me as soon as I came neer you: At l [...]ast this advantage I am confident to make of it, that, having once discover'd what fault I committed in the ill management of the honour of your respects, and found by experience, how hard it is for me to be without them: I shall, for the future, arme my self against all failings of that nature, and shall not suffer any thing whatsoever to divert me from being,

My Lord,

Your, &c.

To my Lord Duke d'Anguien, when he pass'd the Rhine with those Troops, which were to join the Marshal de Guebriant. MDCXLIII.
LETTER CXLIV.

For the understanding of this Letter, you are to note, that before my Lord Dukes departure from Paris, being among a company of Ladies, with whom he convers'd very familiarly, they diverted themselves with divers little recreations, and particularly that of the Fishes, wherein the duke was the Pike. The Author making [Page]also one in the sport, under the name of the Carpe, took occasion thence to write to him this piece of ingenious Raillery.

GOod morrow Gossip Pike, good morrow Gossip. I was indeed in a manner perswaded that the waters of the Rhine could not stop you, and knowing your strength, and what pleasure you take in swimming in the deep waters, I was satisfied you would not be startled at those you have now pass'd; but that you would do it with as much glory, as you had accomplssh'd so many other adventures: I am nevertheless to rejoyce that you have done it much more fortunately then we did conceive you would, as also, that without the loss of a single Scale, to you or yours, the bare noise of your name, hath dispers'd whatever should have oppos'd you. Though you have been hitherto excellent in all the Sawces have been made for you; yet must it be acknowledg'd that the Sawce of Germany gives you a noble tast, and that the Lawrel which is put into it, makes you tast admirably well. The Emperors people, who thought to have fry'd you, and eaten you without salt, have indeed done it all backward; and there is certainly some pleasure to see, that those, who made it their brags that they would make good the Rhine, are not over confident of keeping Danubius. D [...]-Fish, how to do you bestir your self: there is no water so troubled, so deep or so swift, which you dare not venture your self headlong into; Indeed Gossip, it must needs be confess'd, you have satisfy'd the Proverb that says, young flesh, and old fish; for though you are but a young Pike, you have a certain consistency which the oldest Sturgeons have not, and you perform such things as they durst not attempt. Nor indeed can you imagine what extent your reputation is of; there are no Ponds, no Springs, no Brooks, no Rivers, no Seas, where your victories are not celebrated; no standing water where you are not thought upon; no running water where your noise is not heard, your name pierces to the Centre of the Sea, and swims on the superficies of the Waters, and the Ocean, which limits all the world, does not your glory. The other day my Gossip Turbot, my Gossip Gurnard, my self, and some other fresh-water fish, supp'd together at my Gossip Smelts, where was brought us up at the second course, an ancient Salmon, who had compass'd the world more then once, was then newly [Page] come from the West-Indies, and had been taken in France for a spy, as he followed a Bark laden with salt. He told us there were not any abysses so deep, where you were not known and feard, and that the Whales of the Atlantick Sea, sweated again, and were nothing but water all over, as soon as they had but heard you nam'd. He would have continu'd his relation, but the scalding-Broth he was in prevented it, so that he could not without much difficulty express him [...]elf. The same intelligence, in a manner, was brought us by a shoal of fresh Herings that came from the coasts of Norway. These assur'd us that the Sea of that Country was frozen this year two Moneths before the ordinary time, out of a fear, the news that was brought thither by certain shee Mackarels, of your advancing towards the North, had caus'd there; and had told us that the greate Fishes, who, you know, devour the small, were afraid you would serve them as they did others; that the greatest part of them retir'd under the Bear, out of an opinion you would not come thither; that all both great and small were in alarme and disturbance, and particularly certain Congres, who already roar'd out, as if they had been flead alive, and made the Rivers eccho again. To do you right, Gossip, you are certainly a terrible Pike, and under the correction of the Hippotames, the Sea wolves, nay, and the Dolphins too, the greatest and most considerable Inhabitants of the Ocean, are but poor Crabs in comparison of you, and if your proceedings prove proportionable to your beginnings, you will swallow up both the Sea and the Fishes. In the mean time, your glory being at such a point that it cannot ascend higher, or dilate it self further, it is, in my judgment high time, you should, after so much toil and weariness, come and refresh your self in the waters of the Sein, and remind your enjoyments with abundance of pretty Tenches, handsome Perches, and honest Trouts, who expect you here with no small impatience. But how great soever the passion they have for you may be, it is not comparable to mine, nor approches the desires I have of being in a capacity to express my self, to my wishes,

Your most humble, and most
dutiful servant,
and Gossip,
The CARP.

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To my Lord Marquesse of Pisany, who lost all his money and baggage at play, at the siege of Thionville.
LETTER CXLVI.

My LORD,

IF I am not misinform'd, whoever should affirme you were much troubled with horse flesh at the siege of Thionville' would do you no small injury; the Devil a horse had you to keep there. I have been also told, that you, considering with your self that many Armies have been heretofore lost, through their Baggage, have fairely rid your self of all yours; and that, having often read in the Romane Histories (See the fruits of great reading!) that the greatest services their Cavallerie ever did, were when they voluntarily alighted, and rush'd on foot into the brunt of the most doubtful Battels; you have accordingly resolv'd your Horses should not be near you, and have taken such an excellent course, that you have not so much as one left.

The eminent Person foots it now—

You will haply find it somewhat inconvenient; but certainly, it must be acknowledg'd, there's no small honour in it, that you may say as well as Bias, (Bias an old Gentleman you are well acquainted with!) that you carry all you own about you. We do not meane thereby, a quantity of unnecessary accommodations, nor a number of Horses, nor yet any great abundance of Gold and Silver; but honesty, generosity, magnanimity, constancy in dangers, obstinacy in dispute, a contempt of forraigne languages, ignorance of false dice, and an unheard of indifference for the losse of fraile and perishable goods. These qualities are peculiar and essential to you, such as neither Time nor Fortune can deprive you of. And whereas Euripides, who was, as you know, or know not, one of the gravest Authors of all Greece, writes in one of his Tragedies, that mony was one of the evils that came out of Pandora's box, and, it may be, the [Page] most pernicious; I cannot but admire in you, as a divine quality, the incompatibility there is between you and it, and look on it as an excellent qualification of a great and transcendent soul, the antipathy it hath against that corrupter of Reason, the venome of minds, and the author of so many disorders, injuries, and violences. But yet my Lord, I should wish your Vertue were not so high-flowne, that there were some correspondence between you and this enemy of mankinde, and that you would make such a peace with him as we do with the great Turk, out of considerations of policy, and Commerce. Since then a man cannot well be without it, and imagining that as I play'd for you at Narbonne, so have you for me at Thionville. I sent you a hundred pistolls, being somewhat more or lesse than what you are out upon my account, and that they may not have the same fate as the others, I shall entreat you not to fowle your hands with them, but to put them into those of the French, for whose encouragement I principally send them you.

To my Lord D' Avaux Sur-intendant of the Finances, and Plenipotentiary for the peace. LETTER CXLVII.

My LORD,

YOu would not be a little pleas'd with your departure hence, if you knew how extreamly you are regretted here. It is not certainly neer so great a pleasure to be at Paris, as to be wish'd there as you are; and though you were now as much in love with it as ever, yet the general complaints of all the Vertuous might raise in you a certain satisfaction that you a [...]e not here. When I reflect on your life, my Lord, methinks that great person whom his indulgent Fortune sirnamed the Taker of Cities, deserv'd not the title with as much justice as you; for if it be true that there is no better way to reduce them then by taking in the hearts of the Citizens, the World never knew such another Poliorcetes, and we may number Hambrough, Coppenhagen, Stockholme, Paris, Venice and Rome it self among your Conquests. You cannot easily believe what sadnesse this [Page] place hath put on for your departure. For my own part, my Lord, I am so disorder'd at it, that nothing affords me the least diversion. To do you right; in what other person could I meet with such an excesse of wit, knowledge, and vertue? Where could I meet with such excellent discourses, a conversation so advantageous, and such noble entertainment? Since your departure, here I could never meet with any meat which were not too much salted, nor any man which were not too little; Omnia aut insulsa aut salsa nimis. I cannot meet with any thing my palate quarrels not at, nec convivium ullum, & nec conviva ullus placet. Of this Attick salt, whereof I have eaten above a Bushel with you, and which, as Quintilian saies, Quandam facit audiendi sitim, Paris cannot shew so much as one corne.

Non est in tanto corpore mica salis.

To be free with you my Lord; it proves very unfortunately for me to have met you here more experienc'd, more knowing, and more vertuous then ever, and withal in a capacitie and willing to honour and oblige me. I now dearely buy the four thousand Livers pension you have bestow'd on me; and if you stay longabroad, I cannot acknowledge my self oblig'd by your presence. Vah quenquámne hominem in animo instituere, au [...] parare quod sit charius quàm ipse est sibi. But I presume too much on your goodnesse by entertaining you so long. Yet must I needs tell you before I make an end, that the Queen receiv'd your Cabinet verie kindlie, and esteems it according to its worth; and hath commanded me to return you her thankes. For four or five daies after there came not either Princesse or Dutchesse to her to whom she shew'd it not. She shewed it particula [...]ly to Mademoiselle La Princesse, to whom she spoke exceeding great things of you. It is but j [...]st, my Lord, I should tell you, who laid the foundations of my Fortune, and bu [...]lt it up to this happinesse, that the Queen, hath been pleas'd to allow me the pension of 1000. Crownes which she had promis'd me since your being here, and hath charg'd it on the Abbie of Conches, whereof she hath approved the resignation which the Abbot hath made of it to one of the children of Monsieur de Maisons. I am

My Lord,

Your, &c.

Paris, Dec. 13. 1643.

[Page]

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CXLVIII.

SIR,

I Must not take it ill that you should be as sloathful as I; but because you were not wont to be so, and that it is long since I received any letter from you, I fear me the last I sent came not to your hands, in which I answered all your expressions of Poiton, & gave you my judgement of the passages out of Salust & Ausonius. If you desire for the future as much time to return your answers as I am wont to take, I have nothing to say against it, and yet methinks it is not just that you and I should be subject to the same Rule, since we are

Nec cantare pares, nec respondere parati.

The other day, [...] communicated that passage of Terence, He [...] alterum, to Monsieur de Chavigny, and told him that you had propos'd it to me, as also the exposition you made of it, and that for my part I could not subscribe thereto. The next day, he told me, that he thought there should be an interrogation, Ex homine hunc natum dicas? Do you think him the issue of a man, would you not take him rather for a beast? For my part, I can finde no fault with it, onelie am in some doubt, how a man suppos'd to be alone, can use interrogation, as if he spoke to a third person. Be pleased to send me your opinion of it, for I told him I would acquaint you with his, and we shall both expect your answer. You may also consult with Monsieur de Balzac about it: I shall shew Monsieur de Chavigny both your answer and his, if you send it me. I repeated to him the other day the Verses Monsieur de Balzac made for Monsieur Guye [...], he was extreamlie taken with them, and express'd an extraordinarie esteem and affection for him, commending his Wit, his Humour, his Workes, his Broaths, for he tells me he hath eaten of them. He is certainlie a man of a transcendent wit, and passionatlie loves all those that have any; and it may be, he will satisfie our friend that he remembers him when he least thinks on it. Farewel Sir, I am

Your, &c.

Paris, Nov. 22.

[Page]

To Monsieur de Chaveroche. LETTER CXLIX.

SIR,

KNowing what lecherie you have for a Law-suit, and what love for me, I conceive I shall make a request to you which you will not take amisse, when I make the heartiest entreaties I can, that you would take the trouble upon you of informing your self of a Businesse of my sisters, to direct her with your advice, and assist her with your credit. I recommend her to you as one of whom I have the greatest confidence in the world, and whom I think the best able to advise her in this occasion. I believe Mademoiselle de Rambouillet will not spare any sollicitation for both of you, for I now make her businesse yours, and if you will be serious in it as I hope you will, I doubt not but the issue will be such as is expected. For requitall, I promise never to call you Hogge again, and will bestow on you the first Chappell whereof I shall have the disposall. For to tell you that this obligation will adde any thing to the passion I have to serve you, were to abuse you, since it is certain, that I am long since as much as possibly I can be

Sir,

Yours, &c.

Once more, SIR, let me intreat you to do miracles in this Businesse.

To my Lady Marchionesse de Vardes. LETTER CL.

MADAME,

YOu may easily perceive, that we are in a great disorder here, insomuch that we know not where to reassume our duty when we have not done any for so long time, and that [Page] to a person to whom there are so many obligations due as I owe you, and who may justly claime so much respect, addresse and affection. I have for these many moneths been in labour for an excuse for my default, and should take great pains to write you a handsome Letter, wherein I would prove by 20. or 30. reasons, that I have made none. But I must confesse I have not yet found out so much as one; nay I am of opinion that all the wits and all the eloquence of our Academy could do no more, it being that which only your own and that of my Lord Marquesse can effect. To you both therefore, Madame, I addresse my selfe, to beseech you to tell me freely what a man in my condition might say. I am confident you would be much puzzelled as well as I. But if you want invention to cover my fault, be pleased to have goodnesse enough to pardon it. You cannot by any thing else give a greater demonstration of what I daily say of you, viz. that between this and heaven there are not two other persons, so good, so familiar, and so generous. Neverthelesse be pleased to believe, that it is long since, I have had a remorse for my offence, and endeavour what I can to get out of it; so that to make the best of it, I am blameable only for the first moneth, for as to all the time since, I was disheartened by that shame and confusion, which must needs attend a person of Honour guilty of such a base Delinquency. If all this prevaile not with you, I know Madame how otherwise to satisfie you, that is, within three days I shall put my self into your power, bound hand and foot, that you may punish me according to my demerits, and make me such an example, as shall terrifie all future ingratitude; for, in a word Madame, I will not live any longer in your displeasure, there being no hazard, which I should not gladly embrace to express my self, MADAME,

Yours, &c

To my Lady Marchionesse de Rambouillet. LETTER CLI.

MADAME,

I Had much reason to be well opinioned of my own way to Valenton; that other, which they would perswade me was so [Page] direct, that I could not go out of the way if I would, proved s [...]ch that I miss'd it but thrice yesterday, though I would not have done it. Being gotten to the walls of Brevane, instead of turning on the right hand, I took the left, and went as straight as an arrow to a village, which stood out of my way two large Leagues. I know not how it came to passe; but my imagination was extreamly troubled with Mademoiselle d'Angenes, and Mademoiselle de St. Megrin, and methought they were like two false fires keeping still before me, and [...]nlightned me, but to my destruction. However, Madame, I do not desire they should hear any thing of it; for I was in no small fear they would have done me a greater mischief once before, and therefore my endeavour is to have nothing to do with such people, and to endure anything rather then incurre their displeasure. But so it is, that I am got hither as safely as if I had your Lacquay with me. I have not met with any wolves in my way, nor any of those hazards which you were afraid I should, nor indeed any misfortune, but what's happened through the means of the persons I left about you. I assure you, Madam, this day shall not passe, without a many wishes to see the Griffon-Horse and you, and wait on you in the walk you intend to take. I am

MADAME

Yours, &c

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER CLII.

MADAME,

VVHoever shall love any thing as highly as I do you, must not pretend to any rest; I was ever against your journey, but believed withall the greatest hurt it could have procured was to cause me the greatest affliction in the world, and whereas I was sufficiently disordered that I had not the honour of seeing you, the Newes which is come hither from Merlou, hath distracted me much more. Though this Accident produced no worse effect then the dissolution of such excellent [...] [Page] [...] [Page] [Page] company, yet were it sad enough, nay such as for which I should hardly admit any comfort. Methinks it is long since the Small pox hath been guilty of so great an insolence, and that since it durst not do your Mothers face any injury, it should also have been as tender of her pleasure and diversion. The rejoycings which I heard were among you, took away much of my afflictions here, nor durst I presume to be sad in a time when it was reported you danc'd every day. But now I have not the happinesse of one pleasant thought, and I assure you that the young Ladies du Vigean, were never so weary of their Garret or any other place, as I am now of Paris. But Madam be pleased to consider the excesse of my discontent, I had resolved to go in three dayes to Blois on horse-back, which signifies little lesse then that I should cast my self headlong into the river. It is uncertain whether I shall ever return; however, honour me with the constancy of your love whether I am alive or dead, and remember that I either was or am

MADAME

Yours, &c

To the same. LETTER CLIII.

MADAME,

IT is to be be admired that you should complain of solitude, when you have carried away with you what ever was excelle [...] and desirable in Paris, and to expect comfort from us when you have not left us any. Were I but near that admirable Princesse with whom you are, I should send you such Letters [...]s you desire of me, and from her most inconsiderable either words or actions I would take occasion to dispell the thickest melancholy. If you find so little diversion where you are, it must needs be, that the Accident at Merlo [...] hath quite altered her from what she was, and that her sisters having the small pox, hath made a greater change in her then her own. In the mean time, Madame, take it from me, that most of the houses in Paris are now Countrey-houses as well as yours; and certainlie a [Page] many which have not so good company. But if a person that enjoyes not her self with Mademoiselle de Bourbon, can be pleased with any other news concerning M. de la G. I can furnish you, for she is in a manner all the acquaintance I have here, and I have as many of her excellent expressions of you as will fill up two large sheets of paper. She is cettainly a notable Lady, and the most accomplished, and the most pleasant of any alive. Consider Madame, whether much diversion can be expected from me at a time, when I am capable of so little my self; and whether you think not fit I should go to Blo [...]s as soon as I can, and that I should say no more to you then that I am

MADAME

Yours, &c

To M. de B. M. de B. & M.C. LETTER CLIV.

LADIES,

YOu are certainlie very tyrannicall to come and disturb me [...]o unseasonably as you do, and it must be that you are destined to be my Tormentors, since that the very favours you do me turn to my disadvantage, and that I never receive any good from you, which is not seconded by some greater mischief. Not long since I would have given any thing in the world for such a Letter as I have now received, and now it is come in a time when there is not any thing I would not part with not to have received it. For your particular, Madame, I am sorry that I am forced to make this acknowledgment of the honour you have been pleased to do me, but the Ladies who are with you are so presumptuous, that I doubt not but they will atttribute to themselves the Civilities I direct not to them; and therefore if I treat you with more roughnes then I could wish, you may blame your compani [...] ▪ Give me then leave to tell you all, that the discontents you gave me at parting had that influence on my mind, that to tell you truly, there was nothing of you left there; at least you did not those disorders you were wont to do. This distance I took with a great patience, and expected your return [Page] with no lesse tranquilitie; I began to consider, the world was [...]urnished with something besides you, which yet were amiable: methought that though you were returned, I could be without your sight three or four moneths, and yet not die; and, not to dissemble with you, the hatred I had for you was greater then the affection. While I enjoyed my self in the memorie of so great a reformation; your Letter comes and pulls down in a moment all that my reason had built up in a long time, and with much trouble you have, by some magicall practice, changed my inclinations with a certain number of words, nay the very character of the things you have written to me, hath made me quite another man then what I was. I should be much more astonished at this miracle, were I not satisfied that persons who are guiltie of so many may also do some, and knew not otherwise by experience, that in whatever comes from you, there are certain poisons, and those secret charmes, which a man cannot possiblie elude. In the mean time, know, nothing could have happened more mischievouslie for me then that half-favour you did me; which is so powerfull, as to stifle my indignation, but not absolutelie to appease me: so that the condition I am inconsidered, I know not whether side to take, and can neither resolve to hate you as I ought, nor love you as I would. This causes such a distraction in me, that I cannot expressey [...]m resentments thereof, nor judge which side I should take: all I can say, is, that I am sufficient lie desirous to see you again, and yet am afraid, I am not weak enough to fall again into your hands. If this happen, treat me better then you have done; for, the effect of so many disobligations will prove sad at last; and to deale sincerelie with you, it were pitie I should not be, with the same passion as ever,

LADIES,

Yours, &c

[Page]

To the Lady Abbesse — to thanke her for a Cat she had sent him. LETTER CLV.

MADAME,

I Was already so much yours, that I thought you satisfied there needed no presents to gain me, or that you should lay a plot to catch me, as a Mouse, with your Cat. And yet I must confesse your liberalitie hath [...]raised in me some new affection, and that if there were any thing in my inclinations which you could not command, the Cat you sent me, hath made a shift to take it, and make it absolutelie yours. It is certainly the handsomest and most familiar of the kind that ever was: the best Cats in Spain are, compared to this, but Burnt-tailes, nay even Rominagrobis himself (Rominagrobis Madame, you know is the Prince of the Cats) could not have a handsomer look, nor mind his interest better then this does. All I have to except against her, is, that she is very hard to keep, and of a Cat bred up in a Monastery, she brooks her restraint very heavilie. A window cannot be opened, but she offers to leap out at it; she had twentie times leapt over the walls had she been suffered, and there is no secular Cat, more wild, or more given to libertie then she. But I hope the good entertainment I make her will prevail with her to stay; she feeds altogether on Cheese and Biskets. It may be she was not so well kept before, for I think the Ladies — suffer not the Cats to be much acquainted with the Cheese, the Austeritie of the Convent not haply permitting they should make such good cheer. She begins to be very familiar, she had yesterday almost carried away one of my hands as I plaid with her. She is certainly one of the prettiest Beasts in the world; there is not one in the house that carries not her marks. But how amiable soever she may be as to her own person, yet is it upon your account that I esteem her, and and I shall affect her so much for your sake, that I hope to change the Proverb, and that it shall be henceforth said, Love me, love my Cat. If you second this present with the Raven you have promised me, and will send within some daies Poncette [Page] in a pannier, you may boast that you have bestowed on me all the beasts I care for, and obliged me to be while I live,

MADAME,

Yours, &c

To Monsieur de Mauvoy to thank him for the Terra sigillata he had sent him. LETTER CLVI.

SIR,

THis is the first homage I do you for the Earth I hold of you, and I could wish, that while I do it, I were able to expresse how sensible I am of the tendernesse and affection wherewith you have obliged me. You have indeed verified the common saying, that the gift derives its worth from the Giver; you have set such a value on what you have bestowed on me, and sent it covered with so many flowers, and so much civilitie, that you have made it precious, and you have found out [...]a way to make me a great present, when you give me a thing of no great value. But certainly I, who was never yet owner of so much as an inch of ground, am not a little obliged to you, in that by your meanes I begin to have some, and that you have first crossed that ill destinie, whose pleasure it seemed to be that I should never have had any. All I can tell you is, that what you have put into my hands shall not be barren, it hath alreadie produced in me all the acknowledgements that a Civilitie so accomplished as yours might claim, this obligation having added something to the passion wherewith I alreadie was

Yours, &c

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To my Lady Marchionesse de Rambouillet. LETTER CLVII.

MADAM.

IT is to be admired that you having those endowments which might justifie you in a defiance of all the World, are yet the most obliging person that may be, and have so great a goodnesse for me, as if you saw in my heart all the inclinations I have to honour and to serve you. Assure your selfe Madam, that your name is written there in such Characters as cannot ever be defaced, and how farre soever you may be hence as to ground, my memorie knowes nothing present but you. I should be extreamlie disordered, Madam, that I cannot represent unto you with what joy and respect I have received the honour you were pleased to do me, did I not believe a minde extraordinarie as yours could guesse at my thoughts. Be pleased then to imagine, Madam, what resentments one may have, who is the most grateful of mankinde, and hath the greatest inclinations in the World to honour you. This comes somewhat neer what I feel, yet it is but part of that passion wherewith I am

Your, &c.

To my Lord the Count d'Alais. LETTER CLVIII.

My LORD.

IF your affliction be of publick concernment, and such as wherein all the Vertuous in France share with you, I think you satisfied that my resentments of it are not ordinarie, whom your goodnesses oblige above any other, to participate of whatever you are interessed in. I know my Lord with what constancie you endure it, but that takes nothing from the trouble [Page] it costs me, so that what should comfort me addes to my disturbance. The more I reflect on the courage, constancie, and greatnesse of soul wherewith you bear this thunderclap of Fortune, the more am I afflicted that we have lost a Prince, in whom all those qualities should in all probabilitie have been revived, & in whose person I doubted not but we should one day see again those Vertues, which I fear me we shall not finde any where but in your self. I wish, my Lord, we may there enjoy them long; that Fortune who hath so unmercifuly lopped off this branch, may spare the bodie, and have some respect for a head so dear and so precious as yours. This wish, I assure you, is as much upon the account of France as my own, who am with all manner of respect and passion,

My LORD

Your, &c.

To my Lord Marshal de Grammont upon his Fathers death. LETTER CLIX.

My LORD.

THere hath happen'd a strange thing about the cause of your affliction, in that being a person that hath as heartie friends as any man, I have not met with any that bemoan'd you, and that the most considerable part of France, having concerned themselves so much in the reputation you have latelie gain'd, there's not any will interesse themselves in your misfortune. I know not what account they will give for it, nor what excuse they can alledge that they have so little compassion for you. For my part, my Lord, who am acquainted with your verie soul, and know how exactlie you discharge all the duties of friendship, I am satisfi'd, that you are extreamlie troubled, and knowing how good a Brother, Kinsman, and Friend you are, I am confident you are as good a Son; and that, having lost a Father, who hath been regretted even by those who knew him not, your affliction must needs be extraordinarie. This is the more commendable in you, by how much men in these times [Page] are little troubled with such resentments. This tendernesse of soul is as much to be celebrated, as the constancie you have express'd in the greatest hazards, and that in an age which affords so few examples of good Nature you are cast down for a losse which makes you one of the richest men in France. This certainly deserves admiration, and indeed darkens all your Atcheivements. But as even the best things are not free from excesse, so your grief which hitherto hath been just, were not such should it continue any longer. It were an indecorum for a man whom France looks on as one of its Heroes, to afflict himself as other men; and it were not to have a sufficient esteem of Vertue and Renown, to persist in landnesse in a time when you do such glorious actions, and receive the acclamations of all the World. I have heard the Queen loud and open in your praises; wherein also a person much in her esteem was no lesse liberal; your reputation encreases daily, and your wealth is never the lesse. For they say that in mony and poultry you will be henceforth thought very considerable. If with all this you cannot be satisfied, there's a friend of mine will have much more reason then ever to cry out — The truth is, my Lord, it were too much, and I should have something to quarrel at my self, though otherwise I cannot disapprove any thing you do, as being most passionately, nay implicitely

My Lord

Your, &c.

To Mademoiselle de Rambouillet. LETTER CLX.

MADAM,

I Minded not much what I did, when after I had had the confidence to chide a long time, I grew friends with you the day before your departure, and it gave me occasion to reflect on what you have told me often, that I have no great judgement: you can hardly imagine what trouble and disorder that peace hath cost me, and what advantage it were to me to be again at oddes with you. I never thought any absence so long as [Page] this which doth but begin. I now feel all those things I w [...]i [...] to you formerly; methinks you have carried Paris, and France, and all the World along with you to Rouën. Be pleased to consider, Madam, you who have alwaies laughed at me, when ever I said that nothing was more prejudicial to me then watching, what disquiets, disturbances, and pains I had avoided, if on Friday the seventh of April, I had gone to bed at midnight, and how much I am obliged to wish I had been fast asleep the two last hours I spent with you. Tis certainly an odde destiny which will, neither when I am far from you, nor when neer you, allow me any rest,

Ni sen ti ni con tigo

Puede vivir el mundo.

And yet having often had the experience of both, I finde the affliction it is not to see you the most piercing of any, and that you never do me greater hurt then when you are not neer me.

May 16. 1644.

To the Same. LETTER CLXI.

MADAM,

THough what you tell me were true, that this journy had raised some goodnesse in you, yet it discovers a great unnaturalnesse in you, to acquaint me with so much, and by that means adde to the affliction it is to me to be farre from you: for if I wish you present with all your cruelties, what trouble must it be to me not to see you, if I thought you furnished with some kindnesse, when it is the onely quality I have ever thought wanting in you? But I am not so easily drawn in, nor indeed is the thing so probable, as that it should be believed upon your word. The scratch you gave me as you passed by is to me a demonstration that you have not left all your shrewishnesse at Rouën, and that you have not parted with all your humours, since you take so much pleasure to persecute [Page] me. This considered, Madam, I must needs tell you I should have been glad to have been at your interview with the Sea, to see what face you put on it, what you thought, one of the other' and what happned on the day that the two most unruly things in World met together. If conformitie beget affection, there should have passed a great friendshp between you, for when I consider its calmes, tempests and roughnesse, it banks, shelves, and rocks, the losses and advantages it brings the world: how admirable and incomprehensible it is, faire to those that look on it, and dreadful to those that are at the mercie of it; that it is irresistible, untameable, bitter, unmerciful, and insolent, methinks you are as like one another as two drops of water, and all the good and ill that may be said of that may be also affirmed of you. There is onelie this difference Madam, that that, though it be vast and great, hath its limits, and you have none, and all those that know your disposition hold that it hath neither bottome nor channel. And I pray what Abysse hath furnished you with that deluge of Letters you have sent hither, which are all so excellent and so admirable, and such as any one of them would aske as much time to write as that of your absence amounts to? What other imagination would not be drained to afford so much as should gain so manie people, sollicit so manie Judges, and write to so manie persons? The Sea indeed hath done you a courtesie, and it is an argument of your good intelligence, that Madam de Guise was directed so opportunelie to Rouen; and to make the Romance a little more famous, Fortune hath done well to bring thither also a person so considerable as you are. Do you not think that all the adventures of a Countrie would be delayed till you were there? There is some thing extraordinarie in it.

El dia que tu nancistè

Grandes Sennales avia.

And I question not, when you die, but I shall finde your death in the Gazette. As for the Gargouille, I must confesse, Madam, I know not what it means. I have read the Relations of Ferdinand Mendez Pinto, and those of the Spaniards, and the Portughezes of the East and West-Indies, but do not remember I ever met with that word in any of them; I humblie beg your [Page] better information. Tis certainlie a great pitie, you wandred not up and down the World, you would inform us otherwise then all other Travellers do. I wish I had as pleasant things to entertaine you with as those we have received from you. But since your departure hence, Paris affords not so much newes as Rouën. This also confirms that the place is better for the Person. Your Ladie Mother is in health; Monsieur A.— plaies the Devil with his hinder feet, now that he hath his elbowes at libertie with Monsieur de St Megrin, ever since the death of my Lord Duke. He is become so handsome, so bright, that it is almost a miracle I saw your noble Brother yesterday. Monsieur de Chastenay came hither two daies since. This if I am not mistaken is all I have to say to you. I humblie kisse your hands, and am much more passionatelie then you can believe,

Madam,

Yours, &c

Paris, May 30. 1644.

To Monsieur de Chantelou. LETTER CLXII.

Sir,

I Could not send this Lacquaie to Paris without taking occasion to return you my most humble thankes for the honour you have been pleased to do me, though I have neither leasure nor invention enough to answer a letter so excellent as that of yours, which is such, as it had raised in me no small jealousie, if it had been writ by another: But loving you as I do my self, or, to go a little higher, as I do Mademoiselle — and as much as Mademoiselle — does you, I must needs be glad to finde your writing proportionable to your speaking, singing, dancing, vaulting, and indeed your excellencie in all things. All I have to object to you is that you give me no account of Mademoiselle de Chantelou, nor of Mademoiselle de Mommor. In a person of so much judgement as you pretend [Page] to, it is certainlie a horrid default; you'l pardon my freedom, and allow it in a person who admires you in all things else, and most passionatelie is,

Yours, &c

To my Lord de'Avaux. LETTER CLXIII.

My LORD,

THough I received no letters from you, yet the receipt of your kindnesses were enough to engage me to write to you; and methinks the least I can do is to give you words for your monie. Were it at my own choice, I know the value of things so well, that I had rather give you monie so it might but procure words from you; but since it is your pleasure it should be o [...]herwise, I think it better for both it should be so,

Permittóque ipsis expendere Numinibus, quid

Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris.

When I have rendered you the most humble acknowledgements I owe you, I think, my Lord, I shall have verie little else to trouble you with: Neque enim te credo in stomacho ridere posse, and amidst the disturbances and melancholie you struggle with, I conceive there is no entertainment for such letters as I am wont to write to you. Now to speak to you of your division, methinks is not verie seasonable. Quid enim aut me ostentem qui si vitam pro tuâ dignitate profundam, nullam partem videar meritorum tuorum assecutus? aut de aliorum injuriis querar? quod sine summo dolore facere non possum. When I shall understand that you have put on more cheerfulnesse, assured me that the Tempest is over, that it [...] fair weather, and that it raines not, then shall I re-assume that kinde of writing Cicero calls genus literarum jocosum. In the mean time I must acquaint you with one thing whence you may derive no small comfort. It is, that in the differences there are between you and — unlesse it be some persons that have a dependance on him, all the World is of your side, and that that benevolent aspect which hath raised the general love of all to you doth in this [Page] occurrence incline the whole Court and the Citie to favour you. I hope the presence of Monsieur de Longueville will produce a better face of things at Munster. At least the Scene is like to be changed, and new Actors will come upon the Stage and those excellent:

Alter ab integro Seclorum nascitur ordo,

Jam venit & Virgo—

Were it not that you have assur'd me of my ignorance in Astrologie and my unaquaintance with the Stars, I should give you some Predictions; for I see a blazing-Star, which promises many things, and must cause great alterations. At least, my Lord, you shall have no cause to complain any more of West-phalia as of a barbarous Countrie, and where the Graces and Muses can finde no entertainment. Is it not now that it may be said

—Quoquo vestigia figis,

Componit furtim, subsequiturque Venus?

How excellent is that furtim, if you consider it well! But what intrigues are there between you and Father Chauaroche, is he not a good honest fellow, that minds his Religion well, commendable as to Manners, a good Wit, and a great judgement? He writes miracles here of you, with a certain extravagance of passion, and hath as great an affection for you as the Parson of St. Nicholas. In the mean time, I owe heaven thanks, that amidst so many occasions of afflictions, your health and your cheerful humour have constantlie kept you companie. I wish you the continuance of both, and my self in a capacitie to let the World know how much I am,

My LORD,

Your, &c.

Paris, Apr. 1. 1645.

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To my Lord Marshall de Schomberg. LETTER CLXIV.

MY LORD,

IS [...]t that you were afraid what you were to write to me should smell of the oyle, that you had sent me your letter without doing me the honour of writing particularly to me. And yet that which I have received since from you, I look on as the better part of your present. Without that, operam & oleum perdideras, and you might have sent me all the Olives of Languedoc, and yet not have made your peace with me. If you think, my Lord, that I concern my self too much, you will find that it is not for things of small consequence, and if you consider well what value I set on the things you write, you will not think it strange that I so passionately desire your letters, as what I cannot be without. The last I received brought me rest, joy, and health. All these had shaken hands with me ever since your departure hence; I hope your return will put me into a perfect good constitution, and restore me to my Wits and strength, which I must not expect without you. Till this good fortune happens, my only diversion is to discourse of you in all places, at all times, and upon all occasions. Upon what terms, my Lord, I leave you to imagine; but it is ever among persons who are over-joyed to hear me, and who will be able to acquaint you, in case you doubt of it, that among the many who take a pleasure to speak well of you, there's not any does it more heartily then my self, or is more passionately,

MY LORD,

Your, &c.

Paris. Aprill 7. 1645.

To the same. LETTER CLXV.

MY LORD;

HAd you been here, you had dashed out one part of these verses, and would have made me correct the other; nor do [Page] I send them you, but to let you see how destitute I am of all good advice, nay of all wit, when I have not the honour to be near you. Be pleased to imagine by that, My Lord, what wishes I make for your return, as being one that takes not much pleasure in being a fool nor yet in seeming such, and if it concern me not much to desire you should stay no longer in Languedoc. Those whose hearts you have carried away with you, are not at such a losse as I am for your absence, nor expect you with more impatience then I po. Yet I meet one person, who i [...] all places and on all occasions gives wonderfull expressions of an extraordinarie affection for you. But, my Lord, you have made me such a courtier and so confident, that notwithstanding all these fair appearances, I think my affection towards you exceeds that of any other, and, to reform somewhat that freedome of speaking, that I am with most respect and zeal,

My LORD,

Yours, &c

Paris. April 27. 1645.

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CLXVI.

QƲuid igitur faciam? eámne infectâ pace ultrò ad eam veniens? Would you give me this advice? an potiùs ita me comparem. I shall forbear the rest for your sake. Without jesting, Sir, I stand in great need of your assistance at this present, and wish you here to mind me from time to time of hei noster, but you have not courage enough to give such bold advice, I must take it of my self. To be free with you, this Ladie is too angry,

Non est sana puella, nee rogare qualis sit

solet haec imago nasum.

It may be she will not be so cruell at Paris as at — she is more considerable there then here; if I may trust your information,

Hanc provincia narrat esse bellam.

But your writing to me at the time you did was the best [Page] thing you ever did, for if you had delayed it but two daies longer, I should have been as angrie with you as I am with her, and was resolved to have written to you in the stile you know. And, to deale plainlie with you, I am not well satisfied with those you have written; there cannot be any more abrubt or indifferent. Unlesse it be that you have assured me of your health, what do they contain that is pleasant.

Quâ solatus es allocutione?

All I am pleased with is, that I conceive you spend your time verie merrilie, since you can afford me so little of it; but are you not the happiest man in the world, that when you least expected it, Fortune hath forced three weekes or a moneth on you.—

Adeóne hominem venustum esse aut felicem

quam tu ut scies?

What do you think of that venustum? I think he there means him qui habet Venerem propitiam, for the other signification is not verie pertinent. Farwell Sir, be assured I am assolutelie yours, and as much as you can desire.

Yours, &c

Paris. Aprili 30.

To my Lord d'Avaux. LETTER CLXVII.

MY LORD,

YOu cannot imagine what a troublesome thing it is to be ever writing to a man that returns no answer; I should as willingly talk to deaf man or a wall, and yet they say walls have eares; but when I am not answered, I think I am not heard. I have been above these six weeks a writing a Letter to you, cannot do it.

But he who knowes not what to say

His silence cannot well betray.

It may well be applied to me, what Vibbius Crispus, vir ingenii jucundi & elegantis, said to a young man who was troubled [Page] for an Exordium for an Oration he had made, Nunquid, inquit, adolescens meliùs dicere vis quàm potes? for to be ingenuous, I would not write any thing to you nisi perfectum ingenio, elaboratum industriâ, nihil nisi ex intimo artificio depromptum. Yet Cicero, who was a great Master of words, and of whom I have borrowed the l [...]st recited, was troubled as well as I in such occasions, & me scripto aliquo lacesses, saith he to one of his friends, Ego enim meliùs respondere scio quâm provocare. However, my Lord, according to the common saying, he that is bound paies, and I think also, he that paies is bound, and that it is my dutie, some way or other to find you entertainment since I am paid for it. Yet were it a great liberalitie in you, who studie the vertue so much, if, to the obligation you have alreadie cast on me, you would adde that of writing to me sometimes. For I professe, it is onelie you can inspire me with wit, and methinks I am at a greater losse of it then ever, since I have have not had the honour to see and hear you. If you pretend your being a Plenipotentiary to exempt you from answering; Papinianus had the charge of all the affaires of the Roman Empire, and yet I can shew a hundred places, in great books, Papinianus respondit, and respondit Papinianus. They were the most politick and the most experienced that were wont to answer; and thence comes responsa sapientum, & prudentum responsa. Even the Oracles themselves, (and you can be no more) gave answers; nay even things inanimate do sometimes endeavour to make some answer,

Answers are forced from Waters Woods and Rocks.

Three words which you may say, will afford me matter of writing for many leaves.

Nardi parvus onyx eliciet cadum.

This will cost you no time, or if it do, there needs only that time and Wit you spend in the evenings with your servants. Your Lordship will pardon my importunitie, for, to deal freely with you, I have an infinite desire to hear from you, and if your Letters were to be had for monie, your four thousand franks had been long since spent, and so I should have returned all I had received from you. We have had much adoe to be paid this year, and yet I have made a shift to get mine. By what Monsieur de Bailleul often tells me, I inferre he expects some acknowledgement [Page] from you. I beseech you when you write to him, though sometimes you are also to seek what to say to him, present him with something, that he may know you are sensible of the service he hath done you. Monsieur de — will be shortly with you; his wife, an excellent and lovely creature, is hghly in the Queens favour. Be pleased to give him occasion to speak well of you at his return. I am in no ordinary favour with the King, and not in disgrace with the Queen. But now I grow tediou, and it is a question whether I transgresse not on your leasure, I humbly kisse your hands, and remain.

MY LORD,

Your, &c.

To Monsieur d'Emery controller Generall of the Finances. LETTER CLXVIII.

SIR,

THough you were unwilling I should speak of your other Leters, yet must you needs give me leave to celebrate that you writ to Monsieur d'Arses upon my account, and to tell you that France affords but very few that could do the like. And particularly that passage where you say thar to contract my Businesse you will advance your monie, methinks is one of the neatest expressions I ever read, and how modest soever you may be, yet you will acknowledge that to offer twentie eight thousand franks, for a friend is a noble kind of expression, and that there are very few can make use of that stile, and can expresse themselves after that manner. At least, Sir, give me leave to tell you, that had it been debated among all the Wits of the Academy, it would not have been resolved to write after that manner, and that among the many excellent humours we light on, there is not any like tha [...]. It is, to speak seriouslie, a most noble and most high—

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To my Lord Duke d' Anguien. LETTER CLXIX.

MY LORD,

IF I have seemed backward in the congratulation of a successe which hath cost you the losse of the Marquess of Pisany, you will not, I hope, think it strange, and doubt not of your Highnesses pardon, if upon this occasion I have been more taken up with grief then joy. It is no article of my faith, my Lord, who would cheerfullie sacrifice my life to your service, that those who have lost theirs in it have mis-spent them, but could heartilie wish my self in their condition, rather then be so unhappy as to be obliged to weep in one of your Victories. In the mean time my Lord, since I have to encounter one of the saddest afflictions could fall upon me, it is no small alleviation that you have so fortunately and so gloriously trampled on so many hazards, and that heaven hath been pleased to be tender of a person to whom I might address all the respect and zeal, which I may have vowed to all those I shall or may ever loose▪ My prayers to it my Lord, are, that it would be more carefull of your life then you are your selfe, and start me out some occasion to satisfie your Highnesse how much, and how passionatelie I am,

Your, &c

To my Lord Marshall de Grammont, LETTER CLXX.

MY LORD,

THe grief I took at the death of the Marquesse of Pisany which is the greatest I ever had to deal with, took away nothing of my affl [...]ction for your imprisonment, but since, at a time when I thought my self uncapable of joy, the news of your Libertie hath found it reception. It is indeed some comfort to [Page] me amidst so much disturbance, to see that all my passions are not unfortunate, and that Fortune is not so cruel as to take away all the persons that are dearest [...]o me. I were yet to learn, my Lord, one of the best qualities that you owne, and how much, above all men, you are capable of a true and perfect friendship, if I were not satisfied that you were as sensible of that misfortune as my self. And though you should have been long since hardened to accidents of this nature, and accustomed to lose the friends you most esteem; yet I am confident the losse of this hath extremelie troubled you, and that you will ackowledge you never made any that you ought to put on more sorrow for. For my part, who was acquainted with the very secrets of his heart, and know the greatest esteem he had for any thing in the world was for you, I should neglect my dutie to his memorie, and frustrate the intentions I have ever to observe his inclinations, and the designes he had, if, upon his account, I should not force my self into your service more then ever, and adde somewhat to the affection wherewith I have ever honoured you. Of this, my Lord, I question the possibilitie, but it is my dutie to do what I can towards it, and withall to professe, that if the passion I have for you cannot admit any augmentation, it shall never decrease, and that I shall ever be

MY LORD

Yours, &c

To Monsieur de Chantelou. LETTER CLXXI.

SIR,

A Mistresse and a suit at Law will certainlie find a man too much businesse at a time; but if you had pleased to take the Law-suit into your care, and recommend the Mistresse to me, though I am infinitelie pleased with all your commands, I must confesse I should have entertained it more willinglie. I have employed one to speak to your Counsell, and he hath promised that your business shall not be moved this Parliament. I conceive Sir, that I have in this given you the greatest assurance of my obedience that I possibly can; for being extreamlie desirous to see you again, and withall infinitelie-jealous of the Ladie that [Page] detaines you, you could not have desired any thing of me which I should have been more more unwilling to satisfie you in, then that I should my self order things so, that you might be longer hence, and have two moneths time to stay with her. Having obeyed you in this, you cannot doubt, but that I shall ever be, upon all occasions,

SIR,

Your, &c.

July 6.

To the same. LETTER CLXXII.

SIR,

THat I have delaied an answer so song, I have a better excuse then I wish I had; the [...]ever and the gowt have had to do with this great wh [...]le, each in its turn, nor am I yet quite rid of them. Hence you may inferre that you put me upon the emploiments are necessarie for me, [...]etter then I should my self: for being now absolutely decaied, I am yet better to sollicite a Cause then court a Mistresse. I wish you may soon obtain the one, and never be overthrowne in the other. I am sincerely,

SIR,

Your, &c.

Paris. Aug. 21.

To the same. LETTER CLXXIII.

SIR,

YOu need net doubt but that I, who can afford you my life, would easily lend you my name, & that I should not gladly make Monsieur — believe me a landed man. But Monsieur — tells me you acquainted him not with your resolution till it was too late, and that the house you would have bought was disposed of before. Sir, I am sorrie your affaires detain you there longer then you expected, for assure your self we cannot be without you. One of the handsomest of our neighbours lies sick, nor have I my health as I should. Methinks you should for her sake hasten your return, as also for that of

SIR,

Your, &c.

Paris. Octob. 15. 1645.

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To my Lord Marshal de Schomberg. LETTER CLXXIV.

My LORD,

YOu have been pleased to honour me with I etters so excellentlie well penn'd and so full of obligation, that I have not yet been able to answer them, least I might appear unworthie your praises, or return you such as were not suitable to your worth. All I can tell you of your last Letter, is, that had I ever so little lesse esteem for you then I have, I should have the greatest quarrel with you of any man in the World; but I concern my self so much in any thing relates to you, that the vanitie you take from my Letters I re-assume from yours, and am as proud of the things you write as if I were the true author thereof. In a word, my Lord, when you doubt whether I shall remember, cricore, or approve of your wheeles, you are too distrustful of my memorie and my judgement. The common Proverbe certainlie that all comparisons are odious, holds not at all in you, there's nothing more ingenious, nothing more pleasant then those you imagine, and you who are so fortunate in them upon all occasions cannot meet with any thing that may be compar'd to your own. But as excellent things stand you not in much, so can you not esteem them to their worth. We who are forced to travel far for them, and finde them not without great trouble, set a higher value on them, and think our selves verie rich of what you regard not at all, nay what you are readie to disclaime. It hath happen'd indeed verie fortunatelie for such wits as we are, that yours hath been hitherto employ'd, in the commanding of Armies and government of Provinces; and that your birth hath designed you for a greater glorie then that of writing well. We had been in a strange perplexitie, who can do nothing else, and dare not pretend to any thing above it. I have heard, not without astonishment, fear, and joy, what you have done at Montpelier; methought I saw Rodomont in the midst of Paris; for your Lordship remembers, that he alone opposed so manie people.

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Non fasso, merlo, trave, areo, O balestra,

Nè c [...] che sopra'il Sarracin percote,

Ponno alentar la valorosa destra.

To tell you trulie, unlesse it be that his feet are not so handsome as yours, I take you to be verie like him; and when you have your sword in your hand I think you much more. But haplie while you read this, your Lordship hath some other affairs of as great importance to do, and I divert you from it by an overtedious Letter. Be pleased to let me know whether the businesse of Pont Saint Esprit be at length concluded, as also what my Nephew must do, when he shall depart, whither he shall go, & to whom he is to applie himself. Doralice hunts me up and down, and sends for me everie day to acquaint me with something concerning you. I call him Doralice, not of any ill omen, or thinking of any Mandricard. I am,

My LORD,

Your, &c.

Paris, Aug. 5. 1645.

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien. LETTER CLXXV.

My LORD,

VVHen I thought my self in the very depth of affliction, and burden'd with as much as any mind could possiblie bear, the fear I was in for your highnesse, convinces me that I might be more unhappie then I am, and that, though my losses were extraordinarie, I had yet abundance to lose. I cannot, my Lord, expresse the disturbance my soul struggl'd with to think of the hazard you were in, nor what darknesse and disorder I imagin'd likelie to happen in the World. Some slender hope I had indeed, that Heaven, who seems to mind the prosperirie of this State, would not deprive France of you so soon, & that it must preserve a person, by whom it had decreed to do yet a many miracles. But, my Lord, that malice of Fate which [Page] envies those who raise themselves above their nature, and the necessitie, which there is that humane affairs should decline when they are at the highest point, gave me much reason to fear. The short and prec [...]pitate successes of Gaston de Foix, the death of the Duke of Weymar in the midst of his Triumphs, and that of the King of Sweden, who was kill'd as it were between the arms of Glory and Fortune, were the perpetual entertainment of my minde, and presented my imagination [...] with none but fatal presages. In fine, God is onely pleas'd to threaten men, and seems to have given them this alarme, that they might the better consider what a present he hath made them of you, and how much the Earth is concern'd in you. The noblest of your Victories hath not afforded you so great joy as it were to you to know what astonishment all took here at the newes of the danger you were in, and with what eyes and teares you have been bem [...]an [...]d. I should be verie glad your Lordship knew it, that if you fear nothing as to your self, you may be the more cautious out of a respect to those who love you, and grow a better husband of a life, whereon those of so manie others depend. Amongst the manie praiers have been made for it, be pleased to believe there cannot any be more fervent then mine, and that of all those who have a veneration of your Highnesse, I am, beyond any,

My LORD

Your, &c

To my Lord Duke de la Trimoville. LETTER CLXXVI.

My LORD.

YOu are not satisfied to be ever conferring new benefits on me, but you do it with some new insinuation, and accompany them with circumstances of so much obligation that it must be confessed, onelie you know how to do it. I render your Lordship thousands of humblest thanks for all the favours you have been pleased to do me: I would to the acknowledgement of my Nephew, which I send you, gladlie adde some publick act of Gratitude, whereby the World might be satisfi'd both of the [Page] obligation you have done me, and the resentment wherewith I have received it. But since that cannot be, I humblie beseech your Lordship to be satisfied with the securitie I here give you, to be while I live at your service with all requisite fidelitie, and that nothing shall make a deeper impression in my heart and inclinations then the memorie of your kindnesses. And though I know that the judgement you make of the Verses I sent you, is too much in my favour, yet can I not but acknowledge that I am not a little proud of it. What you have been pleased to acquaint me with of it, and what you have written of me to your Ladie, I am more sensible of then I can expresse. To be free with you, there's nothing more obliging; my interest is so inconsiderable to me, that I preferre the honour of your approbation before all the good you have done me, nay all that you can ever do me. In the mean time, your Lordship will give me leave to tell you, that the praises you give me are such, and [...]uched in such termes, that I should wish, rather I knew how to commend then be commended after that rate; and should be more proud to give then receive such praises. I shall endeavour to deserve them the best I can, and if no otherwise, I shall at least make it my businesse to merit the honour of your affection, by the singular fidelitie and the extraordinarie respect wherein I shall ever be,

My LORD,

Your, &c

To my Lord d' Avaux. LETTER CXXLVII.

My LORD,

CAn there be any thing more high and excellent then the beginning of your Letter? It is not certainlie so honourable not to make a default, as it is to excuse it so handsomelie. Nay this freedom of acknowledging in your selfe those d [...]f [...]ults which need not any excuse, cannot proceed but from excellent grounds, and a soul rich, liberal, and justlie confident. I know not whether so ingenuous an exordium hath absolutelie gain'd [Page] me, but it hath drawn me into a beliefe of all you build upon it, and I have read your Letter thrice over with great satisfaction. I observe in it certain beauties, a certain politensse and grace which puts me in mind of what Quintilian saies, Messal [...] nitidus & candidus, & quodam modo prae se ferens in dicendo nobilitatem suam. But, with your favour, you have not been equallie ingenious in accusing me; the latter part of your Letter is much weaker then the other, and contrarie to what Cicero saies, de coelo meliùs objiciente crimina quàm defendente, bonam sinistram habes, malam dextram. First, if it be without any cause, or dissatisfaction that you have not vouchsafed me an answer for so manie months, and have denied me a note of three lines, tis a proceeding, my Lord, not consonant to your wonted goodness, especiallie in a time when what you have done for me seem'd to oblige you to treat me with more civilitie, that it might not be thought you relied too much upon the kindnesse you had done. For in fine, though I esteem your courtesies yet I rather wish your caresses, and if it be not possible to be both among your servants and your friends at the same time, I doubt not but you will honour me so much as to believe I should not be troubled about the choice. But if it proceed from any dissatisfaction you have of me that you have been so long silent, I cannot but be the more astonish'd that you should suffer your heart to be so long burden'd with a grudge against me, who from my infancie have lov'd, honour'd and esteem'd you, with such constancie and perfection, that notwithstanding a manie great and honourable friendships I have contracted since, never any of my friends but have thought and observed, that of all men, you were he for whom I had the greatest inclinations, and with whom, then any, I would rather spend the rest of my life. But notwithstanding all this, and a friendship of five and twentie years, if there be a report which you take offence at, you think me the author of it, because it hath some relation to the interpretation I made of your riddle. And this must seem more probable to you, then that a manie that are here, or with you, such as daily invent other Stories, should also advance this. Your Letter I was extreamlie taken with, that zeal which I have in all things for you prevailed with me to read it to two of my friends, and discover to them the conjecture I made of the blank line. Neither they nor I thought that interpretation any way [Page] prejudicial to you, nor can think so yet. But we must not dispute it any longer with you; you ought to have the greatest care of your own reputation, and I commend that modestie provided I be not thought guiltie of any extravagance. If, my Lord, the esteem you have for me proceeds onelie from the report that I pretend to something of wit, and that I can sometimes write a handsome Letter, you esteem me for the qualitie I think most inconsiderable. Those of my acquaintance here honour me for my great professions of friendship, candour, faith, and discretion. Of all which if you have not found the experience in me, you must needs have observed the seed of them even from my youth. In a word I have much reason to take it ill, that you have thought me so dis-circumspect, as to give entertainment to a calumnie, since you call it so, and that having thought me guiltie of it, you have not rather pardon'd it me. For, to be free with you, you have not half the love for me you should have, if you have not a remission for a many others. Be pleased to plead my cause better another time before your self, and to look on me as a person, who hath a passion for you beyond all example, and is absolutly,

My LORD,

Your, &c

To the Same. LETTER CLXXVIII.

My LORD,

THough I were guilty of some remainders of anger towards you, the first lines of your Letter had appeased me and reduced me to reason. I am so extreamlie taken with any thing you do, and what you write to me is so full of charme, that though I had something to object to your humour or your friendship, assoone as I should see any thing from you, I am captivated and forced to return to you, as a man is sometimes to court a cruel Mistresse. 'Tis true, my Lord, when I made you all those reproaches, and writ rabiosulas illas satis fatuas, as Cicero saies in a certain place, I was extreamly incensed against you; and to be free with you, how highly soever I may be obliged to you, I had some reason to do it, at least,

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Si quid longa fides, ca [...]que jura valent.

And might I not justlie think it strange, that you the best, and best Benefactor of all men,

Qui largiris opes veteri fidóque sodaeli;

should denie me five or sixe lines? and that being prodigal of all other things you should be over-thri [...]ie of your words? And yet when I had well considered it, I confesse your good husbandrie of them is to be excused, if you value them as I do. For to one that understands them well, and knows the true rate of things, can there be any thing so excellent, so rich and so precious? And your last Letter onelie, Does it not amount to more then I could ever expect from your Sur-intendance? Was the Attick elegance, you tell me of, ever more pure at Athens, or Urbanitie more acceptable, or better understood at Rome? I am infinitelie pleased with your citation of Ariosto, which I had forgotten these twentie years. And that touch, If I take up the pen against Monsieur — he falls out with me; if I lay it down to Monsieur Voiture, he's mad; is it not worth a whole Volume of Letters? In a word, with what vigour, what force, what conduct do you maintaine your paradoxe, and all those of Cicero, may they be compared to yours? I must therefore persist in my former opinion, and grant, that a man who can write such excellent things, is much to blame that he writes them not to some other who is able to apprehend them. Upon such an occasion Panurgus said to Epistemon, who by specious reasons, would maintaine a thing not very probable. I understand you, and think you a good Common-place man, and zealous in your Cause, you entertaine me here with descriptions and Diatyposes, which I have nothing to say against. But, preach and plead from this time till Whitsuntide, at last, you'l be ashamed not to have perswaded me to any thing. Yet I must confesse your reasons have shakn me a little; but the more prevalent, the more perswasive and the more ingenious what you write is, the more excusable I think my selfe, that I have forced from you the honour of writing to me. I am confident, my Lord, that that desire, though attended with too much earnestnesse, cannot displease [Page] you; nor can you easilie entertaine a bad opinion of a man, whom you cannot satisfie with a pension of four thousand Livers, and yet is readie to fall out with you if you afford him not your Letters. There is nothing I cannot more easilie be without, nothing I could not be more willingly deprived of,

Quidvis faciliùs passus sim quàm hâc in reme deludier.

I had seen, not many daies before, others from you; one to Monsieur — one to the Princesse, and one to Monsieur. With what spirit, what gallantry, what grace! I am vexed I am not at the Source of all these excellent things, that I cannot be neer you, and that I cannot collect what daily falls from you. You may believe what you please; but what advantage soever I may make by your good Fortune, I professe I love you much more as Overseer at St. Nicholas's, then Lord high Treasurer or Plenipotentiary. How often happens it in those narrow lanes, you tell me of, that I think with my self,

—O ubi campi

Westphaliae!

For in a word, say what you will of the barbarousnesse of that Country, no place can be barbarous when you are in it.

Omitte mirari beatae

Fumum & opes strepitumque Romae.

The most pleasant, most beautiful, and most delightful fruits of Greece and Italy, grow by your means,

Vervecum in patriâ, crassoquesub aere,—

Neque miror Coelum & Terras vim suam, si ita tibi conveniat, dimittere. Good God, what disadvantageous weapons hath that man chosen, qui tecum decertare voluit contentione scribendi!

—Verbosa & grandis Epistola venit.

But to be more pleasant, your Letter hath raised a difference between two Ladies, about the explication of that passage [Page] where you tell me of the inspirations happen to me at my Ladie Marchionesse's bed side. Madame de Rambouillet applies it to her self, and Madame de Sablé disputes it; and that you are obliged to the latter both for her affection and her hatred; for there's as much obligation in the one as the other. 'Tis to be admired what impression you make in the mind of all those whom you would humour,

Adeóne hominem tam ven [...]stum & felicem.

She is extremely incensed against you and at an absolute distance, because of the slender care you have of her, and cannot forbear railing on all occasions, and yet must commend you at the same time; but how commend? much better then I could. Yet I do not think fit you should write to her in order to an accommodation; for so you would certainlie fall into that silence which you hugge so much; but be pleased to write something to me concerning her. I also beg a Complement from you to Monsieur Tubeut: if you will trouble your self with neither, I am satisfied. Your last Letter hath given me satisfaction, I shall expect nothing from you these six moneths, only afford me the honour of your remembrances, and account me ever,

MY LORD,

Your, &c

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien. LETTER CLXXIX.

My LORD,

YOur Highnesse hath not done any thing in this Campagne that required more confidence then what I do at the present, for knowing how delicate you are, and how few letters please you, I am resolved to write you one, though I have not any thing that is either good or pleasant to entertain you with. May I die, if I had not rather dispatch six men with my owne hands, or be with you to hinder a sallie of the enemies! And yet this action, my Lord, wherein there seems to be so much [Page] courage, proceeds only from my fear. I have endeavoured as much as lay in my power to exempt my self from it, and rather then write an ordinary Letter to you, I had resolved not to write at all, which certainlie had been the shortest and the best course. But Madame de Montausier, whom I have consulted about it, frightned me, and told me it was no jesting matter, that you were a man not to be so slighted, and what face soever you put on it, you would bear me a grudge in your heart. Now my Lord, to hazard a grudge from that heart which finds all the world discourse, I must confesse I was verie loath. This fear forced away the other which held me back, and so I chuse rather to discover that want of wit which happilie you thought me not guiltie of, then to give you any occasion to distrust any defect of zeale or respect of you. And certainlie, it were verie strange that I, who have ever loved Achilles and Alexander, whom I never either saw or knew, and that onlie for the things [...] have read of them, should want a veneration for your Highnesse, of whom we daily see so many miracles, and of whom I have received so much honour and so many favours. Your Highnesse may be assured that the sentiments I have for it, are such as they ought to be, and that I can expresse neither the pain nor the pleasure.—

To the Queen of Poland. LETTER CLXXX.

MADAME,

VVHat I look on, as most considerable, in the present Madame de Sablé hath sent me, and the plot whereby your majestie got me to receive it, and made me disobey the Queen, though innocentlie, is, the occasion it gives me to presume to write to you, with the means I have to confirm my self in your remembrances, under prerence of rendring your Majestie the most humble acknowledgements I owe it. I shall therefore tell you Madame, that the most covetous man in the world, was never more glad of any thing bestowed on him, then I have been elevated at what I have received of your Majestie, and that I think my self more concerned in this adventure [Page] then I thought I could ever have been. To be ingenuous, the honour of receiving expressions of affection from one of the greatest Queens in the world, and what I value more, the most accomplished person I ever saw, is a concernment might take in the noblest soules, and such as to which all the Kings on earth cannot bestow any thing proportionable. I wish Madame, all your future liberalities may be as well bestowed, I mean, as well acknowledged, and that among so many millions that are subject to you, some may take as much pleasure as I do, to celebrate your praises, and make you known to all the rest. This done, your Majestie will soon have over all your subjects that Empire which it hath hitherto had over all those rational souls that have approached it. This Empire Madame you have had from your birth, and was yours before you had either Scepter or Crown, and which if you give me leave to say so, is much more estimable and more absolute, then what you have now received from Fortune. I pray Heaven for the long continuance of both the one and the other unto your Majestie, with all the prosperities it deserves, and that I may once in my life be so happie as to see you in your glory, and that I may tell you my self, with how great respect, passion, and zeale, I am,

MADAME,

Your Majesties most humble, &c.

To my Lord Duke de la Trimouille. LETTER CLXXXI.

MY LORD,

I Have found out a way to multiply your kindesses, and to order things so, that you shall be able to bestow on me another Canonrie. My Ladie Dutchesse of Aiguillon, moved hapl [...]e by your example, would needs oblige me as you do, having preferred my Nephew, whom you made Canon of Laval, to the grand Vicarship of Nostre dame; which when he is possessed of, he resolves to resign his benesice of Laval to another of my Nephews, if you shall approve it. I hope, my Lord, that the same goodness which gran [...]d the first favour, will not deny the second, [Page] and as you have obliged me with much generosity, so in this occurrence, do I not doubt the continuance of your good inclinations. This latter Nephew, for whom I make this humble suit to you, is a Batchellour of Sorbonne, s [...]fficientlie learned, and very studious. So that, if I mistake not your homour, which is to esteem those that professe Letters, I conceive, that, in the solitude of the Countrie, he may contribute somewhat to your entertainment, when you would afford your mind some remission. For my own part, my Lord, I desire nothing so much as to receive fresh obligations from a person I honour and respect as highlie as I do you. And I should heartilie wish that all the indulgence of Fortune towards me, might come through no other hands then yours. Whether I have acknowledged or not what I hove alreadie received from you, I shall not say my self, but appeal to the whole Court, where there is not one who is not acquainted with what goodnesse and liberalitie you have been pleased to oblige me, and the publick professions I make to be, upon all occasions,

MY LORD,

Your, &c

To the same. LETTER CLXXXII.

MY LORD,

I Am far from any suspicion you can ever be wearie of obliging me, but am afraid you may of my acknowledgements: I have had so many to make you latelie, that unlesse I should use repetitions, I see not how I could dilate my self on a subject wherein your Goodnesses have alreadie exhausted me. I shall therefore only make it my humble suit to you, that you would remember the favours you have done me, the easinesse wherewith they have been obtained, the obliging Letters wherewith you have accompanied them, and the civilitie whereby, while you have engaged me, you have not omitted any occasion to shed on me all the honour I was capable of. While your Lordship reflects on those things, be pleased withall to imagine a [Page] gratitude on my side proportionable thereto, and consider, whether a conjunction of so many obligations with the extradinary passion I have ever had to honour you can ever dispense in me with any eclipse of the fidelity and respects of

My LORD,

Your, &c

To my Lord Duke d' Anguien, upon the taking of Dunkirk. LETTER CLXXXIII.

MY LORD,

I Believe you might fasten on the Moon with your teeth, had you but attempted it. So far I am from being astonished at your taking of Dunkirk, when nothing is impossible to you. All I am troubled at, is, what I shall say to your Highnesse thereupon, and by what extraordinarie expressions I shall be able to represent to you what I conceive of you. The glorious condition you are in considered, no question, my Lord, but the honour of your affection is a thing extremely advantageous; but for us Wits, who are obliged to write to you on the good successes that happen, it is as distractive to be put to find out words suitable to your actions, and from time to time to dresse up new panegyrieks for you. Would you be pleased to take a defeat sometimes, or but raise a siege from before some place, diversitie might help us a little out, and we should find something that might be handsomelie said upon the inconstancie of Fortune, and the honour it is to suffer her disgraces courageously. But having even from your first atchievements paralleled you with Alexander, and seeing your dailie ri [...]ing things, the troth is, my Lord, we know not where to place either you or our selves, and cannot find any thing to say which is not below you. Eloquence, which magnifies the least things, cannot, with all its advantages reach the height of those you have done; nay what in other subjects she calls call Hyperboles, is but an indifferent manner of speaking to expresse our thoughts of you. It is certainlie not easilie comprehensible in your Highness, that you [Page] should adde something every summer to that glory which the precedent Winters seemed uncapable of addition; and that having over-grown so great beginnings, and afterwards as great progresses, the last things you do are still the most glorious. For my part, my Lord, I contribute that joy to your prosperities I ought; but foresee, that what addes to your present reputation, will derogate from what you are to expect from future ages, and that within a small time, so many great and considerable Actions done in the neck one of another, will render your life incredible hereafter, and will make Posteritie look on your Historie as a Romance. Be pleased then, my Lord, to set some limits to your Victories, though it were only to accommodate your self to the capacity of mankind, and not exceed their belief. Mind then for a while remission and securitie, and let France, who in the midst of her triumphs is ever in alarme for your life, peaceably enjoy the fruits of that glory you have gained her. In the mean time, be pleased to be assured, that among so many millions do admire you, and blesse heaven for you, there cannot any do it with more joy, zeale and veneration, then,

My LORD,

Your Highnesse's most, &c.

To my Lord d' Avaux. LETTER CLXXXIV.

My LORD,

THough I were so excellently qualified, as that it might be said of you and me, & cantare pares, yet will not any say, & respondere parati. I received your Letter but yesterday, and I answer it to day; yours make not that haste, but as if you lived in some remote corner of the East-Indies, I have them after the expectation of some yeares. For my part I admire you.

—Ʋt unum

Scilicet egregii mortalem, altique silent [...];

And cannot apprehend how a person who hath so much advantage in speaking can take so much pleasure to be silent. The [Page] three first lines of your Letter, and what you say of this months being extremelie spent, is beyond any thing our Academie could do▪ But with what salt have you seasoned your last Course? May I die if ever any thing took me more! Poor Monsieur de Lieure, who had been in my thoughts these twentie years, presented himself, all his guests, and all his house, with incredible satisfaction, and brought along with him all the fashions of that time. It happens indeed very fortunatelie for the Wits, that you have had the management of greater affaires then we, and that Claudium Memmium ab institutis studiis deflexerit cura terrarum. How am I plagued, my Lord, when I read what you write to me, that I am not near you, and what a spight do I find that Fortune hath done me, by disposing me at such a distance from a person so precious, of a Wit so full of entertainment! Not to mention the lustre, pompe, and hopes here, in this only I place all happinesse,

Ille, si fas est, superare Divos,

Qui sedens adversus identidem te

Spectat & audit.

My Ladie Marchionesse de Montausier hath caused me to read severall times what you writ concerning her, and of a many Letters that have come to her from all parts, she saies nothing hath been sent equallie excellent. She hath charged me to tell you that she is extremelie pleased that you approved of her marriage, which she would not have thought well of, had you not confirmed it with your consent, and that she would have asked it had you been here; but in your absence, she inferred from the many expressions of affection, which to her knowledge, my Lord Marquesse had received from you, that you would not oppose a thing he was desirous to effect. She and the Marquesse her husband have enjoyned me to return you thousands of acknowledgements, and to assure you of their most humble services. But, my Lord, I am very glad you have a servant who finds all the world [...]lk, and that I am better known in strange Countries, then Monsieur Falandre and Monsieur Coiffier, I should have sent you the [...] wer [...] read to you,

—Namque tu solebas

Nostras esse aliquid putare nugas.

[Page] And what greater approbation could I desire then yours? But, Verebar ne te haec deprehenderent in curâ aliquâ majusculâ, as Cicero saies: and then I considered what that other saies,

Multa quidem nobis facimus mala saepè Poetae,

—Ʋt cum tibi librum

Sollicito damus aut fesso.—

The generall Peace will not raise more joy then all Vertuous and great Minds have conceived at the accommodation between you and Monsieur Servient. I believe it is as you write, & si quis est qui neminem bona fide putet redire posse, non vestram hic perfidiam arguit, sed indicat suam. If you can procure the continuance of it, there cannot be any thing better.

Si quidem herclè possis nihil priùs neque fortiùs.

Thousands of most humble thanks for the care you have had of my affaires; I am as I ought,

My LORD,

Your, &c

To the same. LETTER CLXXXV.

My LORD,

SHould I receive yearlie your four thousand livers without so much as making a great A, or putting my hands to do any thing in order to your service, you were the likeliest man in the world to suffer it, nay you would be so pleased meerlie because it would exempt you from affording me a few lines which your Goodnesse obliges you to honour me with some times. For my part, I should be also well satisfied, were it not something too dishonourable, besides that it were a great ease to me. You cannot imagine, my Lord, what wearinesse there is in writing to a person who answers not. I have been these three moneths writing to you, and have not been able to make an end of my [Page] Letter, and when I had with much adoe, got two periods together, I am presentlie disturbed, and say to my self, ah! woe is me I am got into the quagmire, as the Counsellor was wont to say, of whom you told me the storie. And yet, what ever come of it I must needs write; for to tell you truth, I am ashamed I can no better deserve your mony, it being some trouble to my conscience to enrich my self so unjustly. In the mean time, be pleased to rest satisfied, that, notwithstanding my constant and confident addiction to silence, my heart speaks all possible respect, passion, and esteem for you, and I am dailie confirmed in the judgement I had of you even from my youth, which is, that the world affords few comparable to you, nor any whom Nature hath furnished with such a combination of a great soul and a vast wit. According to that opinion, be you pleased to imagine with what impatience I wish your return, and, if I am not as much concerned as any man in that peace which is the expectation of all Europe. Amidst the greatest assemblies, the highest entertainments, and the most pleasant walks, I make perpetuall wishes for your conversation, your suppers over a single Napkin, and those turnes you honoured me with in your Garden. But now it comes into my mind, by what engines did you raise that great house which appeared on a sudden in St Avoye's street? For a thing so unexpected seemes rather to have been made pegmate aliquo quàm aedificatione.

Et crescunt mediâ pegmata celsa viâ.

The walls of Thebes we [...]e not raised with so much expedition, and if as I have heard the stones of Citheron, came running and leaping where they were appointed to come, and disposed themselves into their proper places, it was a great convenience. Well, we must come to what your postillion said; You are a strong man, you pull down a house in three dayes, & triduo reaedificas illam, but Goodnesse! with what lustre and magnificence! All the Architects, then whom the world affords not a more jealous or a more envious generation, acknowledge nothing can be more noble; but what takes me, is, that you do this at a distance of two hundred leagues, and that by your Overseers. Whereas all others who build, will needs place every stone goes into their edifices, with their own hands, and they are ever seen confusedlie with their Workmen [Page] surveying, measuring, calling, giving orders, nasty and slovenly

Atque indecoro pulvere sordidos.

It is onely you can do these things by proxie, and clearlie discover, that the designe of pacifying Christendome, is that onlie whith takes up all your thoughts, since the building of a Palace cannot so much as divert them, and that those things which wholly possesse the soules of other men cannot find any entertainment in yours. In the mean time I adde my joyes to yours in the name of the Penates of Jean Jacques de Mesmes, and all the other eminent persons your Ancestors, in the name of the Penates who were the tutelarie Deities of Passerat, and of all the learned of that age, as also of this, that you have reedified and adorned their ancient seat, and that

Non sinis ingentem consen [...]isse domum.

My hearty wishes are, that you may suddenlie enjoy your self in it, and that you may see your self.

Quàm dispari domui dominaris.

But my Lord, I am come to the nineth page, having strained my wits so far, that at last I have dress'd up a Letter of a fair length. You cannot imagine what ease I am at now; but yet you will, you cannot but imagine it. I am now free for three or four moneths. I humbly kisse your hands; am going to the Faire, and remain

My LORD,

Your, &c

To Monsieur Costart. LETTER CLXXXVI.

SIR,

YOu will be extremelie surpriz'd that I should desire your assistance in a businesse I have on the other side of the mountains, and that it is to be employed against the Romanes, This is not the first time, you know, that they have disturbed [Page] their quiet who owed them nothing; but I think they were never so unreasonable with any as they are with me, nor were so troublesome to Hannibal as they are like to be to me, if you relieve me not. Quorsum haec? I shall tell you. There is among them an Academie consisting of certain persons who are called the Humorists, which signifies as much as if one should say Fantasticks, and indeed they are such in so high a degree, that they will needs have me matriculated among them, and have signified so much to me by a Letter written by one of the Body. I am obliged to return them another in Latine to give them thanks, and this is that I am troubled about. But you were no sooner in my thoughts but I was presently at ease, for I thought my businesse done, there being a man in Poitou, who hath an excellent command of writing Letters in Latine, and would not deny me such a Courtefie. Their device is, a sinne exhaling the vapours of the Sea, which are returned in sh [...]wers, with this motto, out of Lucretius, Fluit agmine dulci. Be pleased to consider, if you can find any thing to say to them, as to that, and the honour they have done me, whereof I merit so little; in a word, do the best you can. If it come to the worst, Monsieur Pauquet will not faile, who understands this businesse better then any of us, which yet I absolutely referre to you both; for I am not able to undertake it, and therefore be you pleased to do it,

Me dulcis domina Musa Lycimnia

Cantus, me voluit dicere lucidum.

Fulgentes oculos, & benè mutuis

Fidum pectus amoribus.

Poor Lycimnia hath been gone hence these eight dayes. I must needs acknowledge I love her more then I do my self, but not more then I do you. I am

SIR,

Yours, &c

[Page]

To the same. LETTER CLXXXVI.

SIR,

I H have a great desire to come and live with you in Poitou, for I find that you and Mousieur Pauquet are grown greater wits since your coming thither then you were before. On the contrary, I come out of a countrie where mine is grown rustie in the aboad of fifteen daies, as being not blest with the sight either of good books or your Letters, and waiting on Ladies who understand not a word of Cicero, Virgill, or Terence. To deal truly with you, I am extreamly taken with all you write, and unlesse it be your absence, there is no rate I would not buy your Letters at. When ever I casuallie meet with any thing I conceive worth your acquaintance, I am not so much pleased at what I write to you, as what I know you will answer thereto, and think with my self,

Nardi parvus onyx eliciet cadum.

Seriouss [...]e, if I thought not my self so much concerned in your reputation as my own, I should be extremalie jealous of you; but I do not conceive it of much consequence whether you or I be the more learned or the greater wit, my reputation at Rome will be the same; and I put so little difference between what is yours and mine, that I am as much pleased at your Latine as if I had writ it my self. Methinks, there needs no more then this to qualifie me for the Academie of the Humorists, and that a man, who hath such a friend as you are, deserves entertainment every where. Quintilian saies, nemo speret ut alieno labore sit disertus, yet I hope it of you: I believe, I shall by your means, be eloquent as often as I shall have need; and if I take some pains to preserve my Latine, it is not so much for any use I shall make of it, as that I may understand what you write to me, and what you do. I expect with impatience the gleanings of the harvest you have made in Poitou, and that you would send me the best and choic [...]st of what you have learned. The [Page] partnership there is between us is extraoodinarie, confers enim rem & industriam, and I, though I contribute nothing have my part of the profit. The civill Lawyers call this Societatem Leoninam, which the Lawes will not by anie means allow. I know not what passage you mean, to which you say I have not answered; be pleased to let me know it, I thought I had left nothing unanswered. I almost subscribe to your interpretation of hem alterum; but methinks it is somewhat disadvantageous to Terence; I should be glad, for his sake, another might be sound. But as to the Ladies, who I told you knew not a word of Cicero, pray give me your opinion of what Salust saies of Sempronia, that she was Literis Graecis ac Latinis docta; in another place he saies of Sylla, Literis Graecis atque Latinis juxta, atque doctissimè eruditus. That a woman should commit faults in her own language, if she be not well versed in it, I nothing wonder at; but that he does observe it in a man, and that an eminent one, I think verie strange; and do you but imagine what praise it were to the Duke of Weymar, that anie one should say in his commendation, that he were verie knowing in the Germane Tongue. Farewell, I am

Your, &c.

Paris. Sept. 20.

In reading over my Letter I observe an equivocation in the beginning. I come out of a Countrie, where mine, &c, for that mine might relate to Countrie, and I mean only my Wit, though I know you would not have taken the one for the other: However I acknowledge it a fault. Vitanda inprimis ambiguitas, non haec solum quae incertum intellectum facit, ut Chrematem audivi percussisse Demeam; sed illa quoque, quae etiamsi turbare non potest sensum, in idem tamen verborum vitium incidit, ut si quis dicat visum à se hominem librum scribentem. Nam etiamse librum ab homine scribi pateat, malè tamen composuerat, fecerar [...] ambiguum, quantum in ipso fuit. I have chosen rather to write this then correct what I had once written.

[Page]

To my Lord d' Avaux. LETTER CLXXXVIII.

Myy LORD,

YOu do well indeed to quarrell at my complaints, and to say,

O tu insulsè, malè & molestè vivis,

Per quem non licet esse negligentem.

The excellencie of your Letters sufficientlie excuses the impertunitie wherewith I beg them. This last is admirable beyond anie, I must acknowledge my self in your debt. You verifie the proverb verie much, that who is bound paies, onlie I wonder that person, in whom there seems to be great riches, and who can easilie part with them, is so hard to be brought to it. We favourites of Apollo cannot but wonder that one who hath spent his whole life in Treaties, should write such excellent Letters, and should be glad that you Gentlemen of Affairs did not meddle with our Trade. And certainlie it were but just you contented your selves with the glorie of having put a period to so many important negotiations, and particularly that you are now engaged in for the disarming of all the severall Nations of Europe, and not intrench upon that poor reputation which is gained by the disposall and Tacticks of words, and the fortune of pleasant imaginations. It is not over-honourable for a person of your Gravity, and concernment to the publick, to contend with us for Eloquence, or make it your businesse, while you are employed to reconcile the Swedes and the Imperialists, and to ballance the interests of the earth, to work an accommodation between Consonants that clash, and to measure periods. Why in Gods name, do you not content your self with the making of excellent and sound dispatches, such as those of the Cardinall d' Ossat, or, if you will be guilty of a greater ambition, those of Cardinal du Perron, but will needs trouble your self with such as cannot but raise in us all the indignation in the world. You will pardon me that I tell you this with some disorder; nothing but your Letter could have put me into it, as what hath dissolved [Page] the cement of all friendship. Qui volet ingenio cedere nullus erit.

Nec jam prima peto, Mnesthaeus, neq vi [...]cere certo.

But I who would willinglie allow you some paces before me, must need be vexed to be left so farre behind. I shewed your Letter to one of my Friends, an able understanding man, intimately acquainted with M. — and who hath an infinite esteem of his merit. Having read it, good God, saith he, how far is this man beyond — had I seen this Letter in any hands but yours, I should have sworne you had writ it. 'Tis for your mortification, my Lord, that I repeat these last words.

—Et sibi Consul

Ne placeat, curru servus portatur eodem.

To give you my reall thoughts of it, you never writ a handsomer, or made a nobler discoverie of your ab [...]lities, nor have you been insensible of it your self, when in the conclusion you presse me to acknowledge my self in your debt. May I perish, if I am not ashamed to answer it, for to so many excellent and noble things what can I return you?

Pro molli vi [...]la, pro purpureo Hyacintho,

Carduus, & foliis surget paliurus acutis.

At least, the assurances I have given your Lordshp of another mans approbation, and the confusion you have put me into comes upon you more directlie then those of the last return. You very pleasantlie shift off the praises I gave you about the Building of Monsieur Pepin, where you tell me it is pity I had not seen the Coaches he sent you, and that I should find you a person of as much Honour as before, it is as handsomelie expressed as could be, and that word must needs proceed from a Gallant spirit.

Cui benè in pulivere recalcitrat:

Hence I inferre you would not have suffered that more hyperbolical flattery then any I have been guiltie of,

[Page]

Est major Coelo, sed minor est Domino.

But it is to no great purpose for you to say, that to have a handsome house is a thing not much considerable. L. Opimii domus, cum vulgo inviseretur à populo, suffragata creditur domino ad Consolatum obtinendum, saith Cicero. And you see how he cries out himself pro domo suâ. I must agree with you, that the Edifice you are at work upon now, that great Temple of Peace, into which all the severall Nations of Christendome are to enter, is much more worthy your endeavours, and is the only design fit to employ your great Mind. I am elevated, my Lord at the Newes, I hear of it, and that it will have a contrarie fate to that other, Magnificentiae verae admiratio extat Templum Ephesiae Dianae, ducentis & Viginti annis à totâ Asiâ factum. You use a great deal more expedition, and indeed are a much better workman. I should be extremelie desirous to be here at the return of Madame de Longueville, after the conclusion of so happie a Peace. What you tell me of this Princesse, is handsome as her selfe, and I preserve it purposelie to shew her one day. No doubt but I shall judge more advantageously of you you by your own writings, then by those of Gronovius or Jacobus Baldus which indeed are excellent, and somewhat approach the character of the best part of Antiquity; but I find not in them either the smoothnesse or wit of our ancient Authour, and if you have made any greater discoveries, you have found it only in your self. Consider, my Lord, whether I am not happie, to find in you the perfections which your Grand-father esteemed in Passerat, and the patronage which Passerat sound in him. Madame de Sablé, and Madame de Montausier, are ravished at some passages I have shewn them of your Letter, and would needs have copies of that concerning Madame de Longueville. Be free, my Lord, do you think it possible, I say not, in one single person, but in whatever the world pretends to as most handsome and most amiable, do you, I say, think it possible, to meet with so much wit, such graces and attractions as are in that Princesse?

Num tu quae tenuit dives Achaemenes

Pinguis a [...] Phrygiae Mygdonias opes,

Permutate velis crine Lycimniae?

[Page] In the meane time be you upon your Guard; She writes wonders of you here, and of the friendship is between you both, your correspondence with her is somewhat dangerous.

Incedis per ignes

Suppositos cineri doloso.

But I can assure you, her goodnesse is proportionable to her Beautie, and the World affords not a more high and noble soul. I had once resolved to give you a visit this Autumne, nay had begged a journeie of the Court, for under such a pilgrimage as that, what can come neer an acknowledgement? but an unhappie businesse since fallen out hath detained me, such as findes me much trouble, and keeps me in perpetual alarme, yet it is not properlie a Businesse, but,

Ʋna malarum quas amor curas habet▪

Think not slightlie of it, my Lord, you will not take up the first stone; but, if I mistake not, this is the tenth page I am upon,

Dii magni, horribilem & sacrum libellum!

I had forgot my self, I crave your pardon, and am,

My LORD,

Your, &c

To the Same. LETTER CLXXXIX.

VIs ergo inter nos quid possit uterque vicissim Experiamur?

I shall not hold, my Lord, the matth is unequal; I should finde my selfe over-reached, when I would have attempted it.,

—Cynthius aurem

Vellit, & admonuit—

[Page] I shall take his advice, and be more tender of my eares, he is the God of good Counsel. And indeed when I had considered the last things you were pleased to honour me with I thought you greater and stronger then ordinarie, and was not at all troubled that you had outgone me, when to do it you exceeded your self. My own Letter and the two I received from you, put me in minde of the three lines which Protogenes and Apelles drew by way of trial of skill. The first you sent me was admirable and worthie so great a Master, what I made upon it, could not certainlie fall from an ordinarie hand, but the last, which you have now drawn

—Ʋltima linea rerum est;

It is incomparablie beyond all, insomuch that I shall not presume to do any thing after it. That I now take up the pen, is onelie to give you in writing the confession I make, that as well in the businesse of Eloquence as that of the Revenue, I am but your Clarke, as also to let you know once more the advantage you have over me. I am not, I must confesse, insensible of the praises you are pleased to give me,

—Nec enim mihi cornea fibra est;

But they are such, so noble and so ingenious, that, to be free with you, I should be much more proud to have bestowed them then to have received them, and the same words you make use of to exalt me above all others, satisfie me that I am infinitelie below you. I wish I had here some bodie that were given to exclamations, as confident and judicious as Monsieur de St. Romani, for everie line of your Letter deserves a pulchrè & bellè. But particularlie, the representation your Lordship hath made of our Princesse is so rich and noble, that I have been more pleased with the sight of it, then haplie I should have been with hers, and you have found out a way to make an addition to those graces which before were infinite in her, tali opere dum laudatur, haud victo sed illustrato. This is what Pliny saies of the Greek Verses which were made for Apelles's Venus, whose work was certainlie much below yours, as his Goddesse was lesse beautiful then yours. You have represented her with [Page] all her attractions and charmes, pinxisti & quae pingi non possunt, tonitrua, fulgetra, fulguraque. But you will give me leave to tell you, that it is hard, that that person should not be Mistresse of a Soule where she is so well represented, and that if you are not in love with her, you should with the description you have made of her.

A certain face was by a Master drawn,

So lively, and in such perfection,

The Painter fell in love with what h'd done.

But that it is otherwise you give me the best reasons in the World, and do miracles were there but faith. So many beauties and graces fill up, yet do not disorder your imagination, and it is long since you have enjoyned your eyes not to admit any thing into your minde but the representations of the noblest objects. How handsomelie is this expressed! but would you have me to be free with you, I am afraid you either mistake me, or are mistaken your self.

Coecum vulnus habes, sed lato ba [...]heus auro

Protegit—

That Sun of Sweden, to whom you compare her, is, if I may trust you, verie hot; & qui in sole ambulant, etiamsi non in id venerint, colorantur. I fear me, it may be your fate.

—Et figas in cute Solem

It were strange, say you, that in an Assembly of Peace, there should not be publick Faith enough for my preservation, and that the Passeports of the Emperour and the King of Spain, should not make Munster a place safe enough for me. This, my Lord, is excellentlie well said, and this period is haplie one of the neatest could have been written, and deserves an exclamation, That Munster is indeed a place of safetie, but, Madam de Longueville is there,

Portus ab accessu ventorum immotus, & ingens

Ipse, sed horrificis juxtà tonat Aetnaruinis.

[Page] The Fires and Snowes which this Princesse casts, if you consider it, justifie the comparison between her and Aetna. 'Tis to much purpose then to seem so confident, and to say,

Cantabit vacuus coram latrone Viator.

The greatest part of those Singers die for fear. You who are a Cedar of Libanus would be thought a Shrub; but were you a more inconsiderable Plant, yet should you not escape. The eies you are to avoid, consume all from the Cedar to the Hyssop. In the meane time, to come to some thing more serious, I doubt not but you are whollie taken up with the carrying on of that great Designe which you are employed in, and concernes the quiet of so manie millions of men. I hope you will put the last stone in this building, as you have done the first, since you are

—doctus

Saxa movere sono testudinis, & prece blandâ

Ducere quo velis.—

As to what you say of Monsieur d' Ossat, I am clearlie of your opinion. There cannot be any thing more judicious, or more excellent then his dispatches: but my meaning was, if you were not satisfied with the doing of such as his were, and that you were desirous to write such as were full of flourishes and eloquence, that you would imitate Cardinal du Perron, who hath done some of that kinde, yet in my minde, hath not been the most fortunate in the World in it. I agree not with you so well in the judgement you make of our two Poets. That I have not read much of the Jesuit, you guesse right. I have not troubled my self with little besides the places where he mentions you. The 26. ode of the 8. I am much pleased at: I can say nothing against the 3. & 5. of the 9. but in this verse,

Me super ipsa nihil Niobe si obcta moveris;

that Niobe, and this manner of speaking, do you not conceive it harder then even that petrified Niobe? Do you like that pulvereum cahos? and that comatus olor, is it not a little too bold? besides that I think it a little too obscure for us whose [Page] businesse lies in the management of the Revenue, and meddle not with much Latine, no [...] could I ever understand Mananti [...] vita Flumina praemoneo. I think it is in the 3. of the 9. I asked Monsieur de Bailleut and Monsieur d' Emery, and they can say as little to it themselves. But after all, as to what opinion I should have of this and all the other Authors, I appeale to you who are infallible, and by whose judgement mine is regulated. I have also the same submission to make to you, as to the offence you charge me with of not writing to Madam de Longueville. I have forborne all this while out of respect, but you frighten me much more when you represent this Princesse to me as so serious and politick. We have here a kinde of pleasure in imagining her discoursing with Monsieur Lampadius (who I am told is ordinarilie clad in violet Satin) Monsieur Ʋulteius and Monsieur Salvins, and above all, that fat Hollander

Dulcia barbare

L [...]dentem oscula quae Venus

Quintâ parte sui Nectaris imbuit.

I know not what discourse sh [...] can finde for those Gentlemen, nor how pertinentlie she talkes; but I have often seen her here in diverse Companies, where she hath not spoke three words, nor so much as opened her mouth in a whole afternoone. He who gives her advice to learne Dutch for her diversion hath been well laugh'd at by Madam de Sable, and Mademoiselle de Montausier. If this proposition was advanced by Monsieur Ʋulteius, do you not think that verse of Horace [...]itlie applied to the occasion,

Durus enim Ʋultei nimis attentusque videris

Esse mihi.—

As to your complaint that you receive not from me above twice a year, and that I have not strength enough to write to you twice together, I return you my most humble thanks; these complaints I think as obliging as your praises: nec tam molestum est accusari abs te officium meum, quàm jucundum requiri. But you know my imperfection, and lay hold on the legge that halts.

[Page]

Dixi me pigrum proficiscenti [...]ibi, dixi

Talibus officiis propè mancum.

Besides you know better then any man how troublesome it is to write these Letters that have no reall subject, and where a man must discourse upon the point of a needle. I have onelie the end of your Letter to answer, which being excellentlie handsome, nay full of flatterie in the beginning and midle, hath a verie uglie taile.

—atrum

Desinit in piscem.

Yet I could not but laugh at the debasement of Guillon, and it must be confessed you remembred it verie opportunelie; you are certainlie to be admired in all things,

Seu tu querelas, sive geris jocos.

There cannot be any thing more serious, more grave, or more rigid then the chidings you give.

Tertius è Coelo cecidit Cato—

You represent to me the indecorum it is for a man to be old and in love; you put ten Lustres on my head, to which you adde, out of kindnesse, an Olympiad, for you confound the Greek and Latine numbers to make the summe seem the greater, nay you make no conscience to attribute something to the swiftnesse of Time; you tell me of my spectacles, and it is true I have used them these sixe moneths, and do while I write this; you abuse my beard and gray haires, and to that adde,

Tandem nequitiae fige modum tuae.

‘But when, say you to me, will it be time to think of a Reformation?’

Nonne pudet capiti non posse pericula cano

Pellere?

‘[Page] Are Rheumes, the Gowt, and the Stone, fit companions to be lodged with Love, or would you make a conjunction between all the diseases of youth and old age? what confusion, what shame is it!’

Jamdudum ausculto, & cupiens tibi dicere servus

Pauca reformido.

In the first place, my Lord,

Ʋltra Sauromatas fugere hinc libet—

When you are fallen into such serious reproofes; had you spent your life upon the top of a Pillar, or in the Desarts of Thebais, defy [...]ng the World and its enjoyments, you could not speake more austerelie; but how can you, whom I have seene so gallant, unlesse you have before done miracles, be so confident as to declaime thus highlie and severelie? I ackdowledge part of what you say against me to be true,

Parcius ista viris tamen obiicienda memento.

I was almost in a minde to adde, novimus & qui te. But though you were as much reformed as Father Gondi, and that your minde were no longer subject to any passion, and that your eyes did, as you say, not transmit any thing to your imagination but so as that it came not to your judgement, you would do but what you are oliged to, in such manner that I should make no advantage of it. I may say of you great men whom Fortune hath thrust upon the Stage, to act the highest parts,

Vos O patricius sanguis, quos vivere par est

Occipiti coeco;—

especiallie as to your part, my Lord, whom France, Spain, Italy, and Germany look upon, it is but just you should live so,

Nos numerus sumus & fruges consumere nati,

Sponsi Penelopae, nebulones—

[Page] In the meane time, for one word I have let slip, which is no more then that I had some engagement here, you crie out,

O coelum! O Terras! O Maria Neptuni!

when it would be inferred, that minxi in patrios cineres; or am guiltie of some enormous crime,

Patrue mi patruissime nihil feci quod succenseas,

And certainlie were [...] you in my place, so obscure a person as I am, and that you were neere a handsome Ladie that entertained you noblie, I question much whether your Lordship with all your austeritie would fall out with her. And therefore I shall not be frightned at any thing you shall say,

Miserorum est neque Amori dare ludum

aut ex—

animari metuentes patruae verbera linguae,

And that, Nec turpem senectam degere, ne [...] cytharâ carentem, which you have taught me, how do you understand it? that I must play on the Guitarre at threescore? much to the purpose: Lambin expounds it, that a man must be amorous as long as he can, and he is a man of no weak judgement: But this is a huge long Letter,

Tibi ingentem epistolam impegi.

And yet, ere I conclude I must make you a thousand complements from Madam de Sable and Madam de Montausier. I have onelie shewed them those passages of your Letter where you speak of Madam de Longueville. For the rest never any shall set eye on it; though it were onelie for that of the ten Lustres you need not feare I shall shew it any; I am thought here to be but fortie seven yeares of age, I beseech you let me be no more at Munster, nay if you please, deme unum, deme etiam duos. I had [Page] forgot to tell you that these Ladies have commanded me to let you know, that if you speak as you write, they pitie not Madame de Longueville, and that it is not impossible to be well any where, so you be there. I wish you were [...]ensible how highlie they esteem you, they are satisfied the world affords not any other, that dares pretend to so much wit, and I told them I knew as much five and twentie years since. But I am too tedious.

—Ne me Crispini s [...]rinia Lippi

Compilâsse putes, verbum non amplius addam.

Paris. Jan. 9. 1647.

To my Lady Dutchesse de Longueville at Munster. LETTER CLXXXX.

MADAME,

HAving hitherto forborne to write to your Highnesse meerly out of respect, I extremelie troubled, that I am forced to it by so sad an occasion as obliges me at the present. I doubt not, Madame, but you are infinitelie troubled at the losse of your noble Father, at a time when you received from him the greatest expressions of his aff [...]ction, and that not being accustomed to such discourtesies of Fortune, this hath extremely surprized you. But my hope is; that what equalitie of mind which never suffered you to do or say any thing but in its due measure, will guide you in this occasion, and that you will regula [...]e your grief and tears, as you have done all the actions of your life. Nor indeed Madame is it any more then just that a person so celestiall as you are should comply with the will of heaven, and, having received so much from it, be content it should take something from you. And it seems it would needs take the time of your absence to do it, and hath permitted this misfortune to happen when you were at a great distance, that your eyes might not be the witnesses of that mourning which was to fill your house. My prayers to God are, that he would restore it to joy by your sudden return thither, and that he would afford us the Pecce, [Page] with your Highnesse, without which there is no living, both which are the earnest desires of all the world, but especiallie of

MADAME,

Your &c.

To the Prince of Condé, LETTER CXCI.

My LORD,

IT is onlie to discharge my dutie, not to comfort you, that I presume to write to you; I am too well acquainted with the extent and excellencies of your mind to imagine that another can give you any reason for it which you saw not your self before. Besides, my Lord, I think a mind employed to purchase the quiet of all Europe is uncapable of being disordered at the death of a single person how great soever he might be; and that the constancie of your soule which hath manifested it self on all occasions, will not be wanting in this. But the kindnesses you have ever honoured me with, obliging me to conceive my selfe in whatever you are, I have thought it but my dutie, to let you know what sympathie I have for your affliction, as also to renew the profession which I have so often made, to be, with all manner of respect,

My LORD,

Your &c.

To Monsieur Costart.
LETTER CXCII.

Who having laughed at certain fault which the Authour had committed, while he spoke Latine to an Ambassadour, three daies after he sent him this Epistle.

SI vales benè est, ego autem vereor ur valeas, heri enim, si non agro, ut certè anxio animo domum te recepisti, neque ego meherculè [Page] sine molestiâ eram, quando te felicitatis meae & conscium & authorem in his aerumnis videbam versari. Scio quàm morosi sint qui amant, & quàm omnibus vel minimis offens [...]s obnoxii: sed si te novi, is es qui citissimè sanari potes, fortassis quidem jam haec nox & Catullus tuus tibi dedit consilium, & ut destinatus obdures, suasit. Quomodo igitur te habeas, quâ mente sis, tranquillâ aut sollicitâ, vigilarisne lassus, an naso tantum vigilaris? fac me certiorem. Ego mi Costarde, tibi persuadeas velim, me à nullo plus velle amari, quàm à te, & si ita placet, mandaturum quid inimicae nostrae, quidni enim mea est si tua? ut res suas sibi habeat. Tu quid velis vide & me ama.

Be pleased to correct this Epistle, and to tell me freelie, whether, out of the sixth form where you saw me not long since, I may not go into some higher. I am

Your &c.

To the same. LETTER CXCIII.

BEne exolvisti, mi Costarde quod mihi de te promiseram, [...]e pro onyce, cadum redditurum, & cadum quidem similem illi Sulpitiano, spes donare novas largum, & amaráque curarum eluere efficacem. Illa enim tua Epistola, quam tu ponderosam, ego magni ponderis nomino▪ nescio quomodo me invitum & renitentem in tantâ dolendi causâ, gaudere compulit, & quod non tempus, non literae, non ipsa quae poterat esse luctus satietas, fecerant; tua lepida, faceta, lepidissima, facerissima, omnibus Atticis. Romanis nostris salibus condîta fecit allocutio. There you have all my Latine at a breath, and the truth on't is, I have not French enough to make you fully understand, as I could wish, the true resentments I have of your care towards me, and the affection I perceive you have for me. I have not observed any thing by your Letter, which I am not infinitely satisfied with, and quarrell at nothing but the praises you give me; for to be free from you, you set too high a rate upon

Et crassum unguentum, & sardo cum melle papaver.

[Page] Nay though you were taken with my Nardus, yet the rest of the Letter, if my memory failes me not, was not much to be admired as having been written in haste.

Quid quod olet gravius mistum diapasmate virus.

For the passage of Terence, which you taxe me with passing by without saying any thing of it, I think it was done because I would not perceive any difficulties therein. Cato would make Thraso understand, that having often heard that wittie replie, and never learning who the Authour was, he had presently concluded it to be one of those pithie expressions which above a many others gaine reputation in processe of time, and which are remembred as Apothegmes, and does not mean, that he did not believe it because he was the first that said it, but that before that he had looked on it as an ancient saying; audieras? Gn. saepe, & fertur in primis. I see not what yould stick at there. For my part, I fear me you understood it not, since you are scrupulous about it, and that you are one of those,

Qui faciunt ne intelligendo, ut nihil intelligant.

But certainlie it is in me a great presumption, nay ingratitude to speak thus to a man who writes such excellent things to me; I must confesse, I learn more out of your Letters, then I have out of all the books I ever read, and that if I am Magister coenae, you are Magister scholae, or, to speak better Latine, Ludi Magister; which is as much, as Cicero said of Hirtius & Pansa; Hirtium & Pansam habeo dicendi discipulos, coenandi magistros. But I beseech you, give me good large Lessons, that is, write large Letters.

Parcentes ego dexteras

Odi.—

But I have not done yet, for sparge rosas, is very good again, and do not think to excuse your self upon the dust and barrennesse of Philosophie and Theologie. These sciences must needs flourish in your hands, pro carduo & pro paliuro foliis acutis, surget mollis viola & purpureus Hyacinthus.

—Quicquid calcaveris hîc rosa fiet.

[Page] You strew your flowers every where, but do not imagine I am satisfied with a present of those of Seneca, it is as much as if you sent me Cheap-side, I would have them up and down at random, per devia rura, and such as are more naturall,

Et flores terrae quos ferunt solut [...].

To be free with you, I am not much taken with that Authour, I like your Latine better then his, and have been more pleased with the things you have said of your self, then what you have quoted out of him. But amidst the satisfaction it is to receive of your Letters, it often happens, that the pleasure I find in reading of them, augments the regret I have that I cannot see you, and makes me the more sensible of the losse it is to me, not to be near a person that writes such things, and who, were he but here, would ente [...]aine me with the like every morning.

medio de fonte lepôrum,

Surgit amari aliquid, quod in ipsis floribus angat.

For Pliny I much wonder he should make such account of the saying of his Senator, and am no lesse surprised that you should so much commend that of Montagne's.

—Nimium patienter utrumque.

I shall, for your sake forbear the rest; the sayings of Monsieur Pauquet are much beyond any of those Gentlemen. That you have communicated to me of his, hath made me laugh heartilie. I have seen all the Letters you have written hither and to Angoulesme, and I admire them all. I cannot but tell you that the halfe page where you speake to me of Monsieur de P— seems to me to have been written by Petronius. Farewell.

I had written this letter to you before, but understanding, by what you write to my Ladie Marchionesse de Sablé, that you had not received it, I have gotten it together again as well as I could; if you now receive it twice, I am confident you will read it but once. I am,

Your &c.

[Page]

To the same. LETTER CXCIV.

SIR,

QƲo me Bacchi rapis tui

Plenum, quae in nemora, aut quos agor in specus,

Velox mente nova?

What vast Countries do you shew me, and what unknowne worlds do you represent to me, such as I should never have discovered!

Ʋt mihi devio,

Ripas & vacuum nemus mirari libet!

Your great Factor awaked me to deliver me your Letter I cannot expresse the astonishment I was in to finde my self Master of such treasures, and to see so many things that were new to me.

Non secùs in jugis

Ex somnis stupet Evias

Hebrum prospiciens, & nive candidam

Thracem—

This certainly must needs be highly noble, after a night spent one halfe in gaming, the other in sleep, to awake more knowing.

Me fabulosae Vulture in Appulo,

Ludo fatigatumque somno,

Fronde novâ puerum palumbes

Texere.

Be pleased, by the way, to observe that fatigatum somno, and give me your judgement of it. Let me not faile of the continuance of your good offices and care of me, whereof I would have you more liberall then you were the last time.

Nec parce cadis mihi destinatis.

[Page] Treat me alwayes alike.

Et chia vina, aut Lesbia,

Vel, quod fluentem nauseam coerceat,

Metire nobis Coecubum.

But with these Greek wines mixe some of your own. I shall esteem your fancies as highly as those of Aeschylus or Sophocles, and think not your self out of my debt, that you have caused Monsieur Pauquet to transcribe three or four sheets of your Collections. Methinks you have done as that Caupo of Ravenn [...]; you have sent it me merum, when I desired it mixtum. But you have been extremely fortunate in finding out the devia rura I desired, and have pleased me infinitely. Spanish wines are too st [...]ong for me.

—Generosum & molle requiro,

Quod curas abigat, quod cum spe divite manet

Invenias, animùmque meum, quod verba ministret

Quod me Lucanae juvenem commendet amicae.

I am ashamed after all this to return you Villum pro vino. But what would you have?

Nos alicam, mulsum poterit tibi mittere dives.

But amongst all the good entertainment you make me, I am surprised at the difficulties you propose, and I can compare it to nothing, but,

—Inter pateras & lenia pocula serpens.

After you had treated me so well, you put me upon the rack:

Tu lene tormentum ingenio admoves

Plerumque duro.

Do you not take it to be your part rather to instruct me, and clear up my doubts, then to propose any to me? Are not you the master, and I Davus sum non Oedipus? But my best way to come off well, is not to make any answer at all to them; and so discover my self to be one of those of whom it is said, in conviviis loquebantur, in tormentis tacebant. I shall only tell you, that in my Terence▪ instead of rem [...]i videas, censea [...], I have found, rerum. [Page] Instead therefore of answering your Questions, I will make others to you, and ask you how you understand that passage of Quintus Curtius, who sayes that Alexander, in the second battell, as I take it, that he gave Darius, engaged with Darius's Brother in the heat of the charge, who, sayes he, armis & robore corporis multum supra caeteros eminebat. Some say that armis is there put instead of humeris; others that it signifies armour, and that the meaning of it, is, that the magnificence of his armour, his stature and strength of bodie made him remarkable beyond all others. Those who hold the former opinion say, that the Authour seemed to allude to that Hemestick of Virgill

—quàm forti pectore & armis,

that eminere will not hold in the other signification; that if he would have represented him as remarkable for his armour, he would not have simply said armis, but fulgore armorum. The others answer, that though eminere properly signifies to surpasse in height, yet it many times admits auother signification, which is, to be eminent ot remarkable, so that if armis stand there for the shoulders, the word eminebat must be taken in two severall significations: for in the [...]ormer, it suits not well with robore corporis, and to say that he was higher then all the rest by the shoulders and stength of body, were as improper. But indeed armis is a word that cannot properly be said but of Brutes, and is never attributed to men but by the Poets, and consequently, it is irrationall to think that Quintus Curtius, who might as well have used humeris, should be guiltie of such a strange aequivocation, as that of putting armis. Do you take it into your consideration, and let me have your opinion of it, for it hath raised a great contestation here, and your judgement is expected.

I am extremely in love with whatever you write to me of Bacon. But do you not think that Horace, who said,

Visum Britannos hospitibus feros,

would be much astonished to hear a Barbarian discourse after that rate?

Your aureae diei palpebrae I like hugely, and methinks amongst the great number of God-fathers which Aurora hath [Page] had, there's none hath given her a more pleasant name then Euripides. The Law of the one-eyed Lo [...]rian, was in my judgement highlie just, and it concerned him verie much to advance it; for my part, if to have been onelie bigle or squint eyed, I should have ventured verie hard for it. Do you not think that bigle comes from binus oculus, as if I should say a double eye, which lookes divers waies.

For Lucius Neratius, had he given his boxes on the eare with a little more choice, I should have thought his monie not ill spent, and that it were one of the most pleasant inventions of of expence that could be made.

That was certainlie a great and remarkeable Phlebotomie that cured Fabius Maximus of a Feaver. Do you think, that the Allobroges should afterwards ever wish him his Quartan Ague? I will send you, for the feaver which they call Semitertiana, or, if I may presume to speak g [...]e [...]k before you, Emitritaeus (I pray do not tell your Master Monsieur Pauque [...] that I have written Emitritaeus without an h,) I say I will teach you for that kind of Feaver a receipt a hundred times easier;

Inscribas chartae quod dicitur Abracadabra,

Saepiùs & subter repetas, mirabile dictu!

Donec in angustum redigatur littera conum.

That is to say, first Abracadabra, and under that Abracadabr, and in the third line, Abracadab, &c. Did you never hear of this? And does it not require a great acquaintance with Physick and the Vertues of things to finde out the proprietie of that word?

The Verses of Alexander Severus have found me a great deal of excellent good sport: you that are so well acqua [...]n [...]ed with the Greek, are you not extreamlie troubled that the Original is lost? It is not unlikelie, but the Iter of Julius Caesar and the Sicily of Augustus were of that kinde. Is not Fort [...]n [...] a mad slut to suffer the Workes of C [...]nna and Varius to perish; and to have preserved to out times this Epigrame, whereof the Author when he had made it might have said, as Horace did.

Exegi monimentum aere perennius,

Quod nec imber edax aut aquilo impotens, &c.

[Page] The equivocation of Aurelian pleases me, yet could I not but pitie the poor dogs. I should have been better pleased he had sworne not to leave a cat there.

As for your Stars of the Earth, you are not the first that hath put that humour into French, or have presum'd that the Stars might be called the Flowers of the Heavens. For the Romance of the Rose saies

Heaven and Earth have long since known

This envious competition;

This pregnant in her flowery pride

Thinks her, then that, more stellifi'd.

And Marino

The flow'ry skies, the starry earth.

But now I think on't, Lycimnius is here, but hath not brought his wife with him. She writes to me that she is verie much displeased at it, that he was in no good humour, and would not permit it. I know not what to think of her; but that you may not be mistaken, Madam Lycimnia hath a greater gift of talking and subtiltie then we. If you have met with any fair and faithful Mistresse,

Gaude sorte tuâ, me libertina, neque uno

Contenta Phryne macerat.—

Be pleased to take notice that libertina signifies in that plac [...] what we call in our language Libertine, and take heed you [...] stake not.

How infinitelie am I pleased with the little Latine Sto [...]ie at the bottome of your Letter, and how admirablie think it written! If your Historie or mine were written so, Petronius would be no more read. Farewel Sir, and assure your self, I wish nothing so much as to see you again, and that we walk'd to the Schooles together. I am sincerelie

Your, &c

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To the same. LETTER CXCV.

SIR,

YOu had better have let Hebrus passe by, and shall finde what it is to oppose Rivers and to hinder their currents. This is gentle, and without noise, and glides away quietlie without doing any hurt to any bodie; in the meane time you declame against it, as if it had carried away—sata laeta, boumque labores, you speak a thousand things against the honour of it,

—& ferâ diluvie quietum

Jrritas amnem.—

But you who would not pe [...]it it, cum pace labentem, shall shortlie see it,

Nunc lapides adesos,

Stirpesque raptas, & pecus & domos,

Volventem vnà, non sine montium

Clamore, vicinaeque sylvae.

You may guesse somewhat neere, Sir, whether you are in my Allegorie, designed by the cattel or the mountaines. But to returne to what we said, Hebrus is a verie pleasant River, but not much frequented, and little known to the vulgar, ignotus pecori, and the inhabitants of Poitou, and certainlie you were ignorant of this,

Atque auro turbidus Hebrus;

nor yet knew what Pliny saies, that there's gold found in the bottome of it. But, be ingenuous, had you never heard neither, that the head and harpe of Orpheus were cast into this River,

—Caput, Hebre, lyrámque

Excipis.—

Now in your own judgement, had you any reason to complain, that I should put you on its bankes? especiallie since it is said,

[Page]

Flebile nescio quid queritur lyra.

And again

—Resp [...]ndent flebilè ripae.

Consider the great injurie I did you, it may be you had heard of all this. And if it be true what Pausanius saies, that the Nightingalls which were neer Orpheus's Tombe sang more melodioushe then the rest, do you imagine whether you were well placed or no, and what musick there must needs be? The complaint you make against my Snowes, methinks is not much more rational, and, for ought I see, you are not one of that delicate number, whereof Pliny saies, I mean the elder (for as to the other, I care not much to quote him) nives petunt, poenas (que) montium in voluptatem vertunt, [...]nd you would not call them your Mistresses, as this man did,

Setinum, dominasque nives, densi (que) trientes.

But though you were not of that opinion; yet should you not be so angrie at it,

Aspice quàm densum tacitarum vellus aquarum

Defluat in vultus Caesaris in que sinus;

Indulget tamen ille Jovi.

You should not methinks be in a worse humour then Domitian, and your Catullus might have satisfied you, that I had not lodg'd you so ill, when he saies,

Ego viridis algida Idae

Nive amicta loca colam.

Are you to learne, that, dedit nivem sicut lanam, and that this is it that preserves the tendrest flowers from the smartnesse of the Winter? Certainlie, since you are not to be alwaies incensed and [...]xasperated, you have I must confesse sent me the fairest in the World, and that of all sorts.

Et quas Ossa tulit, quasque altus Pelion herbas

Othrisque & Pindus, & Pindo major Olympus.

There are not noses enough for all this; the nose of a Rinocerot, [Page] that of Papilus and that of Monsieur —

Et omnis copia narium

were not sufficient. A man who should send all this ought not to suspect that one would put pede barbaro for him, or that it should fit his foot well. Should a Barbarian have all these spoiles of Greece and Italy?

Barbarus has segetes?—

But though I had called you so, I would have you to know; for I cannot forbear teaching you something at all times, that it is not so offensive as you would take it, and without observing to you, that bartarico postes auro, is interpreted by Servius for multo auro, I shall tell you; that barbaricâ lege jus meum persequar, in Plautus, is expounded by the interpreters Romanâ lege, and again in the same Author, quid vrbes barbaras juras, that is to say, Italas.

Your citation of Horace's Furius amidst the discourses of Snow, you entertain me with, convinces me that you understood it not; for Horace would not thence inferre that he spoke cold things, but would abuse the verse he had made,

Jupiter hybernas canâ nive conspuit alpes.

I am much mist ken if Quintilian cites not also this verse in a certain place, where he censures ill Metaphors, and so Horace, to expresse that it was cold weather, saies ingeniouslie and with all satyricallie

—& cùm

Furius hybernas canâ nive conspuit Alpes.

I am not of your opinion as to the explication you make of ludo fatigatumque somno, by explicating fatigatus to signifie lassatus as to ludo, and oppressus as to somno. For I conceive that any one word that relates to two other, ought to be construed in the same signification as to both, and for my part, I should take fatigatum somno, in that place for, fatigatum somni inopiâ; as somnieil in F [...]en [...]h is taken for sleep in effect, and also for the desire or inclination to sleep. I can do no more for wearinesse and sleeping. For the rest, be it your care, that all the passages which you alledge of fatigatus, wherein you give [Page] other significations then the ordinarie, be more reconcileable to good sence, by leaving it in that which is most proper to it; and I would rather say, wearied the gods for another Empire, then importuned; and so of the rest.

I have found, as well as Aristotle, that Felicity was not in Gaming, and upon that account I have quite given it over; it's seven moneths since I played at all, which is a piece of news of great consequence and I forgot to acquaint you with,

Nec lusisse pudet, sed non incidere ludum.

I am of your opinion as to what you quarrel at in Quintilian; his reason is good for the falls of children, but not for their recreations and runnings.

The severitie wherewith the Thessalians punished those that killed Storkes, I think a rational proceeding; but I know not whether it was because the Storkes devour Serpents, or because they nourish their parents in their old age, or for that they were the first inventers of Clisters, which is a commendable and advantageous invention. Certainlie, abating their abusivenesse, as you know,

O Jane à tergo, &c.

they are a sort of Birds of verie good manners, and endued with excellent qualities. Nor do I wonder much at what Pliny saies of the esteem which the Romanes had for the Oxe, and even to this day, amongst a manie Nations, poudered beef is in great veneration; but do you know what Suetonius saies of that vertuous Prince Domitian, inter initia usque adeo ab omni caede abhorrebat, ut absente adhuc patre, recordatus Virgilii versum,

Impia quae caesis gens est epulata juvencis; edicere destinaverit, ne boves immolarentur. See the good Prince, what a tender soul he hath, and you were best trust him.

I believe you are not too well acquainted with Sylla when you say he was not a fickle man, and I dare lay a wager you never saw him, animo ingenti cupidus volupta [...]um, sed gloriae cupidior [...]tio luxurioso esse, tamen ab negotiis, nunquam voluptas remorata. Consider if it may be hence inferred that he was neither unconstant nor a Gallant.

I pray return my most humble thankes to the Abbot of Lauardin [Page] for the judgement he hath given on my side upon that passage of Quintus Curtius; and that I am not so glad that he hath judged it for me, as that he hath judged aright: for I shall henceforth concern my self so much in him, as to make it a matter of congratulation, that he is so able a judge in things of this nature.

I am verie glad that you studie Etymologies so much; you have almost found that of the besi [...]les, and it is no ill beginning but it comes from bini circuli, or [...]is circuli. That of Monsieur Crassot, which you laugh at, I like well enough, nor shall I quarrel much with that of Vigenere, but I will give you des mules (kibes) for his slippers, and you shall acknowledge that that word is derived from mulaei, which were, calcei regum Albanorum rubri coloris.

Thus you have now what I should have written to you long since, but I have so much businesse, and of that nature that I doubt not of your pardon, when you know it.

Res misera est pulchrum esse hominem nimis. But, be a little more ventrous, and let not Pegasus and Bellerophon frighten you; take it from me, all is but fables.

Aude hospes contemnere opes, & te quoque dignum

Finge Deâ.—

By the next return I will send you the decision upon the words of your Nobilitie, at the present I have not the leasure. I am

Sir,

Your, &c,

I forgot to explicate to you the passage of Quintus Curtius, at least according as I understand it, and certainlie it is verie difficult. There was not, saies he, any earth under the walls, whereon to fasten the scaling-ladders, nor had Alexander any Ships; nay though he had had, yet when they would have planted the ladders upon the Sips which moved and tossed up and down, it could have been done with such diligence but that those upon the Walls would have had time enough to force back with darts those who would have scaled, and those who were in the Ships.

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To my Lord d'Avaux. LETTER CXCVI.

My LORD,

IT is an extraordinarie satisfaction to all that love you to see the attendance of Madam de Longueville so full and so free of your praises, that it might be thought they had not seen in all Germany but your self, and were returned to Paris for no other businesse then to discourse of you. I meet upon several occasions some I have no acquaintance with, who complement me and make me proffers of their services upon your account; women and maids that will needs take me by the neck for your sake. But above all, their Mistresse gives you those praises you may justlie claime, and after such a manner, that it is imposible any other can do the like. It is long since that your Lordship hath heard me say, that everie woman hath her humour; but there's not any can pretend to so exact a one as she, and I am extreamlie pleased that it absolutelie concurres with mine as to what concerns you. All the World knowes that you are a great Ambassadour, a great Minister of State, and a great Man,

Et pueri dicunt:

but as to what they call a Vertuous man and a Gallant man, if I may presume to understand anything of it; no man ever arrived to that height which you have, and yet this Truth is not so well known to any as to Madam de Longueville and my self. She hath a verie high esteem for your integritie, your prudence, your magnificence, and your magnanimitie; She much celebrates the great credit and veneration you were in all over Germany; but above all, she takes infinite delight to speak of the delicacie and beautie of your mind; of the acutenesse you have in judging of excellent things, the facilitie to dispense them, and all the recommendable qualities which are rare even in Plenipotentiaries, and which she saies she never could discover in any one besides your self. In a word, she knowes you as well as if she [Page] had looked through into your heart, whether she have been there I know not. She hath not mentioned a syllable to me of the Letters I writ to you, though she does me the honour to speak to me with much freedome, and that I have often put her upon that subject. What ever you read here, my Lord, is somewhat too gentle, and may very well admit of a corrective, but those Lustres and Olympiads, which you have so well represented to me heretofore, doth not this occasion put you in mind of them? Acknowledge then that there are certain emergenc [...]e [...] wherein the greatest soules, and the most vigil [...]nt prudence may be guiltie of some failing.

Paris. May 16. 1647.

To the same. LETTER CXCVII.

DƲpliciter delectatus sum tuis literis, & quod ipse risi, & te ridere posse intellexi. For ought I perceive, jucundissime Domine, (for why may not I give you the same title, as Pliny in his preface, does Trajan?) You Plenipotentiaries spend your time very merrily at Munster; you have taken up an humour to laugh but once in six moneth [...]. You do very well to hugge time while yon have it, and not to slight those enjoyments of life which Fortune is pleased to bestow on you. You lie there at rack and manger, up to the eares in papers, allwayes reading▪ writing, correcting, proposing, comparing, making Orations, and consulting ten or twelve houres every day, fitting in good easie and warm chaires, while we poor rogues here, are walking, running, trudging up and down, playing, watching and tormenting our selves out of a wretched life. But, amidst all your metriment, be pleased to acknowledge, my Lord, whether it be not more unpleasant living at Munster since the deporture of Madame de Longueville? Certain it is, that it is fairer weather at Paris since her coming thither,

Purior hic campos Aether, & lumine vestit

Purpureo.—

[Page] Such is the pleasure of Fortune and the World.

Hic apicem rapax

Fortuna eum stridore acuto

Sustulit, hic posuisse gaudet.

You have returned her a greater beautie and a greater wit then you had received her from us, and notwithstanding her great bulk, she sets the greatest part of mankind here afire. Arcanus hinc terror, sanctáque reverentia, quid sit illud quod tantum perituri rident. I wish you heard what she sayes of you, and with what esteem and friendship she expresses her selfe; if you did, though you are not subject to any passions (is it Monsieur Cornifice Ʋlfelt that maintaines that opinion?) yet certainly you would run some hazard. She thanks you for your notice, as to the marriage she was not assured of any thing before, and hath commanded me to make you thousands of complements from the truest heart in the world. Your Italian and his elegance I am infinitely taken with: seriously, my Lord, you frighten me.

Tot linguae, totidemora sonant.

There is something monstrous in it, that mouth with twelve springs, attributed to Pindar, may it not with as much justice be to you? But into what a bysse did you dive for, se no vi piace prestarmi quella fede, and by what art, ex rebus damnatis, & jam nullis, can you extract beauties and graces never before known or heard of? That, with Julio Bertolini, and Bartolo [...]aeo Dini, was lost in the shipwrack of a thousaud other things which time hath made in my memory; you have recovered it, quasiiure postliminii, and with how great satisfaction, I cannot expresse. I was I must confesse, very much ashamed that my servant should see me break forth into a loud laughter at the reading of a Letter, which he had understood was brought me from my Lord d' Avaux, a man so grave, so serious, and looked upon with so much reverence by all the world. Res ardua vetustis novitatem dare, obsoletis nitorem, fastiditis gratiam, but with you is nothing easier, as being able to do far greater things.

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To the same. LETTER CXCVIII.

My LORD,

IT must needs be acknowledged you have in me a very strange kind of Clarke, one that understands not a word of the Finances, never goes to the office, and thinks it much to writ once in six moneths to his Master; but, in requitall; he is a good Gamester, an ordinary Poet, writes handsome Letters, and sights duells at mid-night by torch-light. I make the more haste to accuse my self, meerly to prevent your reproofs, for methinks I see you with your plenipotentiarie Countenance upbraiding me again with my Olympiads, and saying,

Sperabam jam deseruisse adolescentiam,

Gaudebam [...] ecce autem de integro▪

But I think it is not a greater shame for me not to be wiser in my old daies then others are in their youth, Saleii Bassi vehemens & poeticum ingenium fuit, nec adhuc senectute maturum. Yet must I needs confesse, that I could not but a little blush at it, nay so much that I durst not for some time write to you; besides, that in the disturbance I imagined you were in, at the slow advancement of your designe, I thought Letters so disserious as mine are, would have proved importunate. I am not ignorant, my Lord, what a great lover you are of my Countrie, and consequently cannot doubt but you are much troubled at the difficulties which daily arise, and so much recard the negotiation you are imployed in. All I have to say to you as to that point, is, that you ought be sensible thereof only as to the publick interest, without interposing your own. The world is so well satisfied as to your good intentions, that when ever any here quarrell at the slow progresse of the peace, and those who are thought (unjustly perhaps) not to contribute all they can towards it, it raises matter of discourse of you, such as you would be extremelie glad to hear. That certainlie is a strange constellation, that forces on you allwayes the affections of all [Page] people, there is not a Citizen, but names you, knowes you, and celebrates your praises. France hath trusted you with the small hope she had left; for seeing that the peace could not be concluded without a miracle, it is believed that it must be you shall do it, and amidst the publick consternation, you are looked at as a Sanctuarie. In the mean all things are so changed here, peoples hearts so cast down, and so little of enjoyment, that I think there is no great matter of choice between an aboad at Munster and Paris: a man cannot meet with any who have not their complaints, some that they cannot get their Salaries, others that their pensions are shortned, nay there want not Clarks that belong to the Revenue, who, say they are no better treated then other.

Saclé is seen among the rest

When all things are lock'd up i' th' chest, &c.

This, if I mistake not, is a fragment of a piece of our youthfull Poetrie. That your Lordship may see whether I am any thing improved since that time, I send you some verses I made three years since upon the Prince his sicknesse when he was in Germany. I had some reasons not to communicate them to any, nor is it many daies since I first shewed them. They have been well approved here, yet shall I not be satisfied till I know your judgement of them. Be pleased to honour me so much as to let me know whether they are worth ought, that, in case they answer not expectation, I may shake hands with Poetr [...]e, and applie my self wholly to the businesse of the Revenue. I cannot conclude this Letter without telling you that Madame de Longueville received lately one from you, which she infinitely values, and which hath been extremelie commended by all that saw it. To do you justice, it deserved no lesse, it being impossible there should be any thing so handsome.

Nosti, Antipho, quàm elegans spectator formarum sim.

You know whether I understand any thing as to Beauties of of this nature. France affords not another that can write at that rate.

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To the same. LETTER CXCIX.

My LORD,

YOu cannot give me a greater assurance of the setlednesse and tranqu [...]ity of your soul, then by sending such a Letter as that came last to my hands, it seems to be drawn

—Medio de fonte Lepôrum,

So excellently well it is written, and so easie to perceive, that it is the production of a clear and undisturbed mind. There is not certainly any thing could, in my though [...]s, raise you so great esteem, as to see, that, notwithstanding the present posture of your affaires, you can laugh in this manner. This is called Diis frui iratis, & Fortunae minaci mandare laqueum. Do you remember the time, when you built her so glorious a Temple in verse? You are sufficiently converted from that Idolatry, and now you can as easily laugh at her. And yet, I think that, for this time, she will but threaten. Those who pretend acquaintance with the Court, hold, that it is not safe to be exposed to the envie which one must needs run the hazard of by mis-intreating a person, who, at the opinion of all the world, hath deserved so well of France. Monseigneur de Longueville hath done me the honour to shew me the Letter you writ to him. I found it handsome, excellentlie handsome. Certainly, my Lord, there is not of all the Wits, of all those, qui artem [...]ractant musicam; any that understands it so well as your self. I am extremelie pleased that you have not disliked my verses,...

In the mean time I am satisfied with your deferbuisse, my Terence is not so correct as yours, nor I as you. But why will you enjoyn me to write to you once a moneth? Is it not enough that I serve you by the Quarter? Put me upon some employment in relation to your Affaires, that so I may have something to entertain you with. If you do not, my Letters will prove nothing but skin and bones, short and cold. Neverthelesse I shall obey you, and if I should not do it out of a consideration of the many [Page] obligations I owe you, I could not for bear for your Parenthesis of Mousieur Voiture of Amiens; ego enim (existimes licet quod lubet) mirificè capior facetiis; moriar si praeter te quenquam habeo in quo possim imaginem aentiquae festivitatis agnoscere. If I understand any thing of it, you are the best and most prudent man in the world, a truth all are satisfied of, nor is it lesse unquestionable, that you are also the most pleasant.

BUTILLERIO CHAVIENIO. V. VICTURUS S.P.D. LETTER CC.

DƲpliciter delectatus sum tuis literis & quod ipse risi, & quòd te ridere posse intellexi. (this I have from Cicero, for the rest you will easily perceive I am not in his debt) Verebar enim ne te hominem urbanissimum tam longa extra urbem commoratio taedio & languore afficeret. Verùm illae tuae jucundae, suaves, salibus undique aspersae satis ostendunt solitum in te vigere Genium, ill [...]mque ingenii tui aciem nullâ ratione retundi posse. Nec miror sanè quod rure nihil ruris contraxeris, & te ubique tam elegantem praestes, quippe qui omnium elegantiarum fontem tam prope habeas, & à latere viri suprà omnes eloquentissimi non discedas,

—& te haec

Scire, Deos quoniam propiùs contingis, oportet.

Ʋt enim videbantur Athenae migrare quocunque se Alcibiades sontulisset, sic quicquid in urbe est urbanitatis politiorisque doctrinae, lepores, venustates, Veneres ipsae Richelium, quoquo se vertat, [Page] comitantur. Quam lubenti animo Epistolam tuam legerim, quámque capiar illis íngenii tui deliciis, illóque tibi peculiari genere scribendi, peream si satis dicere possum. Tu-te reputa, quae in ignotissimo diligerem, quàm mihi chara esse debeant in te homine amicissimo, omniúmque mearum fortunarum ac rationum p [...] trono. Quod mihi succenses, & subirasci viderîs quod me parùm diligentem praebeam in rebus domesticis curandis, ínque illo negotio conflciendo quod me hic detinet; jure quidem, sed & perhumanè facis, qui tantis implicitus negotiis mea curas. Caeterùm, tibi persuadeas quaeso, me omni observantiâ, fide, amore erga te, omni denique studio, omnibúsque officiis praestiturum, ut me hac tuâ humanitate ac benevolentiâ dignum aliquando judic [...]s. Emin tuus, imò noster, quàm me devinctum habeat, & in posterum sit habiturus ipse judicare potes, qui & beneficium ab illo in me collatum, & me quàm gratus sim nosti. Certé Vir alioquin summo ingenio, acerrimo judicio praeditus, liberalissimus, & ut omnia dicam, amicitiâ tuâ dignus, vel ob id unum facinus ab omnibus laudari, à te amari, à me coli semper debet. Roxanam his diebus diligentissimè legi. Quid de eâ sentiam quaeris? nihil meherculè usquam elegantiùs, nihil ornatius, nihil sublimius, dignam denique Alexandro & Armando. Quo propiùs inspexi, eo mihi pulchrior visa est, támque absoluta, ut nihil in ea praeter aliquem naevum desideres. Sed quid ejus tibi nunc venustatem

Praedicem aut laudem, Antipho,

Cum ipsum me nôris quàm elegans formarum spectator siem,

In hác commotus sum.

Mi pergratum feceris, si tuum de illa judicium ad me perscribas, percupio enim scire, an tibi tam lecta, quàm audita placuerit. Si quid in hac urbis solitudine faciam, quaeris? deambulo, lego, scribo, satis juc [...]ndè [...] haec omnia, nisi anxius essem publicis rebus; déque tuâ salute. Vive & vale:

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In obitum N.

PRima manu Troum quae missa est cuspis in hostem,

Eximio juveni funus, acerba, tulit.

At nobis meliorem aninam facta invida rollunt,

Et rapuit fortem mors properata virum.

Pro facinus! qui vel laudes aequasset Achillis,

Ille habuit fatum Protesilae tuum.

THE AMOROUS LETTERS OF Monsieur de VOITURE.

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LETTER I.

Floricia,

FOR God's sake, let's once shake off this darke colour, or if we must needs be in mourning let it be for your absence. I received your excuses before you sent them, and you cannot but think me reallie satisfied you were not in any fault, since I had the confidence to accuse you▪ I have taken more paines then you would have done your self, to finde out what might be said in your defence; and to be ingenious with you, I made your cause so much my own, and thought my selfe obliged to be so tender of your innocence, that I durst not omit any thing that might maintain it. For, had you been found guilrie, I should first have suffered for it, nor indeed had any been so cruellie punished as my self. But all this omitted, I have a greater opinion of my own fortune and your courage then to doubt that either of them should fall so low. It is unworthie both you and me, to fear that an affection so well cemented should by any casualtie be dissolved: [Page] nay it is a crime in us but to imagine such a thing possible. If but one of those two Gentlemen, with whose conversation I reproached you, had staid till day in your Chamber, I should think you could no lesse then take a whole night to fall out with him for it; nay though I should have seen him in your embraces, I think I should have taken you for another, or that you had mistaken him for me. In a word, I should rather distrust the fidelitie of my own eyes then your faith, and am more easilie perswaded I may be deceived in them then in you. No, your entertainment of those two men shall never finde my thoughts any businesse, nay though they had spent an Age with you, I should not believe you had bestowed one quarter of an hour with them. But I pray let me know, when you had dismissed the former, did you stay alone with the other, or did your woman come immediatelie into your Chamber? Did they upon their departure from you undertake that journey with as much satisfaction as at other times? Do you still feed them with those faire hopes, wherein onelie I esteem them more rich, then if they possessed all the World besides? I am somewhat curious as to these particulars, out of a confidence that I cannot but be much pleased with them, and no doubt but I should be rather satisfied then any way disturbed at that interview, were I but fully informed thereof. But, in the mean time, they saw you, while I was at a distance of thirtie Leagues from you, nay at the same time that I was alone in my Chamber bemoaning your absence, they were in yours and heard you discourse. Nay it may be they saw you laugh, and that you gave one of them occasion to fall into some pleasant dreames that night. Ah Floricia! what a treacherous passion is jealousie, and how easilie she insinuates her selfe into us, while our Reason is asleep! I know that your past errours oblige you to verie deplorable consequences, and that you are forced to manie actions against your own inclinations and mine, to avoid running the hazard of one thing which you think verie deare. But if you knew how much I am cast down at it, and how heavie these considerations lie upon me, it may be, that another time you will hazard any thing rather then my life; and yet you reproach me with a negligence that I did not send you my picture soone enough. But I pray, was it your desire I should have come and made a third with the other two? or could you have wished [Page] me present to be an eye-witnesse of the entertainment you gave them? This is so irrational, that my verie picture would not have suffered it, for it would have been no lesse then to put me to death in effigie. Adde to that, I should have felt something of it hence, and, no question, have fallen into some languishing disease, not unlike those who are killed at the distance of a hundred leagues, onelie by pricking their images. But though there were no such thing to be feared, yet should you not desire the sight of my picture, especiallie in the condition the first daies of your absence had put me into. All the Art of painting could not have afforded colours ill enough to represent that which sadnesse had cloathed me in; nor indeed can I see any likelihood that a man half dead should be drawn to the life. You would have found me quite another person, then what you had seen so pleasant in your companie. If I had ben well drawn you would not have known me, for I hardlie knew my self, and might hardlie passe for an ill coppie of what I was a while since. But I hope that after some short time you will finde me more cheerful and more divertible, for I begin to cleer up my countenance, and if the Painter do but his dutie, you shall discover in the Piece a certain hope, that it shall not be long ere you may expect my attendance to second that of my P [...]cture. Do you therefore prepare your self to entertaine me with more freedom, and if you are yet at your own disposal, let not the recommendations of the witty Gentlewoman hinder you. I sent her not my humblest services, but onelie returned those I had received from her by three several persons; and I should no have presumed to do it, had I not been afraid to offend you by retaining any thing of hers. Besides, you would soone have beene informed, whether I had not made a conscience to be importunate to you for a quarter of an hour by so unwelcome a refl [...] ction as that. The same consideration which prevailed with you, not to acquaint me with the newes I have otherwise learnt, made me stif [...]e this. But since we know all one of another, and that the bad angel, which keeps us asunder will needs discover all those actions of ours which may any way give offence, I beseech you let us elude his malice, and so prevent him in this, that knowing all things by a mutual communication, they may put on quite another face; and for my part, I professe to you, I shall never be guiltie of any thing, which in any likelihood [Page] may give you offence, whereof I shall not presentlie make my confession to you. Be you pleased to make me the same promise, and withal, let me know whence you came to understand that I had sent recommendations to any one, and by what means you have discovered that, wherebie I came to the newes whereof I have made my complaint to you: for, to be free with you, I am extreamlie troubled at it, and for my part, I can think no otherwise then that you have some Genius about me, who acquaints you with what is done. But since he tells you all, aske him whether I love you, as also, how often in a day I sigh for you.

To Madam — LETTER II.

IT is certainlie a menace would startle a more confident person then I am. But while you shall threaten me after this rate, I must needs confesse I cannot much fear you, and shall be so bold as to give you a meeting in the afternoone according to your direction, what misfortune soever may be the consequence of it. I know your lodging is no secure place for me, and that under pretence of the friendship whereof you are pleased to honour me with a promise, there is not any one from whom I should far more mischief then from you. But yet be pleased not to leave me too long upon the Rack, for if you are resolved to be kinde as you pretend, let this occasion give you handsel. The truth is, my implicite obedience towards you, and the resignation wherewith you see I put my self into your hands, does in some sort oblige you thereto. Though I know what you have destined me to, yet shall I do all that lies in my power, to satisfie that person, who you desire should be, at my charge; and I promise you to keep her affection secret, without deriving any vanitie or reputation thence; but I doubt I shall not so easilie conceale your intelligence thereof.

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To the Same. LETTER III.

Madam;

THe onelie way to make a Geometrical proportion in my sufferings is to acquaint me that you are subject to any, and whereas I have hitherto undergone my own with patience enough, I much doubt whether I shall be able to bear yours. But happen as it may or will, I cannot endure too much, since it is for your sake I do it; for the two words which you thrust into your Letter of a different rank and file from the rest, cannot but render all things supportable to me, and make me cheerful even in Martyrdome. I think you no Infidel as to this point, but are satisfied of my resolution, since that having given me notice of the mischief you intended me, you expect I should come my self to receive it, and that in the afternoone I should repaire to a place, where my sufferings are to be multiplied. This m [...]ace might frighten another, and would oblige a wiser man then my self to mind his own safetie. But what hazard soever I may run, there's no means to avoid your commands, or, being honoured so highlie with your acquaintance as I am, to forbeare professing my self,

Madam,

Your, &c.

To the Same. LETTER IV.

MADAM,

I Have clearlie forgotten all I should have said to — to whom you would have me reconciled; and yet I must needs tell you, it is not that I have slept since. I am displeased with my self, that I have had no more respect for a person, who [Page] had been recommended to me from so good hands, and that not being able to afford her any roome in my inclinations, she hath found so little in my memorie. That is a certain part of my Soul where I might justlie have allowed her a place, for that is it which is the most opposite to judgement, and hath the charge onelie of things past. But if I tell her any thing that favours of obligation this afternoone, she shall have no cause to complain that I speak to her onelie by heart; for I finde mine at such a distance from whatever I have to say to her, that if I have not your immediate assistance, you will finde I shall be as far to seek as you, both as to words and time. But, were it Heavens pleasure you knew not that of your departure, and that you were not able to give me any account of it at least for this day. For, to deal truelie with you, I have not courage enough, to endure the verie imagination of it, nay that verie thought st [...]fles in me all other. When I consider that to morrow you will not be to be found here, I think it strange I should be in the World to day: nay I am almost in an humour to acknowledge with you that there is some fiction in the love I pretend to, when it comes into my mind that I am still alive, and that this affliction does not absolutelie make an end of me. Others have become speechlesse, and confined themselves to the deserts of Thebais upon lesse discontents then mine. But if I tell you, that I cannot go so far from you to bemoane my misfortune, I am, methinks, the more to be excused, that I go not to endure an hermitage in the wildernesses of Aegypt, since I hope to finde a place in that you are going to build. This hope is all that flaies me in this World, my life hangs altogether on this consideration. I know not whether all I have said here be within the limits of a passionate friendship; and yet you cannot affirm that I speak to you too clearlie, since you have ever had a priviledge to give my words several interpretations: nor complain that I write not to you in such termes as you desire, since I could never yet meet with the man that should teach me how to do it. While my failings are connived at, and the discoverie of my resentments allowed, I professe to you, with the same affection as I did yesterdaie, that the onelie extravagance the World shall know me guiltie of, shall be, ever to be enamoured of what was ever amiable, and encurre your displeasure from the hour that you are assured of my friendship.

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To the same. LETTER V.

I Am fullie satisfied that my daies are neer an end, and that I am at the Vigills of the greatest misfortune will ever happen to me. In the mean time I finde my self more free and undisturbed then I durst have hoped, and amidst thousands of reflections that adde to my torment, there are some few that alleviate it. The astonishment I am in permits me not to examine the cause of so extraordinarie an accident; but I am not to be taught, that you produce in my soul, I know not by what means, certain effects whereof I cannot finde out the cause, and that you kindle a certain joy in my heart, though I know no reason for it. Be it as it will, I finde my selfe so resolved for death as if there were something for me to expect after it; and how insupportable soever that separation may be which brings with it your absence, I am prepared to endure it, as if it were onelie a passage to a better life. All I am troubled at, is, that that person, to whom you lend me sometimes, suffers me not to end my daies qu [...]etlie, but I must be forced to spend between you and her the last hours of my life. By this I am absoluttlie convinced (though I could not hitherto be perswaded to believe it) that at the hour of death, we all see our good and bad angels, and that we have at that moment happie and unhappie visions. But I humblie beseech you in case you hate me not yet, not to forsake me in this extreamitie, and to be careful and tender of a Soul which cannot be saved but by your meanes, and must be tormented eternallie, if you denie it your protection.

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To the Same. LETTER VI.

IT was high time for me to think of my Conscience, and it was a happie turne for me, that I made yesterdaie some part of my confession; for I had not been yet so sick as I am this day, and my sicknesse encreases so, that, had I delaied it any longer, I think I had died in a verie sad condition. At least, to measure things by the fits I am troubled with, and the distractions that torment me, I see my selfe falling into extravagances and enthusiasmes, and have no great hope to be, though but for one hour longer, absolute Master of my senses and intellectualls. What perswades me the more it will be so, is, that amidst the sufferings & afflictions which I expected should have swallowed me up, I cannot put on much sadnesse, and find my self lesse troubled then ordinarie, though I am in the worst condition I ever was in in my life. I lost, not manie daies since, a deare friend, whom the excesse of his paine made insensible thereof. His dreames made him laugh amidst the pangs of death, and his imaginations found him some ease, whilest he was on the rack of a Feaver. I beseech you envie me not such a dissolution as that, and since I have not eight daies to live, give me leave to spend them after that manner. This granted I shall acknowledge you merciful beyond my faith, and my selfe happie beyond my hope. For an attempt so extravagant as mine should not meet with so good successe, and after the commission of so high an effence, I did not expect to die so soon, nor so quietlie. I crave your pardon; I thought not to have written any thing to you but what concerned your friend, and now I first perceive that I have not said a word of her. I humblie beseech you to dispose of both her and me as you please, onelie let me know when you would have me to come and hear the sentence. I should humblie begge it may be given this evening — but I am afraid to be too importunate, and I know not where to finde you in the afternoone.

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To the same. LETTER VII.

IF this be the day that I am to entertain the person you recommended to me yesterday, I beseech you send me what you would have me to do it withall, or take it not ill, that I should make no presents to others, of a good, wherein the poorest are richer then my self. I never had so many painfull houres as the twelve I spent last, and since I had the honour of your presence, I have had so little rest, that I dare assure you there are few Feuillants but were better lodged then I. That man, in whose heart you yesterday left the dagger, hath had a better night; Fear, regret, despaire, and all the poisons of love that are of a cold nature, were my perpetuall Tormentors; and sleep, which for some time would needs give me some ease, hath been properlie to me the image of Death, since it continuallie represented to me that of your absence. The condition I am in considered, I do not think your friend would find anygreat entertainment in my company, unlesse it be that her love must needs be converted into hatred, and all her passions swallowed up into that of Revenge. If this will serve, she shall find in me absolute satisfaction, and shall be well pleased to see the world affords some more wretched then she. However, give me leave to intreat you, what humour soever she may be in, not to leave me so much alone with her, that some bodie cannot separate us; and withall to consider that there is no safetie for me, whether she love or hate me. I humbly beg this favour of you, that in case I may ever have her. —I may not receive my death from any other hands then yours, and that there may be no need of any other Instruments, but that I may be stifled by my own sighs, and the disturbances I am in for your absence. I know not whether you will begin, with this, to shew her the Letters I write to you; but I shall not complain of it, provided you give me leave to be gone immediately, and secure my selfe in Spain. For that I think a remedie appliable to all sorts of misfortunes; and if you have permitted another to retire thither to avoid a feavour, you may very well excuse me, if I go thither [Page] to shun death. But, the misery I am in considered, I wonder I should be guiltie of such a thought, an imagingtion of that nature, being, methinks, too light to fall into a mind so deeply afflicted as mine. However, since you everie year save one mans life, and that you professed yesterday that you would do all the kindnesses that cost you nothing; why should I not hope, that I haply am he whom you will favour so much, and that you will not suffer me to die, since you can prevent it with so much ease.

To the same. LETTER VIII.

I Thought there had not been any but your self could have caused me ill nights, but I yesterday met a Ladie, who hath made me spend this last without the least admission of sleep, and wounded me so deeplie in the heart, that I have not known any rest since I saw her. Without any design, as I conceive, to mutther me, she told me that you were to depart to morrow, and that she had had this newes from your own mouth. If it be so, I think I have some reason to quarrell with you, (having robbed me of halfe my life) that, without any desert of mine, you make my daies shorter then they should be. You will haplie think it strange, that a man so unfortunate as I am should complain that he is not suffered to live long enough, and think my self injured that I am too soon delivered out of my miserie. But I see that even the most miserable are in love with life; and since I cannot lose mine but by a separation from you, I think it is onlie the manner of dying that startles me, and that I am to be excused, if I am afraid of so cruell a one. This consideration hath not permitted me to close my eyes since yesterday, and if this day prove so long as the night last past, I am to fear your absence as a misfortune which cannot happen till after a hundred years. But such an unhappie accident ought to be foreseen even at that distance; nay though it wece not to come to passe till the end of the world, I should begin to fear it from this minute. However, be pleased to let me know what I am to expect, and since it is all the kindnesse you can do me, let me know the day [Page] and hour of my death, that so I may have a little time to recollect thoughts before hand, and to prepare my self for it.

To the same. LETTER IX.

I Had designed the Letter I now send you enclosed, to have been much about the same time with you at — and that it would have stuck up at M—'s a good while, ere you had thought of it. But I was forced to keep it till now, as not being able to find out the mans lodging to whom I should have delivered it, till two houres after his departure. I believe you must needs have heard of the fresh occasions of affliction which are happened to me since, and consequentlie it is not necessarie I should be my self the bringer of all the ill newes. I shall onely tell you, that I am not much happier in my Friendships then I am in my passions, and that Fortune smites me in all the patts where she can wound me. However, to make this misfortune the more insupportable, she needed not have sent it me after your departure, and if she was resolved I should take this unkindnesse the more heavilie, she ought to have done it before she had quite smothered me. By this you perceive what an inconsiderable thing Friendship is, when it is not attended with passion. For this accident, which at any other time would have run through my heart, and which I should have given all I am worth in the world to have avoided, hath not bin [...]able to castme downe more then I was; and of all the tears I have spilt since, I know not whether I have bestowed one whole one on my friend And, to say truth, since he was to stay here, & was out of all hope to come where you are, I cannot imagine the losse of his libertie any great inju [...]y to him, or that he might not easily dispence with the conversation of all the world, when he could not have yours. I think it much harder measure, I should be kept here a Prisoner with the rest, and should be deteined when no bodie accuses me. However it be, yet I confesse the greatest Criminals are more innocent then I am, and though they should have conspired against the state and the King, I am guiltie of a design more traitorous then then that, for which I see there is no way but death.

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To the same. LETTER X.

THat neither grief nor love can cause any mans death, you need no greater assurance then that neither hath yet made an end of me; and that having past two daies without the honour of your fight, there is still some symptomes of life in me. If any thing could prevaile with me to dispence with your absence, it was a certain faith I had that death would discharge me, and that so pressing an affliction would not suffer me to languish long. In the mean time I find, much contrary to my my hope, that I last longer then I had imagined, and how mortall soever my wounds may be, yet I think my soule cannot take her leave of my heart, because she sees your image there. 'Tis the onely pretence I meet with to clear her from cowardice, nor can I see any other reason that could engage her so long in a place, where she suffers so much. Ever since the houre you saw me drawne by four wild horses, and torne to pieces by my separation from you, I da [...]e swear, I have not had the leisure to wipe my eys, which though they have now lost all acquaintance with light and colours, yet will never do me such faithful service as they do now, since they help me to bewaile your absence. Amidst the torments I suffer, and the languishing condition I am in, I think my self all that is left of mankind upon earth, or that I am transported into that corner of the world, where the Sun is as seldom seen as Comets are here, and where the shortest night is three moneths long. And yet, all this notwithstanding, my unhappinesse were not arrived to the height, if the darkness wherein I now am, lasted no longer, and I much question, whether after that time, I may hope to see day. But, consider I beseech you Madame, what extremitie I am reduced to, that being as yet but in the twilight of so long and tedious a night, I begin, alreadie to count the houres, and that without breaking forth into impatience at every moment, as if a midst the obscuritie I am covered with, there were some short intervals of rest, and that I cold sometimes flatter my self into some pleasant dream. But how extravagant soever my imaginations may be, they attain not [Page] that height as to insinuate ought that is delightful, & mythoughts are onlie rationall in this, that they never promise me any happinesse. This being my condition, I think I may safely sweare, that the most w [...]etched man in the world is he who honours you most; and it were certainly impossible I should live so long, did I no [...] hope to die of it suddenly. But I perceive, I cannot have fifteen daies longer to bemoane your absence, and that my miseries and life cannot last above that time. This hope engages me to bear more patiently with both, and I believe you are not displeased that I entertain it, since it is your will I should hope all I ought. At least, I cannot interpret more advantageously for my self, the last words you said to me; and which way soever [...] cast my eye, I see not how I can ever expect better. In the mean time, you that see [...] and much farther then I do, be pleased to tell me whether my extravagance should hope a better issue then that, and what would have become of me, if I had lived longer.

To the same. LETTER XI.

I Am very much ashamed to tell you so much; but the wretch who should have been dead long since is still in the world; nay, after I had been fifteen daies without heating from you, I am in condition to give you some account of my self. 'Tis, I must needs say, so sad a one, and the affliction I wrestle with so insupportable, that if I shift it not off some way or or other, you will not conclude it is for want of resen [...]ment and resolution, in regard that amidst the torments I encounter with, there is lesse courage requisite to endure death then continue life. And certainlie, that which I lead is so unhappie, that I had resolved to be rid of it a thousand times, if I durst presume on any enjoyment of my self out of your sight, and if you had not taught me, that it wants something of absolute miserie, to have the satisfaction of a voluntarie death. That therefore I must look for as the sole effect of my own griefs, and consequentlie I must creep by inches to my end, and not make my journey shorter by halfe a day. And yet, though the trouble it is to me, that I [Page] shall never see you again, hath cost me above a hundred thousand tears, J have not sufficiently bewailed your absenee; and having so many misfortunes to grieve for, it were unjust J should be so readie to give up the last gaspe.

To the same. LETTER XII.

SInce you have forsaken us, a minute hath not past which hath hot added something to my afflictions, and J have not overcome an houre, which J thought not should be that of my death. But now J perceive, that my soul is so overpressed with grief, that it hath not the strength to get away; and that if she remain yet in my bodie, it is like the lazie birds in the Indies, whereof you heard so me discourse, as J take it about a hundred years since, who cannot be gotten to quit the Tree which cannot afford them any further nourishment, and had rather dy languishing, then take the pains to chang place. J assure you J aggravate not this storie in any thing; and that great mind, whereby you imagine all things with so much ease cannot assist you in the comprehension of half my afflictions. J spend whole daies without ever opening mine eyes, and the best part of the night without ever putting them together. And what you will wonder at much more, is, that these restlesse houres of impatience and despaire, and those nights which the fear of having displeased you made me sit up with many mortall disturbances, J now grieve for as lost joyes, and the enjoyments of my life past. This indeed is punishment proportionable to the greatest extravagance that ever was known; these are the torments I am destined to suffer for too near an acquaintance with you. But amidst all these afflictions, though J see it must necessarilie cost me my life, and that all the indulgences of Heaven and Fortune are too weak to deliver me of them, yet can J not be perswaded, though not imagine how, but that it is in your power to make me die happie, and that what all the world besides cannot do, you only can.

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To the same. LETTER XIII.

MADAME,

I Was in hope to make this advantage of the solitude wherein you left me, that J should not have derived the least diversion or entertainment from any one; and that being in a place where J am absolutelie unacquainted I should have had the leisure to entertain you with some of my thoughts. But J have hardlie the time to to say any thing to you, being snatched away for Fountainbleau, whither Fortune is pleased to command me, upon businesse of great importance, purposely, as J conceive, to dep [...]ive me me of the satisfaction of writing to you. And indeed how liberall soever she may be of her smiles and flatteries, I have but too much reason to be jealous of her, having been treated with so many of her ill offices: nor can J think she can ever be fullie reconciled to a man, to whom she hath done so much mischief. But having kept me up in the midst of so many misfortunes, J might entertain some hopes, if there were any thing of courage left in me, that she reserves me for some great accident, and that she will do in me some of her miracles, when she hath alreadie done one so strange as that of the saving of my l [...]fe. Yet the last favour she did me was much beyond it, and I am more obliged to her for her assistance in the happie recoverie of the first Letter you writ to me, after it had been lost two daies. I know not whether J should have acquainted you with it; but as soon as J had it in my hands, J was presently satisfied that it was not impossible for me to entertain some joy though I want your presence; and for the time J spent in the reading of it, J much doubt whether J was any thing troubled at your absence. Do not imagine, that a small time would suffice for this, for it amounts to little lesse then all that is passed since I received it, and indeed it is the only employment my eyes have taken any delight in since they saw you. J this, J professe, J speak trulie, and sincerely, though J have diverse times seen your two good friends, being not any thing pleased either with the voice of the one, or the actions of the other. When J went to her with whom J left you, the verses of Tasso which J entreated [Page] her to repeat, made up one halfe of her discourse, and her gestures the other. And though they are both excellent things in their kind, yet all was not able to raise me out of melancholie, great as the former wherein you had seen me; and I could find nothing in her, that might any way alleviate the doome you give me, that I never gain her affection. However, her friendship might have proved more advantageous to me then you imagine, and I should addresse my self to her with more earnestnesse then I do, sines she hath crueltie enough to destroy those whom she loves, when they are become as unhappie as I am. But I perceive, she would not do me that favour without hearing my case, and that I must go through the rack to my death. At least she began to put me on it the day I last saw her, and put a many interrogatories to me concerning the cause of my transportation, which I am not out of yet. But a man who can bear with your absence, may well endure any racking, nor is it probable that Torments should force any thing out of me, when I am so accustomed to suffer, and that having alreadie confessed once, I cannot perceive my paines are ever the lesse. It is on you — that I fasten this reproach, and whom, methinks I have reason to quarrell with, in that having acknowledged my crime to you, you have neither justice enough to put me to death, nor mercie enough to let me live. I heartilie beseech you to grant me either, and if I may not hope to find you favourable, let me find you just. But what ever your doom is, be pleased to let me hear it from your own mouth, and I do not much trouble my selfe whether it be life or death, so I have one of the two in your presence. There is no attempt so difficult, which I shall not accomplish; no inchanted Castle which I should not enter under your conduct. But if the enchantments which hinder you from being seen, must ne dissolved by the most faithfull and most amorous man in the world, I certainlie am He, there being no other that shall presume to offer at this Adventure. But see Monsieur de B. with whom I am to go, sends me word that he is just upon his departure; and I dare not put him to attendance, for I honour him very much. He hath a seat in M.— whither he is to go within these fifteen daies: I must be allowed much more leisure then I have now, to answer Letters that require Commentaries. Be pleased then to afford time proportionable to the employment, for all I have had hitherto hath been hardly enough to understand them well.

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To Diana. LETTER XIV.

IF the affliction it is not to see what you affect be as insupportable to you as it is to me; and if, during that absence, you suffer something suitable to what I do endure, what considerations were those, Faire Diana, that were able to engage you two daies from a sight of me, and why do we not run any h [...]zard or extremitie, rather then what whereinto we are reduced by this misfortune? To smoother the discourses of four or five persons, and to hinder their observations of our enjoyments, is it requisite we should not have any, and to avoid a little noise, must we needs endure so much miserie? no, no, my dearest Diana, the greatest misfortune can possiblie happen to us, is to be separated one from another, nor indeed do I know any other we should fear so much. Besides, you are not to imagine, that the trouble we put our selves to, can make our Loves be thought any thing the more secret. The sadnesse, wherewith my countenance is overcast when I want the light and influences of your presence discovers them to all the World, and speaks louder then any person could do. Let us then henceforward shake off a discretion which costs us so dear, and give me leave and the meanes to see you this afternoone, if it be your pleasure I should live.

To the Same. LETTER XV.

HAving permitted you to spend the time all yesterdaie till midnight, I conceive there's no great danger, if to day, I put you in minde, fairest Diana, that you have a servant who hath not seen you almost these two daies; and who but yesterdaie was reproached with his sadnesse, when in the mean time, you [Page] were commended, where you were, for your freedome and pleasantnesse. I have therefore thought it not unseasonable, to be your remembrance of him this morning, for haplie you thought not on him yesterdaie, since I dare not hope that in so good companie, any thought of yours could be so presumptuous as to minde you of me. At least I had so manie of all kinds, that I have some reason to believe there could not remaine any with you; and I imagine that being well attended, and thinking me too much alone, you sent me all yours to divert me. And indeed they pressed upon me so much and were so confident that they accompanied me into a house, where they could not expect to be verie wellcome. 'Twas a Ladie's for whom you have sometimes reproached me that I had no compassion, where finding one of your Cousins, who had as little for you, I could not but take occasion to speak of you; this obliged me to stay there two hours longer then ordinarie, during which time your name was up above twentie times. I could perceive both the one and the other break forth into fire and jealousie, whence I thought us sufficientlie revenged; I of him who had been so bold as to love Diana; and you of her who had presumed to love what belongs to her. I know not whether I have, in this, been too indiscret or too malicious, but I assure you, it was the onelie pleasure I had yesterdaie, and the first I ever had in that place. I humblie begge you will pardon it me upon condition of a reciprocal forgivenesse from me, if haplie you received yesterdaie any satisfaction without my participation thereof.

To Climene. LETTER XVI.

SInce I am so farre from being in a capacitie to speak to you, as if I were absent, give me leave to write to you, and to make use of the onelie meanes which is left me to expresse my selfe. I thought, fairest Climene, that the greatest misfortune I could feare, was that of being at a distance from you: but hath absence any thing more cruel or more insupportable in it, [Page] then my appearance before you such as it is at this present? To be neer all the graces, all the joyes, and all the beauties in the Wo [...]ld, and not to presume to turne his eyes towards them; to have his heart on one side, and to look perpetuallie on the other; to speak of all things but what a man thinks on, and whilest a man is in the midst of a fire, and upon the rack, to be obliged to tell stories: these certainlie are torments beyond all imagination, and such as it is impossible any man should suffer, if he did it not for your sake. I am now sufficientlie revenged of all the mischiefes which I said mine eyes had done me; they have now as little freedome as my self, they endure in their turne all the miserie they have caused me, and are now so punish'd that they dare not look towards you, and have lost that joy for wh [...]ch they had sold you my libertie. This, Climene, [...]s the condition I am in upon your account, these the afflictions I g [...]oane under, for my knowledge, above any other, of your amiablenesse and perfections. I cannot perceive any possibilitie they should have any remission, nay I foresee others that threaten me, and doubt not but I shall be much more unhappie within these three daies then I now am, when I shall neither have the means to see you, hear you, nor write to you. In the mean time, amidst these afflictions I perpetuallie blesse the day I first met you, and would rather endure all these miseries, then be guiltie of the tranquilitie I was in before I had seen you. All I begge, is, that you would have a little compassion on me, and afford me in your own tho [...]gh [...]s some few wish [...]s of better fortune, since I can, for your sake, so well beare with a bad one.

To Mademoiselle de — LETTER XVII.

MADAM,

I Cannot sleep but with a great deal of disturbance, I have lost the taste of all things, nay I have not the same advantage of the aire as other men, and I do not so much breath as sigh, this is the condition I have been in ever since I saw you last. 'Tis true I am not well satisfied whence all this proceeds, [Page] and am not certain whether it be an effect of my Rheume or my Love; but in all probabilitie you contribute most to my misfortune, since the greatest ease I finde is to write to you. I never certainlie thought you so amiable in my life, as you were the other day. Notwithstanding what you know, and what would have frightned any other man, I thought you the most pleasant thing in the World, and though you forced me away from time to time, and that your humour was changed into that of Mademoiselle de St. Martin, yet was I extreamelie satisfied with your discourse and your entertainment. This convinces me, that besides those things in you which lie open to the e [...]e, there is some secret inchantment forces men to love you, and makes it impossible, happen what will to you, but that you must be faire and kinde. All your disdains could never oblige me to think you cruel: when you teare my heart into a thousand peices, there's not one but is yours, nay one smile of yours chaces away all the grief and bitternesse you make me endure. Since I am much pleased with all gentle things, I cannot think ill what you do, nay even death it self were good as you dresse it. Since then I am so much taken with your rigour, do but imagine what resentment I should have of your favours, and be pleased, though but once, to trie what effect they shall produce in me. You know that a small matter con [...]ents me, and consequentlie the satisfaction of my desire will not stand you in much.

To M. D. LETTER XVIII.

THis is the fourth Letter I write to you since I have heard from you; if the fault be Fortune's, it is the greatest misfortune in the World, if yours, the greatest crueltie you ever were guiltie of. In the mean time I cannot forbear being your remembrancer of my self, and without considering whether it will availe me any thing, I write Letters to you without any expctation of answer, and entertaine you with complaints without any hope of pitie or satisfaction. The last time I [Page] writ to you, I thought my self a little at ease, but, for ought I perceive there is not any to be looked for, after a man hath once in his life seen you. That representation, which I thought halfe blotted out of my mind, is recovered there with all its colours and more light then ever: it so fills my soul that there is no roome for any thing else, and what this place affords I look on as at a greater distance from me then you who are a hundred Leagues hence. It is certainlie a verie sad case, that an excessive Beautie should be guiltie of an excesse of crueltie and ingratitude, and that so manie reasons as there are not to love you, should consist with so much obligation, nay, necessitie to do it. Seeing you performed not the promise you made me, I did all that lay in my power to recover my former Libertie, and to deliver my self out of your hands. But now I have done all I could, I am fallen again into them, and all my endeavours amount onelie to this, that I should beware another time how I attempt an impossibilitie, and not adde, to so manie afflictions, that of seeking remedies where there are none to be had. You may then do what you please with me, without any feare that I shall resent it, as being at a losse of all courage, strength, and resolution, when I have to deal with you. But, methinks, it concerns your generositie verie much, not to use crueltie towards a man, who cries you Quarter, and casts himself at your feet, and make the most complaint, the most disinteressed, and the most perfect passion that ever was, the most unfortunate.

To — LETTER XIX.

IT is one of the fairest daies that ever were seen in Summer; I am at Liancour, one of the most pleasant places in the World; I have the companie of three or four of the handsomest Ladies in France, and yet I lock my self up in my Chamber, alone, to write to you. Hence you may easilie inferre that I am in a much better humour now then I was the last time, and consequentlie this Letter will be milder then the other. I repented [Page] me I had sent it an hour after it was gone, and the same night I received yours, wherewith I was absolutelie satisfied; not that it caused any change in my judgement, or that I thought not my resentment just; but I could be no longer angrie with you, and am convinced, that you cannot do me so great a displeasure, for which three words from you shall not procure an act of Oblivion. For, in fine, my affection is at the present, arrived to that point whereto you said once at St. Clou, that it ought to be, in so much, that though I should finde you guil [...]ie, not of a negligence but an infidelitie, I could not forbeare loving you. Since it was decreed I should be in the power of some one, it is certainlie my great happinesse that I am fallen into the hands of a person of so much goodnesse, reason, and integritie, and who disposes of me with more care, caution, and lenitie, then I could do my self. But all this granted, I have at the present to object to you, that you have not that tenderness of my quiet you ought: for to deal freelie, what was your intention, to write to me that Fortune hath carried her self verie stranglie towards you, without acquainting me how, and leaving the rest to my conjecture? It is indeed an invention the neatest that may be, to make me imagine and feel all the misfortunes that may have happned to you, whereas I should have had but some to wrastle with, if you had acquainted me how it is. Deliver me as soon as you please out of this paine, which I professe, is one of the greatest I ever had in my life. I write to you in much haste and disturbance, for I am now called away by some that knock at my Chamber door. But I cannot endure to write you a short Letter, and you, h [...]pl [...]e, would think it as mischievous as the other, if it be not long enough. I have kissed yours a thousand t [...]mes, and read it almost as manie; it is the han [...]somest and m [...]st obliging in the World: But, I beseech you write to me negligentlie▪ that you may do it the more pleasantlie, and entertain me in your Letters with the same freedom as you spoke to me in your Chamber. I am but too well acquainted with your abilities, fear it not, and I would have a knowledge of your affection proportionable to my wishes. I am extreamlie glad you are with the person you tell me of; for knowing how much you love her, and how amiable she is, I doubt not but she contributes much to your enjoyments. You tell me that she is now as well acquainted with me as you [Page] are. How? have you acquainted her with all my ill conditions, have you told her how full of mischief I am, and what trouble I have put you to? If it be so, it is certainlie verie maliciouslie done, and assure your self, I shall, to be revenged, know what I have to tell her of you, when I see her. It was not necessarie to make such a particular description of me, and it had been better to have done it lesse like, that so I might have been more handsome; for she, who is so tender of your quiet, and who hath no jealousie for you, and so much affects what you love, I am afraid may wish me ill for having tormented you so much, and believe me, a person of little honour, when she shall understand I have been jealous. But I beseech you, make it your businesse to raise in her a good opinion of me, for I desire, above all things to be in her favour, and now that I conceive my self in your affection [...], there is not any thing I desire so much as her friendship. Fo [...]r daies since, I lost Monsieur C. — and certainlie with much reg [...]et, for J love and esteem him infinitelie. I told him that J was to write to you by the way of — you have satisfied me verie much where you tell me, that you take great delight in reading the books I presented you with; but let me know which of them you are most taken with, and in that, what pleases you best. I was resolved to beg some account of them from you, but now I desire not onelie that, but of whatever you do; for I shall be extreamlie glad to know the most inconsiderable of your thoughts and actions. I am upon my return to Paris, where I shall finde a Letter of yours, which makes me verie impatient to be there; two daies, I hope, will bring me thither: But in regard the Messenger goes not away till to morrow noone, I send this Letter before by a Lacqueie. Adieu, I begge the continuance of your affection; for my part, how much I love you, I am not not able to tell you, time shall discover.

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To Madam — LETTER XX.

MADAM,

I Am at last come hither alive, and am ashamed to tell it you; for, methinks, a person of honour ought not to live after he had been ten daies without seeing you. I should be the more astonished, that I have been able to do it, were I not satisfied that for some time, there have happned things to me altogether extraordinarie, and such, as whereof I had not the least expectation, and that since I have seen you, all things are done in me by miracle. It is certainlie a strange effect that I have all this while withstood so manie afflictions, and that a man so much wounded could hold out so long! No sadnesse so weightie, no sorrow comparable to that I struggle with. Love, and feare, grief, and impatience, are my perpetual torments, and the heart I had bestowed on you whole, is now torne into a thousand pieces, but you are in everie one of them, nor could I part with the least to any I finde here. In the mean time, amidst so manie and such mortal afflictions, I assure you I am not to be pittied, for it is onelie in the lower region of my minde that the tempests are raised, and while the clouds are in perpetual agitation, the higher part of my soul is quiet and clear, when you shine with the same beautie, lustre, and influences, as you had on the fairest daies wherein I have seen you, and with those beames and circulations of light, and graces as are sometimes seen about you. I must needs confesse, as often as my imagination is directed that way, I am insensible of all affliction. So that it sometimes happens, that while my heart suffers extraordinarie torments, my soul tastes infinite felicities, and at the same time that I am afflicted, weep, and consider my self at a great distance from your presence, nay, haplie, your thoughts, I would not change fortunes with those who see, are lov'd and enjoy. I know not whether you, Madam, whose soul knows not the least disturbance, can conceive these contrarieties; it is as much as I can do to comprehend them, who feel them, and am often astonished to finde my self so happie and so unhappie [Page] at the same time. But let not, I beseech you, what I tell you of my happinesse, divert your care from a consideration of my miseries, for they are such as cease not to frighten me even when I feel them not, the only agitation of two so different resentments being enough to cast me to the ground. If then you have any reasons to comfort me withall, that are not taken out of Seneca, I beseech you send them them me, and withall some of those miraculous words, which you know, that can restore strength and cheerfulnesse to the most indisposed minds, and which have twice alreadie saved my life? you ought certainlie to be tender of it, since indeed it is yours, and that I have made foheartie a present to you of it. For my part, I must confesse it is much dearer to me since it hath belonged to you & I should be loath to leave the world so soon after my acquaintance with what, is most accomplished, and most excellent in it.

To Madame. — LETTER XXI.

MADAME,

I Crave your pardon, and confesse that I have not, in my opinion, loved you long, and that the standing of my affection is but the day before yesterday. At least it hath thrived so much since that time, and is arrived to such a height, that when I look thence on what I had before, it seems to me so little, that it hardly appears, and that love, which, eight daies since, I thought the greatest in the world, seems in a manner nothing to me. As I am glad to see my self in that condition, so is it a grief to me that it hapened no sooner, and I am angrie with my own heart, for having concealed from you so large a place so long. Being am [...]able as you are, methink [...] I have done you an injurie in that I have not loved you as much as I do now, even from the first minute that I saw you, and should not have permitted, that the obligations I owe you should contribute any thing thereto. But certainlie, it was because I could not discover what you were at the first sight; and, to say truth, the different beauties you have, so many graces and attractions, so much wit, judgement, courage, vigour and generositie cannot [Page] be seen with the cast of an eye, but it tequires time to do it, and there are so many things in you, that it would take up many daies even to see you well. I know not whether I am mistaken, but methinks now I have overcome it, and my soul is so filled, that there is no place for any thing else; it is wholly taken up with reflections on you, and comprehensions of you, which are attended with so much delight and attention, that being upon the brink of a horrid precipice, I do not perceive it, and being readie to lose you, I am all joy that I have found you. I professe, dearest Madame, that what I write is clearlie what I think, and that the least part of what I think is, what I now write. There are no words to expresse the affection I bear you, it is beyond any thing that may be said, or thought. There is only you in the world that can imagine it, &c.

To Madame. LETTER XXII.

MADAME,

I Am at this time a little in doubt how J ought to write to you, for J am extremely dis-satisfied with you, and particularly that you have not given me any account of your self, never wanting the opportunity to do it. What hinders me, is that J would not say any thing whereat you might be troubled, or might any way disturb your quiet, for, assure your self, J am more tender of it then my own. But, withall, J must tell you, that J cannot disguise my resentment of it from you, nor is it in my power to use any artifice as to you, or write to you as J should, were J satisfied. To be free then with you, J cannot conceive, how a person who hath done so many things for the preservation of my quiet, should not in six weeks find leisure enough to oblige me with a Letter, and that you, who account absence a thing so dangerous, and seem to be in so much fear it should produce some ill effect in me, are so carried away with it, and have, during so long time, neglected to make use of the only remedie there is against it. It is now upon two months since your departure, you had a certain direction how to write to me, there were Carriers in all the places through which you [Page] passed and yet J have not had so much as one Letter from you, What, in your opinion, should J think of it? would you have me think that at Orleans, at Blois, at Tours, at Angers, and since, during all the t [...]m you sta [...]d at — and at — you had not the leisure to send me a Letter? Was it that you were indifferent whether you received anie from me, & should thence inferre that J should be the l [...]sse hastie for yours? It is indeed true, that you were not obliged thereto, and that I seemed content, at your departure, not to expect any from you, till you had had the leisure to receive something from me. But should you have done the lesse for that, and should you not rather have thought it a pleasure to do me a kindnesse when I least looked for it? I had left you ot your liberty; whether you would oblige me or no, you have made made use of it, you have not written to me, because it was at your discretion to do it or not. How then! if you had perceived that J would have been content to stay four months for a Letter from you, should you not have written to me all that time, for who can be content five weeks may as well twentie? To deal freelie with you, I know not what to think of it, might J object lightnesse to the noblest mind, and surest heart in the world, J should conceive you changed. But any thing seems more probable to me then that. However it be, assurre your self, my M. (J call you so still, and that very heartilie) my affection is not a whit diminished. It onely takes anay something of that secret joy which you had left me in all my sufferings, and the satisfaction it was to me, to think, that since J have known you, you have ever had a care, goodnesse, and kindnesse for me great as J could wish, and that you never let s [...]ip any occasion wherein you made me not the greatest expressions that might be expected, of a sincere and perfect friendship. And though it be otherwise now, my love is never the lesse, and you are as dear and precious to me, as when you would needs be let blood everie day for my sake, and were not afraid to shorten your own life, to prolong the time you had to see me. J undergoe my affl [...]ctions with much constancie; and what troubles me most, is, that you have given me occasion to imagine once in my life, that J were not the most ungratefull man in the world, though J loved you but moderatelie, and with mediocritie.

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LETTER XXIII.

M. D. M.

IN what darknesse have you left me, and into what abysse am I now fallen since I have lost your sight? I am more tender of your tranquility, then to presume to acquaint you with all the trouble you have put me to, though my afflictions are come to that point, that I sometimes wish your love to me were not as mine to you, lest you should suffer as I do. You will not think it strange I should be so much disordered, if you consider the reason I have, and you will not wonder I should take so much pains to get up again, after so high a fall. But, my M. be but pleased to represent to your self what hath happened to me in a few daies; fortune hath directed me to the most amiable person in the world, I have found her, I have seene her, I have loved her, she hath discovered abundance of good inclinations for me, I have lost her, and all this hath passed so luddenlie, and was done with so much precipitation, that I often doubt, whether I have been so happie as I imagine I have, and that I have onlie dreamed what hath happened to me. And indeed to speak seriouslie, so much friendship for me from a person I was hardlie acquainted with, so much confidence and resolution in a woman, so manie excellent qualities in the same subject, and manie undiscoveted treasures at the same time; and on the other side such a number of accidents one in the neck of another, such a throng of good and bad adventures, are things that seem rather to have been imaginarie, then reall; there being hardly a fable which is not so well contrived, as to pretend to more probabilitie then this. In a word, my M. the pleasant dream is over, I know not what is become of all those felicities, my rest hath been disturbed, and, awakeing, I find my selfe in the blackest and most dismall night that ever was. In the mean time, I endeavour to get it over with as much patience as may be, and till the day does appear, I entertain my self with the most pleasant imaginations I can. I censider with my self; that I derive joy enough for the remainder of my life, from my having had your love, though but for one minute, and that the very remembrance of this happinesse, should engage me to a cheerfull suffering of all kinds of torments. [Page] I was not reasonable that the most precious thing the world could brag of, should cost me nothing. Fortune hath been verie just in forcing me to buy the heart you have bestowed on me, and J am obliged to her, in that she hath not called to me for satisfaction for your love, till that after you had freelie granted it me, at a time when you owed me nothing, and that J could not look on it, but as the largesse of your own inclinations. J should therefore be verie ungratefull, if J should now be frugall of a few teares for a person who hath lost so much blood for me. I is now my turn to suffer, and it is but fit J should give you some assurances of my affection, after J have received so many of yours. But you are so good, that it is impossible J should suffer any thing in your presence; and it was but necessarie you should be at a distance, that my martyrdom might be thought the more meritorious. In fine, my M. you see with what thoughts J endeavour to moderate the bitterest sorrowes in the world, and to bear with the absence of the most accomplished, and most inviting person that ever was. But, do what J can, J must needs confesse, that many times my resolution and my reason forsake me, and J easilie perceive, that, if you relieve me not I shall not be able to hold out long. Be pleased then to let me hear from you as soon as possible; assure me that you are in health, and command me to abate somewhat of my affliction.

To M. D. B. LETTER XXIV.

MADAME,

THe night is past with all other men, but not with me; since I cannot yet discern any thing of what, of all things the world affords, I desire most to know. It is long since that my mind hath been overcast with such thick clouds, that light can have no admittance, and the obscurity is so great, that I cannot perceive any thing but confused and mis-shaped images of things, which sometimes I am pleased with, but for the most part astonished at. Do you therefore, in whom all the light and brightnesse of heaven seems to be centred, dispell this darknesse, [Page] and suffer me not to be any longer in doubt, whether I am the most happie, or the most unhappie man upon earth. The sharpest displeasure, and the most perfect joyes are so interwoven, that one comes not without the other, nay it often happens, that, at the same time, I am ingaged with incredible afflictions, and infinite enjoyments. Be pleased, I beseech you, to separate these, and suffer not there should be so much disorder in a place where you command; after so many riddles, tell me one intelligible word, whereby I may know my good or bad fortune. For my whole soul, which I have bestowed on you, I only begge, that you would but let it look into yours, and that the dearest mind in the world, may not be ever the most obscure to me. Consider what trouble it is to me, never to speak to you, but before a person, who would prove a mortall enemie to my affection, if she came to the discoverie of it, and what torment it is, to make a perpetuall comedie of a thing so serious, and continuall falshoods the maskes and shrouds of such pure truths. Enable me to do all this, have the goodnesse to make me eternally happie, by saying one word onlie; suffer not the justest passion in the world to be most unfortunate, or that I should die of grief for having perfectly loved the most amiable person in the world.

To the same. LETTER XXV.

IT cannot possiblie be otherwise then that you should use [...]ome charme upon me yesterday, when you made me acknowledge my self satisfied with you; for certainlie without some magicall operation, it were impossible that by three words, that signified so little, you should have made me forget the most signall affront you were able to do me. In the mean time, certain it is, that you laid my sorrows asleep, and so hansomelie surprized and eluded my judgement, that in the most pressing grief I e [...]r groaned under, I withall felt the greatest joy I ever was sensible of. But the inchantment was soon over, and, to my unhappinesse, I recovered my understanding as soon as I had left you, and after I had, in your presence, with much adoe kept in [Page] the teares of joy, I have all this night wept the most bitterly that could be. Let me do what I can to humour my self, yet can I not but presentlie reflect on the treacherous part you have played me, such as will never admit oblivion, and hath quite broken off all confidence and correspondence between us; and what is most to be lamented, though there is all the reason in the world that I should not love, yet I see not any likelihood how it can be done. All the sorrowes, whereof you yesterday stayed the course, have this day like a deluge overturned all, and made such a disorder, that, unlesse [...] be the knowledge of my own miserie, and that my memorie tells me that you are what is most amiable in the world, I am utter [...]ie insensible of all reason, and discernment of things. This is the condition I am in, which is such as seems incapable of my remedie. But see withall what confidence I have in you! if I may this day receive but one obliging word from your mouth; if you discover any one favourable look or action, or but say within your selfe that you would have me recovered, I question not but all my misfortunes are past, and that I shall forget all the unkindnesse you have done me.

To the same. LETTER XXVI.

MADAME,

I Most humbly begge your pardon for it, but I must indeed confesse, that I have been satisfied with you these dozen houres. I know that, according to your consideration of it. I could not have been guiltie of a greater crime, and that you are not offended at any thing so much in me, as that you should imagine I entertained the least secret joy. Hence you may measure my gratitude, in that though I am confident you will make me repent it, yet can I not but return you my acknowledgements, and tell you, that, all this granted, there is no affl [...]ction I would not willinglie endure for your sake. You may therefore, if you think good, ruine all my imaginations, and [Page] all my confidence, let me be convinced that I have misunderstood whatever I have interpreted favourablie to my selfe; let me perceive that my affection is indifferent, it may be importunate to you. 'Tis happinesse enough for all my life, to have imagined my selfe though but for one halfe day, in your favour, and this verie satisfaction hath enabled me to undergoe all manner of inconveniences.

To the same. LETTER XXVII.

MADAME,

ARe you not the most implacable of any that ever were borne of your s [...]xe? you are not satisfied that you shew me not the least favour, nay, you are so far from it, that you would not have me imagine so much, and as if you derived abundance of reputation from my being perpetuallie sad, you are presentlie offended if you find but the least complaisance in a corner of my mind. What charge is it to you, I pray, if I flatter my self with some thoughts of my own happinesse, and entertain my selfe with such imaginary enjoyments as you contribute nothing to, when in the meane time I have been so over-reached, as to cast my affection on the most ungratefull person in the world? Are you not extremelie unjust, after all this, to take it ill I should be at a losse of discretion in other things, and that a man of so little conduct, should be so ill a judge of himselfe? Be pleased then, in that at least, to let me take the advantage of the irregularitie of my Reason, and the disorder you have put me into. Had I my senses and intellectualls about me, I should not be so confident that you loved me, nor indeed, had I them, should I do it; so that the condition I am in considered, I cannot entertaine a thought you should take any offence it.

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To the Same. LETTER XXVIII.

SInce you are so much afraid I should be too happie, and are extreamlie disordered at whatever I magine, as if you were accountable for my thoughts, yet is it but necessarie I should discover them to you, and make you clearlie understand what those confidences meane which raise so much hostilitie between us. Though I die for it, I must give you a just account thereof, and knowing the sharpnesse of your discernment, and that you are fullie possessed of my soul, it were in vain for me to pretend to conceal any thing of it from you. I professe openlie, I never entertained the least hope, desire, or, indeed, imagination, that you had that affection for me, which I have for you: for, conceiving you infinitelie above any thing this Element affords, I could never be perswaded you were subject to that kinde of passion which cements together two souls of the same nature... But proportionablie to the inclinations which those spirits above are pleased sometimes to have for that part of mankinde which they take into their protection, I have thought it likelie you might regard my welfare, and that it was impossible, that the most generous soul in the World should admit any passion but the purest that ever was. This acknowleged, I must needs confesse it hath often happen'd, that some one action of yours, a smile, the cast of an eie, a blush on some favourable occasion, have sometimes raised a certain imagination in me that you abhorr'd me not; but an imagination so weake, and so far from pretending to confidence, that it signifies something lesse then opinion, a suspicion, or doubt, which lightlie moving upon my heart, left a certain track of light behinde it, and filled the rest of my soul with tranqu [...]llitie and joy. Now I have told you whence proceed those enjoyments and satisfactions you are so highlie offended with; but if after this explication thereof you think them still unjust, I am ready to disclaime them, for, I deal freelie with you, were it in my power, to be so, it would trouble my conscience to be happie, [Page] if you were unwilling I should, and, having made an absolute conveyance of my soul, you are to make your own advantages thereof; it is absolutelie at your disposal, and it is whollie left to your consideration, whether you would rather have it happie or unhappie.

To the Same. LETTER XXIX.

MADAM,

IF all that is handsome; all that is attractive, what ever hath any insinuation of delight, in this World were joyned together, could it make us any thing so amiable as you were last night? And was not all that the Poets say of Smiles, Graces, and Loves, visiblie discovered about you at that time? Now that I have been so happie as to have seen all this with my eyes, I make a resolution never to complain of any thing,...

I know well enough it will cost me the rest of my soul; but may I perish if I am troubled a jot at it! and had I the command of those of all the World besides, I should heartilie, with them all, purchase such a pleasure as that I had when I saw you.

To the Same. LETTER XXX.

MADAM,

I Am now convinced I shall never get out of your hands, and that all the designes I lay to recover my libertie prove ineffectual; for as you do everie day adde some new unkindness to the former which raise in me some inclinations to revolt, so I from time to time discover some new attraction that detaines me; the increase of your perfections is proportionable to that of your rigours, and according to both are my chaines doubled. After I had used my utmost endeavours to oppose [Page] whatever I thought handsome in your person, and your intellectualls, it happen [...] that wh [...]n I see you again, I finde in you some beautie I never had observed before, and c [...]nsequentlie against which I was nor prepared; and there is in you such a diversitie of things amiable, that there will never be a wanting some one against which I cannot m [...]ke my partie good.

To M. de V. LETTER XXXI.

MADAM,

AFter fourteen Verses, you may verie well give me leave to write fourteen lines in Prose, and to tell you, in a language which is thought ordinarily to speak more truely then the other, that I die for you. That Beautie whereof I speak is much better written in my soul then it is here, and the image I have conceived of it is such, that, when I celebrate you above Aurora and the Sun, I say not any thing which I think not too meane, and which I conceive not below you. Be pleased to consider, what quiet that minde must pretend to, wherein you are so engraven, and which, perpetuallie reflecting on the most accomplish'd thing in the World, amongst a manie motives of desire discovers not, which way soever it looks, any of hope. And yet, in this verie condition, mine finde, content; it is so much taken up with a survey of your miraculous perfections, and considerations of your beautie, that it both not time to bethink it self whether I am lov'd or not, or be sensible that I die. The Idaea I have framed to my self to you, and which I perpetuallie contemplate hath such a command over me, that I neither perceive what I want, nor what I endure; and while my heart burnes and is consumed, while it is disturbed by fears, desires, and agitations, my thoughts are calme, and afford me joyes exceeding those of mankinde. In the mean time, I must with all reason think, that my life cannot last long at this rate, and [...] belongs to you, and is absolutelie at your dispos [...] ▪ I thought it my dutie to [...]ve you notice what danger it [...]. It is you [...] part to take such order therein as you think good; for as to what concerns me, I have not any [Page] thing to propose or begge of you concerning it, there being in my will such an humble compliance with yours, that I give it not leave either to wish the good you would not I should have, nor avoid the ill you shall destine me to. All I have to say to you, is, that, you being absolute Mistresse of my Soul, it is not reasonable that all my felicitie should consist onelie in my imagination, and that it were, haplie, but just, you should entertaine the most solid and sincere passion that ever was, with more reall and more solid enjoyments.

To Mademoiselle — LETTER XXXII.

MADAM,

THe greatest pleasure I ever had in my life is that of having seen you, and the greatest torment, that of being incapable to see you again. May I perish, if my eies could fasten on any thing they thought pleasant since I parted from you! I have left at Blois all the enjoyments I was wont to finde here, and I am more disordered at Paris, then ever I was in any place. And yet I should be much troubled to be lesse afflicted, and am even in love with my sadnesse when I but consider that you would be satisfied with the sight of it. It is certainlie but just that so great a good fortune as that of having found you, should cost me something, nay, though I forfeited all the tranquillitie of this life, I should not think I had bought it at too deare a rate. The least reflection, or the remembrance of the most inconsiderable of your actions, or of but some expression of yours, findes me a satisfaction, greater then the affliction all the misfortunes in the World are able to give me, and, even at the same time that I suffer, that I see you not, and am in doubt whether you love me. I would not change conditions with those who are most fortunate, who see, and who enjoy. So great resolution, where there is so much occasion of disturbance, cannot certainlie but raise in me a serious beliefe that you dissembled not, when you told me that you had bestowed your heart on me; for had I no other then my own, I were not able to hold out against so manie sorrows, and I am satisfied that I cannot [Page] have such an extraordinarie strength of my self, but must needs have derived it from you. To deal truelie with you, it is, I must confesse a verie strange adventure that's happened to me, to have found in one single person, whatever this World calls amiable, to have no sooner seen her then lov'd her, and to have no sooner lov'd her then lost her, that my felicitie hath been raised and laied on an instant, and that, in so short a time, I have had so much reason to enjoy and to bemoane my selfe. However it be, I cannot but think that a happie hour wherein I saw you, and would not part with the Idaea that remaines of you in my imagination, for all that is most substantial upon earth. I shall be further confi [...]med in this opinion according to what answer you shall make me, which if it prove as favourable as the words you last gave me, I shall think all I suffer for you well bestowed. You may then safelie slight the danger you say there is in writing, and put your self to some hazard to deliver me out of that I shall be in, if you quit your tendernesse of me. Be pleased therefore to consider, that nothing laies a greater obligation on a candid Soul then an absolute confidence, and that it is but just, you should afford some little comfort to a man, who desires no more, and cannot have any but what he receives from you.

LETTER XXXIII.

HAving had one of the worst nights in the World, it cannot be expected J should have patience for a day of the same kinde, and yet J cannot perceive how this should prove any better, if you, who appoint my fortunate and unfortunate times, are not pleased to order it otherwise. J thought my selfe yesterdaie, when J took my leave of you, verie well satisfied, and methought, there or four words J had forced from you, had laid me asleep; but J had not gone ten paces from your house, ere all my misfortunes fell upon me afresh; that distraction, those feares, those jealousies, those diffidences which J had but newlie shaken hands with, made a general assault upon me, possessed themselves of my Soul, and could never be gotten out [Page] since. Whether J sleep or wake, they are the perp [...]tual employment of my thoughts and dreames: they have represented to me whatever should prove most troublsome to me, and what I should most feare, and have furnished my imagination with chimera's and extravagant apparitions. J was in hope the day would have dispelled all this, but it is alreadie far spent, and yet J still see the same things. My Soul is a place where you exercise supreame authoritie, suffer not there should be so much Anarchie where you are accountable for the government: drive away these frightful images out of a minde where there ought to be onelie your own, and let there not be so neer the most delightful object in the World, those that are the most hideous. J have so much confidence in you, that if J have but three words from you, after the reading of this Letter, J doubt not but J shall finde immediate [...]ase. J shall be sensible hence of what you shall but whisper in your Chamber, and shall be at rest assoone as you wish me so. Jf onelie your astonishment was the cause of your silence yesterdaie, J beseech you let it not have the same power over you to day; and since you cannot speak obliging things, but when your own inclination directs you, be pleased to do it now when J am not neer to importune you, but begge it at a great distance, and with a great submission, and am readie to assure you, that if it be your pleasure J should be unhappie J would rather be so, then that there should be the least disconsonaneie between your will and mine.

To Madam — LETTER XXXIV.

MADAM,

VVHen J had not so much as a thought of you, and was verie much at ease, what necessitie had you to tell me in your Letter that it was your desire I should be so? I was in the greatest [...]e [...]en tie in the World, and you no sooner wish it me, but it is changed into the greatest disturbance imaginable. The inevitable priviledge you have to disturb my quiet, is to me a verie prodigious thing; I can neither complie with your ind [...]fference nor your indignation, and it is a great question [Page] whether I should stand more in fear of your bad then your good inclinations. When I am in your favour, I can never be at rest, when I conceive my self out ot it, I am withal out of all joy, and so which way soever I look on you, In [...]ust still l [...]ok for disorder. The onelie means I know to secure my self, is, not to think on you, and absolutelie to discharge my memorie of whatever remaines there of a person so amiable and withal so dangerous. This was in a manner my condition when I received your letter, and you are come to put all into commotion by wishing me peace and libertie. But since the mischiefe is done there must be a patience to endure, and to see what will be the result: but if it ever happen again while I live, that I can cease thinking of you, for heavens sake, Madam, let me entreat you to spare your complements of congratulation, and if you rejoyce at my happinesse, let it be done secretlie, so that I may be utterlie ignorant of it.

To — LETTER XXXV.

MADAM,

I Shall not faile to wait on you at the Collation, though I were confident to be poisoned; for I have alreadie met with that venome in your Letter, that hath prepared me to receive all you can give me of the kind, nay indeed to desire it. You need not have told me what strange alterations are wrought in men's minds by Devotion, I know it alreadie by experience on my self, since I must attribute to it the change hath happened in me that I cannot live without seeing you. Three lines of what you have written have made another in me much different. You should methinks have had more charitable considerations about you, then to put your neighbour into any danger; and, if you are devout, you are not, for ought I can perceive, troubed much with tendernesse of conscience. To deal soberlie and seriousl [...]e with you, it was a horrid impietie in you, to have stir [...]'d up in me all those sentiments which I had with so much trouble laid asleep, and I shall make my complaints to the bare-legged Carmelites, if your future carriage prove not so favourable, as to oblige me to smoother them.

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To Madam — LETTER XXXVI.

MADAM,

I Thought my life so neer spent that I had not the hope of one good day left me, and it would haplie have fallen out so, had I not received one this morning from you. If there were any thing in me which you might not claime as your own, this last f [...]vour of yours hath infalliablie gain'd it y [...]u; and I must needs tell you, that if hereafter I receive any other from you, I must confesse my selfe a bankrupt, and shall have nothing left me to return you for it. This I tell you in verie good earnest; and if it be not dangerous here to speak too loud, when I cannot be heard of any one, I never thought my selfe so much obliged in any thing, nor is it in my power to render you sufficient thankes for the last act of Grace you did me. J may verie well call it such, since it hath raised me again after the sentence you pronounced against me the other day, and hath inspired me with life amidst so manie mortal afflictions. 'Tis true that which J now lead is so unhappie, that J look on it as a present J should not much value, were it not bestowed on me by you. For being to run through fifteene daies, ere J shall see you, J question whether it be not crueltie to make me live so long. Yet J shall be content to do it, since it is your pleasure to command it, and that J am much mote concerned in your affection then...

To Mademoiselle — LETTER XXXVII.

MADAM,

UNlesse I should send you Flower-de-luces, this world affords not any flowers fit to make you a present, and therefore what I now send you are only strewings for your feet. Nay indeed I much envy them that disposall, as conceiving they will be much more glorious in that place, then if they were on the [Page] heads of Queens. You will wonder much that a man who knowes you so well should be guiltie of a presumption, great as as that of writing to you, and thence you may measure the violence of my passion, since that at my age, and with my countenance, it hath forced me to the impudence to declare it to you, and that so great a hazard as that of displeasing you could not oblige me to forbear. J know, Madame, there cannot be any offences more impardonable then what are committed against you, and that J am not destined to die by any other hand then yours. But I recommend my self to the disposal of my destinie, and what misfortune soever may happen to me thereby, it is impossible J should avoid it. While you read this, indignation makes you blush, and gnash your verie teeth. Yet J am as farre from repenting me of any thing as ever, for J am now proof against all, even the most extraordinarie accidents, and am, though it cost me my life, resolved to be eternallie

MADAME,

Your, &c

To Madame — LETTER XXXVIII.

MADAME,

I Dare not acquaint you with the condition J am in, and after J have made such brags of the Heart J have bestowed on you, am ashamed you should discover so much the weaknesse of it. J was of a certain belief, that the assurance I had of your affection, would have armed me against all afflict [...]ons of all kinds, and that it was impossible, J should be loved by you, and unfortunate at the same time. I, in the interim, finde my selfe in as great disorder, as if J had lost all things by the loosing of your sight, and am so much in torment as if there were no other happinesse or unhappinesse in the world then that of your companie or your absence. Hence J inferre, that our two soules are not yet well sodred together, and easilie discover that you have given me but a verie small part of yours, since J want a supplie of courage to struggle [Page] with a single affliction. 'Tis true, if we consider aright, that what I have to deal with, is not of that kind of misfortunes which constancie teaches men to endure with patience; nay Reason, with all its rigour and severitie, cannot disapprove so just a suffering as mine, and if she will not permit me to regret the most pleasing, the most inviting person, and the greatest Beautie in the world, she cannot take it amisse I should grieve for the most accomplished, the most generous and the most discreet. Though I should not be afflicted that I cannot see you, yet that I hear you not is reason enough that I should, and have withall an extraordinarie resentment for the losse of a conversation that did not only enlighten my soule, but enflamed it, and from which I never parted not onlie a better man, but also a more amorous. If amidst so manie occasions of trouble it is possible I should admit any comfort, it must happen beyond my expectation, and it will be much more convenient that you should give it me then that I should take it of my self. Be you therefore pleased, Madame, who have a better insight in all things then I have, and are particularlie acquainted with my heart and fortune, to tell me whether it be a rationall proceeding that my want of seeing you should be an infinite affliction to me; or if you cannot convince me that that ought not to be; do but tell me that you would not have it so, and that you command me to endeavour my own preservation till I see you again.

To Madame — LETTER XXXIX.

MADAME,

I Was beginning to grumble that you had made me no answer, when a report was scattered up and down that you were to come hither shortlie; which put me into a better humour, and made this dis-satisfaction as short-lived as some others, I have heretofore endeavoured to entertain against you. I must confesse indeed, that I, who make it my businesse to call to mind all the excellent qualities you carry about you, with as much entertainment as if I still saw them, should certainlie have [Page] forgotten all your kindnesses and civilities, if I thought you could have forborne the expression thereof towards me in this occasion, and have denied a man that comfort which you must needs think he could not but stand so much in need of. To be free with you, I cannot believe there ever were any afflictions comparable to mine, and though I was absolutelie satisfied, before I had left you, that your absence would have proved my death, yet could I not imagine it should have done me so much mischief as it hath. Billy, Gam, and Phan, never wept so much in their lives for you as I have done, nay Biquet was never so much troubled for you, as I have been though you never bestowed any Roses on me. Seriously, Madame, I am just in the same posture at Paris, as you were heretofore at la Basme, but that I have not the pleasure of buying any sheep here, and if J understand any thing your humour, I durst swear your ten years solitude seemed not so tedious to you, as that I have had, though but of three weeks. I sometimes visit Ladies handsome enough, but do you imagine they can so much as oblige me to speak? All women signifie no more to meet the present, then the man you know did to you, nay though they had all the Graces about them, yet can they not find me a minutes entertainment. I cannot now, in any company exceed a smile, and when I have viewed all about me, I retire and slinke into a corner by my self. Be pleased, Madame, that the opportunity I look for, may be with the soonest, and that after so much suffering, I may enjoy your companie, as you have formerly prophecied I should.

To — LETTER XL.

MADAME,

THe Cannon of Arras hath not done so much execution as the words you have written to me; for these have in an instant, forced away the enemies that had laid hold on me, and were ready to take away my life. Yesterday, is I came fro [...] your house, I was surprized by a Troop of suspicions, fears, disturbances and jealousies, and your Letter hath defeated them all. They pursued [Page] me quite to my lodging, and would not afford me one minutes rest all this night: you certainly have more exquisite punishments for those that offend you, then my Lady Ma [...]chionesse — and by purting into my head what you do, you take a fuller revenge then if you cleft it in twaine. For you are to imagine that mine is at the present, furnished with all that this world calls joy and grief, satisfaction discontent, the greatest love and the greatest distrusts that ever were, shuffled together. It must be your divinitie, Madame that shall separate all these, and since I have but three daies to live, let me enjoy my self in them free from all disturbance.

To — LETTER XLI.

MADAME,

COnsider, I beseech you, the effects of your enchantments, since that, in the condition I am in, they have made me utterly insensible of my misfortune, and, being just upon the point of engaging with the greatest affl [...]ction could have happened to me, I think my self the most fortunate man in the world. I am within three daies to take my last leave of whatever there is of beautie, wit and gentlenesse, beneath heaven, nay I am to shake hands with all goodnesse, Courtesie, and generositie. I know that at the same time I must part with all joy, my life and soule and all; and yet, all this notwithstanding, I want not my good Intervalls, and if I have not slept w [...]ll this last night, I may affirm, J have not had an ill night of it. To say truth, one minute, such as I had yesterday in the afternoon, is enough for a mans whole life. The very remembrance of the felicitie I have had, is consolation enough in all occurrences, nay though J should have but dreamed it, it were enough to make me eternallie happie. You see what consideration my life whollie hangs on at the present, and whereby it is armed against all manner of afflictions, since that the hapinesse I can pretend to is onlie grounded on a certain faith I have that you have some little affection for me. I humblie beg the continuance of it for some time, and would not you should think it [Page] much to allow that satisfaction to a man who is verie suddenlie to encounter with so many discontents.

To — LETTER XLII.

MADAME,

YOu will understand by the Letter I writ to you this morning, that J complie with you in all things; and J do now give you the greatest assurance J can possiblie, of my submission, when J return you what you had sent me. J finde them both so excellentlie handsome, that J could not resolve on any choice, and therefore J referre my self to you. Yet J am, J must confesse, as much taken with the lesser as J am with the other, and in as much as she is more sprightlie and knowes more dissimulation, she is so much the liker you. You may now consider, whether you have not wit enough to finde out an excuse for loving two persons, when you have found out a way to make me in love with three. But indeed there is no necessitie for these Inventions, and if you consider how innocent J am ever since this day, you will find J am to be disposed of at your pleasure. But you shall never perswade me, after the receipt of the Letter J last had from you, but that you are the merriest, the most amiable, and the person the most given to Gallantrie and entertainment, of any in the world.

To — LETTER XLIII.

MADAME,

I Have had my eyes often since yesterday in the same posture that you saw them, but J have no sooner thought on yours, but my own were immediatelie restored, and freed from all kind of distraction. J cannot imagine there can any thing remain undiscovered in a person so full of Light, nor be perswaded that Heaven should make a thing so excellent onlie to surprize [Page] men. The picture I brought yesterday from your house hath cured me of all misfortunes, and I no sooner cast my eye on it, but all my ill inclinations are dispelled, all my diffidences vanish, and my mind is replenished with content and complacencie. This is the estate of my affaires while I write to you, and I dare affirm, the world affords not a man more content, more happy, or more amorous then my self.

To — LETTER XLIV.

MOnsieur de Castelnaut is in health, Monsieur de Mercaeur hath been slightly wounded, and the Marquesse de Faure almost mortally.

I must needs commend your goodnesse, in that you are so tender of the dead and wounded, and give you many thanks, for what concernment I may have therein. I was my self to be numbred among the latter, the last time I saw you, but in such a way, that I see not any probabilitie I should ever recover it; and unlesse it be, that I may never stirre from your bed-side, or farther then two yards from you, I do not think it possible I should live. It is, questionlesse, Madam, a very great indiscretion in you, to appear so amiable as you are, to those whom you wish no hurt to; when I saw but half your charmes and excellencies, you had more about you then I was possibly able to endure. I leave it to you to imagine what condition I must be in now. I have not had one minutes rest since I left you. And yet this hinders not, but that I have so much satisfaction and so much enjoyment of my self, that, were J to die within an hour, J should not quarrell with you; besides that, since your departure hence must be very sudden, and that J am to expect a most sad and unhappie life, it were not fit J should much fear the losse of it, but rather be extremely satisfied that you took it from meere you went hence.

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To — LETTER XLV.

MADAME,

IT must certainlie be acknowledged that you do miracles as well in verse as in prose, there is not anie to be compared with you; for my part, it puts me into the greatest amazement in the world. And when J consider how innocent you were the last winter, when you durst hardlie speak ordinarie things, and were of opinion, that the word Sophister was injurious, J am not able to comprehend, how you came to do all you now can and that a person who never read but one Comedie, should grow so learned. It is a miracle J understand not, may when J heard the Nunnes of Loudun speak Greek and Latine, J was not so much astonished as I am now to see you write. All I begge of you, Madam, is, that you would not make use of the wit you have gotten to over-reach me, for I easilie am perswaded, that if you attempt it, I shall not be able to avoid it. I therefore leave it to your conscience, requiring onlie you would be faithfull to me, at least till such time as you meet with another, who hath a greater affection, and a higher estem, and admiration for you, then I have.

To — LETTER XLVI.

MADAME,

HAving well considered all that passed yesterday, my promises shall exceed your desires; for assure your selfe, J shall never beg any thing of you, nay, what is more, I will never see you. J have hardly taken my breath, since J made such st [...]ange vows and resolutions to that purpose, that if ever J prove delinquent hereafter, I must needs renew my addresses to you with the basest heart, and the most perjured soule in the world. There must certainlie be an extraordinarie weaknesse both in the one and [Page] the other, if ever they fall again into your hands, after so much ill entertainment as they have received from you, nay I shall justlie incurre all the mischiefes you are able to do me, if the remembrance of those you have done deliver me not out of your power, A small beame of light, descending as it were from heaven, hath cleared up the darknesse I was in, discovered to me the Legerdemaine of your charmes, and convinced me, that she whom I thought yesterdaie the most inviting person upon earth, is the most to be feared and avoided. Be pleased therefore to give me leave to seek my quiet elsewhere, since I must not expect any neer you, and since there is no punishment you have not inflicted on me, and you know no more torments to put me to, be not troubled I should get away from you, especiallie considering it is not in your power to hinder it, and that at the same time that you read this Letter, I leave Paris, with a resolution never to come into it again, till you are out.

To — LETTER XLVII.

MADAM,

NOthing so certain as that you are destined to be the perpetual disturbance of my life, since that your kindnesses and unkindnesses are equallie prejudicial to my enjoyments. The Letter you writ to me yesterdaie, the affection you pretended towards me, and the paines you took to speak with me, would not allow me the least sleep last night. I spent it whollie in calling to mind the perfections of your wit and behaviour, in all that you said; and considering, that what the world conceives most pleasant, most excellent, and most inviting, was not comparable to the most trivial things you either spoke or did. I know not what may become of me, but certainlie, I am in a great feare, I shall not be able to avoid that accident, which I told you yesterdaie you would be extreamlie glad should happen to me. When I think you love me, I cannot sleep, when I imagine you have cast your affections on another, I utterlie despair: when I am at a great distance from you, I [Page] know not what I do, and when I see you, all your actions, all your gestures, all your words, prove so much poison to me. Hence you may be pleased to consider what kind of life I lead, and what I must expect: there never was certainlie any so full of disorder, and all the hope I have, is, that your absence will shortlie put a period to it, and consequentlie deliver me out of all my miseries.

To Madam — LETTER XLVIII.

MADAM,

YOu have, I must confesse, much reason to laugh at me, who cannot but be much ash [...]med that, after I had plaied the Hector so much, I am forced to discover such cowardize and weaknesse. For ought I perceive, Madam, which way soever I turn my self, I am never farre from you. I have you perpetuallie in my heart, and am as much at your disposal when J am in my Lodging as when in your Coach. But if things be well considered, you are not to derive any reputation thence, nor I dishonour, and since all this is wrought by enchantment and sorcerie, ther's not any thing you can with justice brag of, or reproach me withal. This must needs be the true cause of this proceeding, for were there not something supernatural in it, 'twere impossible, that, being so well acquainted with your artifices, J should be so little able to avoid them, and that the most mischievous person in the World should appear to me the most amiable. J beseech you therefore, Madam, content your self with the mischief you have done me, break the image you have made for me; or, if it be your pleasure J should recover, be pleased, since nothing is impossible to you, to force me to believe that you love me, and J shall cheerfullie endure all the miseries you shall inflict on me.

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To — LETTER XLIX.

MADAM,

I Could not with any civilitie suffer your Lacqueie to go hence without a Love-letter, and methinks it is much after the rate of those which may verie well serve a Millener's Wife, of your qualitie. J have subject enough [...]o write you one that were the most amorous in the World, if J should acquaint you with the least part of what good inclinations my heart hath in store for you. But knowing how much you stand upon your advantages, I durst not let you know after what manner you are there, nor be guiltie of so much easinesse of nature, as to be drawn in with the present of a paire of Gloves, to discover my thoughts in a businesse of such consequence. I am therefore to assure you onelie, that I have received yours as I would do a Kingdome. They are indeed a most excellent paire, I have kiss'd them above a hundred times, and that, I dare assure you, more heartilie, then I should have done the fairest hands in the World, were they not your own.

FINIS.

[Page]

Information about this book

Title statement

Letters of affaires love and courtship. Written to several persons of honour and quality; / by the exquisite pen of Monsieur de Voiture, a member of the famous French Academy established at Paris by Cardinall de Richelieu. English'd by J.D.

Voiture, Monsieur de (Vincent), 1597-1648.

Edition statement

1657

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2008-09 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A96014

ID [STC]

Wing V683

ID [STC]

Thomason E1607_1

ID [STC]

ESTC R203990

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

99863732

ID [PROQUEST]

99863732

ID [VID]

115945

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A96014)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 115945)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Thomason Tracts ; 203:E1607[1])

Source

— Letters of affaires love and courtship. Written to several persons of honour and quality; / by the exquisite pen of Monsieur de Voiture, a member of the famous French Academy established at Paris by Cardinall de Richelieu. English'd by J.D., Voiture, Monsieur de (Vincent), 1597-1648., Davies, John, 1625-1693..

Extent

[32], 192, 189-236, 134, [2] p., plate : port.

Printed for T. Dring and J. Starkey, and are to be sold at their shops, at the George in Fleet street near Cliffords Inne, and the Miter at the west end of St. Pauls Church,. London, :: 1657.. (Translator's dedication signed: J. Davies.) ("To my Lord Marquesse of Pisany" (caption title) begins new pagination on 2A1r.) (The last leaf is blank.) (Annotation on Thomason copy: "June 1st".) (Reproduction of the original in the British Library.)

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