New EPISTLES BY Mounseur du Balzack.  
Translated out of French, into English by Sr Rich: Baker Kt.  
LONDON. Printed by Tho: Cotes, for Fran: Eglisfeild, Ioh: Crook, and Rich: Serger, and are to be sold, at the Greyhound, in St Paul's, Church-yard. 1638.  
Will. Martial sculpsit.    

NEW EPISTLES BY MOUNSIEUR D' BALZAC.  
Translated out of French into English, BY Sr. RICHARD BAKER Knight.  
Being the second and third Volumes.  
LONDON, Printed by T. Cotes for Fra. Eglesfield, john Crook, and Rich. Serger, and are to be sold at the Greyhound in Paul's Chuch-yard, 1638.   

Imprimator Tho: Wykes.  
Septem. 6. 1637.   

TO THE HONOURABLE The Lord of Newburge; one of his Majesty's most honourable Privy Counsel, and Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster.  
MY Lord, I may perhaps be thought, besides the boldness, to be guilty of absurdity; in offering a Translation to him, who so exactly understandeth the Original; and one, who if he had a mind to see how it would look in English (were able to s●…t a much fairer gloss upon it, than I have done: yet my Lord, this absurdity may have a good colour; for it may not be unpleasing to you, to see your own perfection, in the glass of another's imperfection, seeing even the best Diamonds, seem to take a pleasure in having of foils. Besides, I have my choice of another colour, for being to pass a world of hazard, in the Censure of the world; I am willing to pass the Pikes at first, and account this done, having once passed yours. And towards it my Lord, I have two Comforts; One for the Reader; that the Authors Gold, is so much over weight, that though much be lost in the melting, yet it holds weight enough still, to make it be currant. The Other for myself; that by this means I may have a Testimony remaining in the world, how much I honour you; and in how high a degree, I most affectionately am,  
Your Lordship's humble Servant. RICHARD BAKER.   

THE LETTERS of Mounsieur De BALZAC.  

To Mounsieur Moreau, Counsellor to the King, and Lieutenant of PARIS. LETTER. I.  
SIR, I comen to renew my old importunity, and require your Authority, to call the Printers of Paris to account: They have set forth, in my name, certain Letters, which I acknowledge to be mine, and deny not to father; but yet I ought to have been of counsel to them, considering I never meant they should gad about the streets. By this means, when I think I am in my Closet, I find myself upon the Stage; they carry me abroad, when I desire to be private, and what I intended an enclosure to my Friends, they lay in common for all the Country. You know Sir, that this kind of writing hath always been privileged; and that many things are entrusted to the bosom of Letters, which neither curiosity, nor hatred ought to pry into: nor ever will, if that be any thing discreet; This, any thing generous. An Enemy in war, that neither spares men's goods nor lives, yet makes a conscience of opening Letters; and the law of secrets, seems more forcible than the law of Arms: Yet so unfortunate am I that what an Enemy will not offer in War, I suffer in Peace; and that by men, that would be thought to have no thought of doing me hurt. I have nothing so properly mine, which they think not as properly theirs; Nothing kept so close, which they bring not to light. If hold could be laid on intellectual things, they would dive (I think) into the very thoughts of my heart: but since 〈◊〉 arms are too short for this, they snatch them from me, as soon as ever I have made them sensible, and given them a body upon paper; in such sort Sir, that I should not dare to write my very Auricular Confession, for fear they should put it in Print, and make it be cried upon the Exchange; and I must be forced at last, either to renounce all commerce in this kind, or at least to invent some strange unknown Characters to speak in secret, and to preserve my conceits from their Arresting. They arrogate to themselves a more sovereign power than Princes do, who always leave to private men, the free use of that which is theirs, and never offer to make a Highway of my Garden, nor a thoroughfare of my Court-yard. This is a disorder, whereof the consequence reflects upon you, and wherein you are more interested, than myself; for I do not believe, you would be willing to see those excellent discourses which I have heard you make to your Auditors, be disfigured by an uncorrected Impression; and it would grieve you, that profane hands should touch them without choice or discretion, and thereby mar their lustre, and defile their purity. I therefore humbly entreat you in this point to take care of yourself, and to do yourself right: The boldness of these mercenary persons is not restrained by Respect, it must have a stronger Bridle; and if you give it not a stop by fear of punishment; neither our Closets, nor our Beds will have any thing so secret, which will not be cried upon the Market place, and to speak in the Comedians phrase: That which jupiter speaks to juno in her ear, shall be made Table talk for all the people. You being as you are, the censor of manners, and Pilot of the state; it belongs to your place to restrain this so Tyrannical an usurpation upon the liberty of men's spirits, and whilst you descend from violence our fortunes and our lives; you must not expose to the same violence, other of our goods, no less dear to us than those. And herein, I promise to myself, some consideration of my own particular, and that for my sake, you will let your courtesy go further than your justice. And having obliged me to you already upon the like occasion; I doubt not but you will maintain that first favour, with a second, and make the Printers know, that you have taken my Name and Writings into your protection, to defend them against all their practices. This shall be to me a singular favour, and which shall bind me, all my life, to seek out means to testify, that I am  
Sir, Your most humble, and most affectionate servant, BALZAC.   

To Mounsieur Rigault. LETTER. II.  
SIR, having adventured to speak Latin, I feared my boldness might have had but ill success; and I doubted, whether in a foreign Country I might pass for an Enemy, or for a Friend. But your Letter hath given me assurance of my condition. I account it as the Letters Patents of my Naturalising; and where I was afraid to be held a Barbarian, I see myself suddenly become a Citizen of Rome. For since there is now, no more Use, that can serve for the Law; nor People, that can serve for the judge of a dead language; I have therefore recourse to you Sir, in whom I seem to see the very face of the most pure Antiquity; and who, after the dissolution of the body of the Commonwealth, do yet preserve the Spirit. It is false to say, The Goths and Vandalts could justly brag they left nothing of any worth behind them: I find still the full Majesty of the language in your writings; and your style hath in it, not only the Air and Garb of that good time; but the very Courage and the Virtue. You draw your Opinions from the same Well, and I see no cause that any man can have to contradict them. It is certain, that to gain belief, one must keep himself within the bounds of likelihood; and present to posterity examples which it may follow; and not Prodigies, with which it may be frighted. Words that are disproportionable to the matter, seem to savour of that Mountebanks strain; who would have it believed, he could make a statue of a Mountain, and would persuade us, that a man were a mile long. There are some men's works, not much less extravagant than this Mountibanks design; and most men seem to write with as little seriousness; and with as little care to be believed. And though men make a conscience in dealing with particular persons; yet when they come to deal with the Public, they seem to think themselves dispensed with; and that they owe more respect to one neighbour than to whole Nations, and to all Ages to come. You know notwithstanding, that this is no new vice; and not to make a troublesome enumeration of the ancient adoters of Favour: Is not that base delight of Velleim come even to us? and was he not a Bondslave, that desired one should know he was in love with his Chain? I could curse the ill fortune of good letters, that hath bereft us of the book which Brutus writ of virtue; wherein we might have seen the infamous profession he makes of unmanliness; to have more care of the orders of a corrupted Court, than of upholding the main structure of the Latin Philosophy. If it had been his fortune to have outlived Sejanus; I doubt not, but he would have taken from him all the praises he had given him to make a present of them to his successor Macron: and if the gaps and breaches of his book were filled up, one should see he had not forgotten so much as a Groom in all Tiberius house, of whom he had not written Encomiums. We live in a Government much more just, and therefore much more commendable; the reign of our King is not barren of great examples. It is impossible the carriage of M. the Cardinal, should be more dextrous, more sage, more active than it is: yet who knows not that he hath found work enough to do for many Ages, and battles enough to fight for many Worthies: That he hath met with difficulties worthy of the transcendent forces of himself, far exceeding the forces of any other; it is necessary, that Time itself should join in labour with excellent Master-workemen to produce the perfection of excellent works. The recovery of a wasted body, is not the work of only one potion; or once opening a vein: the reviving a decayed estate, requires a reiteration of endeavours, and a constancy of labours. The salving of desperate cases, goes not so swift a pace, as Poet's descriptions, or Figures of Orators. We must therefore keep the extension of our subject within certain bounds; and not say, that the victory is perfected, as long as it leaves us the evils of war, and that there remains any Monster to be vanquished, seeing even poverty is itself one of the greatest Monsters; and in comparison whereof, those which Hercules subdued, were but tame and gentle. With time, our Redeemer will finish his work; and he that hath given us security, will give us also no doubt abundance. But seeing the order of the world, and the necessity of affairs affords us not yet to taste this happiness; it shall be a joy unto me, to see at least, the Image of it in your History: to return and re-enter by your means into these three, so rich and flourishing years, after which the peace hath showed itself but by fits; and the Sun itself hath been more reserved of his beams, and not ripened our fruits but on one side. You shall bind me infinitely unto you, to grant me a sight of this rare Piece, and to allow me a key of that Temple, which you keep shut to all the world beside. I assure myself I shall see nothing there but that which is Stately and Magnificent; specially I doubt not but the Palace itself is admirable, and that your words do Parallel the subject, when you come to speak of the last Designs of our deceased King; and of the undoubted revolution he had brought upon the state of the world, if he had lived. And though in this there be more of divination, then of knowledge; and that to speak of such things be to expound Riddles; yet in such cases it is not denied to be Speculative; and I do not beleeye that Lyvie recounting the death of Caesar, did lightly pass over the Voyage he intended against the Parthians; and that he stayed not a little to consider the new face he would have put upon the Commonwealth if death had not prevented him. If all my affairs lay here, yet I would make a journey to Paris, expressly for this; and to read a discourse, made after the fashion of this Epitaph, which pleased me exceedingly. He had a Design to win Rhodes and overcome Italy. I should have much a do to hold in my Passion till then; but now I stand waiting for your Tertullian, that I may learn of him that patience which he teacheth, that I faint not in waiting till it Printed, and in state to be seen; and till he come abroad under your Corrections; like to those glorious bodies, which being cleansed from all impurity of matter, do glister and shine on every side. This is an Author, with whom your Preface would have made me friends, if I had otherwise been fallen out; and that the hardness of his phrase, and the vices of his age had given me any distaste from reading him. But it is long since, that I have held him in account; and as sad and thorny as he is, hath not been unpleasing to me. Me thinks, I find in his writings that dark light; or light some darkness, which an ancient Poet speaks off; and I look upon the obscurity of his writing, as I should look upon a piece of Ivory that were well wrought and polished. This hath been ever my opinion of him. As the beauties of Africa, do not therefore leave to be Amiable, because they are not like to ours; and as Sophonis be would have carried the prize from many Italian faces; so the wits of the same Country, do not leave to please, though their eloquence be a foreigner: and for my part I prefer this man before many that take upon them to be imitators of Cicero. Let it be granted to delicate Ears, that his style is of Iron but then let it be granted also, that of this Iron; many excellent Armours have been forged, that with it he hath defended the honour and innocency of Christianity, with it he hath put the Valentinians to flight, and hath pierced the very heart of Marcyon. You see I want not much of declaiming in his Praise, but to avoid this inconvenience, I think best to break off abruptly. I am neither good at making Orations, nor at venting of Compliments; I am a bad Advocate, and as bad a Courtier: yet I entreat you to believe, that I am very truly:  
Sir, Your; etc.   

To Mounsieur du Moulin. LETTER. III.  
SIr, no modesty is able to resist the Praises that come from you. And I vow unto you, I took a pleasure to suffer myself to be corrupted, with the first lines of your Letter. But it must be one, that knows himself less than I do, that dwells long in this error. After a pleasing dream, One is willing to awake; and I see well enough, that when you take such advantage to speak of my Travel: you make not use of the whole ability of your judgement. You do me a favour, I cannot say you do me justice; you seem to have a will to oblige me to you, by hazarding to incur the displeasure of Truth. Now that you are yourself at the Goal; you encourage with all your forces those that are in the race; and to persuade them to follow you; make them believe they shall go beyond you. An admirable trick of Art, I must confess; and which at first I did not discover. But whatsoever it be, and from what ground soever this wonderful commendation of yours proceeds; I esteem it not less than an ambitious man doth a Crown; and without piercing into your purpose. I take a joy in my good Fortune which is not small Sir, to be loved of you, whom I have always exceedingly loved; and whom I have a long time looked upon in the Huguenot Party, as an excellent Pilot that affronts a great Fleet, being himself but in a Pinnace. The Right and Authority is on our side; the Plots and Stratagems on yours, and you seem not less confident in your courage, than we in our cause. It is certain, that this is the way to give a sedition, the show of a just war: and to a multitude of mutineers, the face of a well ordered Army. By this you keep many in a good opinion of that which hath now lost the attractiven grace of Novelty; and though it be now bending to its declination; yet it cannot be denied, but that it holds still some colour, and some appearance, by the Varnish of your writings; and that never man hath more subtly covered his cause from show of weakness; nor more strongly upheld his side from ruin then yourself:  
Simo Pergamon Dextra  
Defendi possent, etiam hac Defensafuissent.  
This is my ordinary language, when it comes in my way to speak of you. I am not of the passionate humour of the vulgar; which blancheth the liberty of their judgement; and finds never any fault in their own side, nor virtue in the opposite. For myself, from what cloud soever the day break; I account it fair; and assure myself that at Rome honest men commended Hannibal; and none but Porters and base people spoke basely of him. It is indeed a kind of sacrilege to divest any man, whatsoever he be, of the gifts of God, and if I should not acknowledge that you have received much; I should be injurious to him that hath given you much; and for difference of the cause, wrong our Benefactor that is indifferent. It is true, I have not always flattered the ill disposed French; and was put in some choler against the Authors of our last broils; but observing in your Books, that our intendments are alike; and that the subjection due to Princes is a part of the Religion you profess; I have thought I might well speak of your conformity herein, as much as I say; and in so doing, be but your Interpreter. Whether the tempest rise from the Northern wind, or from the Southern; it is to me equally unpleasing; and in that which concerns my duty; I neither take Council from England, nor yet from Spain. My humour is not to wrestle with the Time; and to make myself an Antagonist of the Present; it is pain enough for me only to conceive the Idea of Cato, and Cassius; and being to live under the command of another, I find no virtue more fitting then obedience. If I were a Swisser, I would think it honour enough to be the King's Gossip; and would not be his subject, nor change my liberty for the best Master in the world; but since, it hath pleased. God 〈◊〉 have me borne in chains, I bear them ●…illingly; and finding them neither cumber●…me nor heavy, I see no cause I should break ●…y teeth, in seeking to break them. It is a ●…reat argument, that Heaven approoves that ●…overnement which hath continued its succes●…on now a dozen Ages: an evil that should last 〈◊〉 long, might in some sort seem to be made ●…egitimate, and if the age of men be venerable, ●…ertainely that of estates ought to be holy. These great Spirits which I speak of in my ●…orke, and which are of your Party, should ●…ave come in the beginning of the world, to ●…ave given laws to new people; and to have ●…etled an establishment in the politic estate; ●…t as it is necessary to invent good laws, so ●…ertainely it is dangerous to change even those ●…at are bad. These are the most cruel thoughts ●…at I entertain for the heads of the party; in ●…is sort I handle the adverse side; and take no ●…easure to insult upon your miseries, as you ●…eme civilly to charge me, who have written ●…at the King should be applauded of all the ●…orld, if after he hath beaten down the pride ●…f the Rebels, he would not tread upon the ●…alamity of the afflicted. The persecutors of ●…ose who submit themselves are to me in e●…uall exencration with the violatours of Sepul●…hers; and I have not only pity of their af●…iction, but insome sort reverence. I know ●…at places strucken with lightning, have some●…mes been held Sacred. The finger of God hath been respected in them, whom it hath touched; and great adversities have sometimes rather given a Religious respect, than received a reproach. But thus to speak of the good success of the King's Arms were to speak improperly. Both sides have gained by his victory. All the penalty that hath been imposed upon you; hath been but this, to make you as happy as ourselves, and you are now in quiet possession of that happiness, for which before your Towns were taken, you were but suppliants. Our Prince will put no yoke upon the consciences of his Subjects; he desires not to make that be received by force; which cannot well be received but by persuasion; nor to use such remedies against the French, which are not good, but against the Moors. If the King of Sweden use his prosperity in this manner, and soil not so pure a Grace with proscriptions and punishments; I make you a faithful promise, to do that which you desire me to do; to employ all my cunning and all my engines, to erect a statue to the memory of his Name. You touch the right string of my inclination, when you pray me to praise and to magnify that Prince. If all the Crowns that are wrought upon his Scarf should be changed into so many Kingdoms, they could never in my opinion sufficiently recompense so rare a virtue; nor be able to fill so vast a Spirit as his is: As I expect nothing but great from his valour, so from his honesty I hope for nothing but good; and although in Spain it be currant that he is certainly Antichrist; yet I am ●…either so devout to believe such a fable, nor ●…o fearful to be afraid of such a deem. I on●…y answer some scrupulous persons, who que●…tion me about this Prince; that our King hath ●…n him a second to stand by him; and such a one ●…s a fitter could never be found, to strike an amazement into the house of Austria; and to ●…ivert it from the care it takes of our affairs. But I will stay myself here for this time; and ●…ot enter upon a subject which I reserve for the ●…earest hours of my leisure, it is better to make 〈◊〉 stand at the porch of holy places, then to enter ●…nto them without preparation. Besides, my dis●…ourse may seem already long, if not too long, ●…or a beginning of acquaintance, pardon I be●…eech you, the contentment I take to be this way with you, which makes me forget both ●…our employments, and my own custom. It ●…s not any desire I have to be troublesome to ●…ny, much less to make Sermons to my friends, ●…ut yourself gave me the Text I have hand●…ed, and I cannot doubt, but that having open●…d unto you the bottom of my heart, without ●…issimulation; you will give my liberty the credit of your belief, and with this I solemnly ●…ssure you that I truly am,  
Sir, Your, etc.   

To Mounsieur, the Abbot of Baume. LETTER. IV.  
SIR, I am true, if not liberal; and I send you that I promised, though I cannot send you what I would. This is neither a mooveable for the use of your house, nor an ornament to beautify your closet; it is matter of discourse only for two or three days at your table; and a Novelty that will quickly grow stale. But if yourself have any better opinion of it, and that you account it of any value, I am contented that you leave my style to the mercy of any that will arrest it; so you please to justify my intentions to men that are reasonable, and not suffer in the Country where you are, that an honest man should be oppressed with the hatred against his side. If I were a revoulted Spaniard, and that the words I write did come from the mouth of a Fugitive, they might with good reason be taken in ill part; and we find that a Grecian at Athens, was once punished for serving the Persians to be their Interpreter: but I desire you to consider, that the cause I maintain is the cause of my Prince and Country, which I could not maintain coldly, without a kind of treason. We punish Prevaricatours and Traitors, but true and lawful enemies we praise, and I cannot think that M. the Cardinal of Cueva, will think the worse of my passion, for the public liberty, who hath showed himself the like passion, for one particular man's Regency. I am not afraid that a good action should make me lose his favour, or that being himself extremely just, he should not more esteem of my zeal, which is natural and honest; than the choler of Doctor Boucher, a mercenary man, and a Pensioner to a stranger. It will be no Novelty to say that of Spain, which hath been always said of great Empires, and that rapine and cruelty is a reproach even to Eagles and Lions. To be a Tyrant and an Usurper, is it not in other terms to be a Grandee, and a Conqueror? And are not violence and severity vices that exceed the reach of virtue, and which makes our morality ridiculous; I blame sometimes the counsels of Kings, but I never lay hands upon their royalty, and if I seek to cut off superfluities and excesses, it cannot therefore be justly said, I tear that off which I seek to prune. Crowns are to me sacred, even upon Idolaters heads; and I adore the mark of God in the person of the great Cham, and of the great Mogoll. Having now made this declaration which yet is more expressly delivered in my book: I hope there will be no place left for calumny, and I promise to myself, that for my sake you will whip the Spaniards in point of generousness, and show them, that she hath showed herself principally to do a favour to enemies, and to mingle things which seem hard to be mingled, courtesy and war together, I demand not these good offices from you, I expect them from your friendship, and I doubt not but you will continue it to me in spite of all the spightfulness and bitterness of the opposites, seeing I know you are free from those petty passions of vulgar spirits, and that you know I am  
Sir, Your, etc.   

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

To Monsieur, the Earl of Excester. LETTER VI.  
SIR, if I had made a vow of humility, you give me here a fair occasion to be proud for not breaking it, yet this should not be an effect of the love of wisdom; it should be a mark of aversion from goodness, if I did not testify the joy of the News I have received I could never expect from your honour a more sweet recompense of my travail then this, which is presented to me by your hands, and when I see the son of the great Cecile let down his spirits so low as to mine, and make himself less than he is by representing me in his Country; I cannot forbear to vow unto you that it hath touched the most sensible part of my soul, and that with joy thereof my miseries have given me a comfortable breathing time. For yourself Sir, all the ●…aine you can take herein is but this, that it may be said, you have your sports as well as your businesses, and that all the hours of your life are not equally serious, but seeing the gods in times past have changed their shapes, and disguised themselves in a thousand fashions; I conceive it may be justly allowed to you to give us the moral sense of those fables, you are able without any wrong to yourself, to show us, that great persons cloyed with their felicity are glad sometimes to imitate the actions of private men, and to put on Masks to save themselves from the imp●…rtunity of their greatness, whatsoever your design were I cannot but turn to my advantage, for by this means I am certainly an honester man in England then in France: seeing I speak there by your mouth, I therefore most humbly thank you for the favour you have done me, in making me better than I was; and I joy in this, that by your means I am improved in value, which enables me to make you the more worthy present, in presenting you my affection, and the desire I have to be all my life,  
Sir, Your, etc.   

To Mounsieur de Boyssat. LETTER VII.  
SIR, what occasion soever it be that brings me your Letters, it cannot be but very pleasing, I feel a joy at the only sight of your name, & the honour you do me to remember me, is so dear unto me, that though perhaps it be fortune that doth it, yet I cannot but thank you for it. You are one of those whose least favours are obligatory, & you never cast them from you so carelessly, but that they deserve to be carefully gathered. When others bear you affection and hold you dear, it is but to be just, and to pay debts, but when you do the like to others, it is to be liberal, and to bestow favours. You may then imagine what glory I account it, that the meanness of my spirit hath the approbation of your judgement, and I am not a little glad that my inclination hath so good success, not to be hated of one whom I should love, though he hated me. For a train to this first favour I require from you a second; be pleased Sir that I ask you, if it be in truth myself whom you exhort to moderation, whether you think in your conscience that I am fallen into the vice contrary to this virtue? It is now four years that I suffer outrages, they think it not enough to do me wrongs unless they print them too; they do me hurt, and would have me think myself beholding to them for it; an infinite Army of enemies are come into the field against me, under the Colours of Philarque; it is not two or three private men, it is whole Companies, whole Troops that set upon me: I am the Martyr of a thousand Tyrants, and if this unhappy influence pass not over, or abate not, I shall come at last to be the object of persecution for all the world. They have painted me out a public sinner amongst honest men; a a man that cannot read amongst Scholars, a mad man amongst the sober: These good offices they have done me hitherto without any revenging, I am as yet a debtor of these charities to them that have lent them to me; I have taken these blows with hardiness in stead of repelling them with force, and my patience hath been such, that many have called it want of courage: If this be so, you will grant me Sir that you trouble yourself about that which cannot be, that another man's praises should be insupportable to me, when I have not been sensible of my own Calumnies: I am not like to be in haste to hinder by my violence the making of friendship, who have by my remissness as it were consented to my own hatred. There is no colour to think that I should complain of words feigned, and such as declaymers use in sport, who have not so much as spoken a word of the most cruel action that ever the most premeditated malice could bring forth. Let our friend if he please make an Epitaph or a deifying of— let him employ all his Mortar and all his Art, to build him either a Sepulchre or a Temple, and to speak after the manner of—, let him erect him a shrine, and place him amongst his household saints: I say nothing against all this, nor condemn his proceeding, whether it be that he honour the memory and merit of the dead, or that he stand in awe of the credit and faction of his heirs. I easily bear with these small spots in my friends, and exact no more of them then they can well spare. I know that Greek and Latin make not men valiant, nor are things that descend to the bottom of the soul, they scarce reach to the outermost superficies: they stay commonly in the memory and in the imagination, and polish the tongue without fortifying the heart: I should therefore desire too much, if I should desire at all that these goodly knowledges should get a new virtue for my sake, and should work a greater effect in the spirit of— then they wrought in the Poet Lucan, whom fearen constrained to accuse his mother, and to praise a tyrant. If it stay but upon me that this dear child should see the light, after so many sour looks and so many throws, I am ready myself to serve for a Midwife. I am content it shall be published to day, and to morrow be translated into all Languages, that the Author may not lose a day in his glory, and that his glory be not bounded within River or Mountain. Never fear that I will impair his ill nights, or add the care of one process to his ordinary watchings, if he have no other u●…quietnesse but what he is like to haven from me, he may be sure to enjoy a perpetual calm, and a perfect tranquillity, if he be not awaked but by the noise you think I will make him, he may sleep as long as Epimenides, who going to bed a young man was fifty years elder when he rose. Besides, I have too much care of my own quiet, to go about to trouble his; and I love his contentment too well, not to procure it, being to cost me nothing, but the dissembling his weakness, And this I entreat you Sir, to assure him from me. But knowing you to be wise and virtuous in the degree you are, I doubt not, but of your own head, you will tell him, that it becomes not a man of his gravity, to countenance such petty things; and in a point of Scholarship to use as much formality and ceremony, as if it were the Negotiation of an Ambassador, but much more, that it is a base quality to juggle with his friends; and after having said a truth, which was not for all men's taste to make a Comment upon it, of a Sophister. I have read Tacitus, and the Books of— and therefore should know the style of Tiberius; and the Art of Equivocation; but I should be loath to seem ingenious, to the prejudice of mine honour, and to make use of poison, though I had one so subtle that would kill without leaving any mark to be seen; I have loved men in affliction; and have made use of men in misery. Lightning hath not driven me from places which it hath made frightful; I have given testimony of my affection, not only where it could not be acknowledged, but where it was in danger to be punished. I am not now so dealt withal myself; and yet if the justice of my cause were not as it is to be regarded; me thinks the violence of my adversaries ought to procure me some favour; doth not even honour oblige those that have any feeling of it, not to join with the multitude which casts itself upon a single man? Oppression hath always been a sufficient ground for Protection; and Noble minds never seek better Title for defending the weaker; but the need there is of them; and to take part with a stranger, it is cause enough that many assault him, and few assist him. and such also I doubt not is your mind. I am not less persuaded of the generousness of your mind; then of the greatness of your Spirit, and assure myself you are not the less on my side, because I have many persecutors, as because also, I am firmly,  
Sir Your &c.   

To Mounsieur Huggens, Secretary to the Prince of Orange. LETTER. VIII.  
SIR, I complain no more of fortune, she hath done me at least some courtesy amongst her many injuries, and since she suffers that you love me, it is a sign she hath care of me amidst her persecutions, this good news I have learned by a Letter of yours to M. the Baron of Saint Surin, who will bear me witness, that after I had read it. I desired nothing more for perfecting my joy, but that I might be such a one as you make me, and be like my picture. If this be the coal of Holland with which you make, such draughts, it surpasseth all the colour that we use here to paint withal, and yet the beauty costs you nothing, but you shall hardly make me believe it; I know Gold and Azure, and can easily distinguish it from coal, I see Sir the Ambushes you lay for me. The Facility of your style covers the force of it, but weakens it not, and under a show of carelessness, I find true Art and Ornaments. It secures not your turns to do better in the place where you are than we; and shutting us out to hold possession of the ancient and solid virtue, but you go about to take from us all that is any way passable to corrupt estates, I mean the glory of Language, and not suffer us to have this little toy to comfort ourselves withal, for the loss of all our truer treasures. After fifty years overcome you will now be talking of a parley, and think to make yourselves masters of men by a more sweet and humane way then the former, as much in effect as to be, that you have sometimes been termed the brothers of the people of Rome, and heirs of the old Cato's, who made profession of severity, and yet not enemies of the graces. This is to perfume Iron and Copper, and to the liberty and discipline of Sparta, to add the bravery and dainties of Athens, M. the Saint Surin hath thereunto made us excellent relations; and you have sent him back to us with his heart wounded, and his mind tainted with that he hath seen, and he wants not much of being become a bad Frenchman, at least he retains nothing for his country but a dutiful and reverend affection; his love your Island hath gotten possession of, and I am much afraid you will find more loadstone to draw him to you, than we shall find chains to hold him with us. He is full of the objects he hath left behind him, and when I talk to him of our Court and of our confusions; he answers with telling me of your government and good order. And here you shall pardon me if I change my compliment into blame, and require to be righted by you for dehauching a friend, who with one look of his countenance alleys and sweetens all the bitterness of my life. The number of my persecutors is in a manner infinite, but for how many think you I account so brave a champion? Take him from me and you leave me quite disarmed against ill fortune, I lose my comfort for adversity, and my example for virtue. And finding you the principal author of this disgrace, I know not how I should but hate you, and persevere in the resolution I have taken, to be most affectionately,  
Sir, Your, etc.   

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

To my Lord the Cardinal De la Valette. LETTER X.  
SIR, the Letter you did me the honour to write unto me, the thrirteenth of the last Month came not to my hands till the beginning of this, otherwise I had sooner given testimony how dear these last marks of your remembering me are unto me, and how much I receiv●… of secret glory, seeing all other is denied me, in that I have done any thing which seems not altogether unpleasing to you. It is no small matter to entertain eyes that use not to stay upon vulgar objects; and to minister pleasure to a mind which hath nothing in it but lawful passions, and indeed Sir the height of my ambition is bounded there. If I had no other payment for all my travail, but only your good opinion of it, I should not complain for being ill paid, and your goodness hath made me full recompense for all the wrongs I have received. The number of my enemies is great, I see it well, the time doth not favour me, I confess it, but having your favour Sir what can I fear under so powerful a protection? Seeing those to whom God hath given clearer eyes then to other men, and a more sovereign reason, as well as a more sovereign dignity, have no ill opinion of my opinions, what need I care for the censure of the base world? and how can I but hope that the truth assisted by a few sages, will be always able to withstand a multitude of Sophisters? I now send you Sir my answer to such of their objections, that seem worth the refuting, and which have but any spark of appearance to dazzle the eyes of simple people; the rest are so ridiculous that I dare not oppugn them, for fear you should think I had devised them myself to make matter for discourse; or that I coaped with them about points where I were sure they could do me no hurt. And yet why should I dissemble my ill hap? Those ridiculous objections find abettors and uphoulders, although I have justice on my side, yet am I sued still, and persecuted by men I never offended; and that when I give over the field and entreat for my life, see the dealings of cruel minds towards those that are good. They have no fear, but because I make no resistance; they magnify themselves in the wrong of their advantage; they have not taken it; it is myself have given it them. Their first success which my sufferance hath encouraged have been new bonds for the continuance; and because I have used no words against their blows, they think I judge myself worthy to endure them; yet all this shall not make me change my resolution, and I am bend to stay within the bounds into which I have voluntarily put myself. Although I am neighbour to a Marshals Court, yet I choose ●…ather a disgraceful quietness then to entertain the best quarrel in the world. I have got as it were a habit of carelessness, I dare not say of patience, lest I might be accused to praise myself for a virtue. It may happen that their persecution shall not continue so long as my innocency, and that I may see an end of that which would be my end. It may be a calmer season will follow after this, and perhaps the tempest that threatens my head will fall but at my feet. However the world go, I will always comfort myself with the Letter you did me the honour to write unto me. I will put your good will in balance against all men's malice, and against all the injuries of Fortune, I will account myself not altogether unhappy as long as I shall have place in your remembering me, and that you will believe I am,  
Sir, Your, etc.   

Another to the same Cardinal. LETTER XI.  
SIR, I never durst adventure to be suitor to you in behalf of others, and finding myself unworthy of your favour, I have never offered to counterfeit a Favourite But though I did stand so far in your grace as to do good offices for any, and that you allowed me the liberty which I dare not take of myself; yet I should do very untowardly to begin with a suit in behalf of Mounsieur Conrades, and to step before you in your own inclinations. I know your love to him, is one of the most ancient you ever had, and he therefore one of the first servants you ever entertained: The choice of so judicious an infancy as yours, hath not I dare say been rashly made; and I discover daily by the opening of his heart and thoughts unto me, the reasons you had to love him at first; I come not therefore as his Solicitor but as his bare witness; and assure you most undoubtedly, that I know not a man living more religious towards the memory of his masters, more firm in performance of his duty, more fervent in his passions, nor more passionately affected to your service then himself. Now that he hath lost M. the Marshal Scomberg, by whose commandment I came expressly from Bordeaux, to offer him on his part all the contentment he could wish; he thinks he hath right after him to place his hope in you, and that you will do him the honour to uphold with your protection the affairs he hath at Court. I concur with him in this opinion; and knowing that in this so general a corruption of the world, this age of ours owes unto you the last examples we see of goodness, & that without you neither the dead should any more find pity, nor the miserable consolation; I have conceived you will not take it ill that I confirm him in this belief, and that I take this occasion to say that unto you which in the suddenness of my departure, I had not time to say that I am perfectly and ever,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Angoulesme 23. Novemb. 1632.   

To Mounsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER XII.  
SIR, you are a better man than you would have me believe you are. Your words of Fire and Blood agree ill with the sweetness of your spirit, and having received from you a Letter of challenge, I expect from you another of friendship. You may make your profit of the good examples you have seen on that side the Mountains, but follow not the Italian examples of being captious and retaining of spleen, as if it were a jewel. It is not fit the holy week should pass upon your choler without abating it. It would not be an act of courage, but a hardness of heart, and the best extremities partake so much of vice, that even supreme right is no better than supreme wrong. Play not therefore the tyrant towards your friend, but stay yourself within the bounds of ordinary justice. The limits that part justice from wrong are not so well marked out, but that one passeth them often before he is aware; and it is neither a lawful greatness to make one's self terrible to those he loves, nor an honest resistance to stand obdurate to the prayers of men in misery. But perhaps I offer remedies to one in better state than myself; perhaps I am afraid of in artificial choler, and am frighted with that which is but a Vizard. It may be you have a desire to know in what degree I love you, and that your hard dealing with me is but to try me; such experiments would prove dangerous to any other man besides yourself, but you may make them safely, for I make you promise that my patience shall be more insensible than your sense is tender. But yet muse a little upon the honour of our friendship, and upon the opinion of the world. I make confession to you of my faults, and I am told you publish briefs of your dislike; I have told you confidently that I suffer in it, and because I tell it not with a good grace, you are offended with the incivility of privacy. Me thinks you should not exact from a plain country man so punctual a discretion, by living amongst clowns I have forgotten all the good manners I learned with you: the wild man you had civilised is returned back to his natural condition. I do not any longer walk in the woods, I wander there, and had it not been to see my Lord Mayors show, I had not been seen in the City, although to say the truth, so obstinate a retiring might justly enough have been censured as a kind of rebellion; and as the study of wisdom takes from me all admiration of vain pomp, so yet it leaves me the reverence of lawful authority. And to this purpose (that I may change the tenor of my discourse) I must tell you that I am very well pleased with my voyage, and do not repent me to have performed a small Compliment which hath discovered unto me an eminent virtue. I have studied M. the Brassac now eight days together, I have observed him in public and in private. I have seen him handle different subjects, with so equal force, that I am even ashamed, that having so perfect knowledge of his own Art, yet he knows mine much more better than myself. He is none of these limited wits that count themselves full, if they have but three words of Latin, and have but read one of Plutarkes' lives: Take them out of certain common places within which they entrench themselves and draw all discourse thither, every where else they are utterly disarmed and without defence; but his knowledge is so universal, and comprehends such an infinite number of things that one cannot touch upon any point where he is not ready for you, and to draw him dry I do not think there are questions enough in the world to put unto him. In one day I have heard him discourse with Gentlemen about hunting and husbandry; with jesuits about Divinity, and the Mathematics, with Doctors of less austere profession about Rhetoric and Poetry, without ever borrowing a foreign term, where the natural were the fitter, and without ever flying to authority where the case in question were to be decided by reason. To answer a premeditated oration from point to point upon the sudden, and to send back our orators more persuaded by his eloquence then satisfied with their own, this I have seen him oftentimes do, and no man ever came to visit him, whose heart he did not win with his words, or at least left in it such an impression as is wont to be the first elementing and foundation of love. No liberty can be so sweet as so reasonable a subjection; such a yoke is more to be valued then the Mayor of Rochels' Halberds, and when one is once assured of the sufficiency of his guide, it is afterwards but a pleasure to be led. In less than one week he hath new made all spirits here; hath fortified the weak, hath cleared the scrupulous, and hath given to all the world a good opinion of the present, and a better hope of the time to come. I vow unto you I never saw a man that had a more pleasing way of commanding, nor better knew how to temper force and persuasion together. I have indeed known some not unfit to command, but it hath been in a Galley not in a City; such might serve for excellent followers, but are never good to make Governors; they understand not the Art of governing Freemen; there are even some beasts of so generous a disposition, that it would be rudeness to carry a hard hand over them; much more whom one might lead in his garter to curb them, besides a bridle with a Cavasson. They think that power cannot subsist but by severity, and that it grows weak and scorned, uds it be not frightful and injurious. This method and manner of governing is not like to come from the school and discipline of M. the Cardinal, from whom nothing is ever seen to come that relisheth not of the mildness of his countenance, and receiveth not some impression from the clearness of his eyes. All that have the honour to come near about him are known by this Character, & wear all the same livery, though they be of different deserving. There is not so sullen an humorist that is not mollified by his presence, nor so dull an understanding that he makes not pregnant with a word of his mouth; this you know, and I am not ignorant of; he makes powerful use of weak instruments, and his inspirations lift up spirits to such a height as their own nature could never carry them. He needs in a man but a small seed of reason to draw from him exceeding effects of prudence, and he instructs so effectually the grossest spirits; that what they want in themselves they get by his instructions. These are works which none can do but he, materials which none but he can put in frame; yet I think I may say without offence, that this is more of his choice then of his nature. To spirits that languished for want of room to stir themselves in, he hath given scope and employment, and where he hath found a virtue neglected, to make it as bright as it was solid; he hath not forborn to crown it with his friendship. There is not a mouth in all his Province that blesseth not his Election; and every man believes to have received from him that power which he hath procured to him, who will not use it but for our good. Amongst the shouts of exultation which wait upon him in all places where he goes; the joy of the people is not so fixed upon present objects, but that it mounts to a higher cause, and gives thanks to the first mover of the good influences which the lower heavens pour down upon us. And in effect if Caesar thought he took a sufficient revenge of the Africans, for their taking part with the enemy, by placing Sallust to be their Governor; who did them more hurt by his private Family, than a Conqueror would have done with all his Army; by the contrary reason we may gather that the true Father of his Country hath had a special care of us in advancing M. de Brassac to the government of this Province, and meant herein to honour the memory of his abode there, and to make happy that Land, where perhaps he first conceived those great designs which he hath since effected. I should not have spoken so much in this point if I did not know that you mislike not in me these kinds of excess; and if it were not the vice of Lovers now adays to speak of the object of their love without all limits. Besides, I have been willing to make you forget the beginning of my Letter by the length of the middle, and by a more pleasing second discourse, to take from you the ill taste I had given you by the first. And so adieu Mounsieur Choler, never fear that I will provoke you again; it was my evil Angel that cast this temptation upon me to make me unhappy; I might have been wise by the example of— whom you handled so hardly in presence of— I shall be better advised hereafter: and will never be  
Sir, But your, etc. From Balzack 16. of April 1633.   

To Mounsieur de Soubran. LETTER. XIII.  
SIr, if you take me for a man hungry of News, you do not know me; and if I have asked you for any, it is because I had none to tell you; and because I must have something to say, I have done it against the stream of my resolution quite, which is, to quit the world both in body and mind: but custom is a thing we often fall into by flying it; and we swear sometimes that we will not swear; I desire so little to learn that I know not, that I would be glad to forget that I know, and to be like those good Hermit's who enquired how cities were made, and what kind of thing a King or a Commonwealth was; I am well assured that Paris will not be removed out of its place that Rochel will not be surprised again by Guiton; that petty Princes will not divest great Kings; that favour will never want Panegyrics and Sonnets; that the Court will never be without Sharks and Cheaters: that Virtue will ever be the most beautiful, and the most unprofitable thing in the world. And what can you write in the general of affairs, that hath not relation to one of these points? And for my own particular, what can I hear, but that either some Book is written against me, or that my Pension is like to be ill paid, or that I shall not be made an Abbot, unless I be myself the Founder of the Abbey: such news would be terrible to a man more interressed than myself, but to me, they are in a manner indifferent, and trouble me no more, than if you should tell me it will be foul weather all this Moon, or that the water is grown shallow in our river, or that a tree in my Wood hath been overturned by tempest. I have had heretofore some pretensions to Church preferments, but now they are all reduced to this one preferment of being a good Ch●…stian; and so long as they cast not upon Balzac the term of an Apostata, for the rest, I am well content with my present condition and certainly desires so moderate, cannot ●…use but be successful, and I will never believe that ill fortune any more than good will seek after me so far as this; or that it is possible for him to fall that stands so low, yet if any devil, enemy of my advancement should envy my retiring; and if any promoter should lay to my charge, that to get out off—. I would corrupt—, I make myself this promise Sir, that you will stand strongly in defence of your innocent friend, and that in so just a protection you will embark also that excellent personage, of whom you speak in your letter. I am, as you know, unhappy enough not to know her, but seeing the honest men of Greece have used to adore upon adventure, and built Altars to unknown Deities, it may as well be lawful for me to use devotion to this Saint upon the credit of the people of Rome, who have now these three years looked upon her, as upon one of the true Originals, whereof they revere the Statues; they all agree in this, that since the Porciaes' and the Corneliaes' there never was any thing scene comparable to this; and that those divine women, which were the domestical Senate of their husbands, and the rivals of their virtue, have no other advantage over this French Lady, but that they died in an age of funeral Orations. You send me word that you find her in the same estate you left her, and that she is now as fresh and amiable as ever she was, and I easily believe it; this long continued state of youth is no doubt the recompense, of her extraordinary virtue: the calm within sweetens and clears the air without, and from the obedient passions of her mind, there riseth neither wind nor cloud to taint the pureness of her complexion, as there are certain temperate Climates which bring forth Roses all the year long; and where it is counted for a wonder, that such a day it was cold or snowed: so are there likewise certain faces privileged, preserved to the end of old age, in the happy estate of their infancy, and never lose the first blossomming of their beauty. But it is not for a man buried in the darkness of a Desert, to talk of the most illustrious matter that si in the world: it befits me rather to read that over again which you have written, than to add any thing to it, & for fear lest any word should scape from me that is not Courtly, and which may mar all I have said already, without further discourse, I assure you that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac, 8. of August 1633.   

To Mounsieur de la Nawe, Counsellor to the King in his great Chamber. LETTER. XIV.  
SIr, I take great joy to hear you hearken after me, & that you need no remembrancer to put you in mind to be mindful of me. This thought of yours is so much the more dear unto me, because it comes from a heart that ha●… none vain or casual, but makes choice of the Objects it beholds, & of the Images it receives: to be thought of by you, is to be worthy of ●…eing thought of. This aught to be the ambition of men that are worth aught, and a virtue that is not approved of you, shows there is something in it that is defective. If then I have this mark, I have the seal and confirmation of the true good, I have both ●…he good fortunes, that of Virtue, and that of your Favour, and herein at least I have some resemblance of an honest man. There are some whom blind chance hath lifted up above you, of whom I cannot speak in this manner, one may set their blame and their praise in equal degree of indifferency, and there is no Obligation to follow them in their Opinions, but when they get it by constraint, or else by purchase, all their greatness is in their Titles, there scarce appears upon them one little beam of it in days of Ceremony; and if they will have us to respect them, they must be fain to send a Herald to put us in mind. For you Sir, it is not only upon the Bench that the world reveres you, but your authority follows you wheresoever you are; she accompanies you even in your ordinary conversation: you cannot so disguise yourself; but that I shall always take you for a Judge; and this gravity of your countenance, which changes every word you speak into a Decree, and gives a dignity to your very silence, may serve to verify that Paradox of the Stoikes, That a wise man can never be a private person; and that Nature herself makes him a Magistrate Monsieur Coeffeteat and myself, have often had long discourses about this point, and it i●… not as we would have it, and as we wish, th●… a man should be left at the bottom of th●… stairs, whose merit we see ascended to th●… top; but this is the destiny of the be●… things; either they are wholly neglected, o●… at most but half known: and I have seen i●… the same place a Monkey set upon the top o●… a Pyramid, and a masterpiece of Phydias suffered to stand upon a very mean Base; but the satisfaction of your conscience, and the testimony of your good report ought to be your comfort for all such events. There are illustrious live●… of diverse fashions, but those like yours, which cast a sweet and pleasing light, please me much better than those that thunder and lighten. It is not the noise and the flashes that make the fair days, it is a calm and clear Air; and a life led in tranquillity and judgement, which is the work of Reason, is preferable before one half of the great success the world admires, which are but the extravagancies of Fortune. See here the Decree of a Country Philosopher, and matter of meditation for one of your walks at Yssy. To tell you true, I have a great longing to come upon you one day on the sudden, and to surprise you in some of your conferences, but it shall be then with a purpose to return as soon as I have seen you, without so much as seeing Paris; to make you thereby see, I can with more ease, go a hundred miles for a man I love, than four paces for the miracle of the world. Such a bravery would be an affront, & subject to interpretation not I suppose; yet I am assured thatthose who are diseased with opinion, and infected with custom, would make no ill censure of it, and it little concerns me, that the common people condemn me; if you, and those other good men do justify me, and believe that I am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 15. Ianu. 1622.   

To Mounsieur Chaplain. LETTER. XV.  
SIR, Expect not from me a Regular Answer to your letters; for besides that I yield an absolute assent to all they contain, and that in treating with you, I desire rather to believe than to dispute, and to be found faithful rather than reasonable, I should do wrong to the acknowledgement I owe unto you, to make you see it, in the pensiveness I am now in, and to dislustre so pure a matter with the impression of so black a vapour. I therefore reserve it for fairer days: when my mind shall enjoy its former serenity; and that I shall possess it without distraction at that time if I continue my ill occupation, and after I have played a Prince, it comes in my fancy to play a friend: you, I assure you, must be the man I shall set before my eyes; and shall not seek a mor●… illustrious Original, nor a more remote: yet it grives me Sir, that you should love with so little success: it is not reasonable you should weary yourself in a soil that will bear nothing, and that you should take pleasure to employ your husbandry in tilling of stones and thorns; you can never dive to the bottom of my ill fortune; you are, I deny not a powerful agent, but it must be upon an apt subject; your industry is great, but Art corrects not destiny, and I am ashamed to see, that all humane wisdom should be unprofitablely employed in governing of me, when whole common wealths are governed sometimes with less ado, a whole fleet would not put you to so much labour as one poor bark; and to succour one particular person, you must enter combat against heaven and earth. It is better Sir, that this perpetual Object of scandal be removed by my absence; and that I leave peace to my friends by leaving the field to my adversaries. This resolution is not so unmanly as some would point it out unto me, change only the terms; and that which they call cowardice and running away, is but to be better advised & to yield to the time. I have read a word in a letter which Cicero writ to Brutus that confirms me much in this opinion; You withdrew yourself, saith he, out of a corrupted city, you gave place to Varlets; for you Stoics say, That a wise man never runs away. Cato himself, who would rather die, than live to see a Tyranny; was he not resolved to go voluntarily into banishment for avoiding a more supportable evil? And think you, that he had more reason to love his liberty, than I to love my quiet? Or that his grief was more just than mine? As all resistences are not honest, so neither are all flights shameful, and as there are some naughty joys, so there are some reasonable griefs; and you shall see in the Paraphrase of your friend, that for a disgrace which Saint Paul received at Ephesus, his heart failed him, and he grew weary of his life. The authority of so great an example, binds you to pardon in me, the weaknesses you charge me with; for myself, me thinks I hear continually sounding in my ears, the voice that cried to Arsenius, Fuge, sede, tace; which seems to council me, to give myself satisfaction by my quiet, and to give others contentment by absenting myself, and by my silence. Some further reasons I will acquaint you with, when I shall have the honour to see you; having no meaning to do any thing without your liking, and without your leave; whose I am  
Sir Most humble etc. At Balzac 8. of April 1632.   

To Mounsieur de Nesmond Counsellor to the King, and Controller of the Prince's House. LETTER. XVI.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, we were put in hope we should have the happiness to see you in this country, and that here you would make one of the reposes of your voyage, but you have not been pleased to make us so happy; It seems you thought not our walks pleasant enough for you, you scorn now the fountains of Maillou, and the river of Balzac; these sweet Objects, which heretofore gained your inclinations, and enchanted the innocence of your tender years, are not now able to excite in you the least desire, nor so much as to tempt your graver age. I find in this something to be offended at, and whereof to complain. If you had to do with a Poet, he would make a mighty quarrel between you and the Deities of the Woods and Waters; and would send you most reproachful Elegies in behalf of the Nymphs whom you have scorned. But it makes well for you that I understand not the language of the Gods, and that I can speak no otherwise than the common people do: this will defend you from a number of naughty Verses; and I will say nothing to you more spiteful than this, that you seem to reserve yourself all for Paris, and fear to be profaned with the baseness of a Village. Princes and their affairs leave not in you so much as one poor thought for us; and the pleasures of the country are too gross and meager, for a taste that is used to more delicate and solid pleasures. You see Sir, my dear cousin, that my complaints are sweet, and that I justify you in accusing you. It is certain, there is a part of the active life, which one may call delightful; and though Virtue have her joy with less tumult than Vice, yet the very secrecy of her joy augmenteth also the sweetness, and vapours not out the purity thereof; and so it happens, that while you sought but after honesty, you have found withal delight also: you dreamt but of being virtuous and profitable to your Country, and into the bargain, you have contentment also and pleasure for yourself. For in effect considering your humour, I doubt not but the pains you take, is your sufficient recompense for the pains you take, and that your very action keeps you in breath; or rather refresheth you; and as one in Aristotle said, That it was a death to him, when he was not in some office; so I verily believe, that to take away employments from you, were as much as to take away your life, and that you would refuse even felicity itself if it were offered you without having some thing to do. You do well to love a burden that graceth you more than it weighs, and not to think it a trouble to be in a race which you have entered with as much applause as they can desire that are going out. You have been men's joy, from the instant you were first seen, and your many employments that have since so happily succeeded, have but ratified the good opinion that was had of you being yet unknown. There are some men that get more reputation by playing upon advantage; but yours is a lawful acquest, and this integrity which hath nothing in it, either fierce or fearful, this learning which is neither clownish nor quarrelsome this course which can avoid Precipices without turning out of the right way, are none of the qualities with which men use to abuse the world, none of the enchantments which you make use of to dazzle our eyes. And though our eyes were capable of illusion, yet having merited the grace & favour of a Prince, the clearest fighted the hea●…ens ever made, and whose gift I value less than his judgement; It is not for us any longer to examine your sufficiency seeing he hath chosen you for an instrument of managing his affairs. You would not believe the pleasures that Madam Co●…pagnole and myself take in the consideration of this matter; and what reflection we receive of all those good successes that accrue unto you; I can assure you, she forgets you not in her devotions, and if God but hear her prayers, you, need not make any wishes for yourself; We promised ourselves we should see you in our Deserts, but since your honour calls you otherwhere; it is reason we rest satisfied with so sweet a necessity, and to bear with patience that the public hath need of your service. It is far from me to prefer a short satisfaction of my eyes before the long and durable joys I expect from the progress of your reputation; and if I should desire that for your coming hither you should put yourself the farther off from your ends, my desires should be indiscreet, and I should not be the man I ought to be.  
Sir, my dear Cousin, Your, etc. From Balzac 1. Octob. 1632.   

To Mounsieur de Pontac Monplesir. LETTER XVII.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, if the counsel I have given you did not give me an interest in the resolution you have taken, yet I could not choose but acknowledge it to be good, considering the good success it hath produced. It is true that till now I never liked of long deliberations, nor of stayed lovers; but seeing your wisdom hath concluded in favour of your love, and that it is no longer an idle contemplation of the person you love; I seem to conceive the design you had in drawing out the lines of your love to such a length; in which it cannot be said there hath been time lost, but that you would taste all the sweetness of hope before you would come to that of possession; this is not to be irresolute but subtle, and not to make a stop of contentments but to husband them. This is not to have an apprehension of being happy, but to have a desire to be happy twice, so that in this point you are fully justified. This circumspection which I accused wrongfully, and which is equally removed from Fury and Effeminateness, puts the passions into a just and durable temper, and makes the mind capable of its felicity by a serious preparation; and I vow unto you that the life you have begun was well worthy you should take some time to study it; It is not fit to enter the state of marriage rashly, and by the conduct of Fortune; all the eyes that prudence hath are not too many to serve for a guide in this business; many men fall into a snare whilst they think to find a treasure, and errors are there mortal where repentance is unprofitable; but God be thanked you are out of danger, and your happiness is in sanctuary. There is no Nectar nor Roses now but for you; (accept from me I pray this one word of a wedding Compliment) and in the estate you are in, what are you not? Since a Conqueror that is crowned is but the figure of a lover that enjoys; the lover receiving that really which the Conqueror but dreams. You offend not the people's eyes with proud inscriptions, nor astonish them with the clamour of your conquest; you celebrate your triumphs covertly, and draw no man's envy upon you; you reign by yourself alone, and all the pomp which greatness draws after it, is not comparable to that which you enjoy in secret. I am not acquainted with lawful pleasures, and ought not to be with forbidden; but I have heard it said, that in the first there is a certain peace of spirit, & a confident contentment which is not found in the other: And as the Honey is less gathered from the flowers then from the dew which falls from the stars; so these chaste pleasures are seasoned from heaven & receive their perfection from the heavenly grace and not from their own nature. I have learned from the ancient Sages, that there is not a more ancient nor a more excellent friendship than this; that in this sweet society griefs are divided, and joys doubled, and that a good wife is a catholieon or universal remedy for all the evils that happen in life. I doubt not but she whom you have chosen is worthy of this name; and though I should hold your testimony in suspicion; yet I have heard it deposed with so great advantage on her part; and by so tender and judicious spirits, that I am not only glad in your behalf for the good company you have gotten you, but give you thanks also in my own behalf for the good alliance you have brought me. I am exceeding impatient till I see her, that I may between her hands abjure my wrong opinions; and if need be, make honourable amends before her for all the blasphemies I have heretofore written against marriage. I solemnly by this Letter engage myself to do it, and entreat you to dispose her, that she may accept my retractations, which proceed from a heart truly penitent and full of passion, to testify to you both, that I am  
Sir my dear Cousin, Your, etc. From Balzac 23. Septem. 1633.   

To Mounsieur Huggens, Counsellor and Secretary to my Lord the Prince of Orange. LETTER. XVIII.  
SIR, your Letter hath run great hazards before it arrived here; It wandered about seven months together, and that now at last it is come to my hands; I ascribe it to the remorse of a man unknown, who being but half wicked, contented himself only with opening it, but would not by any means that I should lose it. Happy were I if I could as well recover other things I grieve for, and that I could say, he were but strayed whom I loved with my heart; but I have lost him for ever, and you are never able to restore me that I lent you; yet I lay it not to your charge, nor to the charge of your innocent Country. I am not of that man's humour, who spoke a thousand villainies against poor Troy, and taxed all her Histories and Fables, because (forsooth) his brother died there, and perhaps of a malady that he had gotten somewhere else. My grief is wiser than his, I should take my loss unkindly at your hands, if you were yourself the richer for it, but now the loss is common to us both; we both lament a common friend, and yourself have rather the greater share in this sad society, in as much as herein you have advantage over me, for having performed to him the last duties. He saw your tears fall amongst his blood, you filled your eyes and your spirit with all circumstances of his death, and I doubt not but it hindered you from being perfectly sensible of the victory at Mastrich, and to show a joyful countenance in the most joyful day of all your Prince's life. For myself, I am not as yet capable of consolation, yet have laid upon my wound all the plasters Philosophy could minister. Me thinks my grief is to me in place of my friend; I possess it with a kind of sweetness, and am so tender of it, that I should think it a second loss, if I had it not to pass my time withal; yet I must entreat it a little forbearance, that I may have time to make you an account of your liberality, and that you may know what is become of the presents you sent me; I received them Sir after your Letter, and that by another kind of adventure. I have imparted them to the worthiest persons of our Province, I am at this time adorning my Closet with them, and make more reckoning of them then of all the riches your Havens can show, or then all the precious rarities the Sea brings to you from the farthest parts of the earth. There is as much difference between your friend's style, and that of other Panegyrists, as between the stoutness of a Soldier and the coyness of a Courtesan. This manly eloquence full of mettle and courage, seems rather to fight then to discourse; and rather to aid the King of Sweden then to praise him. The ordering of his Tragedy is according to the rules and intention of Aristotle; precise decency most religiously observed, The verses lofty and worthy of a Theatre of Ivory. Every part pleased me, but that of the Chorus'es even ravished me, and because I sigh always after Italy, that Chorus of the Roman Soldiers put me in passion; I find myself touched with it at the very quick, and in all company where I come I cannot forbear crying out, as if I were in rapture with divine fury: O laeta otia Formiae; Lucrini O tepids lacus, Baiarum O medii dies; O sola Elysiis aemula vallibus: Lassi temperies Maris: Campani via littoris, lia Baccho ac Cereri vetus, &c, I have only one lit●…le scruple to propose unto you; I know not well why Tisiphone is brought in with Mariam, speaking of Styx, Cocytus and Acheron; and I cannot conceive how it is possi●…le a natural body should be form of two as differing pieces as are in my opinion, the jewish religion and the Heathenish. My doubt grows from my ignorance, and not from presumption: I ask, as desirous to learn, and not to pick a quarrel, specially with a man, who in such Criticisms is a King, and whom I acknowledge for the true and lawful successor of the great Scaliger; I have read his two Tracts upon the Satire of Horace, which are indeed two Masterpieces; and I do not think, I ever saw together so much antiquity renewed, so much reason displayed, so much subtlety fortified with so much force. He stands not dreaming upon a word of no difficulty, erecting as it were Trophies of like passages, after the fashion of our Notemakers now adays, who heap up places upon places, and bring nothing in their writings, but the crudity and indigestion of their reading. He handles Grammar like a Philosopher, and makes Books to be subject to Reason; and the authority which time hath given them to the Principles, which truth hath established; he hath discovered that Idea of art, which the best workmen never yet came near, and hath added that last perfection, which shows spots and impurity in the most elaborate writings. I have a great design Sir, to go make myself an Artist under his discipline, and to be at once both your Courtier and his Scholar. I have thought upon this Voyage a year since; but I would feign your wars would make passage for me the way I would go, and that there were nothing Spanish between Paris and the Hage. The sanctity of Orators and Poets is not reverenced over all the world, they bear no awe amongst Barbarians; these public enemies would not spare Apollo himself, nor the Muses, and my person would find as little respect at their hands as my Book did, which in full council they caused to be burnt by the hands of the marquis of Aytona, yet I think you may say, you never heard speak of a more illustrious Executioner, nor of one that doth more honour to his trade; and that the Counts of Egmont and Horn were not handled in their punishment with such pomp and state. I dare not laugh Sir, at this extravagant cruelty. The Truce I had taken is expired, and I cannot possibly stretch the leave which my grief gave me any further. I therefore leave you to return to her, and end with swearing, Per illos manes numina doloris nostri, that there is nothing in the world more dear unto me than your friendship, and that I am with all my soul,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 2. of February 1633.   

To Mounsieur de la Nawe, Counsellor of the King, in his first Court of Inquests. LETTER. XIX.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, I never doubted of your affection towards me, but I thought it proceeded of pity rather than of merit; and that having nothing considerable in me, but my ill fortune; your good nature was thereby only excited to do me this charity, but now I see, you propose to yourself a more noble Object, and think to find a better reason for your loving me; yet I know not whether it be so just as the former, and whether you may as lawfully respect a vulgar person as you may protect an unfortunate? If I had had any such seeds of goodness in me as you speak of, my ill fortune would have stifled all their virtue. Nothing can bud forth in an air perpetually tempestuous. It is not enough for the labouring man that he take pains in his husbandry, and that his soil be good, but there must be a sweetness of the season also to favour his travel: which I have hitherto proved so contrary, that I wonder how I have the heart to be always planting for tempests to spoil. I find more good for me in idleness than in labour, and more gain by doing nothing than by doing well. When I am idle, I am at least at quiet; and envy rests as well as I, but as soon as once I offer but to stir, there is presently an alarm raised in the Latin Province: and opposition is made before I have conceived any thing to be opposed. Other men's good deeds are rewarded, mine only, if any of mine be worthy the name, must look for nothing but defacing: a very hard suiteit would be, but to get their pardon: and I follow not virtue, only without reward, but I follow her with danger. You think not withstanding that I take a pleasure in this ungrateful occupation; and that I have a greater forwardness to it, than I find resistance. You think my spirit should never shrink for ill successes, and that of its own fertility without either one beam of the Sun, or one drop of dew, and at the mercy of all winds, it is able to bud and bring forth some thing. You judge too favourably of a vigour that is half extinguished, and consider not that melancholy indeed, is ingenious and pregnant when it comes from the temper which Aristotle commendeth, but that it is dry and stupid when it proceeds from the continual outrages of adverse fortune. And therefore Sir, my dear Cousin, expect nothing from me to answer your expectation, and to merit the veneration you speak of in your letter. I cannot endure such a great word in your mouth; are you not afraid to come under my office of a Grammarian? One such improper term is unexcusable, unless it be you had relation to that old Verse, Res est sacra miser; or to that brave fellow in the controversies of Seneca, who in the life time of the Orator Cestius, but upon the wane of his spirit, affirmed that he reverenced his very Cinders, and would use to swear by his shadow, and by his memory. It shall suffice me that you handle me in this manner, that Mounsieur your Precedent and yourself would sometimes say in lamenting me, he had been further off than now he is, if he had met with fewer ambushes in his way. I require your recommendation of my service to that rare personage, whom I dare not call the last of the French; I remember what was laid to Cremutius Cordus his charge; but how ever, I account him worthy of the ancient France, and of the Senate which we have not seen, that had the honour to be Arbitrator between the Emperor and the Pope; a mediator between the King and his People. I require from you but only the like favour, and I acquit you of your veneration, provided that you keep for me your good will, which I cannot lose if you be just, since I am.  
Sir, My dear Cousin, Your, etc. From Balzac 16. Februa. 1634.   

To Mounsieur Conrade. LETTER XX.  
SIR, the account I make of you is far from being a scorn. One should do you wrong to take you for any other than yourself; and it would be a hard matter to find a man for whom you could be changed without loss. I see therefore your drift, you would not think the number of your Virtue's complete, if you added not humility, and you would make me see that there are Capuchin Huguenots. Indeed a fine novelty, but it belongs not to you, to be so modest; nor to take upon you Perfection who have not yet attained Conversion. To speak uprightly, your respects and your submissions are not sufferable, men used to speak otherwise in the golden age; and to say nothing more hardly of you, you are too unjust a valuer of yourself. Do what you can, you are never any more able to weaken the Testimony which Madam de Loges, and Mounsieur Chapelain have given of you, than you can deny me your friendship which I crave of you in their name. You see how contagious an ill example is; and how I imitate you in condemning you. I can play the Reserved as well as you, and seek for mediators and favour to obtain that favour you have granted me already. These are the subtleties of my passion, to the end I may taste a second joy; I will make you tell me twice one thing; I will have you once again lay forth your letter to our former view, thereby to husband the better for so long time, the pleasure I take to hear you assure me that you love me. Such assurances should persuade me but little in the mouth of many men; but for you, I know with what Religion you make your promises, & of what holiness your word is. I know you approve of no lies, but those of the Muses, and that fictions in Poetry you can bear withal, but banish them from your conversation; I am glad therefore I have found one face among so many vyzards, and that I can lay hold of something, I can feel, and that hath truth in it. It is nothing but the freedom of my mind that gives me the boldness to approach other virtues, with all which I am at defiance, if I find not this freedom in their company. By this Sir, you have wo●…e me, and I must vow unto you, that this sincerity whereof you make profession hath been a wonderful allurement to a man, that is no longer taken with the bravery or galantnes of spirit. These flashes have so often abused me, that I am now grown to be afraid of any thing looks r●…d the, lest it should be fire and burn me. I suspect these Barks that are so painted and guilded over, I have often made shipwreck in such: I desire those that are sound and safe, and enter them as Vessels to sail in, and not as Galleries to walk in. When I speak of a friend, I mean not a companion in trade or in disorder, nor one that can return visits the next day aftet he hath received them, and is not failing in the least duties of a civil life, but I mean, a witness of the conscience: a Physician of secret griefs, a moderator in prospe ritie; and a guide in adversity. I have some few left me of this sort, but have had many losses, and very lately one, which but for you would be irreparable; you whom God hath sent to comfort me, and whom I substitute in the place of one of the honestest men that was in France. Our contract if you please shall be short and plain. I will propose no matter of lustre to engage you in it; only I assure you my heart, and a sincerity answerable to yours. It is now of proof from the most dangerous Air of Christendom, I have brought it from Rome, I have preserved it at Paris; It is not therefore likely that to deceive you, I am come to lose it in a Village; and that I have any design to falsify my faith; seeing I assure you, I will ever be  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 5. of February 1633.   

To——— LETTER. XXI.  
SIR, since you will have me to write that in a letter, which I spoke unto you by word of mouth, this Letter shall be a second testimony of the account I make of—, and of the feeling I have of the courtesies received from him. During the time we had his company, I considered him with much attention; but in my conscience observed nothing in the motions of his spirit, but great inclinations to great designs, and to see him do wonders in the world, you need wish him no more but matter of employment. He hath all the Intendments of an honest man, all the Characters of a great Lord: by these he gains men's eyes in present, and their hearts in expectation, and afterwards brings more goodness forth than ever he promised, and exceeds expectation with performance. And in truth, if this Heroic countenance had no wares to vent but vulgar qualities, this had been a trick put upon us by Nature, to deceive us by hanging out a false sign. The charge he exerciseth in the Church, is no burden to him, he hath in such sort accommodated his humour to it, that in the most painful functions of so high a duty, there lies nothing upon his shoulders, but ease and delight. He embraceth generally all that he believes to be of the decency of his profession, and is neither tainted with the heat which accompanies the age wherein he is, nor with the variety which such a birth as his doth commonly bring with it. In a word the way he takes goes directly to Rome. He is in good grace with both the Courts, and the Pope would be as willing to receive the King's commendation of him, as the King would be to give it. He hath brought from thence a singular approbation, and hath left behind him in all the holy College a most sweet odour, and that without making faces; or making way to reputation by singularity. For in effect, what heat soever there be in his zeal, he never suffers it to blaze beyond custom: his piety hath nothing either weak or simple, it is serious all and manly, and he protesteth, it is much better to imitate S. Charles, than to counterfeit him. Concerning his passion of horses, which he calls his malady; since he is not extreme in it, never counsel him to cure it, it is not so bad as either the Sciatica or the ●…out; and if he have no other disease but that, he hath not much to do for a Physician. One may love Horses innocently, as well as Flowers and Pictures: and it is not the love of such things, but the intemperate love that is the vice. Of all beasts that have any commerce with men, there are none more noble nor better conditioned; and of them a great Lord may honestly and without disparagement be curious. He indeed might well be said to be sick of them, who can said mangers of Ivory to be made for them, and gave them, full measures of pieces of gold; this was to be sick of them, to bestow the greatest part of his estate upon beautifying his Stable, and to make a mock what men said or thought of choosing a Consul by his horses neighing. You shall give me leave to tell you another story to this purpose, not unpleasant. It is of Theophylact, Patriarch of Constantinople, who kept ordinarily two thousand horses, and fed them so daintily, that in stead of Barley and Oates, which to our horses are a feast, he gave them Almonds, Dates, and Pistache nuts; and more than this, as Cedrenus reports, he watered them long time before in excellent wine, and prepared them with all sorts of precious odours. One day as he was solemnising his Office in the Church of Saint Sophia; one came and told him in his ear, that his Mare Phorbante had foaled a Colt; with which he was so ravished, that instantly without having the patience to finish his Service, or to put off his Pontifical Robes, he left the mysteries in the midst, and ran to his Stable to see the good news he had heard, and after much joy expressed for so happy a birth, he at last returned to the Altar, and remembered himself of his duty which the heat of his passion had made him to forget. See Sir, what it is to dote upon horses; but to take a pleasure in them, and to take a care of them, this no doubt may make a man be said to love them: and nevertheless not the less the wiser man. Even Saints themselves have their pleasures and their pastimes, all their whole life is not one continued miracle; they were not every day four and twenty hours in ecstasy amidst their Gifts, their Illuminations, their Raptures, their Visions; they had always some breathing time of humane delight, during all which time they were but like us: and the Ecclesiastical Story tells us, that the great Saint john, who hath delivered Divinity in so high a strain, yet took a pleasure, and made it his pastime to play with a Partridge which he had made tame and familiar to him. I did not think to have gone so far; it is the subject that hath carried me away, and this happens very often to me when I fall into discourse with you. My compliments are very short, and with men that are indifferent to me, I am in a manner dumb; but with those that are dear unto me, I neither observe Rule nor Measure; and I hope you doubt not, but that I am in the highest degree,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 5. of january 1633.   

To Mounsieur Godeau. LETTER. XXII.  
SIR, there is no more any merit in being devout; Devotion is a thing, so pleasing in your Book, that even profane persons find a relish in it, and you have found out a way how to save men's souls with pleasure. I never found it so much as within this week, that you have fed me with the dainties of the ancient Church, and feasted me with the Agapes of your Saint Paul. This man was not altogether unknown to me before, but I vow unto you, I knew him not before, but only by sight; though I had sometimes been near unto him, yet I could never mark any more of him than his countenance and his outside: your Paraphrase hath made me of his counsel, and given me a part in his secrets; and where I was before but one of the Hall, I am now one of the Closet, and see clearly and distinctly what I saw before but in clouds, and under shadows. You are to say true, an admirable Decipherer of Letters, in some passages to interpret your subtlety is a kind of Devotion, & throughout the manner of your expressing is a very charm. I am too proud to flatter you, but I am just enough to be a witness of the truth; and I vow unto you, it never persuades me more that when it borrows your style. There reflects from it a certain flash which pleaseth instantly as beauty doth, and makes things to be lovely before one knows they are to be loved. Your words are no way unworthy of your Author, they neither weaken his conceits by stretching them out at length, nor scatter the sense by spreading it out in breadth. But chose the powerful spirit which was streightened within the bounds of a concise style, seems to breath at ease in this new liberty, and to increase itself as much as it spreads itself: he seems to pass from his fetters into triumph, and to go forth of the prisons of Rome where Nero shut him up, to enter into a large kingdom, into which you bring him with royal magnificence. There are some so curious palates, they cannot relish the language of the Son of God, and are so impudent as to accuse the holy Scriptures of clownishness and Barbarism, which made Monsieur—, who died Archbishop of Benevent, that he durst not say his Breviary, he was afraid to mar his good Latin by contagion of the bad, and to take some tincture of impurity that might corrupt his eloquence. I will not speak at this time what I conceive of his scruple; only I say that if in the vulgar Translation there be Barbarism, yet you have made it civil, and if our good Malherbe should come again into the world, he would find nothing in your paraphrase that were not according to the strictness of his Rules, and the usage of the Court whereof he spoke so often. Some other time we will confer about the Preface, and the letters I received, which I have in a manner all by heart, but specially I have culled out these dear words to print in my memory, and to comfort my spirits. A little patience will crown you, all their throws seem like those of sick men, a l●…tle before they di●…, in which I think there is neither's malice nor f●…ce, if you can but despise them, Prefer the better side before the greater, and the Closet before the Theatre. Honest persons are for you, and I make account you care not much for pleasing others. The people have often times left Terence for dancers upon the Rope, and banished Philosophers, to gratify jesters. I have nothing to add to this; and will take heed how I sow Purple with packthread. I content myself Sir, at this time to assure you that I passionately am,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzack 1c. May 1632.   

To Mounsieur Thibaudiere. LETTER XXIII.  
SIR, I will not raise to you the price of my tears, though I have shed them for you 8. days together: I content myself to tell you that I am now comforted since, the news of your death, is changed into tidings of your hurt; and that I am made assured, you may be quitted of it, for a little pain and a little patience. I know well that Virtue is more happily employed in well using honest pleasures, than in patient bearing troublesome crosses, and that without an absolute distemper in the taste, one can never find any sweetness in pain: yet you shall confess unto me, that there is a kind of contentment in being lamented; and though the joys of the mind be not so sensible as those of the body, yet they are more delicate and more subtle, at least, you have come to know of what worth you are by the fear, which all honest men were in to lose you, and that in a time when half the world weighs the other way; and every one reserves his lamentation for his own miseries; yet all in general have mourned for you, in such sort Sir, that you have had the pleasure to hear your own Funeral Oration, and to enjoy the continuance of a happy life, after receiving the honours done to worthy men after death. If the war of Italy continue till Winter, I will come and learn from your own mouth, all the particulars of your adventures, and I shall then know if your Philosophy have not been moved, and waxed pale, at the sight of the Probe, and of the Razor. In the mean time do me the honour to be mindful of him who exceedingly honour's you, and to keep for me that part in your affection which you have promised me, since I truly am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 29. July 1630.   

To Mounsicur Gyrard, Secretary to my Lord the Duke de Espernon. LETTER. XXIV.  
SIr I had heard that before, which you sent me word off by your footman; and had rejoiced already, for the new Dignity of Mounsieur the Precedent Segnier. It seems you think he is made Keeper of the Seals, for none but for you, and that no Feast for the joy of it should be kept any where, but at Cadillac. Within these fouren days, you shall see it kept all the Country over; it is a favour the King hath done the whole Realm. It is not so much for the purity of the Air, and for the fruitfulness of the earth, that we ought to call it a happy year, as for the election of worthy Magistrates. I therefore take a joy in this News, 〈◊〉 Lam a Subject of the Kings; & this is my first part of joy I have in it: but beyond this, I have a second Right of rejoicing, in that I am interessed in the advancement of a modesty, which I know; & make account to be made happy, by the prosperity of him, of whose honesty I am assured. I put not forth this last word, at adventure: I am ready to make it good, against whosoever shall think it rash, and I know he hath preservatives against all the Poisons of the Court; and a judgement that cannot be corrupted with all the bribes of Fortune. There is nothing of so high a price, for which he would be willing to leave his virtue: if he had lived in Nero's time; he had been a constant Martyr, but living now under a just Prince he will prove a profitable Officer. To preserve a life, which is to continue but a few days: he would not obscure that life, which ought to ●…ast in the memory of many ages: and the least ●…ot upon his honour, would be more insupportable to him, than the effusion of all his blood. He knows that in the administration of justice, being the Interpreter of God; he cannot work of himself; that this Divine Act ought to be a General Suspension from all humane affections, and that in the exercise thereof, he is no longer at his liberty, to show love or hatred; revenge or gentleness. He considers that he makes not law, but only declares it, that he is a Minister, and not a Master of his Authority, and that the Sovereignty is in the Law, and not in himself. This is the reason why in every cause he censures, he bethinks himself of his own proper cause, which shall one day be censured; he so judgeth, as if Posterity were to take a review of his judging; and as though the present time, were but subalternate to the future. Thus I have heard him to make his account; and from his Principles I have drawn my conclusions, and in a conference I had sometimes with him; he seemed to me a better man than I have set him forth. In such sort Sir, that I am not of a mind to contradict you, in your writing of him to me, you say nothing which is not of my knowledge, & in my writing of him to you, I do nothing but follow your conceits. Never fear that the common errors will deprave his Spirit, he hath laid too sure a foundation in the knowledge of Truth, he is too strongly confirmed in the good Sect. Having often and seriously meditated on the condition of humane affairs, he values them just as much as they are worth, but he adds nothing by opinion, he hates neither riches nor authority; this were the peevish humour of the Cynics, to hate a thing that in itself is lovely, he makes use of them after the manner of the Academy, and of the Lycaeum, which never thought them impediments to happiness, but rather aids and furtherances to Virtue. Or may we not say more probably that he hath drawn his doctrines from a Spring nearer hand; and that he hath not gone out of himself to find out the truest wisdom? He hath examples at home, which may serve him for Ideas of perfection, and Sages in his own race, which are Artists of virtuous life. Whilst he governs himself by their Rules, he may well pass by all foreign doctrines; and having his diseased Uncle before his eyes; he need not care to have Socrates for a mirror: Quip malim unum Catonem quam trecentos Socratas. The memory of this illustrious personage is in such veneration through all France, and his name hath preserved so excellent an Odour in the prime Tribunal of Christendom; that it is not now so much the name of a Family; as it is the name even of integrity and constancy itself. Remember the Greek Epigram I showed you in a Manuscript; which saith, that in a place at Athens when one named Plutarch, there was an Echo answered Philosophy, as taking the one for the other, and making no difference between the two. By the like reason the Muses might use the same Figure, and act the like miracle, in favour of this new Pillar of justice. They never need to use reservations; nor fear too deep engaging themselves, whatsoever they lay forth before hand for his glory, shall all be allowed them again in the reckoning. Having been bred up in their bosom; and being entered into their Sanctuary, he will never suffer them to stand waiting and catch cold at his gate, no that a Swytzer shall keep them out from entering his base Court. They shall never have I assure myself that unhappy advantage to have given him all; and receive back nothing from him again, to have enriched his mind with a thousand rare Knowledges, and then hardly get him to seal them an acquittance. Let us now come to the other part of your Letter; and assay to satisfy your Doctor concerning his Objection. He finds fault with me, because I praise the Pope for his beauty, and says that such praise is for women and youth, and belongs not to old men and Priests. First Sir I answer, he wrongs me in changing my terms; for I make a great difference between beauty and a good Visage: of this I spoke in the person of the Pope, and should never have thought I had committed a sin, though I had spoken of the other also. As concerning age, you know there are beautiful old men, though there be not beautiful old women, and you remember that ancient personage, who by report of History was of equal pleasing to all companies through all the ages of his life. As concerning the quality, besides that God rejected in sacrifice all lean and unsound Oblation, ●…e required also to have handsome Priests, and you may show your friend in the Books of Moses, that not only the lame and purblind, but even the flat nosed, were exclused from being Ministers in sacrificing. But if being as he is a profane Doctor, the holy Scriptures do not please him; yet he might have remembered that old word of the Tragic Poet, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, upon which I had an eye when I said, This Visage worthy of an Empire. And yet more being a Gascogne Doctor, I wonder he never read the Panegyricke, which a country man of his pronounced at Rome before the Emperor Theodosius; where he should have found these words; Augustissima quaeque species, plurimum creditur trahere de Coelo; sive enim Divinus ille animus venturus in corpus, dignum prius metatur hospitium, sive cum venerit fingit habitaculum pro habitu suo; sive aliud ex alio crescit; & cum se paria junxerunt utraque major a sunt, parcam Arcanum Coeleste rimari; Tibi istud soli pateat imperator cum Deo consorte secretum. Illud dicam quod intellexisse hominem & dixisse fas est; talem esse debere qui a gentibus adoratur cui toto orbe terrarum privata vel publica vota redduntur; a quo petit Navigaturus serenum, Peregrinaturus reditum, Pugnaturus auspicium. Virtus tua meruit imperium, sed virtuti addidit forma suffragium. Jlla praestitit ut oporteret te principem sieri; haec ut deceret. In this discourse, there are some terms which yet may seem fitter for a Pope than for an Emperor: and here is to be noted, that Theodosius was no young man, when Latinus Pacatus praised him thus for his beauty, for it was after his defeat of the tyrant Maximus; and when after many victories obtained against the Barbarians, he was in full and peaceable possession of his glory. Sometime before this Gregory Nazianzon had upbraided the Emperor julian for his ill favoured Visage, for the ill feature of his face, and for other deformities of his body, of which nevertheless he was not guilty. Though one might here question the holy Orator, whether in doing this he did well or no? Yet from hence we may at least gather, that the qualities contrary to these he blames, ought justly and may be lawfully made account of, and that such praises which reflect upon the Creators' glory, are much more Christian than those accusations which trench upon the scorning of his knowledge. Your friend therefore is certainly more severe than he need to be. He is much to blame to reject in this sort the blessings of heaven, and the advantages of birth; and to imagine that holiness cannot be Exemplar and Apostolic, unless it be pale and lean, and look like one were starved. These are the dreams of Tertullian, who will have it, that our Saviour was in no sort beautiful, and therein gives the lie to all Antiquity, and to the tradition of the whole Church. He draws a Picture for him, which is not only injurious to his Divine, but dishonourable also to his humane Nature. This in my opinion is one of his greatest errors, and which most of all startles me in reading his Books. If he would have it, that his watchings and abstinence had dried up his blood, and made him look ghastly; it may perhaps be granted him: but to say, that to the burnt colour of Africa, he added also that of burnt Melancholy, and of overflowing choler; I like not such accusing, either the Sun of that country, or the temperature of that body, but leave every one in his natural estate; and so should he have done. But to go about to disfigure the most beautiful amongst the children of men, and to eclipse all the beams and lustre of a divine countenance, this is an abuse which no patience can bear, no charity can ever pardon. You wondered at this strange opinion when I last showed it unto you; and I perceived you suspected I did him wrong; now therefore to justify my credit with you, and to let you ree I did it not to abuse you: I send you here the passages I promised you to look at. The first is in his Book of Patience; where Christ is called Contumeliosus sibi ipsi. The second in his Book against the jews, where he is said to be, Ne aspectu quidem honestus, but hear the third, which will fright you to hear, in his Tract of the flesh of Christ; Adeo ut nec humanae honestatis corpus fuit; tacentibus apud nos quoque Prophetis de ignobili aspectu ejus, ipsae passiones, ipsaeque contumeliae loquuntur; passiones quidem humanam carnem; contumeliae vero inhonestam. An ausus esset aliquis ungue summo perstringere corpus novum? Sput aminibus contaminare faciem nisi meruentem, etc. Let us see what Mounsieur Rigaut thinks of this; and whether he be of these sharp and sour ones that would take from heaven its stars, and from the earth its flowers. Certainly my censure is of this number; for I perceive beauty offends him, and he would easily subscribe to Tertullians' opinion. Yet say no more to him of all this, but that which he must needs know, and spare sending out a second Process against a man that hath too much of the first, and deserves you should take some care of his quiet; since he is from the bottom of his heart,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 10. of March. 1633.   

To my Lord the Bishop of Nantes. LETTER. XXV.  
SIR, It is told me from all parts that you speak of me, as of one that is dear unto you, and of my ill fortune, as of a thing that concerns you. If this tenderness proceeded from a soft effeminate spirit, yet it would not be without merit; and oblige me infinitely unto you; but now that it comes from a feeling of the purest spirit in the world, and the least capable of weakness; how much ought I to esteem it, and of how great price to value it? It wants not much of making m●…e love that grief which procures me so glorious a consolation; and I vow unto you, that to be pitied of you, is a more pleasing thing than to be favoured of the Court. In that country men go upon snares and ruins, the best places there are so slippery that few can stand upright; and if the miserable pretenders avoid a sudden falling, it is by enduring a tedious hanging, receiving perpetual affronts, and returning perpetual submissions. I therefore like much better to hide myself here with your good favour, and my own good quiet, than to bear a show there with their frights and sour looks; and I bless the winds, and count my Shipwreck happy which hath cast me back upon my old home. Some that were more sensible than myself, would in this case complain of the world; but I content myself to forget it: I will neither have war, nor commerce with the world: I have sounded a retreat to all my passions; as well those that be troublesome as those that be pleasing; and I protest unto you Sir, I should read with more delight, a relation of one of your walks at Cadillac, than the most delightsome passage of all the Germane History; when I think upon you in company with—, me thinks I see Laelius come to visit Scipio, and confirming him in the resolution he hath taken to stand a loof from the tumults and turbulencies of worldly affairs, and by a quiet retreat to place his virtue, and his glory in a sure hold. I am extremely glad of the honour he will do my father to pass this way, and bring you along with him; and you may well think that after this I shall not reckon our Village inferior to Tempe or to Tyvoly. If it were not for the fit of an Ague which is now leaving me, but very quickly to return, I would go as far as Rochel to get before this good fortune, that I might be at the first opening of those Largesses of the Church, which a mouth so holy and eloquent as yours must needs distribute. But I am not happy enough to see you, and gain a jubilee both at once; It must be your pleasure to be so gracious as to accept of such a compliment as I am capable of; and to rest assured with my assuring you by this messenger that I am, and always will be with all the forces of my soul,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 13. May, 1633.   

Another to the same. LETTER. XXVI.  
SIR, there are some of your bounties I have cause to complain of; they are such as cannot be acknowledged, and in the least of your actions you are so great, that if I take measure of myself by you. I cannot appear but very little. Your liberty makes me rich, but withal it discovers my necessity, there being no proportion between you and me, how extreme soever my passion be, it can be no competent price for yours, and in the Commerce that is between us, I return you but Flints for Diamonds, yet I present them to you but in forma pauperis, not as a Mountebank, and know I give you nothing though I keep nothing for myself. I am well assured Sir that I honour you infinitely, but am infinitely unsatisfied to offer you so mean a thing; there is no reasonable man that doth not as much, and since so much is due to you for only your virtue, how much am I to pay you more for your affection? Of this last moyitie I am altogether Non solvent; my services; my blood are not all worth it; and I confess unto you, I shall never be able to deserve but these four words of your Letter, Non discedo abs te Mi Fili, sed avellor; nor those Delicias in Christo meas; nor this, Dulce decus meum, with which you graced me at another time. Mounsieur Gyrard who knows all my secrets, and offers to be an agent for me with you, will tell you with a better grace how sensible I am of your so great favours, and how proud of so illustrious an adoption as you are pleased to honour me with, of which I make far greater reckoning then to be adopted into the family of the Fabians or the Marcelli; you shall also hear by him, that since your departure from hence, you have been (I may say) solemnly invocated, and most honourable commemoration hath been made of you in all our innocent disorderly Wakes. Our Curate believes verily that your presence hath brought a blessing to the fruits of our Parish, and we look for better Harvests than our neighbours, who had not the happiness thereof as we had. There is therefore just cause that every week we make a feast upon the day of your coming to Balzac, Et ut tibi tanquam futuro in posterum loci Genio non uno poculo libetur. If this kind of acknowledgement will content you, I shall perfectly acquit myself of performing my duty, having learned in Lorraine, and the Low Countries the means of testifying that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 6. of june 1633.   

Another to him. LETTER XXVII.  
SIR, though I know the good deserts of— are not unknown unto you, and that you need no foreign commendation to increase your respects towards him, yet I cannot hold from doing a thing superfluous; and assure you by these few lines that it will be no blemish to your judgement to let him have your testimony of his piety. Ever since the time he renounced his error, he hath continued firm and steadfast in the doctrine you taught him: of an erroneous Christian you made him an Orthodox, and your hand is too happy to plant any thing that doth not prosper. He is therefore your workmanship in Christ jesus, and otherwise so perfect a friend of mine that I know not, if in the order of my affections, I ought not to set him in equal rank with my own brother. This at least I know, that the least of his businesses is the greatest of mine, and I will not only part your favour between him and me, but will become your debtor for the whole myself alone. I am now polishing those writings which I had condemned, but that you asked their pardon; and since it is your will they should not perish, I revoke my sentence, and I am resolved yourself shall be the other person of my Dialogue; after the example of that Roman you love so well, whose books of Philosophy are commonly his conferences with Brutus, or other Sages, the true and natural judges of such matters; yet Sir it is impossible for me to dissemble any longer a grief I have at my heart, and to end my Letter without letting you see a little cut you have given me there; you made me a promise to come back by Balzac, and now you have taken another way: Thus the wise men of the East dealt with Herod; yet I am neither tyrant nor enemy to the Son of God. This kind of proceeding is far unlike the Belgic sincerity, and it is not fit for Saints to mock poor sinners. But how unkindly soever you deal with me, I can never turn Apostata, and should you prove more cruel, I should yet never be,  
Sir, But your, etc. From Balzac. 15. Octob. 1633.   

To——— LETTER. XXVIII.  
SIR, since you have taken pleasure in obliging me, I will not have you have the grief to lose your obligation, nor that my incompetent acknowledgement should make you have the less stomach for doing good. I know your goodness is clear and free from all foreign respects, and hath no motive but itself; it is not at any man's prayers that the Sun, riseth neither doth he shine the more for any man's thanks; your courtesies are of like condition: Your favours have not been procured by my making suit; and as of my part nothing hath gone before the kindnesses I have received, so on your part I assure myself you expect not that any thing should follow them; yet something must be done for examples sake, and not to give this colour for showing little courtesy to such as complain that men are ungrateful. The place where you are is full of such people; all commerces are but Amusements, and to make men believe the whole world is given to deceive; and it is a great merit in you that you can follow so forlorn and solitary a thing as truth is; in a Country where Divines maintain her but weakly, and where she dares scarce be seen in a Pulpit, doth it not show an extraordinary courage to take upon him to distribute her amongst the pretenders, and that in open Theatre? It is no mean hardiness to be good at the Court, to condemn false Maxims where they have made a Sect, and where they have gotten the force of Laws. I have been assured you make profession of this difficult virtue, and that in the greatest heat of calumny; and the coldest assistance that ever a poor innocent had, you have been passionately affected in my behalf, being altogether unknown unto you, but by the only reputation of my ill fortune, and even at this present you are taking care of some affairs of mine which I in a manner had abandoned, and upon the report you heard of my negligence you make me offer of your pains and industry. The only using your name were enough for all this, I might well spare my own unprofitable endeavours, where my negligence being favoured by you shall without all doubt be crowned. You have heard speak of that Grecian whom the love of Philosoph●…e made to forget the tilling of his ground; and of whom Aristotle said that he was wise, but not prudent. He found a friend that supplied the defect of his own ill husbandry, and repaired the ruins of his house. If my estate was like his, I should expect from you the like favour; but I ask not so much at this time. All that I desire now,— hath promised me a dozen times over; and I see no reason to distrust an Oracle. He is neither inspired by any false Deity, nor hath made me any doubtful answer; so that resting myself upon this foundation, there seems to have been a kind of Religion in my negligence: and I am not altogether in so much blame, as— would make you think me. He is, I deny not, an Author worthy to be credited; and his testimony ought to be received; but yet he hath not the gift of not erring, and never believe him more, than when he assures you that I am.  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 9 of Feb. 1630.   

To Mounsieur du Pleix, the King's Historiographer. LETTER. XXIX.  
SIR, since the time that persecution hath broken out into flames against me, I never received more comfortable assistance then from yourself, and I account your strength so great, that I cannot doubt of the goodness of a cause which you approve. You were bound by no Obligation to declare yourself in my behalf, and you might have continued Neutral with decency enough, but the nobleness of your mind hath passed over these petty rules of vulgar Prudence; and you could not endure to see an honest man oppressed, without taking him into your protection. This is to show me too much favour in a Kingdom where Justice is no better than Mercenary, and where payment comes not, but after long soliciting. I know well that the soundest part is of my side; and that my state is not ill amongst the wise; but on the other side, there are so many opposites on the By, make war upon me; that I am ready to leave myself to the mercy of the multitude, and to be persuaded by the number of my enemies, that I am in the wrong. It is therefore no small Obligation I am bound to you in, that you have preserved the liberty of your judgement amidst the altercations and factions of passionate men, and have taken the pains to clear a truth, which is to me of great advantage, and was to you of small importance. I do not desire that men should count me learned; this quality hath often troubled the peace of the Church; and they are not the ignorant that make Schisms and Heresies. And less I pretend to the art of well speaking; many bad Citizens have used this as an instrument to ruin their country, and a dumb Wisdom is much more worth than an ill minded eloquence. That which I desire, and which would trouble me much to have taken from me is honesty; of which only I make profession, and without which we are never able to attain salvation, where with all the Greek and Latin of our Books we may incur perdition. Mounsieur Gyrard, a man you dare trust, and one that hath never borne false witness, will answer for me concerning this last point. He hath seen my soul to the very bottom, and can assure you without deceiving you, that I am no lover of vice; and if you desire assurance that I am an extreme lover of virtue, he will enter into bond for me that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 12. Aug. 1630.   

To Mounsieur Maynard. LETTER. XXX.  
SIR, that sorrow is happy which hath you for a comforter. I find more contentment in your compassionating me, than I find affliction in others persecuting me: and I am far from wishing ill to an age, to which I am beholding for so excellent a friend. In this respect I easily pardon it, the wrong you say, it hath done me; and should be more unjust than itself is; if being beholding to it for a treasure; I should think much to partake of its iron and rust. It is not now only that opinion governs the world; there hath been disputing against Reason in all ages. Contentions and Heresies have ever been, and the truth itself was not believed, when it came into the world in person and would have spoken. I seek not the favour of the multitude, it is seldom gotten by honest and lawful means; and in that Enchanters have advantage over Prophets. I seek the testimony of few; I number not voices but weigh them: and to show what I am, one honest man is Theatre enough. Therefore never trouble yourself that things have befallen me as I made account they would, and never ask for reason of the vulgar who have it not. Ignorance can never be just, nor go right in the dark: Alarms are given, and surprises are made by the favour of night: this is the time of murders and robberies, she the mother of dreams and phantasms. Yourself have had your part in this experience as well as others. And at this very time I am talking with you, it may be you are accused by some for being a miscreant, for not believing that Saint Gregory made prayers to God for Trajans' soul; or that Saint Paul was ever a bosom friend of Seneca. It may be you are called Haguenot for doubting the infallibility of Philarchus, and denying some of his miracles. It may be you are charged with seeking in vain to persuade a Master of Art, that Aristotle had as much learning as Ramus; and that Cicero's style is as good as that of Lipsius. What shall I say more? It may be your dear and well beloved Marshal puts you to more pains to defend him than to imitate him: some Scholar of Muret maintain boldly against you, that he is a beastly Buffoon; and perhaps the contrary will not be believed upon your bare word.  
Forsitan & stupidas bona carminna perdis ad aures.  
It is fit to laugh at such disorder, and not to grow in choler; and if you will make a Satire of it, that it be of the Charocter of Horace, and not of juvenal. I cannot abide victories that are cruel; I ask mercy for my enemies, and love that my revenges should be imperfect, and that your Pen should not be bloody, as indeed it could not be, but of a base obscure blood, and to put you into a quarrel unworthy of you, I make too great a reckoning of your valour, and am too much,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac, 20. March 1632.   

To Mounsieur Descourades. LETTER XXXI.  
SIR, my dear cousin, if I could with any honesty leave the business I have in Angoumois:— should not go into Languedoc without me; and I would make this journey of purpose only to have the happiness to embrace you; you would know me presently by the old yellowness of my face; and thereupon the force of blood would draw along with it a little tenderness, and I do not believe but you would make a difference between your own and strangers. The effects of Grace destroy not the affections of Nature; they only take away that which is impure and earthly; and I assure myself you do not love me less than you did, but that you love me in a better fashion. I am told that the kind of life you have chosen is not austere, but only to yourself, and that your thorns prick no body else; in truth, a devotion that pleaseth me exceedingly, and I could never away with this studied sadness, which disguiseth the hatred it bears to men, under pretence of the love of God. I am right glad you have taken the other way, because we may now come safely to you, and never be afraid your virtue should scratch us. Christian Philosophy hath nothing in common with the Cynic. This disguiseth, and that reformeth; one composeth the countenance, the other regulates the spirit; and indeed without an exact managing the superior part: all the pain that is taken about the inferior is to no purpose without that, Mortification is not so good as carnality; and if you do nothing but change your cloth of gold for a russet coat; and your cutwork band for a demi collar, you shall no doubt be a loser by the change. But the case is not so; you have left cares and trouble, for calmness and quiet; and you possess a happiness which Kings can neither keep with themselves, nor suffer amongst their neighbours; I speak of Peace, which in vain is expected from their Alliances and from their Leagues, being not to be obtained but only of God, and who gives it not but to his friends. You are a happy man to be of that number, and you may believe me that I am not troubled about it, seeing there is good hope I may have a benefit by it myself, and that your prayers may draw me after you, I doubt not but they are of great power and efficacy, and doubt as little that I am myself of the number of those you hold dear unto you, but as one that hath more need than any other, I conjure you to double them unto me, who am in heart and soul,  
Sir my dear Cousin, Your, etc. From Balzack 4. May 1633.   

To Mounsieur D' Andilly, Counsellor of the King in his Counsels. LETTER XXXII.  
SIR, I perceive that Mounsieur the great Master is a great extender of Expositions, and hath tied you to explain yourself in a matter whereof I never doubted. Herein he hath exceeded his Commission, and done more than he had in charge to do. I seek no new assurance of your friendship; this were to show a distrust in the old, whereas the foundation already laidis such that makes me forbear even ordinary duties, for fear I should make show to need them, and as if I would hold by any other strength than your own inclination. Care and diligence, and assiduity are not always the true marks of sincere affections, which I speak in your behalf as my own: Truth walks now a days with a less train, men use not to make open profession of it, but rather to confess it as a sin: her enemies are strong and open, her adherents weak and secret: yet Sir, if she were in more disgrace, and were driven out of France by Proclamation: I should believe you would be her receiver, and to find her out, I should go directly to Pompone. I therefore never doubted of your love; God keep me from so evil a thought, only I marvelled that— knew nothing of it, and that you let him take possession of his government, without recommending unto him, your friends there. To satisfy myself in this point; I said in my mind, that certainly this proceeded from the great opinion you had of his justice; and that conceiving there would not be with him any place for Grace or Favour; you would not do me a superfluous office. This is the interpretation I made of an omission, which in appearance seemed to accuse you; and this is the conjecture I made of your silence, before I came to know the cause. Now I see I was in the wrong, to imagine you had such subtle considerations; or that you were restrained by such a cowardly wisdom which dares not assure the good to be good, lest such assuring should corrupt it. For my part I renounce a prudence that is so dastardly and scrupulous, that fears to venture a word for a virtuous friend, because this friend is a man, and may perhaps lose his virtue. You do much better than so, and Pam glad to find you not so jealous of the glory of your judgement, but that you can be contented to be slighted and scorned, when it is for the benefit of a friend you love: let us leave phlegm and coldness to old Senators; and never make question whether we ought to call them infirmities of age, or fruits of reason: These are good qualities for enabling men to judge of criminal causes, but are nothing worth for making men fit to live in society: and he, of whom it was said, that all he desired, he desired extremely, seems to me a much honester man than those that desire so coldly; and are so indifferent in their desires. If you were not one of these violent reasonable men, and had not some of this good fire in your temper, I should not have your approbation so good cheap. That which now galls you would not at all touch you; and things which now descend to the bottom of your soul, would pass away lightly before your eyes. There came yesterday a man to see me, who is not so sensible of the pleasures of the mind, and took great pity of me and my Papers: he told me freely that of all knowledges which require study, he made reckoning of none but such only as are necessary for life; and that he more valued the style of the Chanc●…ry than that of Cicero; he more esteemed the penning of a Chancery Bill, than the best penned Oration that ever Cicero writ. I thought this at first a strange compliment, but thinking well of it, I thought it better to seem to be of his opinion, then undertake to cure a man uncureable. I therefore answered him, that the Patriarch Calarigstone so famous for the peace of Uervins, was in a manner of his mind, who being returned from his Embassage, and asked what rate and admirable things he had seen at Paris; made mention of none but their Cook's shops; saying to every body, as it were with exclamation Uerament quelle rostisseries sono Cosa stupenda; as much as to say that there are Barbarians elsewhere, then at Fez and Morocco. One half of the world doth not so much as excuse that which you praise: our merchandise is cried down long since, and to bring it into credit again and put it off, there had need return into the world, some new Augustus and Antoninus.— saith, that whilst he waits for the resurrection of these good Princes; he is resolved to rest himself; and not to publish his Verses, till they shall be worth a Pistol a piece. I fear it will be long ere we shall see this Edition come forth; for myself who make no such reckoning of my Prose; I have no purpose to make merchandise of it; yet desire I not nither to tyre my hands with writing continually to no profit. I mean to make hereafter no other use of my Pen, then to require my friends to let me hear of their healths; and to assure you Sir, that I am no man's more,  
Than yours, etc. At Balzac 12. june 1633.   

To Mounsieur Conrart. LETTER. XXXIII.  
SIR, I had a great longing to see— and you have done me a special kindness to send it me over. Yet I must tell you, that your sending it gets him a greater respect with me than his own deserving, and if you appoint me not to make some reckoning of him, all that I shall do for his own sake, will be but to bear with him. A man had need be of a sanguine complexion, and in a merry vein before that should be moved to laugh at his poor jests. Melancholic men are too hard to be stirred, that which goes to the Centre of other men's hearts stays without doors in theirs, at least it toucheth but very weakly the outside; and oftentimes I am so sadly disposed and in so sullen an humour, that if a jester be not excellent I cannot think him tolerable nor endure to hear him. It is certain the Italians are excellent in the art of jesting, and I could mark you out a passage in Boccace that would have made— and all his predecessors the Stoic Philosophers to forfeit their gravity. But there are not two Boccaces, nor two Ariosto's, there are many that think themselves pleasant when they are indeed ridiculous; I would our good— would leave his wrangling about controversies, and fall to this kind of writing, in which in my opinion he would prove excellent. This would draw his Genius out of Petters, and give it the extent of all humane things to play in; only he should spare the Church for her eldest sons sake, and forbear the Pope for M. the Cardinal's sake, one of the Princes of his Court. These are respects you ought to have, until your conversion furnish you with other more religious, and change this your honest civility into a true devotion. If we be not bound to speak of mens-honour reverently, yet we are bound to speak seriously, and even at this day we call Lucian an Atheist, for scoffing at those Gods who we know were false. For the rest Sir, I pray take heed you show not my Letter to—, he would give me a terrible check in behalf of—, he would not endure I should speak so insolently of an Author approved by the Academy, De gli insensati de peruse, and indeed I had not spoken as I did, but that I dare trust your silence, and know, that to discover a secret to you is to hide it. Make much of this rare virtue and never leave, and be pleased to believe me that I am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac. 13. june. 1633.   

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

My fiddling Doctor in his visage various,  
Had twice as many hands as had Briareus;  
There was not any morsel in the dish  
Which he with eyes and fingers did not fish;  
And so forth.   
You see we live in a Country where even Beggars and Rogues cannot pass in safety; though they have nothing to lose, yet they lose for all that, and men pull the hairs ●…en from them that are bald. There is no condition so ill but is envied of some, no poverty so great which leaves not place for injuries. Cottages are pillaged as well as Palaces; and though covetousness look more after great gains, yet it scorns not small. But all this while you must remember that my discourse is allegorical, and that I speak of Poets and not of Treasures. I am  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac, 25. Septemb. 1633.   

To my Lord the Mareschall Deffiat. LETTER. XXXV.  
SIR, though I know your life is full of business, and that it hath neither festival, nor day of rest; yet I am so vain as to fancy to myself that I shall be able to suspend this your continual action, and that the recreation I send you shall find some place amidst your affairs: you are not one to be wrought upon, you know the true value of things, and so in Arts those secrets which none but Artists themselves see. There is no thinking therefore to deceive you by a show of good, and by false flashes of reputation; no way to gain estimation with you, but by lawful ways, and rather by seeking commendation from ones self, than testimony from others. This is the cause that I come always directly to yourself, and never seek to get a favour by canvasing and suit, which is not to be gotten but by merit. If my Book be good that will be a solicitor with you in my behalf; and if it make you pass some hours with any contentment, you will let me understand it when you have read it. Howsoever I hope you will grant, that the Pension which the King gives me is no excess that needs reformation; and fear not to be accused of ill husbandry, if you please to pay me that which is my due. There have been heretofore in the place that you are now in certain wild unlettered persons, who yet made show of valuing humane learnings, and to respect those graces in others which were wanting in themselves; forcing their humour and sweetening their countenances to win the love of learned men; and eithér out of opinion or out of vanity have revered that which you ought to love out of knowledge, and for the interest you have in it, I say for the interest, because besides the virtues of peace, having in you the virtues of war; it concerns you not to leave your good achievements to adventure, but to cast your eyes upon such as are able to give your merits a testimony that may be lasting; I dare not say that I myself am one of that number, but thus much I can assure you most truly that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 20. Octob. 1633.   

To Mounsieur Granier. LETTER XXXVI.  
SIR, I have received your Letter of the 27. of the last month; but it makes mention of a former which never came to my hands: and it must needs be that Fortune hath robbed me of it, for fear I should be too happy, and should have two pleasures in Sequence. This is an accident which I reckon amongst my misfortunes; and I cannot sufficiently complain of this Violatour of the law of Nations, who hath been so cruel as to break our Commerce, the very first day of our entering into it; and to make me poor without making himself rich. I am more troubled for this loss, than for all that shall be said or written against me: Slander hath a goodly catch of it to be at war with me, it shall never make me yield; it is an evil: is it not a glory for a private man to be handled in such manner, as Princes and their Officers are? And is it not a mark of greatness to be hated of those one doth not know? I never sought after the applause of—, which cannot choose but have corrupt affections in such sort, that when they praise me, I should ask what fault I had done? Though their number were greater than you make it, this would be no great novelty to me, who know that truth goes seldom in the throng; and hath in all times been the Possession but of a few. Even at this day, for one Christian there are six Mahometans; and there was a time, when Ingemuit orbis, & see Arrianum esse miratus est. If God suffer men to be mistaken in matters of so great importance, where their salvation is at stake; why should I expect he should take care to illuminate them in my cause which no way concerns them; and to preserve them from an error which can do them no hurt? Whether I be learned or ignorant; whether my eloquence be true or false, whether my Pearls be Oriental, or but of Venice: what is all this to the Commonwealth? There is no cause the public should trouble itself about so light a matter; and the fortunes of France depend not upon it. Let the King's subjects believe what they list; let them enjoy the liberty of conscience which the King's Edicts allow them. A man must be very tender that can be wounded with words; and he must be in a very apt disposition to d●…e, that lets himself be killed by Philarchus; or Scioppius his Penne. For myself I take not matters so to heart; nor am sensible in so high a degree. The good opinion of honest minds, is to me a sovereign remedy against all the evils of this nature. I oppose a little choice number, against a tumultuary multitude, and count myself strong enough, having you on my side; and knowing you to be as vigorous a friend of mine, as I am  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 15. Februa. 1633.   

To Mounsieur Gaillard. LETTER. XXXVII.  
SIR, I am unfortunate, but I am not faulty. I was assured you had written to me, but I received not your letters. You have been my defendor; and I have been a long time without knowing to whom I was bound for defending me: whether it were a man or an Angel that was come to my succour. These are honest injuries, and generous supererogations. This is to deceive in charity, and to his advantage that is deceived. This is to bring again that good time, wherein Knights unknown to become freemen, that were oppressed without telling their names; or so much as lifting up the Beavers of their Helmets. You have done in a manner the like; you have hidden yourself under a borrowed shape; thereby to take away from a good action, all appearance of vainglory; and to let them that are interessed, see, that you are virtuous without looking for reward. For myself, I do not think I am bound to follow the intention of this scrupulous virtue. If you have a will to shun noise, and the voice of the people; yet you cannot refuse the acknowledgement of an honest man: nor let me from paying what I owe you. Because you are modest, I must not therefore be ungrateful, as I am not by my good will, I assure you. You possess my heart, as absolutely, as you have justly purchased it; I am yours by all the sorts of right, not forgetting that of the wars. I will even believe that my enemy hath gotten a full victory, to the end I may more justly call you my Redeemer; and that you may have the crown that was due to him had saved a citizen. Mounsieur Borstill, whose wisdom and integrity you know, will answer for the truth of my words: and for myself, I shall need none to answer, being ready to testify by my actions; that there is not in the world, a man more than myself,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 22. April 1633.   

To Mounsieur the Master Advocate in the Parliament. LETTER. XXXVIII.  
SIR, I have too great a care of your reputation, to seek to have you be found a liar. It shall not lie upon me, that you be not a man of your word; and that your friend is not contented; and seeing it is expected to see this present day what I have written of his company; It is not fit to put off till to morrow the effect of your promise: or that he should languish in the expectation of so small a thing. It is true my Book is not here, and my memory is not now so faithful, that I dare trust it to deliver that I gave it to keep: yet I conceive after I have stined it up in your name, which is so dear unto me, I shall find enough to satisfy your desire, and receive from it this good office. I seem therefore to remember I said, that after so many years, that the Christian Muses have been in France: he is the only man hath entertained them with honour; and hath built a Palace for this sovereign science to which all other are subject and inferior. He hath drawn her out of an obscure and close mansion, where like the poor Socrates she discoursed in prison of the supreme felicity, to place her in a seat worthy of her, and to set up a stately and sumptuous race for the exercise of her children. From hence we may apprehend the dignity and merit of our Sorbone: for which a man the fullest of business in all the world, hath yet had so particular a care amidst the most violent agitation of his thoughts, that the design of the house he crects for her, hath found place in his breast, amidst the Forts and Rampires of Rochel. If our predecessors the Gauls next to their gods, gave the second place of honour to their Druids, who showed them but a dim and confused light of the state of our souls after this life; what respect then, what reverence can be too great for those venerable Fathers, who teach us by a knowledge most infallible; what the chief and supreme good is; who discover to us in certainty, the things that are above the heavens, who make us true relation of that admirable commonwealth of happy citizens that live without bodies, and are immaterial; and who deliver to us the wounders of the intellectual world, more pertinently and more directly, than we relate to blind men the ornaments of this visible world. With them are had the springs of pure D●…ctrine; where with others, but only Brooks and Streams; with them are had resolutions of all doubts, remedies for all poisons: with them Time wrongs not antiquity; nor doth old age either need painting, or fear tainting: with them this sixteenth age of the world, behold Christianity preserved and kept in its first lustre. Seeing the memory of the most part of the Roman Lords is perished together with their Baths, their Aqueducts, their Races, their Amphitheatres; whereof the very ruins are themselves ruined and lost; I find that M. the Cardinal understands more than ever they did, and goes a straighter way to eternity, travelling in a place where his travel can never perish & leaving the care of his name to a company that of necessity shall be immortal, and shall speak of his magnificence as long as there shall be speaking of Sin and Grace, of good and evil Angels, of the pains and rewards of the life to come. I assure myself I have not spoken too much; and I think I could not have spoken less: it is lawful for us to set a price upon our own; and if an ancient writer said, that more worthy men came forth of Isocrates School; then out of the Trojan Horse: why may not we say as much of Albertus Magnus, and of Saint Thomas? Me thinks I know not how to speak to our countrymen, but of the Lycaeum and of the Academy: and it is now five and twenty years that I have beaten my brains about the Gymnosophists the Brachmanes and the Rabbins: but when all is done, we should remember that we are Christians; and that we have Philosophers that are nearer to us, and aught to be dearer to us then all they. I am glad occasion hath been offered me to put my opinion hereof in writing; and thereupon to let you know I make no mystery of my writings; and specially with you, to whom I have opened my very heart; and whose I am wholly without reservation,  
Sir, Most humbly, etc. At Paris. 4. July. 1633.    

LETTERS OF Mounsieur de BALZAC. LIB. II.  

To my Lord the Earl of Exeter. LETTER. I.  
SIR, if you had wholly misliked my Book, I had wholly defaced it: but seeing some parts of it, seemed to you not unsound, I have thought it sufficient to cut off the corrupt part, that you might be drawn to endure the rest. I now therefore send you an Edition of it reform, done expressly for you, and which I have taken care to cleanse from the stains, that in the two former were distasteful to you. It is not my purpose to stand disputing in an Argument, where I am willing to be confuted: nor to defend that which is condemned by you, where the question is to give you satisfaction by my rigour; I presently grow insensible of the tenderness of a Father: and shall he uncompassionate to my dearest issues, as often as your pleasure shall be that they should perish. My Writings are to me no better than Monsters when they offend your eyes, and to seem vile to you, is to be vile indeed; and therefore in stead of ask there pardon, I have been myself the hastner of their punishment. There cannot a greater test●…ony be given of a man's integrity, then when the Delinquent concurres in opinion with the judge; and is the Executioner, where he is the condemner. All this have I already done; and although in that unhappy passage which gave you distaste: I had not somuch a meaning to bite as to laugh; yet I confess I took my mark amiss for laughing justly. Oftentimes one countenance for another changeth the face of the most innocent action of the world: and though I failed only in ill explaining myself; yet it was fault enough, seeing thereby I gave you cause to doubt of my intention. Truly, my Lord, it was never my meaning so much as to touch the resplendent glory of your divine Princess. I know well enough, it was fitter to consider her by the magnanimity of her spirit; whereof your whole posterity shall taste the fruits, then by the light flower of bodily beauty; which not only falls away by death; but runs away at the very first approaches of age. I should come out of another world, if I were ignorant of the Encomiums she hath in this kind received by all people's voices. She hath I know been styled the Star of the North: the goddess of the sea; the true Thetis. I have read in a Letter, which Henry the great writ unto her in the height of all his troubles; and in the violence of the league: these words, I will Madam be your Captain Genorall. Even he that excommunicated her, spoke of her with honour: and he was, as you know, an understanding Prince, and admirable in the Art of Ruling. He took a pleasure to be discoursing of her with Ambassadors resident at his Court; and would sometimes say merrily, that if he had been her husband, certainly Greatness and Authority would have been the issues of so renowned a marriage. But though she had not ascended to this high degree of reputation, and though she should be devested of all these glorious marks of honour; yet there are two considerations; less specious indeed in the eyes of the world: but more sensible to my spirit, that would bind me strongly to reverence her memory: One Sir, that she hath not scorned our Muses; the other, that she hath loved your house. I was taught by Cambden, the knowledge she had in all kinds of learning; so far, as that she had happily Translated out of Greek into Latin some of Sophocles Tragedies; and some of Isecrates Orations. Of the same Author also, I have learned the great part your Ancestors bare in her confidence and secrets; and your name is so often used in the history of her life, that where soever Elizabeth is mentioned, there Cicile for the most part is never left out. So that she being by good right your domestical Deity, and the reverence you bear her, your most ancient inclination; it is far from me to violate that which you adore, or to hate that which you so dear love; seeing I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 25. june, 1634.   

To my Lord the Archbishop of Thoulouse. LETTER. II.  
SIR, I have never been sociable since your departure from hence; no man can make me speak; and I do not yet break my sullen silence, but only to tell you, I am the saddest Hermit that ever was. Those whom Saint Hierome reports to have been companions of Serpents and Scorpions, were never of so untoward an humour as I, for I have their vexation, and I have not their consolation. Nothing pleaseth me in the place where I am; you have carried away with you all its worth and goodness, and it is not the hardness of the season, it is your absence that obscures the beauties of my solitude. It was not well done Sir to accustom me to a pleasure which you meant so suddenly to take away from me, or to say better, to show me only my good fortune thereby to procure me envy, and then go presently and make others happy with enjoying it; and yet I know well, that such petty considerations owe obedience to a greater, and that particular interests ought always to give place to public. Mine therefore is not so dear unto me, but that I willingly forget it upon such occasions, and easily forgo my own conceits, to enter upon the purpose of divine providence. The peace we hope for shall perhaps by your voyage be advanced, and you are now perhaps sent from heaven to go whither you thought to have gone without commanding; If peradventure there be found some particular men that are too much heated, your Eusebius and your Theodoret will help to allay their heat, and if they be too stiffly bend upon severity, you will make them abate their rigour by the examples you bring them, of the moderation of their fathers; I have too good an opinion of so many worthy Prelates as are in your assemblies, to imagine they would ever agree to arm Princes, either against a penitent, or against an honest man, mistaken; and would not in the interests of their order content themselves with employing the Thunderbolts of the Vatican, but would do their uttermost to call forth also those of the Arsenal; Whatsoever may be said in defence of such proceeding, it can never in my opinion have so general approbation, but that some honest spirits will be scandalised by it. This would be to bring excommunication into a poor account, to make it serve only for an Essay, and for a preparative of punishment, and to make it the first plaster of a light wound, which ought to be the last remedy of the extremest evils. Such practice would be far from the custom of the ancient Christianity, and of the age of Martyrs; and I cannot conceive, neither can it be, that Christian Pastors should become Butchers of their Flock; and that the Church which hither to hath been in persecution, should now itself begin to persecure. This Church Sir, as yourself and my masters your brethren teach us, is not a cruel Stepdame, proud and maligning her spouses' children; but it is a natural mother, compassioning her own, and desirous to adopt even Proselytes and strangers: You tell us that she runs after the greatest sinners, and goes as a guide before all the world, which is far from saying that it stands not with her dignity to be an instrument of their conversion, nor so much as once to take care what becomes of them; It is you who assure us that she is content to lose her richest vessels, so as thereby she may recover the sacrilege of her robbers; it is from you we learn that she is far from animating justice to ruin innocents, who gives sanctuary of pardon to Delinquents. I have heard speak of the sweet nature and signing of the Dove; but never of her cruelty nor of her roaring; and to give her claws and teach her to love blood, would be no less then to make her a Monster; this would be Sir to make love itself turn wild, and metamorphize it into hate. This would be to imitate the ancient Pagans, who attributed to their gods all the passions and infirmities of men; no man I hope shall be able to lay such profanation to our charge, we will be no corrupters of the most excellent purity, no handlers of holy things with polluted hands, no stretchers of our defects to the highest point of perfection: They which do so, in what part of the world soever they be, are Anathemaes in your Books, accursed in your Sermons, condemned by the rules of your doctrine, and by the examples of your life. These false Saints do not serve Christ, but serve themselves of Christ; they solicit their own affairs in his name, and recommend it as his cause when it is their own suit. Periwasion that they do well makes them more hardy in doing ill; they call their choler zeal, and when they kill, they think they sacrifice. Thanks be to God no part in the whole body of our Clergy is so unsound; it is returned to its oil, and to its balm, in whose place the civil wars had substituted deadly Aconite and bitter Wormwood. The League is dead, and Spain heartsicke, our Oracles are no longer inspired by foreign Deities, the spirit of love and charity animates all our Congregations; and no doubt he that ought to be the mouth of the assembly, will consider that Bishops are Ministers of mercy, and not of justice; and that to them our Lord said, I leave peace with you, but said not I leave vengeance with you; the wisdom of M. the Cardinal will strip off all the thorny prickles of passions, and sweeten all the bitterness of figures, before they arrive to come near the King. This divine spirit is far surmounting all orations, all deliberations, and all humane affairs, and in this he will easily find a temper both to preserve the honour of the Church, and yet not oppress the humility of him that submits, both to give full satisfaction to the first order, and yet not withdraw regard from the merit of the second; both to make us see heads bowed and knees bended before the Altars; and yet no houses demolished, nor governments destroyed, whereof the Altars should receive no benefit. I am in hope you will do me the favour to inform me of the occurrents of the whole history, whereof I doubt not, but you are yourself one of the principal parties, and I expect by your letters a true relation of all the news that runs about. In the mean time Sir, I trust you will not take it ill that I speak unto you of this great affair, as a man that sees it a far off; and whom you appoint sometimes to deliver his advice upon matters, of which he hath but small understanding. At your return we will renew the Commerce we have discontinued, and since you will have it so, I will once again play the Orator, and the Politician before you; yet I fear me much, you will scarce be suffered to keep your promise with me; I see you are more borne to action then to rest, and that our rural pleasures are not worthy so much as to amuse so great a spirit as yours is, I therefore wish you such as are worthy of you; that is, the solidest and the perfectest, and such as glorious Achievements and glorious actions leave behind them; and I love not myself so much that I am not much more,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 25. January 1630.   

To Mounsieur Arnaut, Abbot of St. Nicholas. LETTER III.  
SIR, the small service you desired of me is not worth considering, but only for the great thanks I have received for it; I had altogether forgot it when I received your Letter, which makes me yet forget it more in making m●…●…o remember it. You have words that change things, and in your Language a●… impuissant willingness i●…●…n immortal obligation. If you make so great account of good desires, I merveile what price you set upon good deeds; and if you thus bestow your compliments without necessity, I fear you, will want them when you have need; you should go more reserveldy to work, and retain more providence for the future. A man may be a good husband, and yet not be covetous; and seeing limits and bounds are fit in all cases, they cannot be unfit in the case of courtesy: Think not therefore Sir, that herein you have done an act of acknowledgement, you have gone far beyond the bounds of this virtue. If there be a vice opposite to ungratefulnes, your too great officiousness hath made you fall into it, and by the excess you have avoided the defect. The interests of M. the Cardinal Bentivoglio have no need of recommending, but amongst people that are not yet Civilised; that which concerns his honour, is no matter of indifferency to them that know his virtue, and they that know it not are no better than Barbarians. If to do him service I had not run whither you prayed me to go, and if I had not required an absolute suppression of that discourse, whereof you required only but a sweetening; I had performed my duty but very weakly, and had deserved blame in that for which you praise me. Though his name were not resplendent in history, nor his dignity in the Church, yet he should have I●…stre enough in his very style and writings, and though he were not a grandchild of Kings, and a Senator of the whole earth; yet I find something in him more worth than all that: I consider him without his Purple, and devested of all external ornaments; regarding only those that are natural to him; and which would make him most illustrious, though he had but a black cap on his head, and most eminent, though he were but a private man. These are advantages he hath over other men, and which he communicates to this age of the world, goods that he possesseth and I enjoy. For I vow unto you that in this sad place whither my own humour hath misleaded me; and where there is no talk but of Suits and quarrels; I should not know in the world how to pass my time; if I had not brought his book along with me. This hath been the companion of my voyage, and is now the comforter of my Exile, and after I am dulled with a deal of troublesome discourse, and have my ears filled with idle chat, I go and purify myself in his delicate relations; and gather my spirits together, which the noise and clatter had before dispersed. I never saw in so sober and chaste a style, so much fullness and delight; if nature herself would speak, she could never make choice of more proper terms then those he useth; and where proper terms fail, she could never more discreetly borrow foreign than he doth. The Character of his phrase is so noble, that by this only, without any other signs I should easily know he is come of a good house; and I see that fortune which hath been so great an enemy of his blood, and hath done so much hurt to his ancestors, hath not yet been able to take from him the mark of their greatness, nor the manners and language of a Prince. At your departure from thence you gave me thanks for loving qualities that are so lovely, and that making profession of Letters, I am put in passion for him who preserves their honour, and who in his country is the Crown and glory of our Muses; as often as there is question for his service I shall need no second consideration to put me in heat about it; I tell you plainly, I shall do it no whit the more for any love of you, I entreat you to provide some occasion apart from all interests of his, where you may see the extraordinary account I make of your merits, and the desire I have to manifest unto you that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 3. of Octob 1631.   

To Mounsieur Ogier. LETTER FOUR  
SIR, you could never have fallenn again to your pen upon better terms than you have done; and I have a conceit your silence hath not been so much a neglect as a meditation. The Letter you pleased to write unto me is so full of infinite excellent things, that it seems you have been making provision three years together to make one feast, and that your sparing for so long a time had no other meaning but to be magnificent for one day. The dispatch of the Constantinopolitan slave you sent me, and the news of Koppenhagen you writ unto me are so enriched with ornaments of your making, that I see plainly whatsoever passeth through your hands receiveth an impression of excellency, and that glorious achievements have need of you to be their historian. It is not strange unto me that M. your brother hath pleaded my cause, I am an eternal client of your family, and as it is my part to honour my benefactor, so it is yours to preserve your benefits: But verily I could never have thought this last action should have had the Court of Denmark for a Theatre, and the King and his daughters the Princesses for judges. You sent me word I had a famous decree passed on my side, and that the assailant was as much hissed at, as the defendant was applauded. God be praised that grants us justice amongst the Goths, for injuries done us by the French; and that raiseth up in an end of the world a sovereign defender of persecuted innocence, such succour sometimes he hath extraordinarily afforded when men abandon her; the Lions have become humane, rather than leave her without protection; & in the most frightful deserts there have been found Nurses for children, whom the cruelty of their mothers had exposed. Let us therefore never believe that sweetness and humanity are qualities of the earth or of the Air; they are neither proper goods of the easterlings, nor captive virtues of the Grecians. They are wand'ring and passant, all climates receive them in their turn, and it is not the Cimbricke Chersonesus any longer, it is Athens and Achaia that at this day are Barbarians. This divine princess of whom your brother writes such wonders, hath no doubt contributed much to this change, and though there should shine no other Sun upon the banks of the Baltic Sea, this one were enough to make virtue bud forth in all hearts, and to make Arts and discipline to flourish in all parts. This is a second Pallas that shall have her Temples, and her suppliants shall be precedent of Letters and studies, as well as the former. Even that which you say of the defect of her birth, and of the obscurity of her mother, might be ground enough for a Poet to make an entire work and to assure us that she was borne and came out of her father's head at least Sir if your relations be true, she is the lively Image of his spirit, the interpreter of his thoughts, the greatest strength of his estate, and who by her eyes and tongue reigneth and ruleth over all objects that either see or hear. Why should I dissemble or hide my contentment? I must confess I am proud in the highest degree for the praises she hath given me. Never Prince passed the Rhine more happily than mine hath done, seeing so good fortune hath attended him there, and that there he should be crowned by a hand which was able to give wounds to all others. What shall I say more? I scorn all the ancient triumphs when I think upon this: I hope for no lustre, but for her splendour, I seek for no glory, but in her recommendation; her only voice is instead of the suffrages of a whole Diet of all the north; and what reason they should not forever be banished the Empire who blame that which she praiseth, or that would oppose the sovereignty of her excellent judgement? As for our common enemy, condemned by her; to keep company with the Hobgoblins of Norway; since he is no longer in the world. he is no longer in state to do her obeisance. If it be not that God will have that to be the place of his purgatory which she would have to be the place of banishment, and that this proud spirit is confined to live amongst the tempests & other frenticke issues of the North, as Varro speaks of Satyrs. You have read I suppose the Dialogues of Saint Gregory; and therefore must needs know that all souls are not purged after one manner, but some pass through the fire, and others endure the Ice; and the extremity of cold is no less an instrument of the divine justice, than extremity of heat. But I purpose not to set a broach a question of divinity, for I should then begin a new Letter; and it is now time I should finish this; but telling you first, that he which shall deliver it to you, hath in charge to present you a larger discourse; and to let you see, that there is both Greek and Latin in our Village. If it were not for my study, my solitude would neither have excuse, nor comfort, and yet shall not have it perfect neither, unless you bring it to me; and be so honest a man as to come and see m●…e: as I most heartily entreat you to do; and to believe that I passionately am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 7. Feb. 1635.   

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

Cui mos in trivijs humili tentare Veneno  
Ardua & impositos semper Cervice rebelli  
Far duces; Coeloque lovem violare Tonante.   
I know not whether you will be able to bring the state into his favour; but this I know, it is no small work for persuasion to effect, seeing he is no less obstinate in his errors, than you strong in your Reasons. Whatsoever he say of the time; and of the carriage of things; the impunity with which he triumphs, is a visible mark of the moderate government of this Kingdom; and in any country but this; his Head long before this time had paid for his tongue. But I hear he is of so vile an humour, that he is angry for his very liberty; and thinks it is done in scorn, that he hath not all this while been put in the bastile. He values himself to be worthy of an informer; and of Commissioners, and thinks he hath merit enough to be punished in state. Let us bear a little with his malady; he is otherwise not evil, nor of evil qualities: It is only the temperature of his body that is faulty: and if Mounsieur Cytois can purge away his choler, he shall procure to M. the Cardinal a faithful servant. I expect hereupon an Epigram of your making, and am with all my soul,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 4. March. 1631.   

To Mounsieur Colombiers'. LETTER. VI  
SIR, I find by the Letter which Mounsieur de Mantin writ unto you, that you have done me good offices with him; and that upon your word, he takes me for more than I am worthy. It is your part now to make that sure unto him which you have warranted, and to disguise me with so much Art, that may make good your first deceit by a second. For to think that I shall be able to answer his expectation, and satisfy your promise: I know he expects too much; and know you have promised too much, that which he speaks of me and of my writings, seems rather to come from the passion of a lover, than from the integrity of a Judge; and I ought to take it, rather as a Present, then as a Recompense. I know beside, that the place from whence he writes hath always beenen the habitation of courtesy; and that the spark of the Court of Rome which hath rested there, since it parted from thence; hath left a light which gives an influence to the manners and spirits of the Country. Yet distinction must be made between the civilities of Avignon, which extend to all sorts of strangers, & the resentments of an able man, which respect nothing but reason, and a difference must be put between the honesty of a compliment, and the Religion of a testimony. Mounsieur Malherbe deceased, who never gave any man's merit, more than its due: and but coldly praised the most praiseworthy things; yet hath heretofore to me, in so high a degree extolled this man, of whom we speak; that I could not but think, it must needs be a very extraordinary Virtue that transported him so unwontedly, and a very pressing verity, that forced him to open himself so freely, I have since been confirmed in my judgement of him by diverse persons of good quality, and generally by the voice of all our country: But yet there is in this more cause for me to fear, than hope: Wise men do but only taste an error; with which common people drink themselves drunk: They do not plunge themselves in false opinions, they pass them lightly over; and I am afraid you will ere long receive another letter in retractation of this, he hath now written so much in my favour, if the worst come to the worst; and that there be no means for me, to keep all the good you have gotten me; I yet may lawfully require to have a part left me; which Mounsieur your brother in Law cannot honestly deny me. I am unfit for the terms he gives me; I willingly return them back to himself. Let him keep his Admiring for Miracles; or at least for the great stupendious works of Nature; I aspire not, nor have any pretence to so high a degree of his account; but I think I have right to his friendship; and that both of you are my debtors of some good will; seeing I honour you both exceedingly, and passionately am  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 20. Octob. 1632.   

To——— LETTER VII.  
SIR, I am not altogether profane, yet am but a simple Catechumene neither: I adore your mysteries, though I comprehend them not; and dare not give my spirit that liberty which you give it. Is it fit to be a judge of a Science, of which it is yet but learning the Alphabet? It scarce knows visible Objects, and runs a hazard, when it considers but the exterior face of Nature; as for that which is above, it climbs not to it, nor soars so high. My curiosity is not so venturous: and concerning the condition of superior things; I wholly refer myself to the Sorbone. Never think therefore that I will give my Censure of your Book: I have not yet discovered the bottom; only the bark, I must tell you seems very precious; and I am ravished with the sound and harmony of things, I understand not, this kind of Writing would have astonished Philosophers whom it could not have persuaded: and if Saint Gregory Nazianzen had but showed such a piece as this to Themistius, he could not choose but have been moved with it, and must needs have admired the probability of Christianity; though he had not known the secret. These are not words that one reads, and are painted upon paper: they are felt, and received within the heart. They live and move, and I see in them the sinews of the first Christians; and the style of that Heroic age, where one and the same virtue, gave life both to discourse and actions; gave influence both to the soul and to the courage, made both Doctors and also Martyrs. Tell me true, Did you not purpose to yourself a Pattern to follow? Have you not been at the Oracle of—: have you not received some inspiration from our excellent friend? Me thinks I meet with his very Character. In certain passages I observe some marks and traces of his spirit; and when I read them, cannot sometimes forbear crying out: Sic oculus, sic ille manus, etc. You need not take offence at my suspicion: so noble a resemblance is an inferiority lifted up extremely high. You are not therein his Apc, but his Son: There is nothing base nor mean in the imitation of so high and perfect an Idea: and you know the example of Plato, made Philo go check by jowl with him. All I ask of you at Paris, where you so liberally offer me all the good offices you can do, is but this; that you will do me the favour, to assure that great personage of the great reverence I bear to his merits: and what glory I count it to be counted his friend: but I require withal the continuation of your own love, with which you can honour none, that is more truly than I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. 25. july 1630.   

To Mounsieur Coeffeteau, Bishop of Dardanie. LETTER VIII.  
SIR, since your departure from Mets; there hath nothing hapne●… worthy of the History I promised you, but only that the Emperor as I hear, hath presented to the view of brave spirits, certain new and very strange recreations by which he hath gained a great opinion of his knowledge. As to make the Images in a piece of Tapestry, to walk, and move: to make all the faces in a room, to seem to be double; to make a river rise in a Hall; and after streaming away without wetting of any, make a company of Fairies appear and dance a round; these are his ordinary sports, & to use the phrase of our friend; but the outside of his secret Philosophy. Signior Mercurio Cardano, swears he hath seen all this, and more; enough to find you discourse for many meetings: and if you appoint him to set hand to his Pen, he will be a Philostratus to this Appolonius. He hath told me, as he hath heard it from him, that for certain, the heaven's mevace France, with a notable revolution; and that the fall of—, hath not been so much the end, as the change of our mysteries. For myself who know, that God never makes Mountibanks of his Counsel; and that the virtue of the King, is able to correct the malignity of the stars: I laugh at the vanity of such Presages; and look for nothing but happiness from the ascendant and fortune of so great a Prince. But to change this Discourse, and this Mountebank for another: I have seen the man Sir, that is all armed with thorns: that pursues a Proposition to the uttermost bounds of Logic; that in most peaceable conversations, will put forth nothing, nor admit of nothing that is not a Dialemma, or a Syllogism. To tell you true, what I think of him; he would please me more if he had less reason: this quarrelsome Eloquence affrights me more than it persuades me. They which commonly converse with him; run in my opinion the same fortune, which they do, that live near the falls of Nilus; there is no overflowing, like that of his words, a man cannot safely give him audience; a Headache for three days after, is the least hurt he can take, that but hears him after dinner. The Gentleman that brings you this Letter, hath charge given him from all in general to entreat you Sir, not to forsake us in so important a matter: but to come and free our companies from one of the greatest crosses, that hath a long time afflicted civil society. You are the only man in whom this Sophister hath some belief: and therefore none but you, likely to reduce him to common right; and to bring his spirit to submit itself to Custom and Usage. You can if you please make it appear unto him; that an honest man proposes always his opinions, no otherwise than as doubts; and never raiseth the sound of his voice, to get advantage of them, that speak not so loud, that nothing is so hateful, as a chamber Preacher who delivers but his own word; and determines without warrant, that it is fit to avoid gestures, which are like to threatenings, and terms which carry the style of Edicts; I mean, that it is not fit to accompany his Discourse, with too much action; nor to affirm any thing too peremptorily. Lastly, that conversation reflects more upon a popular estate, then upon a Monarchy; and that every man hath there a right of suffrage: and the benefit of liberty. You know Sir, that for want of due observing these petty rules, many have fallen into great inconveniences; and you remember one who maintained an argument at the Table, with too great violence, disturbed and drove Queen Margaret from her dinner. Such men commonly spoil the best causes; whilst they seek to get the better, not because their cause is good; but because themselves are the Advocates; Reason itself seems to be wrong, when it is not of their side, at least not in its right place, nor in its ordinary form. They disguise it in so strange a fashion that it cannot be known to any; and they take away her authority and force, by painting her in the colours and marks of folly. Against these Ringleaders, it is that we desire you to come, and to take the pains of applying your Exorcisms, particularly upon— you will have a thousand Benedictions, if you can drive out of his body, this devil of dispute and wrangling; which hath begun already to torment us. We expect you at the end of the week; and I remain,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Mets, 15. Augu. 1618.   

To my Lord the Earl of Brassac. LETTER IX.  
SIR, that which I have written of you; is but a simple relation of that I have seen of you: and if there be any ornament in it: It must needs be, that either yourself have put it there; or else that Fortune hath lent it to me. I had done it very innocently, I assure you, if I had spoken any thing well; who was so ill prepared for it. I should have hit a mark which I aimed not at; and have drawn a Picture, by the casual falling down of my Pencil. My drift was to entertain my friend, who was accustomed to the negligence of my style: and with whom; if I committed any fault, I was sure of Pardon. He cries not out murder, upon seeing one Vowel encounter another, nor stands amazed at meeting with an untoward word as if it were a Monster: This favour I receive from him; and he, the like from me: we allow all liberty to our thoughts: and if in treating together, we should not sometimes violate the laws of our Art, we should never show confidence enough in our friendship. Rhetoric therefore hath no place in Writings where Truth takes up all: There is great difference between an Orator, and a Register; and my private testimony ought not to pass for your Encomium. Yet you will have it to be so; you had rather accuse me of being eloquent, then confess yourself to be virtuous; and you avoid presumption, by a contrary extremity. It seems this occasion is dangerous to you; and as in a shipwreck, where all run to save the dearest things: so you abandon your other virtues, to preserve your modesty. She doth herself wrong Sir, to stand in opposition to the public voice; and to reject the testimony of noble fame. She ought not to contradict the two chief Courts of Europe; whereof the one honoureth your memory, the other makes use of your counsels. Aristotle would never approve of this; who speaks of a vice, with which if a man be tainted, he resembles him to one, who will not confess he hath won in the Olympic games, though men come and adjudge him the Garland; and calls himself still culpable: though three degrees of the Areopage, pronounce him innocent. Be not you, of solittle equity to yourself; and suffer me to tell you what I think; seeing I think nothing, but that which is the common opinion; and I deliver not so much my own particular conceit, as the general belief of the whole world: They who prefer a Captain of Carabins before Alexander the Great; and know not how to praise the integrity of a Statesman, without affronting that of Aristides; fall into that excess which reason requires should be avoided. Yet we ought not for all this, generally to slight all merit of the present age; and fancy to ourselves, that we are not bound to revere virtue, unless it be consecrated by Antiquity. For myself, I judge more favourably of things present, and do not think I run any hazard in subscribing to the Pope's judgement of you, that in serving the King, you have been his governor. This would be to be too scrupulous, to fear mistaking, after him that they say cannot err; and you are too courteous, to count it a courtesy that I do my duty; and to give me thanks that I am not a Schismatic. Concerning the last Article of your Letter; I say it gives me not so much, as a temptation: neither am I indeed capable to receive it. It sufficeth me Sir, that you protect my repose here; for to enter into defence of my interests in the place where you are, as you do me the honour to promise me; I would advise you not to undertake it. You could never look for better success, than the prime man of this age had, who could not obtain of—; the favour he required of him, in my behalf. It is much easier to break down the Alps; and to bridle the Ocean, then to procure the payment of my Pension: and there is nothing that can make a worker of miracles see, there is some thing impossible for him to do; but only my ill fortune. There are the bounds of this power, which is so much envied: The good will he bears me, cannot draw from Spain the eight thousand pounds which are due unto me: and it is Gods will he should be disobeyed in this, that I may be a witness against them who say that he is absolute. I only entreat you, seeing you desire to oblige me to you, to show him the constancy of my passions, which is obdurate against ill successes, and preserves itself entire amidst the ruins of my hopes, It shall be satisfaction enough for me that he do me the honour to believe I can adore freely and without hope of reward; and that I should do him as great reverence if he were not in so great a height of happiness. I expect this favour from your ordinary goodness, and promise myself that you will always have a little love for me, seeing I have a will to be all my life most perfectly,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 30. May 1633.   

To Mounsieur de la Nauve, Counsellor of the King in his Great Chamber. LETTER X.  
SIR, say what you can, I am not so indulgent to my passion as you are injurious to your own merits. Amongst all your good qualities, you have one that seems an enemy to all the rest, detraction doth you more justice than you do yourself, and envy itself gives you that which your own modesty takes away from you. This is not to handle the truth civilly, to respect her then when she embraceth you? This is to render her evil for good, to call her fabulous, when she calls you virtuous. I find in this Sir more scruple than Religion: The first and most ancient charity is thereby broken, and you are faulty in the first principle of your duty; if before doing justice to all the world, you deny to do it to yourself alone. It must be a great preciseness of conscience that shall find in you the evils you accuse yourself of, and a sight more clear than mine that shall see defaults in the course of your life. If you have any that are surely immaterial, and such as fall not under sense. They come not within the knowledge of any; It must be a secret between your confessor and you. None is known Sir, at least not known to be revealed, and if any were so known, it would rather be found a proof of humility than a mark of imperfection. I am none therefore, as you say I am, of these charitable liars, who attribute to them they love all that they want, nor of these forgers of commonwealths, who carry their imagination beyond all possibility of things; I present not unto you an Idea to make you better than you are, but taking you into consideration I propose you as my example to stir me up to goodness; I draw your picture for my own use and not for your glory; I intent more the instructing myself then the prattling with you. The object of so elevated a virtue fills my mind with great desires, and if it astonish me sometimes with its height, it makes me at least see by experience, that an inferior virtue is possible to be acquired; so that to say true, I study you more than I praise you, and am in this more swayed with interest then with passion: I mean this passion without eyes, that riseth only from the animal part, for as for that which is reasonable and works with knowledge I have that for you in the highest degree, and by all kinds of obligations and of duties am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac. 6. Febru. 1634.   

To Mounsieur Heinfius, Professor of the Politics at Leyden. LETTER XI.  
SIR, I acquit myself of a charge that was laid upon me, and send you from Mounsieur Favereau the verses he lately made for the King; they have had the approbation of all France, but they have not yet had his own, and if this public judgement be not confirmed by your particular, he takes it but as the passion of a mother; and that France doth but flatter her children. He thinks no glory is legitimate whereof you are not the distributour, and that things are not so good by their own goodness, as by the account you make of them; you see by this Sir what rank you hold in the Commonwealth of Letters, and that I am not the only man that look upon you with veneration, being seated in the Throne of the great Scaliger, and giving laws to all the civil parts of Europe. The highest degree that a man can aspire unto, who is Prince amongst his own, is to become a judge amongst strangers; and there to get reverence where he cannot pretend subjection. To this uppermost Region of merit are you ascended; the light of your doctrine shines upon more than one people, and more than one country; it spreads and communicates itself in diverse places and kinds; it hath as well adorers a far off, as admirers at home: He of whom I speak Sir is worth a whole multitude, and makes not only a part of a choice company, but is himself alone a company and a number. Do you ask for qualities intellectual and moral? for virtue's civil and military? would you have a Philosopher a Mathematitian, a Poet, for Latin, Italian, French? you shall find them all in his one person. He hath the key of the most sublime sciences, and the superintendance of the noblest Arts. Heretofore he hath been the dispenser of the conceits of Marino, the reformer and pruning knife of the superfluities of his style, at this time he is overseer of all curious works; the Oracle that Carvers consult, and the spirit that guides the hand before Painters. He meddles in an infinite number of things with equal capacity, and hath as many trades as Sage Stoics had; but makes better works of them then he did. It is not possible either to fill his spirit, or to set it about work enough; so greedy and unsatiable it is of knowledge, so impatient of rest, and growing fresh with action. And to impart to you the expression of a gallant friend of ours; he is in as great a heat for the pleasures of the mind, as the Princes of Asia are for the pleasures of the body; and as they have many Concubines besides the Sultana which they marry, so hath he one profession as his principal study, but leaves not for all that to follow other exercises, though follow them but with inferior affection; so that it cannot be said of him, that he knows all, but that he ought to know; and that he is nothing less than that he ought to be. He acquits himself most worthily of his charge, and never stands in contemplation, when it is time to be in action. If he be a great Poet, he is no less a great Lawyer; he makes as well the draught of a Process as the description of a Tempest; and having sung Phillis and Amarillis with an admirable grace, he treats of Seia and Sempronia with no less solidity. I give this testimony as religiously of him, as if I gave it before a judge, and as if my writing were upon oath. Is it not fit you should be ignorant of his merit, whom without any merit you ought to respect, though but only for his respect to you. It is fit you know that he is an elevated person, humbling himself before you, and a Saint offering you sacrifice. It is fit also I should satisfy his desire, which you shall see in the word he hath written to you, as he was going out of his Inn and taking Coach, but that done Sir, it is not fit I should forget myself; I entreat you therefore you will be pleased that in presenting to you the vows of another, I may offer you also my own, and make you this true protestation, that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac, 5. Decemb. 1634.   

To Mounsieur de la Pigeonniere, Lieutenant General of Bloyes. LETTER XII.  
SIR, the Letter you took the pains to write unto me hath calmed my spirit, and given it ease; I could have no comfort of the news of your death, but only by that of your resurrection; and to make an end of weeping for you, it was necessary you should come yourself and stay my tears. I am none of these broachers of Paradoxes, whom too much reason makes unreasonable, and have no feeling either of joy or grief. My spirit is more tender, and my Philosophy more humane; and let them as long as they please call these passions infirmities, yet for my part I had rather have my malady then their health; If I had lost you, I had lost part of myself, and should never think myself an entire man again, and if I had not hope to enjoy again your learned conversation, I should find nothing but bitterness in my life; nothing in my studies but thorns, at this time especially when I am promised a retreat three miles from Bloys, and that I shall come under the jurisdiction of M. the Lieutenant General. I do not much rejoice at this your new Dignity, because I do not rejoice at the servitude of my friends; and because I do not count it any great happiness to be always handling the Sores and Ulcers of the people. I make more reckoning of your idleness then of your employment, and of the Elegy you will make then of all the judgements you will give. If you please to send it, or please to bring it yourself to Paris, you shall make choice yourself in what place of my book you will have it set; and I shall not be a little proud to have so fair a mark remaining of your friendship. I had more to say, but I was pulled away from my Letter, and your own best friends debauch me; I must therefore perforce leave you, yet assuring you once again that I am infinitely glad I shed my tears for you without cause, and that no man is more truly than myself,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Paris 7. Sept. 1631.   

To Mounsieur Chapelain. LETTER XIII.  
SIR, if your ticket had overtaken me at Orleans, I had certainly returned to Paris to receive that honour it promised me; and not have lost so pleasing a visit, which would have comforted me for a troublesome one that afflicted me not a little the day before. But the mischief is, that I was come hither before your ticket, and all I can do now, is to let you know the grief I take, that my inclination and my affairs lie not always in the same place. They have drawn me from the suburb Saint German, to make me ride Post in the greatest violence of the late heat; and have exposed my head to all the beams, or to speak like a Poet, to all the Arrows of the Sun. I vow unto you that being in this case, I even repent myself of all the good I had ever said of it, and would fain call back my praises, seeing it made no difference at all between me and my Post boy who had never praised it. Thanks be to God I am now in place of safety, where you may well think I seek rather to quench my thirst, then to make myself fat, and look more after refreshing then tricking myself up. To this purpose I forget nothing of that I have learned in Italy: My ordinary Diet is upon the fruits of Autumn; being of opinion that no intemperance of these pure Viands can be dishonest, and that it is not fit to be sober as long as the Trees offer us their store, and tempt our appetite. Be pleased Sir, that my business may not be to do until the Trees shall have nothing upon them but leaves; and that I may not go to the City but when the Winter drives me from the Country. In the mean time, I leave mine honour to your care, in the place where you are, and recommend unto you a little reputation that is left me, having so many wars upon me, and so many combinations made against me. I would be glad my name had less lustre, and my life more quiet, but I know not where to find obscurity; I am so well known, it not by my good qualities, at least by my ill fortune, that though I should banish myself into a strange country, I do not think I could be hidden. Ubique Notus perdidi exili●… locum, I have no remedy therefore but to continue in this famous misery, and to be labouring continually to provoke the envious, and to make work for the idle; wherein notwithstanding, if I shall do any thing that pleaseth you; I shall not think my labour ill bestowed—: I am in truth in great impatience to make known to all the world, the account I make of your virtue: and to leave a public testimony, and if I durst say it, an eternal; by which posterity may see, that we have loved one another; and I passionately have been and am,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac, 10. Septemb. 1631.   

To Mounsieur Mainard. LETTER XIV.  
SIR, I have heard this day by a Letter from Mounsieur Chapelain, that you are at Paris, and that in some business of his; you have obliged him exceedingly: wherein you have done more than ever you meant; and your action hath in it a double merit. I owe you thanks for it in my own behalf: and beside, being joined as I am with him in communion of all goods and evils; you cannot fasten upon him, and leave me free. He sends me no word of the nature of his business, in which you have done him such good offices: but I doubt me, it is some employment beyond the Alps, and dependence upon some Ambassador to Rome. Whereof I think I may truly say, without giving reins to my Passion at all; that he hath both the substance and the suppleness, which are necessary in dealing with the brains of that country; and that he, under whom he serves, may lie and sleep all the time of his employment, without any prejudice at all to the King's service. They who see but his outside only, take him for a neat man, and one of excellent and pleasing qualities: but I, to whom he hath discovered that, which he hides from all the world beside: I know him to be a man capable of great designs, and that beside speculative knowledge, he possesseth those also which serve for use, and are reduceable to action. I would say more, if the Post would suffer me. I will only add this in point of his honesty, which I said to you once, of an ancient Roman, that I see no example of virtue, in all the first Decade of Titus Livius, that is of too high a strain, or too hard for him. Never therefore withdraw your affection, from so worthy a place; and so long as you thus oblige my friends, It is I that will be,  
Sir, Your, most humble and most obliged servant, etc. At Balzac 20. Decem. 1631.   

To——— LETTER XV.  
SIR, in the Letter which— received from you, I saw a line or two for me, that would even tickle a heart that were harder than mine, and which I could not read without some touch of vainglory. There is a pleasure in yielding to such sweet temptations, and though I know my merit hath no right to so gracious a remembrance, yet by what title soever I come to be happy, I am not a little proud of my fortune. These are Sir the mere effects of your goodness, and your experiments in that art, with which you know how to gain hearts, and to purchase men without buying them. The fairest part of the earth in which you have left a dear remembrance of your name, gives this testimony of you by the mouth of its Princes, and of their subjects, but seeing in the place where you are, you meet with spirits of love and tenderness; it cannot be that any should escape you, upon whom you have any design to take hold. All things are biting beyond the Garonne; the Sheep of that Country are worse than the Woolves of this; and I have heard a great person of our age say, That if France had a soul, certainly Gascognie should be the Irascible part. Yet I hear Sir, you have already sweetened all you found four there; and that your only look hath melted all the stcele of the courages of that Province. Mounsieur de— and myself make account to go see the progress of so admirable a beginning, and this next Summer to come and behold you in all your glory. But if we go thirty miles for—— we would more willingly go three hundred for——— and I begin to think already of a vow to Loretta, that I may thereby have a colour to go to Rome, to be there at the time when you shall do honour to France, and maintain the King's rights. This cannot be too soon for his service, nor soon enough for my desire, who am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 4. August. 1631.   

To Mounsieur Arnaut, Abbot of Saint Nicholas. LETTER XVI.  
SIR, I am very slow in answering your Letter, but I could not do it sooner; after three months of continual agitation, this is my first hour of leisure, and the first place I find of commerce, to tender you the Compliment I owe you. I see well that your word is not subject to the accidents of the world, and that I have chosen a plot which is out of the reach of Fortune. Your affection to me is not of this brittle matter that friendships at Court be made of; it is of a more excellent stuff, and such as neither time can wear out, not my negligence weaken. I need not doubt of preserving a good that you keep for me; your faithfulness is more than my negligence, and I am more assured of your honesty then of my own; notwithstanding what certainty soever I have of your love, it is no trouble to me to have new assurances: Men that are well enough persuaded, yet will go to a Sermon, and take a pleasure to hear that they know already. For myself I can never be weary of reading a thing that gives me satisfaction, and though it were as feigned as it is true, yet you write it with so good a grace that it would be a pleasure to be so deceived; yet it is fit to stay myself there, and not to fall from joy into presumption; how can you look my spirit should contain itself within its bounds, knowing that I am talked of at Rome, and that my name is sometimes pronounced by the most eloquent mouth of Italy? you should have concealed the express charge you had from M. the Cardinal of Bentivoglio, to send me his History; or at least for a temper to my vanity, you should have told me at the same time, that I must not impute a favour to my own sufficiency, for which I am beholding to your good offices; I may believe Sir that he had never had this thought of me, if you had not stirred it up in him by some favourable mention you made of my person; and I know he puts so great a trust in you, that after you have once made a commendation, he would make a conscience to use his own judgement in examining my worth. From what ground soever my happiness comes, I am bound to acknowledge the visible cause, and to that I destinate my first good days journey that God shall send me. I will not fail to give thanks to M. the Cardinal, and to give him an account of my reading, that he may see I know as well how to receive as he to give. In the mean time I offer him a present far unworthy of the magnificence of his, and which will show him, how with his hook of Gold he hath fished but grass, such as it is you shall do me a favour to present it to him, and to let me hold the possession I have in your love, whose I am all my life,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 10. May, 1634.   

To Mounsieur de Nesmond, Controller of the Prince's house. LETTER XVII.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, your Letter hath told me no news, it hath only confirmed me in my opinion; and testified that you are always good, and always do me the honour to love me. You have qualities of greater lustre than this, but you have none of greater use; and they that could live without your wisdom, yet cannot bear the miss of your goodness. My sister and I continue to implore it in a business which is already set on foot by your commendation, and which attends a full accomplishment by your second endeavour. It is neither without example nor without reason; it needs but such an undertaker as yourself, and you may easily save it from rigorous justice, if you will but lend a little aid to its equity. Of your will I make no doubt, it is the continual agitation of the court that makes me fear, which drives men one way and their affairs another. But if the heavens help us not, we are not like in haste to see it in any state of consistence; it will be always floating like the Island of Greece, until a great birth shall make it stay; and that God make sure the King's victories by the Queen's fruitfulness. In the mean time it is not fit you should stay at home, but that you should make one in all voyages; but you must not be of these voyages that get many hosts, and few friends. You are in a state of obliging and making men beholding to you by doing always good; and now for fear you should want matter to work upon, I offer you matter here to set you a-work. Be pleased Sir; my dear Cousin, that I entreat you to deliver to— the Letter I writ unto him; and when you deliver it, to testify withal unto him, that having the honour to be to you as I am, the things that touch me must needs concern you; Heretofore I have held good place in his confidence, and to use the terms of a man you hate not: Vetus mihi cum eo consuetudo, & cum privatus eraet Amici vocabamur. Even lately at Paris he offered me courtesies that might have contented a prouder man's vanity than mine; and I received from him more good words than was possible for me to return him. But these illustrious friendships require continual cares, and an assiduity without cessation. I know they are subject to a thousand inconveniences, and that they grow cold if they be not stirred up and kindled continually. Three words of your mouth spoken with a due accent, may save me the soliciting of three months, and my requests ought not to seem uncivil; seeing I desire nothing but this, that— should not do me the honour to make a promise, and then leave there, and think that enough. To this purpose I send you a short instruction for—: and you may be pleased to be a means, that he cast his eyes upon it; at such time as the business he hath about your person shall permit him. I would not solicit you so boldly: nor press upon you so burdensome a familiarity, if you had not yourself made the overture first. It is a persecution you have drawn upon yourself by the liberal offers you made me in your Letter; and I conceive you speak as you mean, as I do, in protesting that I honour you with my soul; and am,  
Sir, my dear Cousin, Your, etc. From Balzac 20. Octob. 1632.   

To Mounsieur de Borstell. LETTER XVIII.  
SIR, I do not know myself in your Letters: you are like those Painters, that care not for making a face like, so they make it fair. Certainly you thought upon some honester man than myself; when you took the pains to write unto me; and your Idea went beyond your subject: or else you meant to excite me to virtue by a new subtlety; and the praises you give me are but disguised exhortations. They could not be Sir, either more fine, or more delicate: and I do not think, that your pretended Barbarism, comes any thing behind the Grecian eloquence. But tell me true; Is it not as artificial as Brutus his folly? And are not you in plain terms a Cosener, to make us believe you come from that climate, from whence the cold and foul weather comes? Whereas it cannot be you should be borne any where but in the heart of Paris: or if any place be more French then Paris: that certainly must needs have been your Cradle. You speak too well, not to speak naturally; this garb, and this purity, in which you express yourself, is not a thing that can be learned by Books: you owe it to a nearer cause; and study goes not so far as it. There have strangers been Marshals of France, but their accent hath always discovered, they were not natural: and they have found it more easy, to merit the leading of our Armies, and to gain the favour of our King; then to learn our language, and attain a true pronouncing. But Sir, seeing in your person, there is seen an Ambassador of eighteen years old: and a wisdom without experience: there is not so great a wonder in the world as yourself: nor any thing incredible after this. It is fit only, that you make more account than you do, of this so rare and admirable a quality: and that you should use it, according to its merits; and not employ it upon base subjects, that are not worthy of it. Otherwise how good an Artist so ever you be; you will be blamed for making no better choice of your Materials; and myself, who draw so much glory from, our fault; had yet much rather see you employ your excellent language, in treating of Prince's interests, and the present estate of Europe; then in advancing the value of a poor sick man: who prays you to keep your valuing, for—; and asks you nothing but pity; or at most but affection: if this be to merit it, that I passionately am,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 6. Novem. 1629.   

To him another. LETTER XIX.  
SIR, I remember my promise, upon condition you forget not yours: and that in case you come within six miles of Balzac: you will allow me the half day's journey, I require. It is not any hope I have to send you away well satisfied, either with your Host, or with your lodging: that makes me to make this request: but it is Sir, for my own benefit: for you know very well, we never have commerce together, but all the gain remains of my side. I find that in your conversation, which I seek for in vain, in my neighbour's Libraries: and if there fall out any errors in the work I am about, the faults must be attributed to your absence. Leave me not therefore, I entreat you, to my own senee, and suffer me to be so proud, as to expect one of your Visits, if you go to Santoigne, or otherwise to prevent it, if you stay at Lymousin. There are some friendships that serve only to pass away the time, and to remedy the tediousness of solitariness: but yours Sir, besides being pleasant, is withal I vow, no less profitable. I never part from you, that I bring not away pleasuros that last, and profit that doth you no hurt. I make myself rich, of that you have too much; and therefore as you ought not to envy me my good fortune, which costs you little: so you ought to believe also, that as long as I shall love myself, I shall be,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 20. Decem. 1629.   

Another to him. LETTER XX.  
SIR, at that time when Mistress— parted from hence; I was too much out of order to present myself before a wise man; and I chose rather to be failing in the rules of civility, then to be importunate upon you with my Compliments. Now that I am a little at qulet; and can fall to work indifferent well; I must needs tell you, that the confidence I have of your love, sweetens all the bitterness of my spirit, and that in my most sensible distastes; I find a comfort in thinking of this. It is certain Sir, the world is strangely altered, and good men now a days, cannot make a troop. This is the cause, that seeing you are one of this little flock which is preserved from infection; and one of those that keep virtue from quite leaving us; I therefore bless incessantly Madam Desloges, for the excellent purchase I have made by her, means: and proclaim in all places, that she discovered me a treasure when she brought me first to be acquainted with you. If I husband's it not, and dress it with all the care and industry, it deserves; it is not, I assure you, for want of desire: but so sweet and pleasing duties, have no place amidst the traverses of a life in perpetual agitation, and your ordinary conversation is reserved for men more happy than I. I wait therefore for this favour from a better fortune than the present, as also occasions by which I may testify, that I possionately am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 1. Febru. 1630.   

To him another. LETTER XXI.  
SIR, although I am ravished with your eloquence, yet I am not satisfied: but you remain still unjust, and I not well pleased. I see what the matter is; you are so weary of your Penance at Lymousin: that you have no mind to come and continue it in Angoumois. You like better to go in a straight line to the good, then to go to it by the crooked change of evil; and prefer a safe harbour before an incommodious creek. Wherein Sir, I cannot blame your choice; only I complain of your proceeding; and find it strange, you should disguise your joy, for escaping a bad passage, and that you are content to be unhappy at Rochel; because you will not venture to be unhappy here. These high and Theological comparisons which you draw from the austerity of Anchorets', concerning works of supererogation; concerning Purgatory and Hell, make me know you are a mocker, and can make use of Ironies, with the skill and dexterity of Socrates. Take heed I be not revenged upon this Figure of yours by another, and return your Hyperboles. For this once, I am resolved to suffer all; hereafter perhaps, I shall help myself with my old Arms. But howsoever the world go: and in what style soever I write unto you, you may be sure I speak seriously, when I say, that I very firmly am;  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 9 Septem. 1630.   

To him another. LETTER XXII.  
SIR, I am exceedingly beholding to you, for remembering me; and for the good news you have so liberally acquainted me withal. If the— loved Sugar, as well as they love salt; they should have enough of it, never to drink any thing but Hyppocras; nor to eat any thing but Comfits. Without jesting I vow, these are excellent Rebels; and their simplicity is more subtle than all the Art and Maxims of Florence. These Mariners read Lessons now to the inhabitants of Terra firma; and are become the Paedagouges of Princes. There is nothing of theirs that troubles me, but the proposition of their Truce. They should reject it, as a temptation of the devil: and I dare swear, it was never set a foot, but to gain time and opportunity: The good will, the Spaniard makes show to bear them; is the bait they show upon the hook they hide, he seeks not after them, but to catch them; and he makes show of kindness; because he could do no good with force. Though I have not read the Book you spoke to me of; yet I doubt not of its worth and goodness; I know the Author is a man of great learning and experience, and one that hath been brought up at the feet of Gamaliel; I mean of—: who no doubt hath acquainted him with all the Mysteries of our state. For myself, it must needs be that I speak but at hap hazard of this matter: for it would be a miracle, if by living in the woods, I should learn the skill to govern cities; and that I should be a Politician and a Lawyer, being scarce either a man or a citizen: for to speak truly, if the first be a sociable creature, and the other a manager of some part of the common wealth: I see not in the estate I am in, how I can justly pretend to either of these two qualities. In favour therefore of Mounsieur— ay yield up my right in all the good I receive from you; and in all the praises you give me, as things that much more belong to him than me. Admire as much as you will, his subtlety; but yet make some reckoning of my freeness; and give him that which I leave him; but yet keep for me, that which you cannot take from me, without doing me wrong: I mean your goodwill; which ought to be the prize of my passion, and of the fidelity, with which I shall be all my life,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 10. june 1630.   

To him another. LETTER XXIII.  
SIR, I should be extremely culpable, if you were not extremely good; but I know, you are no rigorous exactor of that which is your due, and that you have much indulgence, for the faults of those you love. My idleness is even become stupidity; and hath taken from me all use both of speaking and writing; yet all things considered, this is no ill quality at this time: no man is bound to give account of his silence; and many become Delinquents for their speaking. I do not think therefore you would ask me news, in a time, when reporting it is dangerous: and when one may be called in question to make explication of it before Magistrates; though the literal sense of our words be innocent, they may search the allegorical, and stand punctual upon an equivocal term to make us culpable of another man's subtlety. But I defy the most pregnant Grammarian, and the most severe inquisitor to find any fault in the protestation I make of most perfectly honouring your virtue, and of being with all my soul,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Paris 4. May, 1631.   

To him another. LETTER XXIV.  
SIR, if my Letters had been lost, you should have known long ere this the joy I have had in being cleared of the most important debts that troubled me, and in learning from yourself that you do me always the honour to love me; not that I ever doubted of your goodness, but I have so much knowledge of my own unfortunateness, that I cannot hear any ill news so incredible which I do not believe to be very probable. Yet I perceive Sir by your holding out so firmly in behalf of a party ruined, that you are not easily altered either in your opinions, or from your errors. That which you have once spoken, and indeed that you have but once conceived, is never changed nor revoked; and therefore as I have nothing more dear nor more precious than your friendship, so have I nothing also more assured or of more solidity. This ancient Germane probity is not a whit altered by contagion of our ill examples, and the strength of your constitution hath been able to resist the ill air of our Court. It is not out of ignorance that you follow not the false maxims of this; but follow your own and those that be lawful; and if it be true, that the king of the Flies hath a sting indeed, but never stings, it is much more true of you, that having the power and ability to do evil, yet for all that you are no evil doer. But this would be too little to praise you but thus; they that understand you well will say with me, there is nothing in virtue so high or difficult, to which your spirit is not aspired; and as nature hath given you all the good qualities that cannot be acquired by study, so your own study hath procured you all the good qualities that are not in the gift of nature. Though your courtesies had left me my first liberty, and that there were neither Obligation on your part nor Resentment on mine, yet I should say as much as I do, and give this testimony of you before all the world, and I am not less true of my word than I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 7. Octob. 1631.   

Another to him. LETTER XXV.  
SIR, this bearer will toll you how often in a day I am speaking of you, and in what esteem your virtue is in all places where I am heard speak; yet I speak but of the kind of life you have chosen, and this I propose as the peace of passions, which with others are so mutinous, and as the kingdom of wisdom, which is not free in the great world. Never repent you of so hardy a flight, nor of so noble a banishment; the leisure that you take is far better than the employment that others desire, and you are that close happy man that enjoys true happiness without either pomp or envy.  

Aemulus ille jovis, celsa qui mentis ab arce,  
Sub pedibus vel summa videt fastigia Regum.  
Quem non ambigui fasces, non mobile vulgus  
Non leges, non castra tenent, qui pectore magno  
Spemque metumque domat vitio sublimior omni:  
Exemptus fatis, indignantemque repellit  
Fortunam, dubis quem non in turbine rerum  
Dependet suprema dies, sed abire paratum  
Ac plenum vita, etc.   
This me thinks is your very description, and might be mine also, if I had cut off a little thread by which I hang still about Paris; out of a fancy of my friends, without any hope at all in myself, for thanks be to God I have purged my spirit from all smokes and fumes of the Court, and my ambition goes no further than the border of my village. I have no longer any thoughts but rustic and provincial; and demand not of— but only abatement— and return of Quart d' Escus; if these be two things, and as it is said, both within his power. One conference with you will fully accomplish the settling me in a good state, and you cannot deny your council to a man that hath a longing to put it in practice; and who is with his whole heart,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 1. May, 1633.   

Another to him: LETTER XXVI.  
SIR, this day being the six and twentieth of April, I solemnly renounce all Compliments, yet after I have told you first that I never used any with you, but such as were most true, and that whatsoever I have written unto you heretofore until now, is of as great force and vigour as if it had passed before a public Notary. I have with a great deal of pleasure read the Latin which you did me the favour to send me; the force of the reasoning, and the Oeconomie of the discourse content me exceedingly; only one little word distastes me, and your friend might well have forborn to couple us with Mahometans and Infidels. The liberty which the King gives his Subjects, not to be of his opinion, ought not to reach to the scandalising of that opinion, and seeing he holds it a glory to be the eldest son of the Church, to call this Church a whore, is in good French to call— He deserves Sir more respect, and your Doctors should have more discretion: For in truth, if their Religion were the prime Religion of the kingdom, and that they were at liberty to preach it in the Lovure; they could never speak in higher terms, nor handle Catholics in a ruder manner than they do. I assure myself you will be in this of my opinion: One must always remember the condition of the time, and the state of affairs; wise men will never provoke them that are easily able to undo them; and in the ancient triumphs it was lawful for the Soldiers to scoff at their General; but it was not lawful for the vanquished to speak reproachfully of the Conqueror; you may please to make some reflection hereupon, and I know you will conceive that innocence itself becomes culpable if it draw on persecution. I bid you goodnight, and am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 26. April, 1634.   

Another to him. LETTER. XXVII.  
SIR, without accepting the challenge you sent me, I thank you for the care you had to make me win honour; If it came of it self I would perhaps not stick to receive it, but if it cannot be had without contesting, I will none of it; I love my ease too well, I say not to lose it, but even to hazard it in the best quarrel of the world. I am as patient and as utterly disarmed as an Anabaptist; I am afraid of a Potgun or a Squib; far from running upon Muskets and Swords points, as they say in our Vicinage. It would be a hard matter to draw a man of this humour to a combat; but a much harder matter to make me stand in argumentation, being resolved to let the world hold what opinion it pleaseth, and ever to forsake my own, if any man will wrangle with me for it. I desire neither to establish my own Maxims, nor to destroy other men's; and if a Master of Arts should come and try me with Omnis Homo Currit, I would answer him Lascialo andar; and if he should go on and say, sed Petrus Currit, I would reply, Lascialo star; and if he would conclude, Ergo Petrus non est Homo, I would take my leave of him and say, Che m' Importa? I have very seriously considered of the Letter of—— and absolutely lost all remembrance of my own; I thought I had reason, and perhaps I was wrong, his intentions might be good, but my interpretation of them was naught. The Conclusion is; He is a man I make infinite account of, and his friendship shall always be dearer to me then my own opinion. I conjure you to give him assurance hereof, and to get his leave that I may live; seeing I am already beholding to you for so many other courtesies, and am also with all my soul,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzde, 15. August, 2634.   

To Mounsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER XXVIII.  
SIR, if it had not been for a troublesome rheum which hath followed me now these fifteen days, I should have sooner thanked you for the new courtesies you have done me, and for the late pains you have taken for the most unprofitable servant you have. God will reward a nature so free and noble, for myself I can but praise it, and give it the testimony that is due unto it. But to make it perfect, I entreat you it may be as sweet as it is gracious, and heal me if it may be without thrusting your nails into my sores. I desire not to be left in my ill estate by flattery, but I desire to be drawn out of it without roughness; works alone seasoned with sweetness content me more than good deeds that are dry, and come from a proud hand. Be not therefore like the friends of job, who reproached him in comforting him; but be compassinate a little to humane infirmities, and remember you cannot alter me unless you new make me. I dare not say, that I prefer the liberty of Deserts before the magnificence of Courts; and that chains though never so well made and guilded over, do yet not tempt me, I only say, I know myself too well to meddle in a trade whereof I am not capable, and to begin a life which ought to be ended in beginning it. Thus Sir I do that out of consideration which you think I do out of laziness, and the faintness of my spirit comes from that of my body. But I know it is impossible to persuade you to this, and no means is left me to justify my sickness but by my death, and when you have lost me, than you will find and say I had reason to complain. In the mean time I understand that the devils of Paris, of Brussels, etc. are all let loose, and commit outrages upon me in four or five Languages. The contrary faction fortifies itself daily, and there seems to be merit and piety in tearing asunder my reputation. Leave me not therefore to adversaries so incensed, and add not your rigour to their cruelty. I conjure you to take some care of an afflicted soul; if I have defects, supply them by your virtue; if I be negligent in my affairs, be you my tutor, but exact no more of me then nature hath given me. You are too generous to put back a man that casts himself between your arms; and one that is more than any other in the world,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 5. Ianua. 1632.   

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

Foelix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas,  
Atque metus omnes, & inexorabile fatum,  
Subjecit pedibus.   
Either you are this happy man, or hee is not to be found in the world; and the conquest of truth, for which you labour with so great force and industry seems to me a more noble business, than all that is done with so great bruit and tumult in Germany and Italy, I am not so vain to pretend, I should be a companion of your travel herein; but I shall at least be a spectator; and shall enrich myself with the relics of the prey; and with the superfluity of your abundance. Think not that I make this proposition by chance; I speak it in great earnest; and if you stay never so little in the place where you are; you shall find me a Hollander as well as yourself; and my Masters, the States, shall not have a better citizen: nor one more passionate for liberty than I am. Although I love extremely the air of Italy; and the soil that bears Oranges; yet your virtue is able to draw me to the banks of the frozen sea; and even to the uttermost border of the North. It is now three years, that my imagination goes in quest after you; and that I even die with longing to be united to you, and never to part from you again: and to testify unto you, by a continual subjection, that I passionately am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At●…arisc ●…arisc, 25. April. 1631.   

To Mounsieur de la Motte-Aigron. LETTER XXX.  
SIR, I have heard of the happy accomplishment of your marriage; and that it hath been one of the great solemnities of Rochel. I have celebrated it here in my particular; with less pomp indeed and tumult; but with as much joy, and satisfaction of mind, as they that sung the Hymenaeus. Though perhaps you would not have it so; yet your contentments are mine; you have not any passion so proper to yourself, which is not common with me, and play the cruel, as long as you will; I will have a share in that which is yours; even then, when you will not afford to give it me. At the worst, I will love you still, as I have ever done, as a creature supremely excellent; though not supremely just: As there are some virtues that are fierce and scornful; so there are some sciences which have attractives amidst their difficulties, and which draw us on in thrusting us back, You are like these abstract knowledges: Your merit sweetens all your rigours: and how hard soever the persecution hath been, which I have suffered: yet I vow unto you, I could never find in my heart to hate the Tyrant. I have still so great a care of his reputation, that I would not be thought innocent; for fear he should be blamed to have done me wrong; and I had rather be a Prevaricatour, and treacherous to myself, then to seem I had cause of complaint against him. We ought to condemn the memory of this disorder; and to suppress this unfortunate olympiad. We ought to persuade our imagination, that the matter is not so indeed; but that it is only dreamt. When you shall please to remember your word; I shall see your Verses; and your friends Sermons. In the mean time Sir, if you will not have it be a mere liberality: I send you something, to exercise commutative justice, and begin a traffic whereof the Toll is not agreed upon to be taken of right. Never was man so miserably busied as myself; I am intricated with an infinite number of petty affairs: which, as you know, are no less cumbersome than the great: One thrust of a sword hurts not so much as a hundred pricks of a Pin: and the Arabians have a saying; It is a better bargain to be devoured of a Lion, than to be eaten up of Flies. If I had you, I should have a Redeemer; but your State-business, is preferreable before my interests; and it is better I should want you, than come to have you with the curses of the people. I am, and shall never be,  
Sir, But your, etc. At Balzack 29. july. 1634.   

To Mounsieur de Granier. LETTER XXXI.  
SIR, then day I parted from Paris; I dreamt not of taking any journey; but a news which I received, made me take horse within an hour after I received it. This is that which hindered me from taking my leave; and to use such compliments with you, as in such cases are accustomed. If I did not know you to be an enemy of the tyranny of Ceremonies; and that you, as well as myself, cut off from friendship all vain pomp and superfluities, I should study for long excuses to justify my journey: but in so doing, I should offer wrong to a wise man; to think he had opinions like the vulgar: and that he would either give or take so good a thing as liberty. I enjoy it as I would wish within these three or four days; and I have received it at the bank of the river where I left it the last year. I banish from my mind all thoughts of the street Saint jaques; and dream not either of my Prince or Commonwealth, either of enemy's Books, or of my own: I dream, to say true, continually of you; and find no Image in my memory so pleasing, as that which presents me the time of our being together. I would willingly employ Atlante, or Melisse, to procure me a more solid contentment; and to convey you and your library hither in a night. I cannot forget this dear retreat of your repose; for, I know, that without this, you would find even in Tyvolie, a want in your felicity; and that without your Books, our fruits would be but sour; and our good cheer but of ill taste unto you. These are imaginations Sir, with which I flatter myself; whilst I stand waiting to return to Paris; that I may there go find out a happiness which cannot come hither to find out me. If in the mean time you please to fend me some news, whereof, you know provincicall spirits are extremely greedy; you shall give me means, to make a whole country beholding to me; and you need deliver them, but only to—: who will ease you of the pains of writing them. In these, I require not the strains of your understanding, nor the politic Animadversiana which come from this accurate, and Collineant judgement; (to use the barbarous eloquence of our friend) it shall be enough for me that I may know in general some part of that which passeth, and may have some Epitome of the History which you send weekly to Mounsieur D'Andylly. I humbly entreat you, to assure him that I honour him, continually with passion; and assure yourself also, that I am,  
Sin, Your, etc. At Balzac 10. Septem. 1631.   

To Mounsieur de la Nauve, Commander of a Company in Pyedmont. LETTER. XXXII.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, I cannot endure you should be cmoe back into France, for nothing but—: and that he should solely and without me, possess a happiness, which more belongs to me than him. His Letters speak nothing but of your conversations, and of your feastings: news which he sends me, rather to brave me, and to set me in a longing, then to give me any part in his good fortune, and to justify my stay at Paris. I shall one day have means to be revenged of him, for this malice: I doubt not to have liberty to walk abroad, when he shall be tied to stay at home; and to have my turn in feasting and making merry, when he shall stand waiting upon enterrements, and go exhorting men that are to be hanged. Yet he is all this while your Favourite in my absence, though he ncede not think me absent, unless he will; for if he love me enough, to be troubled for losing me, he may easily recover me, by looking upon your face. This resemblance between you and me, is not the least of my vanities; and I vow unto you, I am proud of it in the highest degree: every day I thank my mother for it in my heart; and do a secret homage for it to Nature. It were enough for me, to be taken for your Copy; but my grey hairs tell me to my shame, that I am rather your Original, and put me in mind of this untoward advantage. I should not do much good, to paint them, unless withal, I could discharge the pensiveness that hath changed them: for the tincture of this blots out all other. It is fit therefore to be merry, and to banish sorrow, seeing this is the only means to new make us, and to make us able to resist old-age. I resolve myself to do so, though it be but to do Fortune a spite; and to take from her by my not grieving, the pleasure she thinks to take in her cruelty. But this goodly resolution stands in need of you; my joy would be perfect, if you would sometimes be a man of the Province; and that there were any appearance of hope, to see you at Condeville. I know no reason you should scorme an Island, in which our Ariosto would have charmed his dearest Heroes; and whereof he would have made a thousand other strange devises, if he had been able to discover it. Venture to come thither this next Summer, I conjure you to it by the memory of—: and I will promise you, though not the good fellowships of Paris; yet at least the fair days of pignerol. But I fear me much you are not settled enough to undertake so high a design; nor good enough to come to civilize a clown; who yet is beyond all I can say,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 3. Ianua. 1634.   

Another to him. LETTER XXXIII.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, the beginning of your Letter had frighted me, and I was taking Alarm at these words of death and Physicians, but I recovered my spirits when I saw the first had failed of his blow, and that you use not the other but to strengthen you in an estate they have already put you; such days as this will prove more healthful to you then all their Drugs, and the sweetness which begins to spring from the purity of the Elements is the only medicine that heals without corrupting, and cleanseth without fretting. For myself I think not of dying when I have once gotten March over my head, and me thinks I find myself renewed at the only smelling of the Violets. I make use of them to more than one service, they serve me for Broths as well as for Nosegays. I cannot be persuaded that cold purgeth the Air, or drives away sickness; and I am glad at heart to hear the Duke of Feria is dead of the Purples in the month of january, and that in Germany. At least this will justify the Summer and the hot Countries, and will serve us for a proof against— when according to his custom he will plead our adversaries cause. I am more happy than I thought I was; seeing you assure me that I am sometimes the subject of your conferences; and though in this you run the hazard of being in the number of those Orators who were blamed for making ill choice of their subjects; yet pardon me if I account the testimony of your remembering me, more dear unto me then the glory of your well speaking; and if I like rather you should talk of my idleness and of my walks, then to discourse of public affairs or voyages of Princes. I regard not the estimation of the people, I would give a great deal to buy out that with which I have gotten it; but there are certain friendships upon which only I rely, and to be razed out of all accounts in the state would be less grievous to me then to be blotted out of your memory. Continue therefore these conferences which are so pleasing to me, and of which I am in spirit a partaker, or rather deny me not these consolations which are so sweet unto me, and whose effect I feel a hundred miles off. I cannot dissemble the need I have of you, I could not live if you did not love me, but withal you could not love a man who is more passionately than I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac. 22. Febru. 1634.   

Another to him. LETTER XXXIIII.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, I am exceeding glad to hear of your news; as for news of the world I set so little by them, and interest myself so little in general affairs, that I may boldly say, I never yet read a whole Gazetta through; you may think this a strange distaste of the present time, and a remarkable impatience, specially in a man who complains that Livies' History is too short, and wishes Herodotus would never make an end. Things that wounded me heretofore at the very heart, do not now so much as superficially touch me; that which I accounted as my own is now become a stranger to me, and my heart is hardened against all accidents that happen, if they concern not either myself or my friends. It is true the death of— wrought in me some compassion; I can never hate men that are extraordinary, & it grieves me that cowardice should triumph over virtue; and the lazy cause the valiant to be murdered. For this man it would not serve to take him at table, it was necessary to come behind him; for else the most resolute of the conspirators would never have had the courage to do the act, would never have a●…idden the splendour of that terrible countenance, and would have thought he had always heard this voice.  

Fallit te mensas inter quod credis Inermem  
Tota bellis quaesita viro, tot caedibus armat  
Majestas aeternam Ducen. Si admoveris or as sta  
Cannae et trebian ant oculos, Thrasymenaque but-  
Et Pauli stare in gentem mir aberis umbram.   
Change but the Latin names for Duchess, and we may conclude thus;  
Gustavi stare ingentem mir aberis umbram.  
If I should say more, I should seem to make his Funeral Oration; I am neither fit nor officious enough to go so far, my design was only to write a word or two, and to pay you all your Compliments with this one little word, I am but most truly,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 7. April, 1634.   

Another to him. LETTER XXXV.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, I mean not to show your Letter to the Doctor that brought it to me, it would make him lose that little humility that is left him, and he would think himself already In statu perfectionis acquisitae; you do not well to use him as he were some rare personage, it is the way to spoil him altogether, and to harden a vanity which durst not otherwise show itself. I shall have something to do to make him come to himself, and to take down the swelling of his spirit, which your testimony hath put him into. It is an casier matter to corrupt then to reform, the good works more slowly than the evil; and I much fear my remedies will not be so forcible as your poison; Under this name austere Philosophers would comprise the Present you have sent me. They conceive that perfumes are made of sweet and pleasing poisons, and that if they make no impression upon the body, they yet effeminate the vigour of the mind: For myself I speak no such harsh Language, but content myself to say with an honester man than they; Cursod be these Effaminate persons that have cried down so innocent and so good a thing. The use of it is lawful, the excess is forbidden; I know the first, and you would cast me upon the other. For to speak truly what good can come of so exorbitant a liberality? and what means this abundance of Orange flower water with which you have loaded our messenger? If he had done any thing that pleased in the place where you are, you should not have imputed the greatest part of it to me, and it might have been spoken without Hyperbole, and without putting me upon so high a strain. Your good deeds have no spice of the present poverty, one may see in them the abundance of the golden age, and an image of that happy time of which a Poet writes; They poured out by Floods what they received by Drop; yet you have done well to get before hand, hereafter the sumptuary laws will not suffer you to be so liberal; and you are threatened with the coming forth of a Proclamation that will bring things back to the ancient frugality of our ancestors. Perfumes shall not be used but in Temples, and about the sacrifices at great festivals, nor  
but about the palace or at the King's Coronation, so that you shall learn the virtue of moderation by a lesson from the Prince, and you shall be made a good husband if you will but be a good subject. I myself who profit by disorder must tell you thus much, that if you reduce not your great bottles to little viols, I shall inform against you, and yet will always be,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac, 10. june 1634.   

To Mounsieur Bardyn. LETTER XXXVI.  
SIR, never was Host better paid than I, for making you poor Cheer; if you should make any long journey at this price, you would make yourself a poor man before you come home, and your first courtesies are such, that they scarce leave any place for second. You are so good that you are unjust; to compare our fruits to those of Italy is not so much to advance our Village, as to vilify Naples and Florence. This is to affront her whom Virgil adored, and to whom he said upon his knees and holding up his hands;  
Salve magna Parens fragum Saturnia tellus  
Magna virum, etc.  
There is no reason to pardon this excess to a man that makes profession of the truth, and who ought to speak that plainly which it is lawful for Poets to disguise. These fellows make waste of their ornaments and their figures; they call the worst wine they drink Nectar; and though the house of Cacus were no better than an Ox stall, yet in their Verses it is made a King's Palace; such liberty is not allowed to Philosophers, and without derogation to this quality, which you have so good title to possess, you could never have bestowaed your praises upon such base Viands as I was fain to set before you. And for my entertainment with which you seem much better satisfied, even that was yet much poorer, & more meager than my cheer. You know Sir that in our commerce I contribute nothing but my Dociblenes, & my ears; I am the people & you the Theatre; I mean a Theatre reasonable and intelligent, inspired with sentences and instructions, to whose spectacles I would run from one end of the world to another, and never complain of my pains nor of my journey. I would not only return you your visit in Touraine; but to hear you; would do much more, and go much further, willingly untertake as long a voyage as Appollonius did, who traveiled many kingdoms, and passed many Seas, only to see jarchas in his Throne of gold, and hear him discoursing of the nature of things. Your Indian visage and your yellow colour make show of a Gimnosophist; but Gimnosophists had not the virtue that lies hidden under this yellowness; for though they made Trees to speak, and sent tempests on their errands, where they pleased, yet these were effects of their devilish arts, and no arguments of their wisdom. Yours is not only more humane and more lawful; but is used also with less pride and less violence. Instead of filling the eyes with unprofitable wonders, it makes to flow and stream in the soul necessary verities; it doth not astonish me with prodiges, nor affright me with Thunder, but it persuades me to doae that I ought to do, and instructs me to know that I ought to know. It is the same I think that appeared under the Empire of Trajan; and communicated itself to men by the mediation of Plutarch. How have you decked her without disarming her? how sweetened her countenance without weakening her force? how covered her Bones and Musks with a fair flesh, and made her a body of a Carcase? The Syllogism, which by the saying of a Grecian is the Trident and Mace of Philosophy, is in your writings all painted and perfumed: After you have purged it from the rust of Barbarians, and from the poison of Sophisters, you make with it a wholesome and delightful lancing, and no man seeks to ward your blows, because they heal and tickle. With these rare knowledges you should entertain your friends, and not with the fruits of our Orchard, nor with those of my studies, which are as vulgar the one as the other; But yet seeing they please your taste, and that you demand of me particularly the last piece you saw of my making, I have entreated— who carries it to Paris to deliver it unto you in the place where you are; By your example I call it my dissertation, because we live in a country of liberty, and where faults of this nature are not under the jurisdiction of the King's commission. But I durst not be so bold at the Court, where there is no longer any favour for naughty words, nor safety for innovatours of our Language. Remember therefore that I speak under Benedicite, and in our most straight confidence; and imitate herein that Queen, who in public called her son by the name of her husband, but in private by the name of her favourite; much after this sort do I; having conceived my work from the acquaintance I have with the Latin; I let it in truth carry a French title, but in secret and speaking in the ear I give it the name of his father. It is now three months that M. de Nants hath been in Brittany, and M. de Tholouze in Languedoc. Upon the first opportunity I will not fail to send them your rare Presents, and let them know in what height of account you hold them both. Do me the like office to Mounsieur Bourdelot, and assure him that I have great pretensions upon his learning, and that I ground myself much upon his honesty. Hereafter one of them shall be my treasure in the necessities of my spirit, the other my Sanctuary against the malice of the world. For you Sir, it is impossible for me to express the high opinion I conceive of you; when the question is to speak of your virtue, I cannot find words that give me satisfaction, and therefore at this time you shall have from me but the common conclusion of all my Letters, that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 15. Decemb. 1633.   

To Mounsieur de Aigue bear Commander of a Company in Holland. LETTER XXXVII.  
SIR, your Letter hath stayed here a long time for me; if I had been here at its first arrival, I had sooner testified to you the joy with which I received it: and the especial account I make of the meanest of your favours. I seek not after new acquaintance; I had rather I could forgo one half of those I have already but for yours; I vow unto you I have much desired it, and you had attractives for me, even in the melancholy of my Quartain Ague. I discovered a great worth under the veil of your disvaluing yourself; and saw well, that you sought rather to go safely and solidly, than to go in pomp and state, and had more care to nourish your mind, than to set it out in colours. I do not therefore take you for a simple Captain of Holland, who talks nothing but Stoccadoes; and Circumvallation; and studies such other words in that country, to come afterwards and fright us with them here in France, I know you possess no less the virtues of peace, than those that make a noise and handle iron: and that you are a man of the Library, as well as of the Arsenal. Mounsieur Huggens, I assure myself, is of the same mind; and I doubt not, but having observed you in both these kinds, he relisheth as well your spirit, as he values your courage. I am very glad of the correspondence that is between you; of which, if you please, I shall make use hereafter, for the safety of our Commerce. But Sir, I have another, more important request to make unto you; and I earnestly entreat you to do for me, with my Lord—: the good offices, which I have right to hope your goodness will afford me. It hath been written to me from Paris, that he had some sinister conceit of me; and indeed the coldness of his countenance, the last time I had the honour to do him reverence, seemed to show as much. This misfortune comes not to me by any fault of mine: for I swear unto you Sir, that I have always carried towards him a most religious respect, and have never spoken of him, but as of a man of very extraordinary parts. It must needs be, that this is some rellicke of those impressions, which— hath left in him: and that he judgeth of me by the report of my enemies. I will not revenge myself upon the memory of a dead man; nor lay aspersion upon the passion of so great a Worthy; though there have been some moved with motives less reasonable, that have wept for their Dogs; and built Tombs for beasts they loved. In that, I acknowledge the good fortune of—: but you know better than any other what his honesty was: and you ought upon this occasion to give your uttermost testimony in behalf of calumniated innocence. I conjure you to do it effectually: and from what coast soever the evil come, take into your protection an honest man, who passionately is,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 3. Febru. 1633.   

Another to him. LETTER XXXVIII.  
SIR, I have received in one Packet, a Letter from you, of the four and twentieth of March; and another from Mounsieur Huggens of the fifteenth of December. I give you a thousand thanks for each of them; and complain not, that I stayed a while for the latter, seeing if it had come a readier way, it had perhaps not come so safe away: neither contains it any news, whereof the knowledge might not be forborn without any danger: no matter in it, that either concerns the life of the Prince, or the good of the state. It might have come time enough, ton years hence; for it speaks of nothing but of Kings and Commonwealths, that have been long ago. Our commerce hath no object, but our Books; and I have no reason to complain of a slowness, that does a favour to my negligence. But my good neighbour,— suffers me to be idle no longer; she will have me hereafter make use of her messengers; and by consequent, ease you of your conveying them. Yet for my part, I exempt you not altogether, but if you return into Holland, at the time you have appointed; you shall do me a favour to remember the note I send you. I entreat you also to demand of our friends in that country, what reason they have to bring into our language a new fashion of speaking; and which by the communication you have with them, is gotten into the letter you sent me. If you say, my Masters the States; you may as well say, Mounsieur the Counsel; and Madam the Assembly: and more than this; if many Senators that make the body of a republic, may be called, my Masters the States, than every Senator, which makes a part of that body, may be called Mounsieur the State: and if this be suffered, the most strange opinions of— shall be authorised by public use: of the same words will be made another language, and after this it cannot be thought strange, that— should speak of the signory of Venice; as of the Infanta of Portugal; and that she should marry with Mounsieur the King's brother. It is true the League committed the like incongruity when ita ve the Duke de Maine, the title of Lieutenant of the State, and crown of France, but this was not without a check: you know what sport the Catholicon makes at it; and with what force he defends at once, both the rights of the Kingdom, and the laws of Grammar. And where the same Author in another place, calls the Assembly, which was held at Paris; My Lords the States; he did that but to make it ridiculous; and not with meaning to speak regularly: Our dear friends may make of a little city, a great; but of a bad word they cannot make a good: and though their liberty extend very far, yet it reacheth not to licence Barbarism. Mounsieur Huggens will consider of this point; and if in propounding to the Counsel so important a matter, he shall speed well; he shall have the honour to purge his country of a vicious phrase, as much in the judgement of Grammarians, as to free it from a Hydra, or Chimaera, and therein shall show himself a Hercules, or a Bellerophon. This is a way I take with my friends, to make myself laugh; because I am given to pensiveness, when I am alone; and I cannot stir up any joy in me, but by the presence, at least the representation of some person, which is both dear unto me, and chosen for the nonce: of this number Sir, you are, and know well, that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Paris 3. April 1634.   

To Mounsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER XXXIX.  
SIR, in the mean time, till I see you; be pleased to receive from me a compliment, which shall not be tedious: Only to let me congratulate with you the recovery of your health. God hath now a kind of interest in preserving it; seeing you have consecrated it to him; and your life is vowed to a perpetual meditation of his Mysteries. I doubt not of his blessing this your holy desire; and look at my return to find a great Preacher under your Cassock. You will show me as many Homilies, as heretofore you have showed me Sonnets: and instead of Parnassus and Permessa; you will speak of Zion, and of Siloe. Yet moderate yourself a little at first: and be reserved in a strange Country. I would not have you dive too deep into the Abysses of Predestination; famous for the shipwracks of so many Pilots; or to speak more plainly, for the heresies of so many Doctors. If you will take my counsel, you shall let the Jesuits and the jacobins fight it out between themselves about the Question De Auxilijs; and never meddle amongst them, nor go about to part them. The often using of Syllogisms is very dangerous for health; there is nothing that heats the blood, or enflame's choler more than Disputation. Besides, though you make yourself hoarse with speaking for the Truth, and make it never so plain: yet you shall never make your adversary to confess it; or ever be able to take hold of him, so long as he can slip from you by a distinction. Above all Sir, let not the love of Divinity make you forget your temporal affairs, and the care of your fortune: for otherwise, It were better, I should study with you to halves; and that you should make the Court both for yourself and me. As I am like to acquit myself extreme badly; so you are likely to grow soon to perfection; and I despair not, one of these days to salute you by the Title, Of Most Reverend Father in God. I know you do not dislike that we should write to one another in this kind of style, which Cicero and Trebatius made use of, before such time as untoward compliments had corrupted friendship; and that this base jangling was brought into fashion. This Trebatius was a famous Lawyer: of whom Cicero made great account; and yet is always wrangling with him about his Science, and his formal writs: the like liberty I am bold to take with you; whom I honour infinitely; and should not in this sort contribute to our common joy, if I were not with a perfect freeness of heart,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 11. Novem. 1633.   

Another to him. LETTER XL.  
SIR, I pity your good fortune, the court that follows you at your Chamber would be to me an unsupportable honour, who would not give my mornings for all the Compliments of Paris. It is the flower and prime of the day that is taken from you; it is the time of meditation and Prayer which flattery intruds upon. There is no Creditor nor Sergeant that you might not deal withal better cheap then with these troublesome friends. You are unfortunate to be so beloved, and a man of whom so many other have use, can be of little or no use to himself. It is better yet to pass for a clown, than thus to prostitute one's self by civility, and better never to sacrifice to the graces, then to make one's self the beast for the Sacrifice. You would perhaps intermit this course, but the time is passed for that; a breach would draw upon you a war; and you would run the fortune of that poor Saint, who was murdered with pricks of Pen-knives, and cut in pieces by his Scholars. You would be the object of a Rhetorical, an Historical & a Poetical persecution; and the muses which now court you would grow furies, and fall a tearing you, so that you have no remedy now but to hold it out, if you look for safety in the place you are in, you must ever be the mediator between Apollo and Poets; you must always have a thousand businesses both in Prose and Verse, your chamber must be the passage always from the University to the Court. This back door whereof you have sent me a Platform, is in truth an excellent invention, but this will presently be discovered, and you will gain nothing by it, but to be besieged in more places at once. Do better Sir, quit the place that is not tenable, and come save yourself at——— I am not so poor, but I can make you a reasemblance at least of the good cheer of Paris, and furnish you with innocent pleasures, such as Philososophie and Priesthood will allow of; It shall be for as short a time as you please; and only to make an ill custom take another course. All the family desires this voyage, particularly—— who is in good hope his son cannot prove ill, seeing you have no ill opinion of him, and for his daughter of whom you write me so much good: I cannot stay myself from vowing to you, that she is not altogether unworthy of it; and perhaps would have deserved an Air with three couplets of your making, if she had appeared in the time when you were the great chanter of France. But now that you have changed your course of life, there is no looking for any thing from you but spiritual discourse and Christian meditations, which yet will serve as fitly for a Sex to which devotion belongs no less than beauty. Bring therefore to us the Original of your Piety and of your Divinity, at least show some sorrow that you cannot do it, that I may see my affection is not scorned, and that I am not without revenge,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 1. Decemb. 1634.   

Another to him. LETTER XLI.  
SIR, if you hold your old wont, you will tax me with ignorance, and write me a man of another world; one delivered me but yesternight observations upon the process of the Marshal of—— and I set myself to reading all the time my groom set himself to sleeping. In very truth they gave me a●… excellent relish; & I vow unto you I never read a style more subtle, nor that hid its Art more cunningly; I entreat you to send me word who the Author is, and to whom I am beholding for so pleasing a night. It must needs be some man who understands two things equally well, affairs and how to write, one that partakes of the life of a scholar, and of a Courtier; like to that God of whom the Poets say, he is of the one and other world, Utroque facit commercia mundo. From the knowledge of Books, he draws the vigour and force of his phrase, and from the practice of the Court; the colours and sweetening of his matter. He speaks the language of the Closet, and brings proofs of the Palace; but in such sort, that neatness doth not weaken his Reasons; and his force is so tempered; that even Ladies may be judges of the process. Once again, I entreat you to send me the name of this sage Observer, and beside, to give me account what grace I stand in with Mounsieur de—: I was told in no very good grace; neither ay, nor my writings neither. If I made but little reckoning of him; I should easily comfort myself, for this disgrace: but in truth, it would grieve me much to be condemned by a judgement, to which I should make a conscience not to subscribe; and I rather believe, there are many defects in my Writings; then that in his taste there is any defect of Reason. Assure him Sir, if you please, that I am at least capable of discipline: and am ●…pt enough to follow any method he shall prescribe me, for attaining a proportion of knowledge to content him. Let him but tell me my faults, and see how quickly I will mend them; let him but say, what it is in my style that offends him; and see, how ready I shall be to give him satisfaction. If my Hyperboles displease him; I will blot them out of my Letters the next time they are Printed; I will truly confess, all I have ever used, and make a solemn vow never to use more. Yet it cannot be truly said; that to use this Figure; is a matter that deserves blame; for, not to speak of humane Authors, we should then blame the Son of God; for saying, It is easier for a Cammeil to go through a needle's eye, then for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven. But I will not seek to save myself by so supreme an authority: In this, I will respect our Saviour, but not follow him; I will believe that such examples are far above all humane imitation; and will not attempt it no more then to walk upon the water, and to go forty days without eating. In good earnest, I would do any thing to give contentment to a man; that gives contentment to M. the Cardinal; and hath persuaded the King of Sweden, If he will play the tyrant with those that seek his favour, let him; I refuse not hence forward the hardest conditions he can lay upon me; and to gains his protection; I renounce with all my heart my very liberty: It is now four and twenty hours, since I laid my eyes together; It is time therefore that I bid you good morrow, or good night; take which of them you please; and believe me always,  
Sir, Your, etc. From Balzac 4. Decem. 1634.   

To Mounsieur the Master Advocate in the Parliament. LETTER XLII.  
SIR, you know I have fed upon the fruits of Pomponne, even beyond the rules of temperance; and I have signified to you in each place where they grew, that they are generally excellent; yet I now specially declare myself, in favour of the last you sent me, and find them, far surpassing the Amber Pear, or all other kinds, which I cannot name. It is true, I affect specially the Tree itself that bears them: and I account the meanest of the leaves, no meaner than jewels: yet their own goodness is such, that though they grew in the garden of—: or grew upon a stock that Father—: had planted; yet I should not for all that, but highly esteem them, and take a pleasure in their taste. In a word, to leave speaking in Allegory, and not to flounder myself in a Figure, into which you have most maliciously cast me: I say Sir, that in all your Presents, I see nothing but excellent; and lest you should think, I meant to exempt myself from giving a particular account of my judgement, by speaking in general terms: I let you know, that in the first place, the two lives spoken of at the end of the discourse, please me infinitely; and next to this that place which is written upon occasion of—: that France is too good a Mother to rejoice in the loss of her children; and that the victories gotten upon ourselves, are fit to wear mourning, and be covered with black veils. All that cuold have been said upon this Argument, would never have been comparable to this ingenious silence. And as he hath dexterously shunned a passage so tender, so he enters as bravely, and as proudly upon a matter that will bear it; when speaking of—: he saith, that having overcome the waves & the winds, that opposed his passage, & traversed the fires of so many canons of the enemies; with a few poor Barks, he made his way through a Forest of great ships. And a little after; where he saith: that God, who bestows his favours upon Nations, by measure; seeing, that the admirable valour of ours, would easily conquer the whole world; if it had Prudence equal to its courage, seems therefore to have given us, as a counterpoise to the greatness of our spirits; a kind of impetuosity and impatience, which to our Armies have oftentimes been fatal, and cause of ruin. But that now the case is altered in this point: for now the French are no longer French, than they are valiant: now these Lions are grown reasonable; and now, to the strength and courage of the North; they join the prudence and staidness of the South, etc. Also where he saith, that the carriage at Cazal, is a thing incomprehensible; and for which we must be fain to look out some new name; for it cannot be called a Siege, seeing the place was surrendered before ever it was battered: nor it cannot be called a Battle, seeing no man struck a stroke: nor it cannot be called a treaty seeing treaties are not made with weapons in hand, etc. But that which pleaseth me most of all, because it toucheth indeed the string of my own inclination; is that which he speaks of the marquis of Rambovillet: that there had been Statues erected in honour of her virtue; if she had fortuned to be borne in the beginning of her race. For, as you know Sir, this illustrious woman, is of Roman stock; Et de Gente Sabella; of which Virgil speaks. These are the passages I can call to mind, having not the Originals by me: being taken from me, by a neighbouring Lady; who affects the King of Sweden with the like passion, as Madam Rambovillet: so elevated a spirit may chastely enough be loved of both sexes; and let the slanderous History speak its pleasure; I for my part think no otherwise of it, then as the Queen of Sheba loved Solomon: and as Nicomedes loved Caesar. I had begun something for the triumph of this great Prince, but his death made my Pen fall out of my hand; and therefore you are like to have nothing from me at this time; in revenge of your Sonnet. For your French Prose, I send you another, which I will never believe to be Latin, until— shall assure you, it is; to whom I entreat you to show it from me: Vir plane cum Antiquitate conferendus, & qui mihi est in hoc genere, unus curia, Censor & Quirites. I have read many things of his with infinite satisfaction: but I know, he hath certain mysteries in his Writing, which he lets not common people know; and— hath told me of a continuation he hath written, of the History of M. de Thou; which is not imparted but to his special friends; and which, I am infinitely desirous to see: but I am not a man that will enter by force upon any man's secrets: and my discretion in such cases, shall be always graeter, than my curiosity, Opture licebit, si potiri non licet, If I should not presently: make an end of my Letter, I should kill you with Latin; for I find myself in an humour that way; and in this desert where I live: I have no commerce, but with such as speak all Latin, I would persuade you to revive them in our language; by an imitation which you are able to do, not much unlike those great examples; I mean of Cicero, of Sallust, and of Livy; not of Cassiodore, or Ennodius Ticinensis, or Sidonius Apollinuris. They that love this impurity of style, are in a ficker state, than they that love to eat coals and ashes. far be it from us, to have such disordered appetites, and let us never be so foolish, to prefer the corruption and decay of things, before their prime, and their maturity, I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac. 4. Febru. 1633.   

Another to him. LETTER XLIII.  
SIR, He that delivers you this Letter, knows as much of my news as I myself, and will make you ample relation of all that hath passed at—: He hath a business in the Parliament, which is of no great difficulty; and which may be sped without any great Eloquence: yet I address it to you, but upon condition, that you shall not employ your whole force about it; but that your labouring for him may be a refreshing to you, from some other labour. I hear with a great deal of pleasure, of the progress of your reputation, and of the effects of my prefages. The acclamations you cause in the Palace, are sounding in all places; and we are not so out of the world, but that the Echo of them comes to us. But Sir, I content not myself with clapping of hands, and praising your well-speaking, as others do; I desire to have some particular ground, for which to give you thanks, and am willing to be in your debt, for compliment and reverence; this shall be, when you have sped my friend's suit: and which shall be a cause, if you please, that I will now at the end of my Letter, add a superlative; and say I am;  
Sir, Your most humble, most faithful, etc. At Balzac. 2. Novem. 1633.   

Another to him. LETTER XLIV.  
SIR, I make no secret of our friendship, it is too honest to be hidden; and I am so proud of it, that I think myself of no worth but by it. Mounsieur jamyn, acknowledgeth my good fortune herein, and is himself in passion to get your acquaintance, to which he persuades himself; I should not be his worst introductor; and that by my means he might be admitted to your studies. I will make myself believe, that he mistakes me not; and that for my sake, you will add to your accustomed courtesies a little extraordinary. They who saw Pericles, how he thundered and lightened in the public Assemblies, were desirous to hear him in a quieter estate; to know whether his Calm were as sweet and pleasing as his Tempest. This man hath the like desire; and though my recommendation, were as indifferent to you, as it is dear; yet so honest a curiosity would deserve to be respected. He is the son of one of my best friends, and though perhaps you know it not, you are the example that Fathers propose for imitation to their children; and by whose name they excite to virtue all their youth. I need not say more to you of this; only be mindful of our resolute and undaunted Maxims; and in this age of malice; do not scorn the praise I give you for your goodness. I kiss the hands of all your reloquent family, and am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Paris. 16. Febru. 2634.   

To Mounsieur de Caupeau ville Abbot of Victory. LETTER XLV.  
SIR, the time which my malady permits me, I bestow upon you, and make use of the respite of my sits, to tell you, I have received your last Letters, and the new assurances of your friendship; which is so much the dearer unto me, because I know you use them with discretion; and that there be not many things you greatly affect. This makes for my glory, that I can please so dainty a taste; and that I can get good from one that is so covetous. It is no small matter to draw a wise man out of himself; and to make Philosophy compassionate of others evils. Although the place, to which she hath raised you cannot be more eminent, nor more sure; yet my disgraces may because that her prospect is not so fair or pleasant: and how settled soever the peace of your mind be, yet the Object of a persecuted friend, may perhaps offend your eyes. Our Mounsieur Berville, I assure myself, dislikes not this kind of wisdom: he likes to have that husbanded & dressed, which Zeno would have to be rooted out; he knows that magnanimity hath its residence between effeminateness and cruelty; and that the sweet and humane virtues, have place between the Fierce and the Heroioke. Poet's sometimes make the Demy Gods to weep; and if an old woman's death were cause enough to make Aeneas shed tears; the oppression of one innocent, cannot be unworthy of your sighs. Yet I require from you, none of these sad offices: your only countenance is enough to give me comfort. I do not live, but in the hope I have to see it, and to get you to swear once again, in presence of the fair Agnes, and the rest of your chamber Divinities, that you love me still. After that, if you will have us make a voyage in your Abbey, I shall easily condescend: Provided Sir, that you promise me safety amongst your Monks: and that they be none of those, that are angry at good language, and have no talk, but of Analysis and Cacozoale. If you have any that be of this humour, you are an unfortunate Abbot; and you may make account to be never without suits. First, they will ask you a double allowance: next they will question your Revenue; and if you chance by ill hap to make a Book, you are sure to be presently cited before the Inquisition; or at least before the Sorbonne. God keep you Sir from such Friars, and send you such as I am, who eat but once a day; and who will not open my mouth; unless it be to praise your good words, and to tell you sometimes, out of the abundance of my heart, that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 26. Decem. 1631.   

To———— LETTER XLVI.  
SIR, I am able to live no longer, if you be resolved to love me no longer; and think not that the good you promise me, can countervail the loss of that you take from me. Keep your estimation and your bounty, for those that have nothing in them but Vanity and Avarice: I am endowed from heaven with better and more noble passions; I like better to continue in my poverty, then in your disgrace; and will none of this cold speculative estimation, which is but a mere device of Reason; and a part of the Law of Nations, if you give it me single, and nothing else with it. I must tell you, I think myself worthy of something more; and that the Letter I write to you, was worthy of a sweeter answer than you sent me. If therein I said any thing that gave you distaste, I call that God to witness, by whom you swear; I than wandered far from my intention. I meant to contain my complaints within so just bounds; that you should not find the least cause to take offence. But I see I have been an ill interpreter of myself, and my rudeness hath done wrong to my innocence: yet any man but yourself, would I doubt not have borne with a friend in passion, and not so unkindly have returned choler for sorrow. As for my pettish humour, it is quickly over, and there is not a shorter violence, than that of my spirit: whereas you have taken six whole weeks to digest your indignation, and in the end come and tell me, you would do me any good you can, upon condition to love me no longer. I vow unto you, it is a glorious act to do good to all the world, and to make even ungrateful men beholding. But Sir, if you think me one, to whom you may give that name; you do me exceedingly much more wrong, than it is in your power to do me right: Neque decorum sapienti, unde amico infamiam parat, inde sibi gloriam quaerere. I am wounded at the very heart, with this you have written; but since you will not suffer me to complain; I must be fain to suffer and say nothing; only I will content myself, to make a declaration contrary to yours; and tell you, I will never make you beholding to me, because I am not happy enough to be able to do it; but yet I will love you always, and will always perfectly be,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 1. March, 1633.   

To Mounsieur Trovillier, Physician of the Pope's house. LETTER XLVII.  
SIR, having always made special reckoning of your friendship; it is a great satisfaction to me, that I receive assurance of it, by your Letter. I doubt not of your compassionating my disgraces; and that the persecution raised against me, hath touched you at least with some sense of grief; for even mere strangers to me, did me these good offices; and though the justice of my cause, had not in itself been worthy of respect: yet the violence of my adversaries, was enough to procure me favour and protectors. There is no man of any generous spirit, that found not fault with the bravadoes of your Philarchus: nor a man of any wisdom, that thought him not a Sophister. Yet I cannot blame you for loving him: seeing I know well, you do it not to prejudice me, that your affection corrupts not your judgement. You are too intelligent, to be deceived with petty subtleties; and too strong, to be broken with engines of Glass; but in truth, being as you are, a necessary friend, to a number of persons of different qualities; it cannot be, but you must needs have friends of all prices, and of all merit, and that the unjust as well as the innocent are beholding to you. You shall hear by Mounsieur—, when he comes to Rome, the little credit I have with the man you spoke to me of, to whom I present my service, but only once a year; and that I do too, lest I should forget my name, and mistake my person. If in any other matter which is absolutely in my own power; you will do me the honour to employ me; you shall see my course is not to use excuses and colours; but that I truly am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Paris 4. April 1631.   

To Mounsieur Gerard, Secretary to my Lord the Duke D'Espernon. LETTER XLIX.  
SIR, you cannot complain, nor be in misery by yourself alone: I partake of all your good and evil, and feel so lively a reflection of them, that there needs but one blow to make two wounds. And thus I am wounded by the news you write, and though your grief be not altogether just, yet it is sufficient to make me partake with you, that it is yours. We weep for one not only whom we knew not, but whom we know to be happy: one that in six weeks staying in the world hath gained that, which St. Anthony was afraid to lose after threescore years' penance in the Wilderness. I wish, I could have had the like favour; and have died at the time, when I was innocent: being myself, neither valiant nor ambitious: I account those wars the best that are the shortest; and that, though in Paradise there be diverse degrees; and divers mansions; yet there is not any that is not excellent good. Observe only your goodly making of Saints, and you shall find of all sorts; I mean of the one, and the other sex: Religious and Seculars, Gascoignes, and French. You know well. I have appointed you here a chamber; and that you are my debtor of a visit, now a whole year, if you be a man of your word; but I fear me you are not, and that as your custom is, you will content yourself with praising my quiet course of life; yet I would have you to flatter at least my spirit, though it be, but with some light hope of so perfect a contentment: promise me you will come, and make me happy; though you break your promise, I shall enjoy at least, so much of good; and in doing so, you shall amuse me, though you do not satisfy me. I send you all I have of that admirable Incognito; of whom there is so much talk, and who hath made himself famous now these three years, under the name of Petrus Aurelius: I cannot for my life find who he is. Mounsieur de Filsac, told me lately at Paris, that of him that brought the leaves to Printing, he could not possibly learn any more than this, that he was a man, who desires to serve God invisibly. And in truth, if you knew, in what sort he carries his secrecy; and with what care and cunning he hides himself; you would confess he takes more pains to shun reputation, then ambitious men take in running after it. far from being a Plagiary, to rob others of their glory, who refuseth that which is his own, and suffers a Phantasm, to receive those acclamations and praises which belong to himself. This is no man of the common mould; even in the judgement of his adversaries; and his writings savour not the compositions of his age. They are animated with the spirit and vigour of the former times; and represent us a Church we never saw. Yet it seems in some passages, he hath less of Saint Augustine's sweetness than of St. Hieroms' choler; and that he is willinger to do that, which justice only permits him, then that which charity counsels him. I could wish he had showed a little more respect to the grey hairs, and rare merit of Father Sirmond; or rather that he would have laid aside his Arms, and dealt with him in a gentler war. But there is no means to bridle a provoked valour, nor to guide a great force, though with a great moderation. All Saints are not of one temper; it is enough for Religion to cut off vices; and to purify the passions. Our moral Divinity acknowledgeth some innocent cholers: and it is the beauty of Christ's flock, that there be Lions amongst the Sheep, and that as well the sublimest and strongest spirits as the basest and sweetest submit and prostrate themselves to the greatness of Christianity. If I had learned nothing in his book but only to know what respect men owe to a Character reverenced of the Angels, I had not lost my time in reading him. If Bishops be of such eminent authority: shall we make any difficulty, to call a Prelate, My Lord; and esteem him less than a Grandee of Spain, or then an Earl of England? You will tell me more of this, at your next meeting; and I doubt not, setting aside the interest of——: send it me back when you have read it; and forget not the Chapters of honest Bernia. I am more than I am able to express,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 15. Octo. 1634.   

To my Lord the Bishop of Nants. LETTER LI.  
SIR, I am now grown shameless, and make no longer any conscience to be trouble some to you. Yet hold on your course of goodness: which hath from the very first been so ready to me, and freely makes me offer of that, for which it ought to make me be a suitor. I send you now four leaves for Cruel, and if you please to let three of your own lines bear them company, I doubt not but they will have a happy arrival, and that the skiff will procure passage for the great vessel. But because Fortune herself, hath done one half of my discourse, and that I have little commerce with any but Latins borne, I humbly entreat you my Lord, to be so good, when I am fallen to help me to rise, and not suffer me to go astray, in a Country, where you are Prince. I know you love your own elections, with more than natural tenderness, and that you respect me, as none of the least of your Creatures. This is a cause, why to keep me in your favour, and to engage you in my interests, I will not tell you to your face, that you are the Chrysostome of our Church, that you are privy to the most secret intentions of Saint Paul, That there is neither jew nor Gentile, that hearing you speak of the greatness and Dignity of Christianity, doth not willingly submit himself to follow Christ, I will only say, it hath been your will to be my Father, and that I am,  
My Lord, Your, etc. At Balzac 8. Ianua. 1630.   

Another to him. LETTER LII.  
SIR, you have a right to all occasions of doing good. I see not therefore, how I can forbear to offer you one, and to the end, you may always be meriting of thanks, why I should not always be craving new courtesies. The bearer of this Letter is my near Kinsman, yet our friendship is nearer, than our alliance, and the knot which Nature made, Virtue hath tied. I humbly entreat your Lordship, to let him see you slight not things, whereof I make such reckoning, and to do that for my sake, which you would much willinger do for his own sake, if he were known unto you. He is a man of mettle and spirit; and hath served the King in this Province, having also had the honour, to be in person before him in very famous actions. At this time, he is troubled against all right and reason, and they that have drawn him, from the exercise of his charge, to make a walk to Paris, have nothing to say, but that they do it of purpose to vex him. And therefore their manner of fight with him, is by flights and retreats, and they cast so many bones of difficulty, between his judges and him, that it is impossible they should ever come to any issue. They are not able to hinder his justification at last; but they are able to delay, and keep him off a long time. You Sir, may save him this long journey, and may break this Project of Calumny, if you please but to facilitate the overture, he will propose unto you, obtaining for him of— only one quarter of an hour's audience. I assure myself, he will not be loath to hear him, being able to inform him of the state of things in these parts; and which he will do faithfully. You shall therefore my Lord, infinitely oblige him, to take him into your protection, and you may be pleased to remember, that it is your dear son, that makes this request unto you, one whom in the ecstasy of your Fatherly affection, you have sometimes called your glory; and the ornament of this Age, who yet accounts no quality he hath so glorious as that which he will never part with, whilst he lives; to be  
My Lord, Your &c. From Balzac 3. April 1630.   
FINIS.   

A SUPPLY TO THE SECOND PART; OR THE THIRD PART of the Letters of Monsieur DE BALZAC.  
Written by him in French, and translated into English by Sr R. B.  
LONDON Printed by I. D. for john Crook, Francis Eglesfield, and Richard Serger, and are to be sold at the Greyhound in Paul's Churchyard. 1638.   


To my Lord, the Cardinal De la Valet. LETTER I.  
SIR, being not able to bring you this untoward Present myself, I humbly entreat you to excuse me that I send it. Wherein I bind you not to a second perusal, and to read that again, which perhaps you have read already with distaste. It is true Sir, that something is altered in the Copy, and well near one half added to the original; but the spite is, that base wares get no value by store, and the water that comes from the same Spring, can never be much differing: but if in any of the passages, I have not altogether come off ill, and that I have had some tolerable conceits, I acknowledge Sir, that I have had it all from the good education I had with you; and that it is the fruit of those Instructions, which you have done me the honour to impart unto me. For, no man ever had conceits more pure, more pregnant, than yourself; no man ever saw things more clearly than you do; you can tell precisely in what degree of good and evil any thing stands; and to find out the truth, there needs no more, but to follow your opinion. But to speak truly, I fear this quality in you, no less than I esteem it; you have too much knowledge in you for a Discourse that requires simplicity in the Reader. Neither am I so unadvised, to expose it to the severity of your judgement, I submit it rather to the protection of your goodness, and hope you will not lay open those faults, which none but yourself can see: Humbly entreating you to protect a spirit of your own making; and not so much to consider my manner of expressing, as the affection with which I am  
Sir, Your, etc.   

To the same as before. LETTER II.  
SIR, I am negligent, for fear of being troublesome, and lest I should be importunately complemental; I forbear to show myself officiously dutiful. But my fault growing from discretion, I hope you will not take it ill, that I have a care not to trouble you, and that you will pardon the intermission of my Letters, which hath no other end, but the solacing your eyes. I seek no colours of Art, to paint out the affection I owe to your service; This were to corrupt the natural purity. Truth is simple and shamefast, and when she cannot show herself by real effects, she will scorn to do it by verbal expressions. It is not in my tongue to express her otherwise, than in such terms as are the engagements of a lie; and when I shall have made you most sincere protestations of inviolable fidelity, there will come a cozening companion that will outvie me, and endear himself beyond all my oaths. I could wish there were some mark to distinguish protestations that are true, from those that are feigned; for if there were, I should have great advantage over many Courtiers, more officious and more hot in offering their service, than I am, and you should acknowledge that the eminency of your virtue, not to speak of the eminency of your dignity, is of no man more religiously reverenced, than of myself, who am, and ever will be  
Sir, Your, etc.   

To Monsieur Godeau. LETTER III.  
SIR, Disguising will not serve your turn, you are a remarkable man, and whether it be that you call the dissembling of Art, Negligence, or that you cannot put off those ornaments which are natural in you; I let you know that the excellency of your style, extends even to your familiar speech, and that you are able to sweeten it without saucing it. A man may see that come springing & flowing from you, which in others is brought ●…farre off, and that with engines; you gather that which others pull off, and though you write nothing loosely, yet you write nothing with straining: yet I must tell you, they are not the periods of your sentences, nor the pawses that win me so much unto you; I am too gross for such slender and fine threads; if you had nothing but rich conceits and choice words, this were but the virtue of a Sophister, and I should place you in the number of things that may please but not of things that one ought to love; I make more reckoning of the honesty of a dumb man, than of the eloquence of a varlet; I look after the good of society, and the comfort of life, & not after the delight of theatres, and the amusement of company: Let us make then a serious profession of our duties, and let us give good examples to an evil age; let us make the world see, that the knowledge we have of virtue, is not merely speculative; and let us justify our Books and our Studies, that now are charged with the vices and imperfections of their Teachers. Philosophy is not made to be played withal, but to be made use of, and we must count it an Armour, and not a painted Coat. They are men of the worst making, that now adays make the worst doing; sots take upon them to be subtle, and we have no more any tame Beasts amongst us, they are all savage and wild. For myself, who have seen wickedness in its Triumph, and who have sometime lived in the Country of subtlety & craft; I assure you, I have brought nothing from thence, but loathing, and before ever I tasted it, was cloyed. I am exceeding glad to find you of the same diet, and doubt not of the Doctrine I Preach, seeing I read the same in your own Letter; Believe it Sir, there is none more wholesome, none more worthy of our Creation. Which I am resolved to maintain, even to Death, and will no more leave it, than the resolution I have made, to be without ceasing;  
Sir, Your, etc.   

To Monsieur Godeau again. LETTER FOUR  
SIR, I have known a good while, that you are no longer a Druyde, and that you lately made your entry into Paris: I doubt not but with magnificence enough, and not without bestowing some public largesse. I never knew you go a foraging, that you returned not home laden with booty; and your Voyages have always enriched your followers. I pretend myself to have a feeling of this, and though far removed from the place where you act them, yet I cannot learn, that my absence makes me lose my part in the distribution of your good deeds. Cease not Sir, I entreat you, to bind me unto you, and to deserve well of my tongue. Fill our Closets with the fruits of your brain, and since you can do it, make us to gather more sheaves of Corn, than the best workmen hitherto have left us ears. My devotion stands waiting continually for your Christian works, and I entreat you, they may be done in such a volume, that we may carry them handsomely with us to Church. That which I have seen of them, doth so exceedingly please me, that I would be a Poet for nothing else but withsome indifferent grace to praise them, and to say,  
Verses bless him that makes such blessed Verses.  
If I did not love you well, I should envy you the conversation of Monsieur Chaplain, from whom in fifteen days I have received but one small spark of a Letter by the ordinary Post. Thus I do but taste of that whereof you make full meals; yet remember, I have as good right in him as yourself, and though I trust you with the keeping him, yet I do not quit my part in him; To him and you both, I am most affectionately  
Your, etc.   

To Monsieur Conrat. LETTER V.  
SIR, I had undertaken to have answered to every point of your eloquent Letter, but when I had spent a whole month about it, I could not satisfy myself with my undertaking. That which I had written, was not worthy, me thought, that I should Father it; and I began to think I should do you a great courtesy, to save you the reading of an ill Oration. But seeing of evils, the least are the best, you shall have cause to thank yourself for this compliment, which will cost you no more but one look to look over, and never put you to the labour of turning over the leaf. I have this only to say at this time, that the report which was spread of my death, hath not killed me, and that in despite of rumour and mortal Presages, I intent to be happy by your means, and not to forgo the good fortune presented to me in your person: so I call your excellent friendship, with which no burden is heavy, no calamity dolorous. For I know I shall find in you that ancient generousness, whereof Monsieur de la Nove, and Monsieur de Ferries, made profession. I account when I discover secrets to you, I hide them; and shall have no jealousy of my honour when I have put it into your hands. In such sort Sir, that my soul should be of a very hard temper, if it did not feel a kind of tickling in so present and great advantages, and if I should not most perfectly be, as you oblige me to be,  
Your, etc.   

To my Lord the Bishop of Nantes. LETTER VI.  
SIR, I was upon the point of sending my footman to you, when I saw your footman enter my lodging, who brought me news exceeding joyful; and now I depend no longer upon Fortune, since another besides herself can make me happy; and am so indeed as much as I would wish, and should never know the value of your friendship, if I made it not the bounds of my ambition. To complain of fortune, and to be your favourite, are things that imply a moral contradiction: it is an easie-matter to comfort a pension ill paid, when a man is in possession of store of treasure, and having neither the gift of impudence, nor of hypocrisy, it is not for me to prosper in an age which esteems them most that are owners of these qualities. It is enough for me, that M. the Cardinal doth me the honour to wish me well, and condemns not your judgement of me; all other disgraces, from whence soever they come, I am prepared to bear, and take for a favour the contempt that is linked to the profession of virtue. But it is too much to say of me, that which Seneca said of Cato: Catonem saeculum suum parùm intellexit. These are transcendencies of M. de Nantes, and impostures of his love. He stretcheth all objects to infinity, and all his comparisons are beyond proportion. The Sun and the Stars are common things with him, and he can find nothing in Nature goodly enough to serve for a similitude of that he loves. It is this deceitful passion hath made you believe, that I am of some great worth, and that my barren soil is fruitful in high conceits. But Sir, I count all this nothing, if this love of yours persuade you not to come & stay a while in it, and to be mindful of your word. I have put Monsieur— in hope hereof, and make myself sure since you have made me a solemn promise; knowing that Truth is residentupon the mouth of Bishops.  

Dixisti, venies, Grave & immutabile sanctis  
Pondus adest verbis, & vocem fata sequuntur.   
The Author of these Verses shall be your fourth suppliant: it is one that hath been of your old acquaintance, and was accounted the Virgil of his time. I make use of him upon this occasion, because perhaps you will make more reckoning of him than of me, who yet am more than any man in the world.  
Sir, Your, etc.   

Another to my Lord Bishop of Nantes. LETTER VII.  
SIR, I speak Latin but once a year, and yet as seldom as it is, it comes more upon hazard than out of knowledge, and holds less of learning than of rapture: vouchsafe therefore to take it in good part, that in my settled brains, I answer you in the vulgar tongue, and tell you, that never ears were more attentive, nor more prepared to hearing, than those of our family when I read your Letter before them: they were not satisfied to have only a literal interpretation, and to make me their Gramma●…ian, but I must declaim upon it, and make a Paraphrase as large as a Commentary. If you will know the success, I can truly say, that all the company was well satisfied; but to tell you all, was even ravished with admiration of your bounty, specially my Niece, who in the greatest vanity, that sex is capable of, never durst imagine she should ever have the honour to be praised in Latin, and should serve for an Argument of commendation to the greatest Doctor of our age. She saith, this is a second obligation you bind her in, to make her a Roman after you have made her your daughter; and to give her so noble a Country, after giving her so worthy a Father. And yet to these two favours, I can add a third, which she forgot: methinks Sir, she fattens and grows graceful with these praises you give her; she is fairer by one half than she was before. And if from virtue there issue certain beams which enlighten the objects that are near it; and that beauty flows from goodness, as from the Spring, I need not then go far to seek from whence this varnish of her look, this amiableness of her countenance, is grown upon her: It is certainly your late benediction that hath painted her; and to speak it in the words of the Poet,  

Formosam Pater esse dedit, Lumenque Juventae  
Purpureum, & laetos oculis afflârat honores.   
I have considered of the Letters whereof you pleased to send me a Copy, and in my judgement, you have all the reason in the world to rest satisfied with it. They could never have been more in favour of you, if you had indicted them yourself, and our friend himself had writ them: if you had been the King, and he the Secretary, if I be not deceived, this style will bring a cooling upon the joy of— and make them see, they have at least mistaken one word for another, and that the absence of— hath not been a discharge of his authority, but only a breathing from the labours of his charge. I am wrestling still with— and preparing you an after-dinners Recreation, which I will bring myself to Bordeaux, if you stay there till the next month. In the mean time, since you desire new assurances of my fidelity, I swear unto you, with all the Religion of Oaths, and with all the liberty and sincerity of the golden age, that I am  
Sir, Your, etc.   

To Monsieur de la Nawe, Counsellor of the King, in his first Chamber of Inquests. LETTER VIII.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, your nobleness is not of these times, but you are generous after the old fashion. To call the pains I put you to, a favour, and to thank a man for persecuting you, this is a virtue which Orestes and Pylades perhaps knew, but is now no where to be found, but either in old fables, or in your Letter. The offers you make me, do not so much give me a possession, as confirm me in it, and assure me the durableness of a happiness which wants nothing of being perfect, but being durable. Monsieur de— hath stretched his belief yet further; he hath told me of your coming into this Province, and hath promised me at lest some hours of those Grand days that bring you hither: if they were as long as those of Plato's year, they should not be too long for me, if I might be so happy to spend them in your company. I make account to husband the least minutes of it I can take hold of, and am about in such sort to deck up my Hermitage, that it may not be offensive to your eyes. I can present you but with gross pleasures and Country recreations; yet you that are perfectly just, will not refuse to take a little contentment where you are perfectly loved, and prefer a lively passion, and a heart sincere, before false semblances and a dead magnificence. My compliments are short, and I am by profession a very bad Courtier, but my words carry truth in them, and I am with all my soul,  
Sir, my dear Cousin, Your, etc. At Balzac; 1. June. 1634.   

To Monsieur de la Motte le Voyer. LETTER IX.  
SIR, I am going from Paris in haste, and carry with me the grief that I cannot stay to tell you in how great account I hold the offer you make me of your friendship. If this be the price of so poor a merchandise, as that I sent you, never was man a greater gainer by traffiking than I: and you seem in this, not unlike those Indians, who thought to overreach the Spaniards, by giving them Gold for Glass. I have long since known your great worth, though you would not be known to have such worth in you; all the care you can take to hide the beauty of your life, cannot keep the lustre of it from dazzling mine eyes, and though you make your virtue a secret, yet I have pierced into it, and discovered it. And yet I must confess unto you my infirmity, I find it too sublime for me, and with my uttermost ability am not able to reach it; all I can do, is to respect it with reverence, and to follow you with my eyes and thoughts. The world cannot all raise itself above the pitch of the presentage, and be wise in equal rank with Aristides & Socrates; I am contented to be in a lower form of virtue, for I am a man, and they demi Gods; I neither aspire to be their equal, nor their rival, much less Sir, to be their judge or accuser. Anitus and Melitus would be much mistaken in me, if they should think I would join with them in their accusation, as though I thought all opinions to be bad which are not like mine own; I had rather think, that it is I that loose the sight of Orasius Tubero sometimes, than think that he is strayed, or out of the way; & rather charge myself with weakness, than accuse him of rashness. Let him leave the middle Region of the air below him, and mount up above the highest; let him take upon him to judge of humane things, from Shepherds to Kings, from shrubs to stars, provided, that he be pleased to hold there, and bow his wings, and submit his reason to things divine. I have not time to tell you, how much I value him. Monsieur de— will at more leisure entertain you with discourse about it, I only will assure you, that what mask soever you put upon your face, I find you always exceeding amiable, and that I will ever be  
Sir, Your, etc. At Paris, 6. Septemb. 1631.   

To Madam de Villesavin. LETTER X.  
MAdam, seeing it is my ill fortune, that I cannot find you when I come to see you, I entreat you to let me speak to you by an Interpreter, and that I may make this benefit of my being so far from Paris, to have a right of writing to you when I could not have the power of speaking with you. Indeed as long as you were taken up with entertaining your dear son, whom long absence had made as it were new unto you, and as long as you were tasting the first joys which his return had brought with it; It had been a great indiscretion in a stranger, to intrude himself into your private feast, & not give you the liberty to make choice of your Guests; but now, that your ecstasies of joy are over-passed, and that a more calm estate makes you sociable to others abroad: Now Madam, you may vouchsafe to accept my compliment, and to hear me say, with my Country freedom, that you want much of that I wish you, if you want any thing of absolute felicity. I make no doubt but Monsieur Bouthillier your son, as he parted from hence a right honest man, so he is returned hither an understanding man; and that to the lights which are given by Nature, he hath added those that are gotten by practice, and by conference. The air of Italy which is so powerful in ripening of fruits, hath not been less favourable to the seeds of his spirit, and having been at the springhead of humane prudence, I assure myself, he hath drawn deep of it, and hath filled his mind with so many new and sublime knowledges; that even his Father (if it were not for the great love he 〈◊〉 him) might not unjustly grow jealous at it. This Madam, is that happiness I speak to you off, and which I have always wished to you, and to which, there can nothing be added, but to see shortly so excellent an instrument set a-work, and so able a man employed in great affairs. When this shall be, I shall then see the success of my ancient predictions, and of that I have long read in his very face; so that, you may well think, I shall take no distaste at your contentment, as well for the reputation of my skill in Phisnomy and Prognosticating, as for that I perfectly am  
Madam Your, etc. At Balzac 2. Octob. 1631.   

To Monsieur de Gomberville, LETTER XI.  
SIR, the mischance at the Tuilliries, hath disquieted me all night, and my unquietness would have continued still, if you had not taken the pains to calm it. The news you send me, gives me life; A man cannot be innocent, whom Madam the Maiso●…fort judgeth culpable, she is not one that will complain where there is no fault; and truly, if she had taken the mischance of her page in another fashion than she did, I would rather have abandoned reason than maintain it against her, & would not have trusted my own testimony, if she rejected it. You remember, that but hearing her Name, I fell down in a trance, and that the very sight of her livery, struck into me a religious horror, and a trembling respect, which is not borne, but to things divine. And in this rank, I place so rare a beauty as hers is; and though I be no man of the world, yet I am not so very a stranger to the occurrents of the world, but that I very well know, she is universally adored; I must not always pass for an Hermit; this I am sure, she carries with her the desires and vows of all the Court, and she leads in triumph those Gallants, who have themselves triumphed over our enemies: yet I know withal, they depend more upon her by their own passion, than by her endeavours, and follow without being drawn. These are Captives, whom she trusts upon their word, for their true imprisonment, and whom she suffers to be their own Keepers. In the course she holds of honesty, her favours are so moral, or so light, that either they content none but the wise, because they desire no more than what is given them; or none but the unwise, because they take that to be given them, which was never meant them; so there are some perhaps well satisfied, but it is by the force of their imagination, and no body hath cause to be proud of a Fortune, which no body possesseth. As her virtue is as clear as the fire that sparkles in her eyes, so her reputation is as much without blemish as her beauty; & of this, honest people give testimony by their words, and Detractors by their silence. She makes thorns that they cannot prick, and makes slander itself to learn good manners. And therefore Sir, I should be very unfortunate, if I had been cause of displeasing her, whom all the world endeavours to please; and it would be a shame to our Nation, that a Frenchman should bear himself unreverently towards her, to whom very Barbarians bear a reverence. If this misfortune had besallen me, it is not the saving my Page's life, should make me stand in the defence; and I would never desire to augment my train, but to the end I might have the more sacrifices to offer upon the Altar of her choler. But she is too merciful, to punish mean Delinquents, and too generous, to give petty Examples: she reserves her justice for the Great ones, and the Proud; for those who having more tender senses, are better able to feel the weight of her anger; or else in truth her purpose is to show me a particular favour, by a public declaration, and to let the world see, she makes a reckoning of that of which the world makes none. And knowing what the gratefulness of good Letters is, she is desirous to have them in her debt; she pays our studies beforehand, for the fruit she expects from them, and obligeth the Art which can praise the Obligation: she is made believe, that I have some skill in this Art, and I perceive I am not in so little respect with her as I thought; and of this I am assured, by the pains it cost you, to make her take her Page again that was hurt; and by the civil language she desired you to deliver from her. It exceeded indeed all bounds of moderation, and it seems she would not only for my sake protect an innocent, but would be ready, if need were, to reward a delinquent. For acknowledgement of which generous goodness, all my own spirit, and all my friends put together, can never be too much. It is particularly yourself to whom I must have recourse in this occasion: you Sir, who set the Crown upon Beauty's head, who have the power to make Queens at your pleasure; and to whom Olympia and Yzatide, are beholding for their Empire: having bestowed so great glory upon persons that never were; and set all France a running after Phantosmes, you may well take upon you to defend the reputation of a sensible and living virtue, and choose a subject that may be thankful to you for your choice; and this is a matter you cannot deny, of which we will talk more, and conclude it after dinner in presence of the Lady that is interessed in it, into whose presence, I must entreat you, to be my usher to bring me, that so I may ever more and more be,  
Sir, Your most humble and most obliged servant, etc. At Paris, 1. June: 1631.   

To Monsieur de Villiers Hottoman. LETTER XII.  
SIR, being equally tender of the good will you bear me, and of the account you make of me, I cannot choose but rest well satisfied with your remembering me, and with the judgement you deliver of my writings; you are not a man that will bear false witness, and you have too much honesty to deceive the world, but withal, you have too much understanding to be deceived yourself, and one may well rely upon a wisdom that is confirmed by time and practice. This is that which makes me to make such reckoning of your approbation, and such account of your counsel, that I should be loath to be defective in the least tittle of contenting you. It is far from me, to maintain a point, that you oppose; I give it over at the first blow, and yield at the first summons: yet I could never have thought, that of a jest, there should have been made a fault; or that a poor word, spoken without design or aiming at any, should have been the cause of so great complaints. You know, that in a certain modern School, there is a difference made, Fra la virtu faeminile, & la Donnesca; and it is held, that to make love, is more the vice of a woman, than of a Princess; and less to be blamed in the person of Semirdmis or Cleopatra, than in the person of Lucretia or Virginia: I carry not my opinions so far, and I mean to be no Author of so extravagant a Morality. It may suffice, that without descending from the thesis to the hypothesis, I protest unto you, I should be very sorry, I had trenched upon the reputation of that great Queen, or intended to corrupt the memory of so excellent an odour, as she hathleft behind her; of whose great worthiness, I have in other places said so much, that I should but shame myself to say any otherwise; and indeed, the terms I used were free, and not injurious, and such, as if they wound a little, they tickle & delight much more: I neither spoke disgracefully of the dignity of her royal birth, nor gave her any odious or uncivil names, as some others have done, whom I condemn extremely for it; yet Sir, I will yield to confess, that I have said too much, and though my saying too much should have attractives to charm me, and were as dear to me as any part of myself, yet seeing it is distasteful to you, I will for your sake cut it clean off, and never look for further reasons to induce me to it. I can deny nothing to my friends, and therefore make no doubt of the power you have over me, and of my testifying, upon this occasion, without further opening my eyes, that I am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 4. Jan. 1632.   

To Monsieur de Borstell. LETTER XIII.  
SIR, I am so far from seeking to justify my negligence, that I will not go about so much as to excuse it: nothing but my being dead, can be a valuable reason why I waited not upon you, to offer you my service; all other impediments would prove too light, to have kept me here: but such is your graciousness, that it is impossible to fall foul with you; such your indulgence, that you remit a fault before I can confess it: you give me no leisure to ask you, at the very first, you oblige me to thank you, and I have received my pardon here at home, which I never looked to obtain, but at Oradour, and that with long soliciting. I have not yet seen the Ambassatrix, who hath done me the favour to bring it to me, and I cannot imagine, she should be surprised with that despair, as your Letter represents herein. Alclones' affliction, in respect of hers, would be but mean, and those women whose tears Antiquity hath hallowed, did but hate their husbands, in comparison of her: I know not whether you do her a pleasure, to raise her sorrow to so high a pitch; for after this you speak of, she shall never be allowed to lift up her eyes, and you give her a reputation whereof she is not worthy, if she leave but one hair upon her head. I much distaste your exaggerations, and cannot think she will bear you out in the report you make of her miserable estate: if it were such, as you make it, it would be capable of no remedy: Epictetus and Seneca, would be too mean Physicians, to take her in hand; yet I mean not to contradict you:  

I think when death her husband sea'de,  
Angelica with her Fates displeased,  
Looked pale i'th' face as Alabaster:  
Charging the guiltless stars with blame  
In the th'hard language, Rage could frame  
When it is grown the Reason's Master.   
Yet the glory of her spirit makes me believe withal, that this sad humour was but a Fit, and continued not long, and that the same day upon the tempest there followed a calm. A man shall meet with some women of such spirits, that neither time nor Philosophy can work upon them; and some others again, that prevent the work of time & Philosophy, by their own natural constitution. As there are some flesh's so hard to heal, that no Balm can cure the prick but of a pin; so again, there are some bodies so well composed, that their wounds are healed with plain Spring water, and they close and grow together of themselves. I assure myself, our fair Lady is of this perfect temper, and that she wouldbe no example, to make widows condemned for curling their locks, or for wearing their mourning gowns edged with green. You should allege unto her the Princess Leonina, so highly esteemed of the Court of Spain, and the prime ornament of this last age. Knowing that her husband's 'querry was come, to relate unto her the particulars of his death, & hearing that his Secretary was to come the morrow after, she sent the 'querry word, to forbear coming to see her, till the Secretary were come, that so she might not be obliged to shed tears twice. There is no virtue now adays so common as constancy, nor any thing so superfluous, as the custom of comforting. All the Steel of Biscay, and all the poison of Thessaly, might well enough be trusted in the hands of the mourners of our time, without doing any hurt. I scarce know a man that would not be glad to outlive, not only his friends & parents, but even the age he lives in, & his very Country, and rather than die, would willingly stay in the world himself alone. Speak therefore no more of keeping Angelica here by force, who in my opinion is not of herself unwilling; and not having lost the King of Sweden, may therefore the more easily repair her loss. I would to God Sir, I could be no sadder than she is, and that I could forget a person, who is at this present the torment of my spirit; as he hath heretofore been the delight of my eyes: but melancholic men do not so easily let go the hold of their passions, and the good remedies you have sent to comfort me for his death; I approve them all, but apply none of them: yet I give you a thousands marks, though six months after they were due; and though I say not often, yet I say it most truly, that you shall never take care of any man, that is more than myself,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 30. April. 1633.   

To Madam— LETTER XIIII.  
MAdam, seeing I could not come to see you at your departure, as I was bound to do, I do not think I shall do you any wrong to send you a better companion than that I promised you; I mean the Book I now send you, whereof you have heard so much talk, and which you meant to have carried with you into Perigord, to be your comforter for the loss of Paris. It is in truth worthy of the good opinion you have of it, and of the impatience with which I am a witness, you have expected it. And if wagers have been laid upon Queen's great bellies, and assurance given they should be brought a-bed of a son, why should I wonder that you have given before hand, your approbation of a thing that deserves the approbation of all the world? It will certainly bring you out of taste with the Present I gave you, when you desired me to look you out some of my Compositions. In it you shall find that, that will shorten he longest days of this season; That, that will keep you from tediousness when you are alone; That, that will make you thank me for my absence. For to say true, all visits will be unseasonable to you, when you set yourself to the Recreation of so sweet a reading; and whosoever shall come to trouble you at such a time, must needs have from you some secret maledictions, what civilities soever you make show of, as your custom is. I would be loath to fall into this inconvenience, it is better I give my opinion a far off, and in a Letter, which you may entertain without any solemnity: since than you will have me believe, that my judgement is not altogether bad, nor my opinions wholly unsound; I profess unto you Madam, that setting aside the affection I bear to the Author of this work, I have observed in the work itself, a number of excellent things, which I could not choose but praise, even in an enemy. He is not so choleric I hope, but that he will pardon me if I say that he is one of the most pleasing liars that ever I saw. I complain not of his impostures, but when he ceaseth to deceive me, because I would gladly have them last always. His History hath quite removed my spirit out of its place, and hath touched to the quick all that I have sensible in me. I will not hide my weakness: I knew at first, that the painting I looked on, was all false, yet I could not hold from having as violent passions, as if it had been true, and as if I had seen it with mine eyes: sometimes sorrowful, sometimes glad; as it pleaseth Monsieur de Bois Robert to tell me tales of good or bad fortune. I find myself interessed in good earnest in all the affairs of his imaginary Kings; I am put in fear for the poor Anaxandra, more than I can express, and as much I am humbled for the misfortunes of Lysimantus, and I have seen them both in such extremities, that I made solemn vows for their safety, when at the very height they were miraculously delivered. In conclusion Madam, though I have a heart hard enough, and eyes not very moist, yet I could not forbear to shed tears, in spite of myself; and I have been even ashamed to see, that they were but the dreams and fancies of another man, and not my own proper evils which put into me such true passions. This is a tyrannical power, which the sense usurpeth over the reason, and which makes us see, that the neighbourhood of the imagination, is extremely contagious to the intellectual part, and that there is much more body than soul in this proud creature, which thinks itself borne to command all others. The Aethhiopic History hath oftentimes given me these Alarms, and I cannot yet read it without suffering myself to be deceived. As for other writings of this kind, it is true, I make some choice, and run not after all Spanish Romanos, with equal passion. They are indeed for the most part, but Heliodorus in other clothes, or as— said, but children borne of Theagenes and Chariclea, and seem to resemble their Father and Mother so near, that there is not a hair's breadth of difference between them. But in this work Madam, I make you promise you shall see novelties, and shall find in it this sweet air of the wide world, and these dainties of the spirit, which are not common in our Provinces. I confesso unto you, there is in some passages some thing that may seem too much painted, and perhaps too garish, and which will not bear examining by the rigour of Precepts; but than you must confess as well that Fables look chiefly after beauty, and care not though it be a little immodest, seeing this kind of writing is rather a loose Poesy, than a regular Prose. As soon as I shall be able to ride, I will come and hear your Oracles hereupon, and tell you, as I use to do, that as yourself is one of the perfectest things I ever saw, so I am more than of any other,  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzac, 10. August, 1629.   

To Monsieur Hobier, Precedent of the Treasures in the Generality of Bourges. LETTER XV.  
SIR, though you should say, I present you always with flowers that prick you, and offer you services that may seem unseasonable, yet I cannot forbear the solicitations of my Letters, nor the trading with you by this way of Compliments. The Book which I have desired Monsieur de— to deliver to you, shall pass if you please, but for an Essay; and I am contented that my discourses Moral and Politic, shall contribute nothing to the mending of my own fortune, so they may contribute something to the recommending of my Sister's business: if it become me to speak of a person that is so near unto me, and if you think me worthy to be credited in the testimony I shall give of her, I am able Sir, to say thus much, that she is a woman, either lifted up by her own strength above the passions of her sex, or that Nature hath exempted her from them, by a peculiar privilege: so far, as that amongst us, she stands for an example, and leads a life that is the edification of all our Province. But though she make profession of severe virtues, yet she aspires to no glory by sullen humours; she hath nothing muddy, nor clownish in her, but tempers her austerity with so much exterior sweetness, that without endeavouring to please any, she seems to be pleasing to all the world, I therefore solicit you for her, in behalf of all the world, and crave your favour with violence; for to crave it with discretion, would make but a weak show, of the desire I have to obtain it. In matters that concern myself only, I am held back by a certain natural ●…mourousnesse, which makes me oftentimes to be wanting to myself; but in that which concerns her, I observe not so much as honest respects; but am bold, even to temereity; and if therein I should not do too much, I should never think I did enough: and yet this is a fault, which leaves no remorse behind it; the merit of the subject, justifies the impor●…unitie of the suppliant; and when you shall know her better, you will find no great excess in that I write, and will bless my persecution. You have already obliged us exceedingly, and have put the business in an infallible way of prospering; it only remains Sir, that you crown your courtesy, and draw a concluding word from the parties, whom I shall call Publicans, and couple them with Heathens, if they be not converted and led with that you shall say unto them: but I cannot doubt of the effect of your persuasions, who know, that both by your tongue, and by your pen, you practise our Art, with assured success. Let us now see the proof of it, in this occasion, and I p●…omise you, that never favour was more commended, nor shall be more recommended, than yours shall be. The consideration of a good deed, being joined to that of virtue, you shall possess me by a double title, and I shall not be less of due, than I am by choice,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 25. Decemb. 1631.   

To Monsieur de Coupeauville, Abbot of the Victory. LETTER XVI.  
SIR, seeing the Relations that come from Paris, tell us no News at all of you, I entreat you to be your own Historian, and not suffer me to be punctually informed of a thousand things, that are indifferent to me, and remain altogether ignorant of the state of your health, which is so infinitely dear unto me. It is very likely, you have all the care that may be of it, as of a thing necessary for exercising the functions of a virtuous life; and I doubt not but you contain yourself always in that excellent means, which is between disorder and mortification. You are no longer hungry after the glory of 〈◊〉, and if the Artillery of the Valstin carry not so far as the Realle, I assure myself, it can do you no hurt: my mind therefore is at quiet in that point, and I am not afraid to lose you, as I have lost some other valiant friends; and you do well to leave the war to others, and stay yourself upon the Victory. I ask you pardon for this untoward aequivocal word, I have rather written it than thought it, and it is a misfortune which surpriseth me but very seldom: I only say Sir, that it is better to be Abbot a dozen miles from Paris, than to be General of an Army in Tharingia or Westphalia; and that a Cross of so many pounds a year, is much more worth than either Hercules club, or Roland's sword; and that he that gave you so honest and so rich an idleness, hath not ill deserved of your Philosophy, to which I recommend me with all my heart, and wish unto it the continuance of this happy repose; but upon condition, that it make you not distaste our friendship, and suffer you to place one of the most noble virtues of the mind in the number of her maladies and infirmities. Be not a Doctor so far as that, and remember, you are my debtor of some affection, if you forget not, that I am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 25. Decemb. 1632.   

To Monsieur de Forgues, Commander of a Company in Holland. LETTER XVII.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, I think myself a rich man with the goods you have given me another that should have received the same present, should not owe you for it the same obligation, but the opinion of things, is the measure of their value; and because I have neither mind nor eyes that be covetous, I account the Emeralds of your Glass-windows, of as great a price as those of Lapidaries: at least, whereas they are without life and motion, these live and move in my base Court. I know my riches, and am known by them, and after I have read myself stark blind, I go and refresh my wearied sight in that admirable verdure, which is to me both a recreation and a remedy. Base objects, not only offend my imagination, but even provoke my choler; and I should never receive a Monkey from the best of my friends, but only to kill it: but I vow unto you, that beauty pleaseth me wheresoever I meet it; yet because it is a dangerous thing in women's faces, I like better to behold it in the feathers of birds, and in the enameling of flowers. Pleasure's so chaste, are compatible with Lent, and offend not God: and therefore upon these one hour in a day, I take pleasure to stand gazing and amuse myself: I thank you for it with all my heart, and passionately am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 7. March. 1634.   

To Madam d'Anguitur. LETTER XVIII.  
MAdam, It shall never be laid to my charge, that you speak of me with honour, and that I understand it without feeling. A good opinion is obligatory, from whence so ere it come, but infinitely more, when it comes from an exquisite judgement, as yours is; and I doubt not, but Socrates was more touched and tickled with that one word the Oracle spoke of him, than with all the praises the world had given him. The favourable discourses you have held of me, ought not to be held of me in less acount than words indeed inspired, & if I should place them in the number of humane testimonies, I should sh●…w myself ignorant, that it is Heaven which hath been your Instructor; and that from thence, you have received those clear lights, whereof the Stars are but shadows. I do not amplify any thing at adventure, nor suffer myself to be swayed with flattery; but in this point of Illumination, Madam, I always except matters of Faith, lest your Ministers should take advantage of my words. We must needs, I say, hold for certain, that either you have been instructed by an extraordinary way, or confess that you owe it all to yourself, and that coming to know the truth, without study and discipline, your virtue is a mere work of your own making. It is no small matter for one that lives in parts remote from the Court, to be but tolerably reasonable, & able to maintain his common sense against so many opposites and oppositions, as he shall meet with; but in those remote parts, where you have no choice of Examples, there to discover the Idea, from whence Examples are taken, to breath in an infected Air, and full of Errors; and yet retain still sound opinions; to be continually opposed with extravagant questions, and yet always return discreet answers; To take pity of silly Buffoons, when others admire them; to make a difference between jests picked up here and there, and those that come from the Spring itself; between wise discourses, and harmonious fooleries; between a sufficiency that is solid, and that which is only painted; to do these things Madam, aught to be called even half a miracle: and no less a rarity in these days than in former times, it was to see a white Aethiopian, or a Scythian Philosopher. Our Country may justly be proud of so admirable a birth; It is the great work of her famous fecundity, and we may boldly say, there is that found in Saintoigne, which is wanting in the Circle; that which hinders the Court from being complete, and that which is necessary for the perfecting of Paris itself. But as well here as there Madam, if ever you will hear the vows of those who wish your happiness, I would think it fit, you should not make yourself a spectacle for the vulgar, nor suffer your entertainment to be a recreation for idle persons. It deserves not to be approached unto without preparation; & that they should examine themselves well, who present themselves before it. All spirits at all times, are not capable of so worthy a communication, and therefore, let men say what they will, I account the reservations you make of yourself, to be very just, and it cannot be thought strange, that being as you are of infinite value, you take some time to possess yourself alone, and not to lose your right of reigning; which admits, as no division, so no Company. To use it otherwise Madam, would not be a civility, or a courtesy, but indeed an ill husbanding of your spirit, and a wasteful profusion of those singular graces, of which, though it be not fit you should deprive them that honour you, yet it is fit you should give them out by tale, and distribute them by measure. It is much better, to have less general designs, and to propose to ones self, a more limited reputation, than to abandon one's spirit to every on●… that will be talking, and to expose it to the curiosity of the people, who leave always a certain taint of impurity upon all things they look upon: by such vicious sufferance, we find dirt and mire carried into Lady's Closets: if there come a busy fellow into the Country, presently honest women are besieged, there is thronging to tell them tales in their ears; and all the world thinks, they have right to torment them: and thus, saving the reverence of their good report, though they be chaste, yet they be public; and though they can spy the feast sullying upon their ruffs, yet they willingly suffer a manifest soiling of their noblest part. You have done Madam, a great act, to have kept your self free from the tyrannnie of custom, and to have so strongly fortified yourself against uncivil assay lants; that, whilst the Louver is surprised, your house remains impregnable. I cannot but magnify the excellent order, with which you dispose the hours of your life; and I take a pleasure to think upon this Sanctuary of yours, by the only reverence of virtue made inviolable: in which, you use to retire yourself, either to enjoy more quietly your repose, or otherwise, to exercise yourself in the most pleasing action of the world, which is the consideration of yourself. If after this your happy solitnde, you come sometimes and cast your eyes upon the Book I send you, you shall therein Madam, do me no great favour: the things you shall have thought, will wrong those you shall read; and so it shall not be a grace, but an affront I shall receive. I therefore humbly entreat you, there may be some reasonable intermission, between two actions, so much differing: Go not straight from yourself to me, but let the relish of your own meditation be a little passed over, before you go to take recreation in my work. To value it to you, as a piece of great price; or otherwise, to vilify it, as a thing of no value, might justly be thought in me an equal vanity. They who praise themselves, desire consent, and seek after others approbation; they who blame themselves, seek after opposition, and desire they may be contradicted. This latter humility, is no better than the others pride. But to the end, I may not seem to go to the same place, by a third way, and desire to be praised, at least with that indifferency I ascribe to you; I entreat you Madam, that you will not speak the least word, either of the merit of my labour, or in default of merit, of the fashion of language I have used in speaking to you: I mean not to put this Letter upon the score; to speak plainly, I entreat you to make me no answer to it; so far I am off, from expecting thanks for it. It is not, Madam, a Present I make you, it is an homage I owe you; and I pretend not to oblige you at all, but only to acquit myself of the first act of veneration, which I conceive I owe you, as I am a reasonable creature, and desiring all my life to be  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzac 4. May, 1634.   

To Monsieur Balthasar, Counsellor of the King, and Treasurer General of Navarre. LETTER XIX.  
SIR, I never deliberate upon your opinion, nor ever examine any man's merit, when you have once told me what to believe. But yet, if I should allow myself the liberty to do otherwise, I could but still say, that I find Monsieur de— well worthy the account you hold him in, and myself well satisfied of him, upon his first acquaintanee. By further conversation, I doubt not, but I should yet discover in him more excellent things, but it is no easy matter, ever to bring us together again: For, he is a Carthusian in his Garrison, and I an Hermit in the Desert; so as that which in our two lives makes us most like, is that which makes us most unlikely ever to meet: yet I sometimes hear News of him; and I can assure you, he is but too vigilant in looking to his Charge; he hath stood so many Rounds and Sentinels, that it is impossible, he should be without rheums, at least, till Midsummer. These are, to speak truly, works of supererogation; for I see no enemy this Province need to fear, unless perhaps, the Persian or Tartarian: the very Name of the King, is generally fortification enough, over all his Kingdom; and as things now stand, Vaugirad is a place impregnable; that if Demetrius came again into the world, he would lose his reputation before the meanest village of Beausse: but this is one of your politician subtleties, to make Angoulesme pass for a Frontier Town, and to give it estimation, that it may be envied. Doubt not, but I shall give you little thanks for this, seeing by this means you are clean gone from us, and I must be fain to make a journey of purpose into Lauguedoc, if I ever mean to enjoy the contentment of embracing you, and of assuring you, that I am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 1. March. 1633.   

To Monsieur de Serizay. LETTER XX.  
SIR, if you were but resident at Paris, I should hope sometimes to hear of your News, but now that you are bewitched there, it will be an ungrateful work for you to read ●…ine. They are always such as must be pitied. In my way there are as many stones to dash against, as in yours there are flowers: and life it self is an evil that I suffer, as it is a good that you enjoy: you left me blind, and may now find me lame; my causes of complaining never cease, they do but change place; and the favours I receive, are so husbanded, that I cannot recover an eye, but by the loss of a leg. I was yesterday in a great musing upon this, when suddenly a great light shined in my Chamber, and dazzled mine eyes, even as I lay in my bed. And not to hold you long in suspense, the Name of the Angel I mean, was Madam d' Estissac, who thus appeared unto me, and willing to make the world see, how much she hath profited in Religion, runs after all occasions, to put her Christian virtues in practice. This somewhat abates the vanity I should otherwise have taken in her visit; for, I see it is rather charity than courtesy, and I am so much beholding to my infirmity for it, that she made a doubt whether I were sick enough to merit it; as much as to say, a Paralytic should have had this courtesy from her sooner than I They must be great miseries that attract her great favours; pity which teacheth the fairest hands of the world to bury the dead, may well get of the fairest eyes that ever were, some gracious looks to comfort the afflicted. What ere it be, I have found by experience, that no sadness is so obstinate and cloudy, but pleasing objects may dissolve & pierce, not any Philosopher so stony and insensible, but may be softened and awaked by their lightest impression. I verily think, another of her visits, would have set me on my legs, and made me able to go: but she thought me not worthy of a whole miracle, and therefore I must content myself with this beginning of my cure. I inform you of these things, as being one that reverenceth their cause, and as one that loves me too well, to make slight of the goods or evils I impart unto him. This last word of my Letter, shall serve, if you please, for a corrective to the former, I revoke it as a blasphemy, and will never believe, that all the Magic in: Paris, is able to make you forget a man, whom you have promised to love, and who passionately is  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 3. July. 1633.   

Another to him: LETTER XXI.  
SIR, this is the first opportunity I could get to write unto you, and to comfort myself for your absence by this imperfect way, which is the only means left me to enjoy you. These are but shadows and figures of that true contentment, I received by your presence; b●… since I cannot be wholly happy, I must take it in good part that I am not wholly miserable. I will hasten all I can to finish the business I have begun, thereby to put myself in state to see you; and if my mind could go as fast as my will, I should myself be with you as soon as my Letter. It is true, there cannot be a more delicate and dainty place, than this where I live banished; and a friend of ours said, that they who are in exile here, are far happier than Kings in Muscovia: but being separated from a man so infinitely dear unto me, I do not think, I could live contented in the Fortunate Islands; and I should be loath to accept of felicity itself, if it were offered me, without your company. Wherefore assure yourself, that as soon as I can rid myself of some importunate visits, which I must necessarily both receive and give, I will not lose one moment of the time, that I have destinated to the accomplishment of— and will travail much more assiduously than otherwise I should do, seeing it is the end of my travail, that only can give me the happiness of your presence. In the mean time, I am bound, first to tell you, that I have seen here— and then to give you thanks for the good cheer he hath made me. He believes upon your word, that I am one of much worth, and gives me Encomiums, which I could not expect from his judgement, but that you have corrupted it, by favouring me too much. I earnestly entreat you, to let me hear from you, upon all occasions; and to send me by the Post the two books, which I send for to Monsieur— if you have not received them of him already; but above all, I desire you, that we may lay aside all meditation and art in writing our Letters; and that the negligence of our style, may be one of the marks of the friendship between us: and so Sir, I take my leave, and am with all my soul,  
Your, etc. At Balzac, 2. Decemb. 1628.   

Another to him. LETTER XXII.  
SIR, either you mean to mock me, or I understand not the terms of your Letter; I come to you in my night gown, and my night cap upon my head, and you accuse me for being too fine. You take me for a cunning merchant, who am the simplest creature in the world: if another should use me thus, I should not take it so patiently; but what ere your design be, I count myself happy, to be the subject of your joy, and that I can make you merry, though it be to my cost: when I write to you, I leave myself to the conduct of my pen, and neither think of the dainties of our Court, nor of the severity of our Grammar; that if there be any thing in my Letters of any worth, it must needs be, that you have falsified them, 〈◊〉 so it is you that are the Mountebank, and will utter your counterfeits for true Diamonds. You know well, that Eloquence is not gotten so good cheap, and that to term my untoward language, by the name of this quality, is a superlative to the highest of my Hyperboles. Yet it seems, you stand in no awe of Father— as though you had a privilege, to speak without control, things altogether unlikely; for this first time, I am content to pardon you, but if you offend so again, I will inform against you, and promise you an honourable place in the third part of Philarchus. The man you wrote of, hath no passions now; but wise and stayed; he hath given over play, and women, and all his delight now, is in his Books and virtue. Rejoice, I pray you, at this happy conversion, and if you be his friend so much, and so much a Poet, as to show yourself in public, you may do well to make a Hymn in praise of Sickness; as one hath heretofore done in praise of Health: for to speak truly, it is his sickness that hath healed him, and hath put into him the first meditations of his health: I expect great News from you by the next Post, and passionately am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Bolzac, 25. Decemb. 1628.   

To Monsieur Ogier. LETTER XXIII.  
SIR, I cannot but confess that men in misery, never found a more powerful Protector than yourself; and that you seem borne to be a defender of oppressed innocency. The Fathers of the Minimme Order, are as much beholding to you as myself; whose right, you have so strongly maintained, that if I did not know you well, I should verily think, the Saint you speak of, had inspired you. And as by his prayers he gains a jurisdiction over the fruitfulness of Princesses, so by the same prayers he hath contributed assistance to this excellent work you send me. After this, it is not to be suffered you should make show of distaste, and tell me of your slothfulness. When fire shall cease to be active, I will then believe, you can be slothful; but will never think you hate Books, until— shall give over his suits in Law; or if I must needs give credit to your words, I then assure myself, this distaste could never come unto you, but by your too great fare, nor this weariness, but by your too great labour. I am myself a witness of your assiduity in study; and you know, how early soever I rise in the morning, I always find you in the chamber next to the Meteors; which high region, I conceive you have chosen, that you may be the nearer to take in the inspirations of Heaven. I think it long till I come and visit you there, to take counsel of your Muses, in a number of difficulties I have to propound unto you. In the meantime, I have this to say, that the News you send me, hath even astonished me, and it seems to me, a kind of Enchantment Monsieur— will show you certain Letters, which I entreat you to consider of, and by which you shall see, that if I be deceived, yet it is not grossly, nor without much cunning used. Make me beholding to you, by opening your mind more particularly in this matter, and by believing that I am with all my heart  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 4. Feb. 1629.   

Another to him. LETTER XXIIII.  
SIR, there is no friendship in the world of more use than yours: it is my Buckler in all my battles, it is my Consolation in all my calamities; but specially, it is my Oracle in all my doubts. That which before. I have your advice, I propose to myself with trembling, I soon as once I have your approbation: I make it a Maxim, and an Aphorism: and when have once consulted with you, never did an Ignoramus take upon him to be some great Doctor better than I do: You have knowledge enough to serve your own turn, and your friends; you are the God that inspires the Sibylle: for myself, I am no longer an Author, but an Interpreter, and speak nothing of myself, but preach only your doctrine. I give you a thousand thanks for your great magnificence, in giving me so great a treasure; and for the learned Observations you have been pleased to communicate unto me: Assure yourself, I will cry them up in good place, & make your Name alleged solemnly for an Authority. Gratefulness is the poor man's best virtue, and seeing I cannot be liberal, I will endeavour, at least, not to be unmindful: And so Sir, I am most perfectly, and more than any other in the world,  
Your, etc. At Balzac, 6. Mar. 1629.   

To Madam Desloges. LETTER XXV.  
MAdam, being in a fit of a Fever, I hear you are at Oradour, where I should have the honour to see you, if the joy of so good News had the power to carry me thither, and were able to give me the health, which it is forward to promise me. Being therefore not in case to assure you in person, how sensible I am of your many courtesies; give me leave to testify unto you, that I am not unmindful of the very last you showed me, and that I give you thanks for the beginning of my amendment, whereof you are the cause. It is certain, that when I was burning in a most extreme fire, I received a notable cooling and comfort, to hear you but only Named; and this, Madam, is the first miracle you have done in this Country, if you stay but a while here, I hope we shall see many more and greater, and that you will leave some excellent marks, that you have been here. Our Deserts shall be no longer rude, or savage, having once been honoured by your presence, the sweet air, that breathes on the banks of the Loire, shall spread itself hither; and I doubt not, but you will change all the choler of Lymousin into Reason, and make our Lions become men. I do not think, there is any will oppose this truth, unless perhaps— who had the heart to part from you with dry eyes, and could not find tears to accompany yours. I have told him of it to his shame, before Monsieur de— and both of us agree, that in this occasion, he might honestly enough, have broken the laws of his Philosophy, & might have lost his gravity, without any lightness. Whilst we were together, they desired to see a part of my Prince, which as yet I dare not call by so illustrious a Name; for in truth, Madam, he can be but a private person, until such time as you proclaim him, and that he receive investiture from his Sovereign: so I call your approbation, which is with me in such respect and reverence, that I should prefer it before Reason itself, if they were two things that could be separated, and that I were allowed to choose which I would have. I would say more hereof, but that methinks, I have done a great work to say so much; for my head is in such violent agitation, with the heat of my last fit, that all I can do at this time, is but to set my hand to this Protestation, that I honour you exceedingly, and am as much as any in the world,  
Madam Your, etc. At Balzac, 25. August. 1629.   

Another to her. LETTER XXVI.  
MAdam, I am jealous of my Lackeys fortune, who makes now a second journey to you, and consequently, shall be twice together twice as happy as I: he should never have this advantage of me, if to a journey to see you, there went nothing but courage, and if the relics of my disease, which prey upon weakness, did not tire me more than the extreme violence did, when I had some strength to resist it. By staying in my chamber, I lose all the fair days that shine in the garden; all the riches of the fields are gathered without me; I have no part in the fruits of Autumn, whereof the Spring gave me such sweet hopes; and I am promised health at winter, when I shall see nothing but a pale Sun, a threadbare Earth, and dead sticks, that have brought forth grapes, but not for me to eat. In this miserable estate, I have no comfort, but only the Letter you did me the honour to write unto me, which is so precious to me Madam, that I even honour it, with a kind of superstition, and am ready to make a chain or bracelet of it, to try whether the wearing it about me, may not prove a better Remedy against my Fever, than all the other I have used. There is but one word in it that I cannot endure, being not able to conceive why you should call yourself Unfortunate: are you not afraid, lest God should call you to account for this word? and charge you with ungratefulness, for making so slight reckoning of his great benefits and Graces? He hath lifted you up above your own sex, and ours too, and hath spared nothing to make you complete; the better part of Europe admires you; and in this point, both Religions are agreed, and no contesting between Catholic and Protestant; The Pope's Nuntio, hath presented our Belief even to your person, all perfumed with the compliments and civilities of Italy; Princes are your Courtiers, and Doctors your Scholars: and is this Madam, that you call to be unfortunate? and that which you take for a just cause to complain? I humbly entreat you, to speak hereafter in more proper terms, and to acknowledge God's favours in a more grateful manner. I know well, that your loyalty hath suffered by your brother's Rebellion; and that in the public miseries you have had some private losses, but so long as you have your noble heart, and your excellent spirit left you, it is not possible, you should be unfortunate; for indeed, in these two parts, the true Madam Desloges is all entire and whole. It is I Madam, that have just cause to say, I am unfortunate, who am never without pain, never without grief, never without enemies; and even at this very time I write from a house of grief, where my mother and my sister being sick on one hand, and myself on the other, I seem to be sick of three sicknesses at once; yet be not afraid, lest this I send you should be infectious, as though I had a design to poison you with my Presents: for I have not yet meddled with any of the Musque fruits, which I hope you shall eat; I have not durst so much as to come near them, lest I should chance to leave some light impression of my Fever upon them: They are originally Natives of Languedoc; and have not so degenerated from the goodness of their ancestors, but that you will find them, I hope, of no unpleasing taste, and besides Madam, rhey grow in a soil that is not hated of Heaven, & where I can assure you, your Name is so often rehearsed, and your virtue so highly esteemed, that there is not an Echo in all our woods, but knows you for one of the perfectest things in the world, and that I am  
Madam Your, etc. At Balzac, 20. Septemb. 1629.   

To— LETTER XXVII.  
MAdam, see here the first thanks I give you, for you know, that having never done me but displeasures, I have never yet returned you but complaints: but now at last you have been pleased to begin to oblige me, and after so many sentences of death, which you have pronounced against me, and after so many cruelties, which I have suffered, you have bethought yourself, ten years after, to send me one good News, which truly is so pleasing to me, that I must confess, you had no other way to reconcile yourself unto me; and I cannot forbear to bless the hands that brought me a Letter from Madam Desloges, though they were died in my blood, and had given me a thousand wounds. The sense of former injuries, hath no competition with so perfect a joy, and of two passions equally just, the more violent is easily overcome of the more sweet. You have hastened the approach of my old age, and made grey one half of my hair; you have banished me this Kingdom, and forced me to fly your tyranny, by flying into another Country: finally, it is no thank to you, that I have not broken my own neck, and made matter for a Tragedy: and yet four lines of Madam Desloges, have the force to blot out all this long story of my misfortunes, and willingly with all my heart, I forget all the displeasures I have received, for this good office you now afford me. I make you this discourse in our first language, that I may not disobey Monsieur de— who will have me write, but will not have me write in any other style; for in truth, and to speak seriously, now that he leaves me at liberty, I must confess unto you Madam, that I am exceedingly bound unto you, for the continency I have learned by being with you, and for the good examples you have given me: your medicines are bitter, but they heal; you have banished me, but it is from prison: and if my passions be cooled by the snow of my head, I have then never a white hair, which I may not count for one of your favours. I therefore recant my former complaints, and confess myself your Debtor of all my virtue. The time I have employed in your service, hath not been so much the season of my disordered life, as it hath been an initiating me into a regular life which I mean to lead. Your conversation hath been a school of austerity unto me, and you have taught me, never to be either yours, or any others, but only in our Lord,  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzac, 10. Octob. 1629.   

To Madam Desloges. LETTER XXVIII.  
MAdam, my evil Fortune, gives one common beginning to all my Letters: I am impatient even to death, to have the honour to come and see you: but now that I am well, the air is sick, and all the Country drowned: There is no Land to be seen between this and Lymousin; and the mischief is, that there is no navigation yet found out, for so dangerous a voyage. This binds me to wait, till the waters be fallen, and that God be pleased to remember his Covenant with Noah. As soon as this shall be, I will not fail to perform my vow, and to come and spend with you the happiest day of all my life. In the mean time Madam, give me leave, to tell you, that I am not yet well recovered of the ecstasy you put me in, by writing unto me such excellent things, that I could not read them with a quiet mind, nor indeed without a kind of jealousy. All Frontignon would be sufficiently paid with that you write of a dozen paltry Muske-fruits I sent you; & you praise my writings with words, which have no words worthy of them, but your own. This, of one side makes me envious, and of the other side interessed: and if the honour I receive by your flattering Eloquence, did not sweeten the grief of being overcome, it would trouble me much that I had no better defended the advantages of our sex, but should suffer it to lose an honour, which the greeks and Latins had gotten for it. Yet take heed, you hazard not your judgement too freely, upon the uncertainty of humane things: you reckon him a Prince, who is not yet borne, you should have seen his Horoscope from the point of his conception, before you should speak of him in so lofty terms. But besides that nothing is less assured, than the future; and nothing apt to deceive, than hope: Consider, Madam, I beseech you, that you favour an unfortunate man, and that Faction oftentimes carries it away from truth. It will be hard for you, yourself alone, to withstand an infinite multitude of passionate men: and it may be said to you, as was said to those of Sparta, upon occasion of the great Army of the Persians, that you can never vanquish as long as they can die. Herein there is nothing to be feared, but for yourself; for as for me, I find in your favour, all I seek for; and having you of my side, I care not what fame can do, having once your testimony, I can easily flight hers; and all her tongues put together, can never say any thing for me, that is worth the least line of your delicate Letter. It is at this time, the delight and joy of my spirit; I am more in love with it, than ever I was with— and if she show you that which I write to her, you shall find, I make not so much reckoning of my ancient Mistress, as I do of your new messenger; and that I desire all the world should know, that I perfectly am,  
Madam Your, etc. At Balzac, 13. Octob. 1629.   

Another to her. LETTER XXIX.  
MAdam, I will not take upon me to give you thanks, for the good cheer you made me; for, beside that I have none but Country Civilities, and when I have once said, Your humble servant, and your servant most humble; I am then at the end of my complemnts, and can go no further. It were better yet to let you hold your advantage entire, and owe you that still, which I can never pay. I forbear to speak of the dainties and abundance of your Table, enough to make one fat, that were in a Consumption; nor I speak not of the delicacy of your perfumes, in which you laid me to sleep all night; to the end, that sending up sweet vapours into my brain, I might have in my imagination, none but pleasing visions. But Madam, what but Heaven can be comparable to the dainties of your Closet, and what can I name to represent sufficiently, those pure and spiritual pleasures, which I tasted in your Conversation? It is not my design, to talk idly, nor to set my style upon the high strain; you know, I am bound to avoid Hyperboles, as Mariners to avoid Sands and Rocks; but this is most true, that with all my heart, I renounce the world, and all its pomps, as long as you please to inhabit the Desert, and if you once determine to stay there still, (though I have sent to Paris to hire me a lodging) yet I resolve to break off the bargain, and mean to build me an Hermitage, a hundred paces from your abode: from whence Madam, I shall easily be able to make two journeys a day to the place where you are, and shall yield you a subjection, and an assiduity of service, as if I were in a manner of your household. There shall I let nothing fall from your mouth, which I shall not carefully gather up, and preserve it in my memory. There you shall do me the favour, to resolve me when I shall have doubts; set me in the right way, when I go astray; and when I cannot express myself in fit terms, you shall clear my clouds, and give order to my confusedness. It shall be your ears, upon which I will measure the cadences of my sentences; and upon the different motions of your eyes, I will take notice of the strength or weakness of my writings. In the heat of the travail, and amidst the joys of a mother, that looks to be happily delivered, I will expose the Infant to the light of your judgement to be tried, and not hold him for legitimate, till you approve him. Sometimes Madam, we will read your News, and the Relations that are sent you from all parts of Christendom: Public miseries shall pass before our eyes, without troubling our spirits; and the most serious actions of men, shall be our most ridiculous Comaedies. Out of your Closet, we shall see below us the tumults and agitation of the world, as from the top of the Alps, we stand and safely see the rain and hail of Savay. After this, Monsieur de Borstell shall come and read us Lectures in the Politics, and Comment upon Messer Nicholo unto us: He shall inform us of the affairs of Europe, with as great certainty, as a good husband would do of his Family. He shall tell us the Causes, the Proceedings, and the Events of the war in Germany; and therein shall give the lie, a thousand times, to our Gazettes, our Mercuries, and such other fabulous Histories. We will agree with him, that the Prince he is so much in love withal, is most worthy of his passion; and that Sweden is no longer able to contain so great a virtue: After the fashion of Plutarch, he shall compare together the prime Captains of our age; always excepting— who admits of no comparison. He shall tell us, which is the better man, the Italian, or the German; what means may be used to take off the Duke of Saxony from the house of Austria; and what game the Duke of Bavaria plays, when he promiseth to enter into the League; and is always harkening to that which he never means to conclude. From these high and sublime News, we will descend to other meaner, and more popular subjects. It shall be written to you, whether the kingdom of Amucant be still in being, and whether there appear not a rising Sun, to which all eyes of the Court are turned: monsieur de— shall send you word, whether he persist in his pernicious design, to bring Polygamy into France, and to commit nine Incests at once; I mean, whether he have a good word from those nine Sisters, to all whom he hath solemnly made offer of his service. We shall know whether the Baron of— put Divines still to trouble: whether Monsieur da— have his heart still hardened against the ungratefulness of the time, and whether Monsieur de— continue still in his wilfulness to punish mankind by the suppression of his Books. By the way of Lymoges, we shall get the devises of Boissiere; the Epigrams of Mayn●…d, and other toys of this nature. The Stationer des Espies Meurs will furnish you plentifully with Romances, and with that they call Bells Chooses: and if it come to the worst from the very Cindera of Philarchus, there will spring up every month a new Phoenix of backbiting Eloquence, that will find 〈◊〉 recreation for one hour at least. And these Madam, are a part of those employments, in which I fancy in my mind, we may spend our time all the time of the heat; for when the return of April shall bring again the flowers and fair days, and invite you abroad awalking: we must then look us out some new pleasures, and change our recreations: we will have swans and other strange Birds, to cover this water at once both quick and still, which washeth the feet of your Muses: we will fall a planting of trees, & dressing the allies of your Garden: we will dig for Springs, and discover treasures, which lose themselves under ground, which yet I value no less than veins of silver, because I judge of them without covetousness. And finally, Madam, we will fall abvilding that famous Bridge, by which to enter your enchanted Palace, and whereof the only design, puts all the neighbouring Nobility already into a jealousy. If you like of this course, and of these Propositions, and that my company may not be troublesome to you, there remains nothing to do, but that you command me to come, and I am instantly ready to quit all other affairs in the world, and to come and testify to you, that I am  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzac, 6. Novemb. 1629.   

Another to her. LETTER XXX.  
MAdam, we receive the Answers of Oracles without making reply; perfect devotion is dumb, and if you had left me the use of my tongue, I should then have had one part at least, of my spirit free from this universal astonishment that hath surprised it. You are always lifted up above the ordinary condition of humanity, and the divineness of your spirit is no longer an Article in question amongst people that are reasonable; yet I must confess, you never showed it more visibly, than in the last Letter you writ unto me, & if at other times I have been dazzled with some beam, you have now made me stark blind with the fullness of your light. Spare Madam, I entreat you, the weakness of my sight, and if you will have me be able to endure your presence, take some more humane form, and appear not all at once in the fullness of that you are, I were never able to abide such another flash of brightness. My eyes are weary with looking upward, and with considering you, as you are a creature, adorable and divine. Hereafter I will not look upon you, but on that side you are good and gracious, and will not venture to reason with you any more, for fear I should to my own confusion illustrate the advantage of your spirit over mine. You shall have nothing from me hereafter, but prayers and thanks; and I will make you confess, that I solicit better than I praise. I therefore send you now Madam, diverse crosses at one time, and persecute you with no less than three afflictions at once, I mean, three Letters of recommendation, which I request from you, in behalf of— I humbly entreat you to deliver them to this messenger, and to write them in such a persuasive style, as might be able to corrupt all the Cato's of Paris; although indeed, the clearness of our right, hath more need of their integrity, than of their favour. I expect Madam, this new courtesy from your goodness, and am always more than any in the world,  
Your, etc. At Balzac, 10. Decemb. 1629.   

Another to her. LETTER XXXI.  
MAdam, in the state I am now in, there is none but yourself could make me speak: and I never did a greater work in my life than to dictate these four untoward lines: my spirit is so wholly taken up with the consideration of my misery, and flies all commerce and company, in so violent a manner, that if it concerned me not exceedingly, you should know that— finds himself infinitely obliged to your courtesies, and myself no less than he; I think verily, I should have let— depart, without so much as bidding him Farewell. Pardon Madam, the weakness of a vulgar spirit, which feels no crosses light, and falls flat down at though very first blow of adverse Fortune. Perhaps in prosperity, I should carry myself better, and I do not think, that joy could make me insolent; but to say the truth, in affliction I am no body, and that which would not so much as leave a scratch upon the skin of a Stoic, pierceth me to the very heart, and makes in it most deep wounds. Grief dejects me in such sort, and makes me so lazy in doing my duty, and so unfit for all functions of a civil life, that I wonder no longer at those that were turned into trees and rocks, and lost all sense with only the sense of grief. Yet Madam, as often as I call to mind, that I hold some part in your account and love; I am forced to confess, that my melancholy is unjust, and that I have no good foundation for my sadness. This honour ought to be unto me a general remedy against all sorts of affliction, and the misery that you complain of, is not so much to be pitied as to be envied. From thence it is, that I draw all the comfort I am capable of, humbly entreating you to believe you shall never pity a man in misery, that will be more grateful than myself, nor that is more passionately, than I am  
Madam Your, etc. 31. Decemb. 1629.   

Another to her. LETTER XXXII.  
MAdam, I receive but just now your Letters of the five & twentieth of the last month, and though I know not, by whom to send an answer, yet I can no longer hold from expressing my joy, nor keep my words from leaving my heart to fall upon this paper. The last time I writ unto you, I had heard of the unfaithfulness of a friend of mine, which struck me to the very heart; since which time, a better report hath somewhat quieted me; but it is you, Madam, that have restored to me the full use of my reason; and are a cause that I am contented to live. Although corruption be in a manner universal, and that there is no more any goodness to be found amongst men, yet as long as you are in the world, it is not fit to leave it quite, but your virtue may well supply all its defects. Besides Madam, if it be true, as you do me the honour to write unto me, that you account my interests as your own; this very consideration is enough to make them dearer to me than they were before; and I am therefore bound to preserve myself, seeing it seems, you would be loath to lose me. One gracious word, which I observed in your Letter, hath won me to you, in such sort, that I have no longer any power of myself, but what you leave me; and in all your Empire, which is neither mean, nor consists of 〈◊〉 subjects; I can assure you, that you possess nothing with more sovereignty, than my will. If your occasions draw you to Aunix this next Spring, I hope to have the honour to see you at Balzac, where I am trimming up— with all the care I can, that it may be a little more worthy of your presence, and that the amusement I shall thereby give you, may keep you from working the ill cheer you are like to find in a Country village: My sister is infinitely bound to you, for the honour you do her, in remembering her; and I am myself, with all my soul  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzac, 1. Febr. 1630.   

Another to her. LETTER XXXIII.  
MAdam, my indisposition hathbin the cause of my silence, and I thought it better to say nothing, than to entertain you with a troublesome discourse: Besides, I was in a continual expectation of the performance of your promise; and looked to have the honour, to see you here in May. But seeing you have made my hopes recoil, and that you make your abode in Limousin for some longer time, be pleased Madam, that I send— to bring me a true relation of the state of your health; and to tell me, if you use, as you ought, the shade of your woods, and the freshness of your fountains: For myself, who make my harvest at the gathering of Roses and Violets; and who reckon the goodness of the year, by the abundance of these delicate Flowers; Now is the season for my humour, and in one only subject I find cause enough, to scorn and slight both the perfumes of the sheet St. Honore, and the pictures of the fair St. german. Thus I make myself happy, at a very easy rate, and have not so much as a thought of any want. And indeed, to what purpose should I grieve for pleasures that are absent, and curiously hunt after all the defects of my Estate. If my commerce be only with dumb Creatures, at least I am not troubled with the importunity of Courtiers, nor with the verses of a paltry Poet, nor with the Prose of Messieurs—: These are the inconveniences of Paris, which I count more troublesome, than either the dirt, or the justling of Coaches, and at the worst, if by living in the Desert, I should become a mere savage, yet I am sure to recover the garb of the world, as soon as I shall but see Madam Destoges, and make myself neat and civil, with but one half hours conversing with her. This is my wish Madam, and passionately I am  
Your, etc. At Balzac, 20. June 1630.   

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

SIR, My dear Cousin,  
one cannot say you nay, in any thing: to do you a second pleasure, I am about to commit a second treason, and to send you the Verses, of which I told you who was the Poet. I was bound by a thousand Oaths to keep them secret, but I must confess you are a strange corrupter, and your persuasions would shake a firmer fidelity than mine: yet to the end, we may at least save the appearance, and give some colour to my fault; you may be pleased to say, that it is the translation of an Ode, made by Cornelia, mother of the Gracchis, and that you found it, in an ancient Manuscript: you may say, she made it for one of her sons, being in love with a woman, whom afterward he married; and that seeing him one day look extremely pale, she asked him, what it was had made him sick? There is nothing more true than this Story, and there needs nothing, but to change the Names. It is not indeed, the same person, but it is the same merit, and I am sure, you doubt not, but a French Lady is capable of as much, as Quintilian spoke of a Romans: Graccorum eloquentiae multum contu●…isse Corneliam, matrem, cujus doctis●…mus sermo, in posteros quoque est Epistolis traditus.— I never heard speak of such an impatience, or such an irresolution, for I cannot believe, that it is either fear, or effeminateness, or that the spirit of so great a Prince could be subject to such enormous maladies. Whatsoever it be, if he had but read Virgil, a woman would have said unto him with great indignation; and is it then such a miserable thing to die? And if he had been in the Levant, he might have learned of a Turkish Proverb, That it is better to be a Cock for one day, than a Hen all one's life. Et con questo vi bacio le mani, and am  
Sir, my dear Cousin, Your, etc. 〈◊〉. August, 1630.   

L'Amant qui meurt.  

OLympa, made me sick thou hast,  
Thou cause of my Consumption art:  
There needs but one frown more, to waste  
The whole remainder of my heart.  
Alas undone, to Fate I bow my head,  
Ready to die, now die, and now am dead.   

You look to have an age of tryuth  
Are you a Lover will repay;  
And my state brooks no 〈◊〉 de 〈◊〉,  
I hardly can one minute stay.  
Alas, undone, to Fate I bow my head,  
Ready to die, now die, and now am dead.   

I see already Charon's boat  
That comes to ferry me to Hell:  
I hear the Fatal Sister's note,  
That cries and calls to ring my knell,  
Alas, undone, to Fate I bow my head,  
Ready to die, now die, and now am dead.   

Look in my wound, and see how cold,  
How pale, and gasping my soul lies  
Which Nature strives in vain to hold.  
Whilst winged with fighes, away it flies.  
Alas undone, to Fate I bow my head,  
Ready to die, now die, and now am dead.     

To Madam Desloges. LETTER XXXV.  
MAdam, I have not dared now a good while to send you any Letters, for fear you should conceive, they carried an ill air about them; nor yet to send you any more Melons, which yet prove excellent good this year; for doubt you should suspect them, as coming from a Country extremely disparaged: but since I understand by your Letter, that you are not so much frighted as I was told, and since also, I can protest unto you most religiously, that I write from a place most clear from any taint of the neighbouring misery, and that hath kept sound in the midst of infection: I am most glad Madam, that I have the liberty to tell you, that I value you more, than all the ancient Romans, and that I have no comfort to think of, in the deepest hours of all my solitude, but only you, and your incomparable merit. What business soever I am about, I take pleasure to let this thought make me a truant at my travail; it is a recreation, for which I abandon all affairs; and there is neither Moral, nor Politic, Plato nor Aristotle, but I presently give him over as soon as you are once presented to my imagination. I hope I shall need to use no Oaths, to make you believe this verity: you are well enough acquainted with my pride, and know that this Country swain would not, turn flatteret for an Empress. There are but three persons, I am resolved to praise; you Madam, are one; and if you have the leisure to read that I send you, you will easily guess, who the other two are; and so I b●…d you Good ●…orrow, and perfectly am  
Madam Your, etc. At Balzac, 9 Septemb. 1630.   

Another to her: LETTER XXXVI.  
MAdam, you shall receive from me no premeditated excuses, I had rather confess my fault ingenuously, than take the pains to justify it untowardly. Indeed a fatal sluggishness, cousin german to a Lethargy, hath seized in such sort upon me since my coming hither, that I have not so much as written to my own mother; so as having failed in this first point, I thought not fit to fail by halves; and therefore never troubled myself much in the rest of my duty. I speak Madam, of this exterior duty, and this affection in picture, which is oftentimes but a false representation of the soul, for as for the true respect, and the passion, which hath residence in the heart: I assure you, I have that in me for you, as pure and entire as ever, and that he that calls you his Sovereign, yet honours you not more perfectly, than I do. Monsieur de— will I doubt not, be my witness herein; and will tell you, that what part soever I be forced to play amongst jeasters and merry companions, yet under my players clothes, there will always be found an honest man. I have been sensible, Madam, of the loss, which— hath had, and have not been sparing to speak of his unfortunate virtue; yet I never thought, he needed any comforting for it; for, seeing he sees that God spares not his own Images and that his nearest friends have their disgraces and troubles, he ought not to think any thing strange that happens in this inferior world, and upon inferior I persons; what consideration soever may otherwise make them dea●… unto him. If you have vouchsafed to keep the Letters. I have written to you; I humbly 〈◊〉 you to send them to me, that I may see what volume TWO can make for the impression that is required of me: 〈◊〉 Madam, it shall be if you please upon this condition, that parting with the Letters, you shall never let your memory part with the truths they contain, but hold undoubtedly that I very firmly am, though I do not very often say I am  
Madam, Your, etc. 25. Decemb. 1630.   

Another to her. LETTER XXXVII.  
MAdam, my labour is happy, since it is never from before you, and since I am told, you make it your ordinary entertainment. The end of all fair Pictures, and good Books, is but only to please your eyes, and to delight your spirit, and the good you have not yet set a price upon, is not yet come to its uttermost perfection. I have therefore all that an ambitious man could wish for, I may perhaps have fortune from others, but glory I can have from none but you; and another perhaps may pay me, but none but you can recompense me. The pains I have hitherto taken, have been but ill required. I have tilled a ground that brings me forth but thorns; yet Madam, since they grow for your service, I am contented to be pricked by them; and I love the cause of my disgraces, if they prove a cause of your recreations. The first News, you shall hear, will tell you what I mean; and that my patience never makes my persecutors weary. You shall see Madam, that there is no conscience made to contradict you, and that, that which you call excellent and admirable, hath yet at Paris found enemies, and at Brussels hangmen. I will say no more at this time, but that I am  
Madam. Your, etc. At Balzac, 6. Jan. 1631.   

Another to her. LETTER XXXVIII.  
MAdam, I writ unto you about six weeks since, but my packet not being delivered where I appointed it, I perceive some curious body hath seized on it, and sought for secrets, which he could not find. The loss is not great, to lose nothing, but a few untoward words; and small comforting would serve me, for so small a cross; yet because they were full of the passion I owe to your service, and carried in them the marks of my duty, I cannot but be troubled, they came not to your hands, and that my misfortune, gives you cause to complain of my negligence. I dare not undertake to clear myself altogether; for though in this I committed no fault, yet I cannot forget some other faults committed before. The truth is Madam, I have been for some time so continually taken up with business, that I have been wanting in the principal obligations of a civil life, and I have drunk beside so many bitter potions, and tasted so many bitter Pills, that I should but have offended you with my compliments; which could not choose but carry with them, at least some tincture of my untoward humour. What pleasure could you have taken, to see a medley of choler and melancholy, poured out upon paper? and instead of pleasing News, to read nothing but pitiful Stories, and mortal Predictions? But enough of this unpleasing matter. I expect here within three or four days, my Lord the Bishop of Nantes; and I would to God Madam, you could be here at that time, and that you were at leisure to come and taste the doctrine of this rare personage. I have heard you say heretofore, you never saw a more holy countenance than his, and that his very look, was a Prologue of persuasion. This conceit, makes me hope, that he is the man, whom God hath ordained to be your Converter, and to bring you into the bosom of our Church. Believe me Madam, and you shall not be deceived; trust that enemy, who wounds not, but only to draw out the blood that causes a Fever, and never make difficulty to commit yourself to one, that intends your freedom. The triumph which the world makes you fear, is no way injurious to those that be the captives; nor like unto that of which Cleopatra took so sad an apprehension: but in this case, the vanquished are they that are crowned, and all the glory and advantage of the victory rests on their side: I am not out of hope to see so good a day's work; and seeing you are rather laid asleep in the opinion of your mother, than obstinate in a wrong cause: I entreat you, that you will not be frighted with phrases. We will not use this hard term to say, you have abjured your heresy; we will only say, you are awaked out of your ●…umber, and if our dear friend, Monsieur du Moulin would do so too, than would be the time of a great festivall●… Heaven; and the Angels would rejoice at the prosperity of the Church. My zeal Madam, is not out of ostentation: for it is most true, that such a change, is one of my most violent wishes; and to see you say your prayers upon your Beads, I would with all my heart give you a pair made of Diamonds; though I am not rich, yet I hope you doubt not of the truth of these last words, and that I am with all my foul,  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzac, 7. May. 1632.   

Another to her. LETTER XXXIX.  
MAdam, it hath been, as much my shame, as my glory, to read your Letter, having so ill deserved it, and the remorse of the fault, I committed, makes me; that I dare not yet rejoice in the honour, I received. You are good and gracious, even to the not hating o●…evill actions; Your delinquents, not only obtain impunity, but you allow them recompense, and idleness hath more respect with you, than diligent service with ordinary Masters. This is the felicity of the Golden age, where Plenty had no need of tilling; and where there was reaping without sowing. Yet Madam, I must not so abandon my cause, that I forbe are to allege the good it hath in it; it is long since I writ unto you, it is true, but the cause hath been for that these six months, I have every day been upon coming to see you: and according to the saying of the Orator your acquaintance, I have dispensed with my ordinary diet, in hope of a great Feast, and to perform my devotion with the more solemnity. If Monsieur de— have kept his word with me, he hath told you, how often he hath found me upon the very point of coming; but as many journeys, as I intended to make, so many cross accidents always happened to hinder them, and the misfortune that accompanies me, makes every duty, though never so easy to another, impossible to me. Yet Madam, I have never ceased from doing continual acts, of the reverence I bear you, and I never swear, but by your merit. My brain is dry in any other Argument, and words are drawn from me one by one; but when there is occasion to speak of you, than I overflow in words; upon this only Text, I take a pleasure to be Preaching; and Monsieur de— to whom I am always before a harkener; as soon as I begin discourse of you, becomes my auditor. I can assure you Madam, he honours you exceedingly; and neither his ambassage to Rome, from whence Gentlemen return not commonly without a certain conceit of sovereignty; nor the employments of the State, which make particular men, think themselves the Public, have been able to make him take upon him, this ungrateful gravity, which makes Greatness ridiculous, and even virtue itself odious. He hath protested here, before good company, that he will never be found other, and that Fortune should have an ill match in hand, to think to corrupt him. I used my ordinary rudeness, and entreated him, to be mindful of his word, and to be one of our first examples of so rare a moderation: You shall see Madam, in a Letter I send you; that which hereupon I am bound to say of him: and I entreat you, to maintain for me, that I am no common praiser: and that, if I were not persuaded of what I say, it is not all the Canons of the Town should make me to say it. It is only the worth of things, or at least, the opinion I have of their worth, that draws from me the praises I give them. If Monsieur de— should return to be a private person, I should not respect him a jot less, than now I do: and if you should be made Governess of the King's house, I should not be a whit more than I am,  
Madam Your, etc. At Balzac, 30. April. 1633.   

Another to her. LETTER XL.  

MAdam, never trust me any more, I promise that I cannot perform, but though I be a deceiver, I am an honest one; my promises are always true in my intention, though oftentimes false in the Event. I know not what to say of this unfortunateness, nor to what known cause, to attribute this long train of mischiefs. It must needs be, there is some Devil employed, to hinder voyages to Lymousin: and that will not suffer me to go thither to see you: sometimes he raiseth up suits in Law against me, sometimes puts me into a quarrel; and when these be composed, and that I am ready to take horse, either he sends me company to divert me, or pricks my horse in shooing, or puts a leg out of joint; for, all these crosses have befallen me, as he that delivers you this Letter can be my witness. But withal Madam, he shall assure you, that though I fly away by night, and be carried in a chair, it shall not be long ere I will have the honour to come and see you. In the mean time, vouchsafe to accept from me, the amusement of half an hour, and be pleased to read an Inscription, which was lately found, and taken forth of the ruins of an old Building. It is engraven in Letters of Gold, upon a Table of black Marble, and seems Prophetically to speak of you and me. If I were a man could make Verses, you might doubt it were some trick put upon you, but my ignorance justifies me, and seeing, as you know, Poets are not made, it were a strange thing I should be borne at the age of seven and thirty years. I expect from you a Comment upon the whole Mystery; and remain  
Madam. Your, etc. At Balzac, 6. Jan. 1631.   

In Effigiem D. D. praestantissimae & laudatissimae faeminae.  
Hac est sequanico, veniens à littore Nympha:  
Hospite quâ Lemovix, jure superbit ager.  
Quis de fiderium Dominae mihi durius urbis  
Mitigat; & per quam non fera turba sumus?  
Vindicat hanc sibi Thusca charis, sibi musa latina,  
Nec minus esse suam, Graius Apollo velit.  
Hanc sophiae Gens sancta colit, dat jura disertis,  
Princeps Grammaticas temperat una Tribus.  
Scilicet ut distent specioso sana tumore  
Vnascit, & fractis verba sonora modis.  
Judicat urbano quid sit sale tingere ludos,  
Et quid inhumano figere dente notas.  
Novit ab agresti secernere plectra cicuta,  
Vosque sacri vates non sociare malis.  
Ergo quid infidi petitis suffragia vulgi?  
Qui dve Palatinus quaeritur arte favor?  
Quae canitis vivent, si docta probaverit auris,  
Et dabitur vestris versibus esse bonos.  
At si quando canat, taceas vel mascula Sapph,  
Te meliùs salvo nostra pudore canit.    

Another to her. LETTER XLI.  
MAdam, my eyes are yet dazzled, with the brightness of your Cabinet, and I vow unto you, the Night was never so fair, nor so delicately trimmed up, as lately at your House.  

Not when the Moon accomplishing her way  
Upon her silver wain, beset with stars  
Within the gloomy world, presents the day.   
I have showed our Ladies the Description of this proud and stately Night, and of the rest of your magnificence, which if it were in a severer Commonwealth than ours, would be called a Profusive Wast; they admire you in your house, as well as in your Verses, and agree with me in this, that Wisdom hath a hand in every thing, and that, after she hath discoursed of Princes, and matters of State; she descends to take care of her Hosts, and looks what is done in the Kitchin. But from a virtue of their own, they always come to that of yours, ask me continually for News of your entertainment, and for Copies of your Letters: and by this means, the happiness which I have from you, is instantly made common to all the neighbourhood, and yet stays not there neither, but spreads itself both far and near, that when you think, you write but to one particular man, you write indeed to a whole Province. This is not to write Letters, but rather to set forth Declarations and Edicts; I know Madam, you were able to acquit yourself perfectly, in so noble an Employment; compliments are below the dignity of your style; and if King Elisabett, should come again into the world (you know of whom this is spoken) no question but he would make you his chief Secretary of State. Monsiever de— extols you yet in a higher strain, and is infinitely desirous to see you in this Country. Yesterday, of his own accord he made himself your Tributary, and hath bound himself to send you, every year, a reasonable number of his Loaves; if you shall like them, they will grow into more request than the Gloves of the Frangipani: but because your people of Lymousin, may take occasion to Equivocate here: I entreat you to advertise them, that this Perfumer hath thirty thousand pound rend a year; and holds the supremest dignity of our Province, and that this Glover is a Roman Lord, Martial of the Camp of the King's Armies, cousin to St. Gregory the Great, and that which I value more than all this, one of the honestest men that lives. I am bold to use my accustomed liberty, seeing you allow me to do it Madam, having given me your Letters Patents for it, and will bear me out to laugh in graver subjects than this is. It may therefore suffice me to say, but most seriously, that I am  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzac, 2. May. 1634.   

Another to her: LETTER XLII.  
MAdam, your place is before all other things whatsoever, and therefore no lawful impediment can be alleged, for sailing in the duty, that is due unto you. I have these two months had great affairs; which in the rigour of your Justice, is as much as to say, I have these two months neglected my duty. Having not written to you, in all this time, I am contented to call it, a Disorder, which otherwise I should call a Business, and I do not think, I could with all the reasons of the world have made you patient, to stay so long, for the thanks I am to give you. Your present hath equally wherewith to content both the covetous and the vain; it hath solidity no less than lustre; the only sight of it, refutes the modesty you use in speaking of it: you are injurious Madam, to so excellent a thing; it deserves the most stately inscription, you could devise to give it, and if I were worth the having of a Cabinet, this should be the prime piece, I would make choice of to adorn it. Because vulgar people have nothing but eyes, therefore they value nothing but Candlesticks of Crystal, and guilded vermilion dishes, but men of understanding, who see less with their eyes them with their spirits, they reflect upon objects, that are more simple and immaterial, and prefer not the people's error, and Artificers fingers, before the truth of things, and before the Masterpieces of the works of reason. He, to whom you did me the honour to send me, is far above all the Encomiums I can give him: I have only this to say Madam, that I have with me here, a famous Author, who as soon as he hath once read him, is resolved instantly to shut up shop, and give over his Trade. He protests he will never more set hand to Pen, unless it be to sign his last Will; and therefore means to make you a sacrifice of all his Papers. I showed him the incomparable Sonnet, De L'Amant qui meurt, at every verse, he called you Divine, and made such loud Exclamations, that he might have been heard to the great high way: which you know, how very far it is from my Chamber. He saith, he will maintain it, even to the sheet Saint Jaques, that Parnassus is fallen upon the Distaff, and that Racan hath given over the right he pretended in the succession of Mal●…erbe. He speaks in this familiar manner, of these two great Personages; and I never hear him use any meaner style: if I can keep him with me a while; I will tell you more of him, and promise you a collection of all his Apophthegms. I saw yesterday Monsieur de— who is a most just valuer of virtue, and by consequent, most perfectly reveres yours. He infinitely desires you would come amongst us, and that you would make choice of one of his houses for your abode: if you were pleased to do this, I should have no more journeys to make: I should be the happiest unhappy man that ever was, if I had you here to be my comforter, and that I might be always telling you, that I always am,  
Madam. Your, etc. At Balzac, 1. Aug. 1634.   

Another to her. LETTER XLIII.  
MAdam, you never heard speak of such a diligence, in two months your Letter hath gone twelve miles; so as a business that required haste, had been this way in a good case: and if therein you had given me advise for saving my life: I might have had good leisure to dio, before your advice came. I have made grievous complaints hereof, to my good kinswoman— who lays the fault of her fault upon a thousand that are innocent; upon her Gentlewoman, her Nurse, three maids, four men, etc. so as Madam, there have been great arraignments upon this matter; and never was any crime so long and so rigorously in examining; for myself, the joy I take to hear of your health, makes me forget my most just complaints, and sweetens all my choler. I think no more of the late receiving it; I content myself, that I have received it at last; and I find enough in your Letter, to make me amends, for the slowness of your messenger. Besides Madam, I give you to understand, that I have had some few days, with me here, Monsieur Bardyn, as much as to say, The Living Philosophy: or Socrates risen from the dead. You make doubt perhaps, what the subject of our conference hath been? Indeed Madam, it hath been yourself, and we have concluded to erect your statue in the most eminent place of his Lycaeum: and if any Stoic come to new build the Particus, and any other to restore the Academy, no doubt but they will honour you with the like respect, and you shall always be reverenced of wise men, next to wisdom itself. If you write shortly to— I entreat you Madam, to do me the favour, to put in your packet the dispatch I send you. It imports me much, to have it believed, that— and I doubt not, but you will be content, to use this little fraud for my sake, who am without reservation,  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzac, 10. Decemb. 1634.   

Another to her. LETTER XLIIII.  
MAdam, I am of your opinion, and can by no means approve the ambition of your fair neighbour: her head is full of state and sovereignty, and aims certainly at a Crown. God loves her too well to second her bad desires, and to give her that she asks: so rare a beauty ought to be the recompense of virtue, and not the prey of Greatness: It is fit, that he who possesseth her, should understand, when things be excellent, should know the value of this, and all his life be thankful to his good fortune for it: it is fitter to make a Gentleman happy, than to give contentment to a tyrant; fhee might perhaps be some amusement to him, when he were cloyed with killing of men; but withal, she might be sure to be the next object of his cruelty, at the next fit of his wicked humour. You know the Story of Mariam; our theatres at this day sound forth nothing so much, as the cries of this poor Princess: he that put her to death, loved her above measure, and after her death, kneeled down a thousand times before her image, praying her to forgive him. Poppea was first the Mistress, afterwards the wife, and always the Governess of Nero; she had vanquished this Monster, and made him tame, yet at last he slipped from her, and in an instant of his choler, gave her a kick upon the belly, which was her death. His uncle Caius dealt not so roughly with Caesonia, yet in the greatest heat of his fire, he made love to her in these terms: This fair head shall be chopped off, as soon as I but speak the word: and told her sometimes, that he had a greater mind to put her on the rack, to make her tell him, why he loved her so much. The meaning Madam, of all this is, that the tamest of all Tigers is a cruel Beast, and that it is a most dangerous thing, to be woo●…d with talons. I have seen the Book you write to me of, and find it not unpleasing; particularly, where speaking of the makers of Pasquius, and of sa●… tyricall Poets, he saith, that besides the golden age, the age of silver, of brass, and of iron, so famous and so much talked of in their Fables, there is yet behind to come an age of wood, of which the ancient Poets never dreamt; and in the miseries and calamities whereof, they themselves shall have a greater part than any other. If I go abroad to morrow, I hope to have the honour to see you: In the mean time, that I may observe good manners, and not be wanting in formalities, I will say I am  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzae, 16. Aug. 1627.   

To— LETTER XLV.  
MY Lord, besides the thanks I owe you for my Head, I have a special charge from Madam de— to thank you from her, and to give you a testimony of your Coachman's skill. He is in truth, a great man in his profession; one might well trust him, and slip from hence to Paris: He glides by the brink of Praecipices, and passeth broken bridges with an admirable dexterity, say what you can of his manners otherwise; Pardon me, my Lord, if I maintain that they be no vices, and that you do him great wrong to reproach him with them in your Letter. He doth that by design, which you think he doth by inclination, and because he hath heard, that a man once overthrew the Commonwealth, when he was sober, he thinks, that to drink well, is no ill quality to well governing: He takes otherwise no care for going astray, seeing he hath a God for his guide, and a God that was returned from the Indies before Alexander was come into the world. After so long a voyage, one may well trust Father Denys, with a short walk; and he that hath tamed Tigers, may well be allowed to manage horses. Your Coachman, my Lord, hath studied thus far; and if they, who hold in their hands the reynes of the State, (to use the phrase of—) had been as intelligent and dextrous as he, they would have run their race with a better fortune, and our age should not have seen the fall of the Duke of— nor of the Earl of—: it is written to me from the Court, that—: These are the only News I received by the last Post; but I send you, in their company, the Book you desired, which is as you know, the book of the wickedness of the world, and the ancient original of all the modern subtleties. The first Christians endeavoured to suppress it, and called it, Mendacoorum Loquacissemum: but men at this day, make it their Oracle, and their Gospel: and seek in it rather for Sejanus and Tygellinus, to corrupt their innocency, than for Corbulo or Thraseus, to instruct them to virtue; at our next meeting we shall talk more hereof: The great Personage I have praised, stands in doubt, that his Encomium is at an end, and presseth me to conclude, that I am  
My Lord, Your, etc. At Bolzac, 4. June, 1634.   

To— LETTER XLVI.  
SIR, I am sorry to hear of the continuance of your malady, though I hope, it be not so great as you make it. These are fruits of this unseasonable time, and I doubt not, but your ●…leame, which overflows with the rivers, will also with the fall of the rivers, return again to its natural bounds. I have had my part in this inundation, and it would be no small commodity to me, that things should stay in the state they now are in; for by this means, my house being made an Island, I should be less troubled, than now I am by people of the firm Land: But seeing upon the abating of the waters, depends the abating of your Rheum, I am contented with all my heart, they shall abate; a●… above all things desiring your health: yet withal, I must tell you, there is care to be used: you must abstain from all moist meats, forbear the good cheer of Paris; and follow the advice of an ancient sage, who counselled a man troubled with your disease, to change the rain into drought. You see how bold I am, to send you my prescriptions; I entreat you to follow them, but not to imitate me; for in this matter of Medicines, I confess myself a Pharisee; I commend a Julippe to others, but I drink myself the Sweetest Wines. But to speak of something else, I cannot imagine, why Monsieur de— should keep me languishing so long, and having made me stand waiting three months after his time appointed, should now require a further prorogation; and a longer delay. For my part, I verily believe, he spoke not in earnest, when he made you this untoward answer, and that it was rather for a trial of your patience, than for an exercise: He hath the reputation of so honest and just a man, that I can make no doubt of that he hath promised to Monsieur de— and I am persuaded, he accounts himself more straight tied by his word, than by his bond. Monsieur the— believes that I have fingered my silver a year since, and you know it is a sum provided to stop three or four of my Persecutors mouths, who will never leave vexing you with their clamours day and night, till they be satisfied. It is therefore your part to use all means possible, to content them, at least if you love your liberty; and take not a pleasure to be every morning saluted with extreme unpleasing good morrows. I expect hereupon to hear from you; and am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 17. Jan. 1630.   

To—. LETTER XLVII.  
SIR, you are too just to desire such duties from a sick friend, as you would exact from one that were in health. The reasons I can give of my silence, are much juster than I would they were, and me thinks, three months continuing in a Fever, may well dispense with any obligation whatsoever of a civil life. Yet seeing you will needs have me speak, I cannot but obey you, though I make use of a stranger's hand to quarrel with you. I cannot endure the dissimulation you show, in doubting of my affection, and of the truth of my words. I understand no jesting on that side; these are Games that I am uncapable to learn, and in matter of friendship, I am of that tenderness, that I am even wounded with that, which is perhaps intended but for a tickling. I perceive I have been complained upon to you, but I entreat you to believe, it hath been upon very false grounds; and I require no better justifier, than her own conscience that accuseth me. Within a few days, I will come myself in person, and give you an account of all my actions; and will train myself on to Paris, in hope to enjoy the happiness of your company. In the mean time, be careful to cure the malady you tell me of, which brings us forth such goodly Sonnets, and makes so well agree the two greatest enemies that are in Nature, I mean, Passion and Judgement: so I bid you Farewell; and am with all my heart,  
Your, etc. At Balzac, 25. August. 1639.   

To Monsieur de Coignet. LETTER XLVIII.  
SIR, I am much bound unto you for your writing to me, and for sending me News that exceedingly pleaseth me. You may well think, I have no mind to cross my own good; and to refuse giving my consent to the Earl of Exeter's request. To have so illustrious an Interpreter in England, is morethan a full revenge upon all the petty Scribes that oppose me in France: it is the crowning and triumph of my writings. I am not therefore so a Philosopher, that I place the honour he doth me, amongst things indifferent, but rather to tell you plainly, I have perhaps received too sensible a contentment in it; and upon the point of falling again into my old desire of glory; of which I thought myself to have been fully cured: I send you a word, which I entreat you to deliver to him, which shall witness for me, how dear and glorious, the marks he gives me of his love and account, are unto me; Otherwise Sir, I doubt not, but I owe a great part of this good fortune to the good opinion you have of me, which is to be seen in every line of your Letter; and that you have confirmed the English in this Error, which is so much in my favour. Only I entreat you, never to seek to free them of this error, but so to deal with them, that if you convert them from other, it may still be with reservation of this. The truth in question is of so small importance, that it deserves not any curious examination; and in which, to be in a wrong belief, makes not a man to be either less honest, or more unfortunate: Never therefore, make scruple to oblige me, seeing you shall oblige a thankful man, and one who is;  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 12. June. 1629.   

To Monsieur de Neusuic. LETTER XLIX.  
SIR, If I were only blind, I would try to make some answer, to the good words of your Letter; but the pain, which my ill eyes put me to, makes me uncapable of this pleasing contention: and I cannot draw from my head, in the state it now is, any thing else but Water and Wax. And besides the unhappy blindness I speak of, I am in such sort overflowed with Rheums; that if it were in the time of the old Metamorphoses, I think verily, I should be turned into a Fountain, and become the subject of some new Fable. I have lost as well my smelling, as my taste; my Nose can make no difference between Spanish Leather, and an old Cows hide: and I sneeze so continually; that all my conversation, is but to say, I thank you; to them that say, God help you. Being in this estate, do you not wonder, I write unto you, and have the boldness to be sending Letters? In truth, never compliment cost me so dear as this, and if I would make use of the privilege of sick men, I might very justly require a Dispensation; but I had not the power, to let your servant go away, without telling you, that you are a very honest Impostor; and that the Perigurain you send, is the most refined Frenchman that ever ran afoot to Paris. It must needs be, that the people of your Village is a Colony of the Louver, that hath preserved the first purity of their language amidst the corruption of their Neighbours. There never were such fine things written upon the bank of Dordonne; at least, not since the death of Monsieur de Montaigne, yet I esteem them not so much, because they are so fine, as because they come from you, whose I passionately am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 25. Jan. 1633.   

To Madam Desloges. LETTER L.  
MAdam, I am always of your mind; and like not Ladies that would be Cavaliers. There are certain bounds that part us, and ma●… us out our several duties and conditions: which neither you nor we can lawfully pass. And the laws of Decency are so ancient, that they seem to be a part of the ancient religion. Moses hath extended the commandments of God, even to the distinction of your apparel, and ours: and you know he expressly forbids to disguise ourselves in one another's clothes. Women must be altogether women: the virtues of our sex, are not the virtues of theirs; and the more they seek to imitate men, the more they degenerate from their own kind. We have had some women amongst us, that would ride Spanish horses would discharge Pistols, and would be parties in maintaining quarrels. M. the Marshal Scomberg showed me once a letter which he writ to a Gentleman of— at the end whereof were these words; I kiss the hands of this valiant and pleasing Lady, that is your second in the day, and your wife at night. This Lady might perhaps be valiant, but to my humour, she could not be pleasing. If she had had abeard, she could not have had a greater fault. Women that are valiant, are as much to blame, as men that are cowards. And it is as unseemly for Ladies to wear swords by their sides, as for Gentlemen to have glasses hanging at their girdles. I profess myself an enemy, Madam, to these usurpations of one sex upon another. It strikes me with a kind of horror, when I read in history of the ancient women Fencers, whom the Romans beheld with such pleasure in their Amphitheatre; and I account not Amazons in the number of women, but of Monsters and Prodigies. Sweetness and tenderness are the qualities that belong to you and will your she Friend give over her claim to these, that is, to the succession of her mother, and the privileges of her birth? will she not be as well content as you, with the partition which Nature herself hath made? I cannot conceive with what face she can go a hunting amongst such violence & tumults, and how she can run hallowing all day, till she be out of breath, after a kennel of Hounds, and a troop of huntsmen. God made her for the Closet, and not for the Field: and in truth, it is a great sin to distend so handsome a mouth, and to disfigure so comely a face, with blowing a horn. To expose such excellent things to all the boughs of the Forest, and to all the injuries of the weather; and to endanger such precious colours with wind and rain, with the sun and dust. And yet, Madam, to see hunting, without being a party, to go in Coach, and in Parkes enclosed, where a multitude of beasts are kept prisoners, and come to dye at Lady's feet, such a recreation as this, I do not condemn, being only entertained with the eyes, and may pass either for a spectacle, or a walk; and is as far from agitation as from rest. But this serves not her turn, she calls these but lazy and sedentary recreations, and takes no pleasure, but when it is with hazard of her life. But what would be thought Madam, if one should come and tell you, she is slain with a fall, by rank riding, or that she hath met with a wild Boar, that was too hard for her? In such cases, ther●… would not only be no excuse for her death, but it would be a blot upon her memory for ever: and to save her honour, there must be feigned some other accident in her Epitaph. As for that other discoursing Lady you complain of, and whom I know, she commits not, in truth, such extravagant faults as this doth; yet she hath her faults too: and I can no more allow of women to be Doctors, than of women to be Cavaliers. She should take you for a pateme, and make profit of the good example you give. You know indeed, an infinite number of excellent things; but you make no open profession of your knowledge, as she doth, and you show, you have not learned them to keep a school. You speak to her, when she preacheth to you, and making popular answers to her riddles, and giving distinction to her confusion: you do her at least, this good office, to expound her to herself. Neither in the tune of your voice, nor in the manner of your expressing, is any thing seen in you, but that which is natural and French: and although your spirit be of an extreme high clevation, and far above the ordinary reach, yet you so accommodate it to the capacity of all that hear you, that whilst the meaner sort do understand you, the more able spirits do admire you. It is a great matter, Madam, to have gotten the knowledge of such excellent things: but it is a greater matter so to hide them, as if they were stolen, and to call them, as you do, by the name of your secret Truanting●…, Your Canvas, your Silk, your Needles, are seen, but your papers are not seen; and those women that are taken with men that are not their husbands, are not more surprised than you are, when you are found to have an Author in your hand, that is not French. I know therefore, Madam, you cannot approve of one so contrary to yourself, how fairc●… show soever you make, nor will ever change the plainness of your words, for her learned gyb●…sh. Pedanterie is not sufferable in a Master of Art, how should it be borne withal in a woman? And what patieuce: can endure to hear one talk a whole day together, Metamorphosis and Philosophiet to mingle the Id●…s of Plato, and the predictables of Perphinic together; to make no complyment, that hath not in it; a dozen Orisons and Hemispheres and at last, when she hath no more to say, then to rail upon me in Greek, and ●…cuseme me of Hyperbole, and Ca●…eale. These be h●…rdevises, she will have, in two verses, at least four full points, she hath 〈◊〉 design to set on foot, and bring into use again, the Strophes and Antistrophes, she gives Rules both of Epic and Dramatic ●…esie, and saith, she cannot endure a Comedic, that is not within the law of four and twenty ho●…es: and this she is going about to publish through all France. If I had a mortal enemy, I would desire no greater revenge of him, than to wish him such a wife. Nothing hath more confirmed not in my desire of solitude, than the example of this Lady: and I see plainly, that a single life is the best thing in the world, seeing it lies in covert, and is free from the cumber of this talking Lady. I expect by this bearer the Essays you promised me, and am  
Madam Your, etc. At Balzac, 20. Septemb. 1628.   

Another to her. LETTER LI.  
MAdam, I cannot possibly live a●…ie longer without hearing from you: but I cannot hear of any of whom to hear it; and Leymonsins are as rare in these par●…, as Spaniards since the war was proclaimed, I must therefore make use of a messenger, whom you have raised to an Ambassador, to the end he may inform me of your health and your friends, My love of you, draws on a curiosity: for all things that are yours: and my 〈◊〉 will not be in quiet, till I hear how my masters, your children do, and what good news you hear from them. Particularly I desire to know, whether you be yet a Grandmother in Holland: and whether my Lady, your daughter in law, have brought you Captains or Senators, at least, Madam, they shall be children much bound to their mother; seeing, besides their birth, they shall owe her for their liberty, a thing they should not do to a Fleming of Brussels. I have seen the Cavalier you have so often spoken of, and I think you judge very rightly of him. He consists wholly of a Pickedevant, and two Moustaches: and therefore utterly to defeat him, there needs but three clips of a pair of Cizers. It is not possible to bring one—— to be afraid of him. He saith, that if he wore a Lion's skin, and carried in one hand a Torch, and in the other a Club, yet in such equipage he would be more ridiculous than redoubtable. He believes he hath choler enough, but believes not he hath any heart; he reckons him, in the number of beasts that are skittish and resty, but not that are cruel and furious: And when I tell him, he hath been often in the field; he answers me, it hath been then, rather to feed, than to fight. You can, if you please, return me a hundred fold for this my untoward short relation: and it will be: long of you, if my man come not back laden with histories, which must certainly have been written to you by the last Posts. Take pity upon the ignorance of your neighbours, and do me the honour to bel●…ive I am,  
Madam, Your, etc. At Balzac, 15. Aug. 1635.   

To Madam du Fos. LETTER LII.  
MAdam, my dear Cousin; There is nothing heard in all quarters, but benedictions and praises, which our poor pleaders give you. They invocate you, as their Redeemer; and if Themis be the goddess of good causes, you, it seems, are the goddess of good success. For myself, I have known a long time, that you are powerful in persuasion, and never speak without prevailing. This is the cause, why I have promised Monsieur de—, not that you shall solicit for him, but that you shall speed for him; and I am this day warranted of the Event. I could tell you, to make you respect him the more, that he is able to thank you, in five or six languages; that he hath a full Magazine of Astrolabes a●…d Globes; and that, being but of a mean stature, he hath yet, by his knowledge in the Mathematics, found a means to make himself as high as Heaven. But I will content myself to say, that he is my friend, and your Orator: that if my commendation, and your own glory be dear unto you, you cannot but very shortly send him back with full satusfactuib, I promised to send you the two Sonnets, you have heard so much spoken of, but my bad memory, makes me fail in a part of my promise, and I can send you, but one and a half:  
The one entire is this:  

Tu reposois Dephnis, au plus haut de Parnasse,  
Couronné de lauriers si touffus & fivers,  
Qu'ils sombloit te Cowrir des orages diverse  
Don't la rigueur du sort trouble nostre bonac●….   

Quand l'injuste Menalque a been eu cett ' audace  
D'employer les poisons sans sarabe cowerts,  
Pour corrumpre tun No●… 〈◊〉 ●…plit l'univer●…  
Et me sprise du temps la fatale menace,   

Mais si durant la paix, tes Innocents' Escrits,  
Forcerant d'avouer les plus ●…ares asprits:  
Que Florence devoit tu Temple ata memoire,  
Ce style de combat. Cet Efford plus qu'humain,  
Feravoir aqual poyut, 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 mettre ta gloire,  
Qu'and l'iujure t'a mis les arms a la main.   
The half one is this:  

Quelque fois ma raison par des foibles discans,  
M'incite a la revolt, & me promet secours  
Mais lors que tout de bon je me veur servir d'elle   

Apres beaucoup de peine, et a'efforts impuissants  
Elle dit, qu' vr●… est seule aymable & belle,  
Et m'y rengage plus que ne font tous mes sens.   
The Author of this last Sonnet, hath made one in Spanish, which in the Court of Spain, goes under the Name of Lopez de Vega, and another in Italian, which Marino verily believed, he had read in Petrarke; It is a Spirit, that changeth himself at pleasure, and transforms himself into what shape he list: yet he deserves better praises than this, and his Moral qualities are nothing behind his Intellectual: I will tell you his Name, when it shall be lawful to love him openly, and to make his Encomium without soruple. But first, it is needful, that Fortune which hath cast him upon an Enemy's Country, should bring him back to Paris, where both of us, mean to wait upon you, to make our Court; and from whence I desire not over to return, but only to testify to you more carefully, than heretofore I have done, that I am  
Madam, my dear Cousin, Your, etc. 〈◊〉 Balz●…e, 4. May, 1633.   

To Madam de Campagnole. LETTER LIII.  
MY most dear Sister, I send you the Book which you required of me, for my Niece, and I believe, that this and her Prayer-book, make her whole Library: she shall find in it, a Devotion that is not too mystical, nor too much refined; and which hath nothing but Moral and reasonable. I like this popular Divinity, which meets us half way, and stoops a little, that we may not strain ourselves too much. It follows the example of its Author, who made himself familiar with common people, and put not back so much as Courtesans and Publicans, far from making division in families, and withdrawing women from obedience to their mothers, and their husbands. It commends this obedience, as their principal verve, and calls it a second worship, and a second religion. I shall be glad to see my Niece make profession of a piety, so conformable to natural reason, and so good a counsellor of all other duties. But let her not, I pray, climb higher, and undertake Meditations of her own head: Grenada whom I sent her, hath taken this pains for her, and hath meditated for her, and for all other that shall read his Books. There is nothing more dangerous, than to mount up to Heaven without a helper and a guide; and it is a great confidence, one must have in his Spirit, to let it go so far, and be assured, it will ever come back again. It is not long ago, there was in a Town of Spain, a Society of devoted persons, who continued in meditation so many hours a day, leaving off all base works, to live, as they said, a more heavenly life; but what think you, became of it? even a thousand domestical disorders, and a thousand public extravagancies. The less credulous, took the prick of a pin, for a Saints mark, the more humble, accounted their husband's profane; the wiser sort, spoke what came in their heads, and made faces perpetually. In so much, that when in the month of May, there did not passed three or four run mad; it was counted a good year. It is fit to stay one's self upon the true virtue, and not to follow the vain Phantasms of holiness. And it is far safer, to ground one's self upon a solid and certain reading, than to go wand'ring in a hollow, and unsteady contemplation. If I had more time, you should have more words; but he that brings you the letter, calls upon me for it, and I can no more to it, but that I perfectly am  
My dear sister, Your, etc. At Balzac, 15. April. 1635.   

Another to her. LETTER LIIII.  
MY dearest Sister, all the world tells me●…, that my Niece is fair, and you may believe, I will challenge no man, for saying so. Beauty is in Heaven a quality of those glorious bodies, and in Earth the most visible mark that comes from Heaven. It is not fit therefore to slight these gifts of God, nor to make small account of this spark of the life to come: It is not fit to be of so cross an humour, to blame that which is generally praised. Mark when a comely personage comes in place, having but this advantage of her birth, you shall presently see all that were talking, to hold their peace; and what noise soever there was before, you shall have all hushed, and an universal calm upon a sudden: you shall see a whole great multitude, all busy in different labours, to make presently but one body, and that only to stand to gaze and wonder: some leave to make up the reckoning they had begun, some curtal their compliments, and cut them off in the midst; every man puts off his conceits to some other time, only to take a full view, and to contemplate this divine thing that presents itself. If it be at a Sermon, they leave harkening to the Preacher, and they are no longer the auditors of M. de Nantes, but the spectators of Calista. The fair can never be seen without respect, without praises, without acclamations. They triumph, as often as they appear, and their youth hath not mor●… days, than their beauty hath Festivals. But the mischief is, my dear Sister, that the Festivals are short, the youth is not lasting, and the fair at last come to be ill favoured. Queens and Princesses grow old, and there is no old beauty, but that of God, of the Sun, and of the Stars. These heads that now have neither skin, nor flesh, nor hair; These carcases and dry bones have been in their time, the divinities and wonders of the world: and was heretofore called the Duchess of Valentinois, the Duchess of Beaufort, the Marquis of—: Besides there may happen diseases, which will do old ages work before hand, and are oftentimes more ghastly than death itself. We are frighted sometimes to see the spoil and ruins of Faces, upon which the foot of sickness hath trodden, and there is nothing, in which we may more observe the lamentable marks of the inconstancy of humane things. From hence I conclude, that beauty being a thing so frail and tender, subject to so many accidents, and so hard to keep; it is fit we should seek after another beauty, that is more firm and permament, that can better withstand corruption, and better defend itself against the force of time. Above all, it is not fit, that women should be proud of a quality, that is infamous for the losses and wracks of many poor Consciences, and which as innocent and chaste as it can be, will yet be a cause to raise in others, a thousand fowl desires, and a thousand unhallowed and wicked thoughts. Say, my Niece hath some thing in her that is pleasing, some thing that is fair and beautiful, as her friends conceive, yet she ought always to be afraid of such a good, that is so dangerous for doing hurt to others. I set before her eyes, the sad Picture of that which she shall be hereafter; to the end, she may not grow proud of that which she is now. There is no hurt in meditating a little upon this point. But allow her the liberty we even now took from her; yet withal, put her always in mind, that of the four beauties I have showed her in my Tasso; there is but one of them, that will be a fit example for her to follow. She must leave Armida and Erminia, for the Gallants of the Court, Clorinda is for the valorous men of Gascoigne, and Perigord; but she that I propose for her Pattern, is Sophronia. And if she have not courage enough to say to the Tyrant, as she said, It is I that am the Delinquent you look for; let her at least, have the other conditions, that are necessary to the being her follower, and imitate her in them. This fair Saint made profession of modesty, and neglected her beauty; she was always, either hidden under a veil, or shut up in her Chamber, and all the world might suspect her to be fair; but there was scarce any at all that knew it but her mother. She had no design to entrap any man's liberty, and therefore laid not her snares in their way, nor went to Church to see and to be seen. My dear sister, I cannot choose, but take upon me here to be a reformer of corrupt manners, and make my complaint to you, of a Custom, which as well as many other naughty things, the Court hath cast upon us. What reason is there in the world, that women should enter into holy places, of purpose to draw upon them, the view and attention of the Company? as much as to say, to trouble and disturb the whole devotion of a Town, and to do as bad, or worse, as those buyers and sellers did, whom Christ whipped out of the Temple? By this means, good actions become evil, and Piety comes to have no better odour before the Altaus, than Perfumes that are musty and corrupted. Women now adays, are bound to be seen to be at Church; and this very desire of being seen there, is the ordinary profanation of the place where they are seen. And in truth, seeing this place is particularly called the House of God, what is it but to vilify God, even in the highest degree, to come and offend at his own doors, and as it were to his face? It is even as great an Impudence, as that of the first Angels, who sinned in Paradise. Yet herein certainly, the Italian women are more pardonable than the French; for they indeed, have no other breathing time of their unfortunate liberty, being at all other times, kept up as slaves and prisoners: but in France, where women are not denied the company and visits of honest men, they can have nothing to say, in justification of this incontinency of their eyes, and of this unsufferable vanity, to seek to part stakes with God, in men's vows, and to share with him in his public Adoration. You little thought this morning to hear a Preacher, and I as little thought to be one, but as you see, the zeal of God's House, hath brought me to it; and finding myself at leisure, I was desirous to bestow part of it upon you. The Text was given me yesterday, by the company that was here; where my Niece's beauty was so much extolled, that, sending you News, which are to her so glorious, I thought fit, to send her withal, a cooling, to keep her glorying in some temper: and so my dear Sister, I take my leave, and am with all my soul,  
Your, etc. At Bolzac, 3. May. 1635.   

Another to her. LETTER LV.  
MY dearest sister, having both of us but one passion, it makes us always talking of one thing. My Niece is the subject of all our Letters, as she is the object of all our cares. For my own part, I see not a good or a bad example, which I make not use of, for her instruction, and endeavour to employ it to her profit. You remember a woman the other day, who values nothing, likes of nothing, excuses nothing; and let her be in the best & most pleasing company that may be, yet she is sureto put them all into dumps and melancholy. You can come on no side of her, but she pricks and bites: all her coasts are craggy and rocky. And it was not without cause my brother said, that if the man you wot of, had married her, there would certainly have nothing come of that marriage, but Teeth and Nails. It is impossible to live in peace with such a savage chastity. I make no more reckoning of it, than of that of the Furies, whom the ancient Poets call virgins, and wonder not, that women of this humour, love no man, seeing they hate the whole world. This sad and sullen poison taking up all the room in their souls, leaves no place at all for other passions that are sweet and pleasing. They fly pleasures, rather by having their mouth out of taste, than by having their judgement in perfection: and are so continually fretting, that they have no leisure at any time to be merry. As long as they be chaste, they think they may lawfully be discourteous, and scratch men, so they do not kiss them. They have a conceit, that by wanting one vice, they have presently all virtues: and that for a little good fame they gain to their husbands, they may keep them under yoke, and affront all mankind. It is true, the loss of a woman's honour is the greatest disgrace she can possibly incur; and which once lost, she hath nothing left her that is worth the keeping: But yet it follows not, that the preserving it, is any such royal act; and I do not admire any, for not being willing to live in misery and disgrace. I never heard, that a woman should be praised, for not falling in the fire, or for not casting her self down a rock. We condemn the memory of them that kill themselves; but we give no reward to them that preserve themselves. And so indeed it is, a woman that magnifies herself for being chaste, magnifies herself for not being dead, and for having a quality, without which she were as good be out of the world, seeing she stays not in it, but for a plague to her name, and to see her own infamy. I say yet more, that she ought not so much to consider the vice as an evil thing, as to consider it as an inpossible thing, and not to have it so much in detestation, as in ignorance. For indeed, if a woman be truly virtuous. she will sooner believe there are Meremaids and Centaurs, than that there are any dishonest women: but will rather conceive that the world is given to slandering, and that Fame is a liar, than that her neighbour is false and disloyal to her husband: though with her own eyes she should see the fault committed, yet it is her part to suspect her eyes mere mistaken, and that it was but an illusion which she saw; at least, she should never give sentence upon this sort of delinquents, seeing Christ himself would not do it to the adulterous woman. When others wrong a woman, it is her part to be sorry: and when others say, she hath been unfaithful, it may be enough for her to say, she hath been unfortunate. And yet more than this too, I could wish, if it were possible, that where she finds most weakness, there she should make report of most goodness: und I would no●…, that virtue should beget this bad quality. It is an enemy to society, and deserves not to have so good a mother: and one may well fly and blame the vice, so as the flying it, be without ostentation, and the blaming it be without choler. For otherwise, it would be as much as to require a statue for doing nothing: and in the smart of the punishment, to seek for the pleasure of revenge. An honest woman reforms the world by the example of her life, and not by the violence of her spirit. She ought not to proclaim war against any; not against the most indiscreet and insolent: and if there chance any licentious or uncivil word to be uttered in her hearing, she ought to check it, either by giving no care, or by falling into some other discourse, or by casting upon the speaker a beam of modesty, that may cover his confusion, and pierce his very soul: and thus she shall use a chastising without offending. There is as well a severity in modesty, as a sweetness; and which keeps insolence itself in awe: and a woman that carries this excellent virtue in her eyes, keeps men within the bounds of their duty, without ever falling into outrage, or into words of choler. Other virtues are hidden, and have nothing in them that is visible, or that falls under sense. This This virtue hath a body of light, and riseth up into the face, in those pretty strains, which bashfulness that is her usher, as Aurora is the Suns, sends up: into it. And in truth, the Purple, whereof the Poets speak, which appears at the break of day, is nothing so rich and glorious, as that which is disclosed in an honesty a little bashful; the effect whereof in noble tempers is not an overflowing of blood, but only one single drop well husbanded. It is not a mass of red, which sets the face on fire. It is only a first impression, and as it were, a shadow of tincture, that lightly colours it. This honest blush, which is so pleasing a thing in maiden's faces, and which I distinguish from that, which is sottish and untoward, is a bar, and sufficient defence against the audaciousness of the most impudent; and when it is seen to shine in a woman's look, there is no licentiousness that is not dazzled with it, and is not stopped from daring to proceed. And therefore there is no necessity of using any straining of the voice, any churlishness of words, or any agitation of gestures, to do that, which may better be done by silence, and with quietness. And indeed women are bound, if for nothing else, yet for the very interest of their beauty, to shun a passion, that makes such villainous faces, and sets so many wrinkles upon their countenance. I have heard some of them complain, that the sent of a Rose was too strong, and that Musk made their heads ache, because it had not mild sweetness enough: and why then will they not take that sweetness into themselves, which they seek for so much in other things? and find fault with the want of it, in that Art, which proposeth to itself no other end? If without this sweetness, there grow from the most precious odours, a certain quality which offends them; and if there be some Flowers, and some perfumes that please them not, what likelihood is there, that Brimstone and Salt-peter can please them, and that their humour can have any thing common with these violent substances? It is true perhaps, that sweetness and mildness have their excesses; but yet, even those excesses are more lawful, than the justest temper of shrewishness and incivility; at least in a woman, they are much more commendable: and it becomes her better to dissemble that she knows, than to discover verities that are odious: and better she should be thought to come out of another world, than to carry to a man the first news of her stinking breath; and teach another to know the infirmitio of her race, which perhaps he knew not before. These liberties are not sufferable in the freest conversations, they draw on other more dangerous liberties; and though your sex be inviodable, and have the privilege of sanctuary, yet profane persons stick not to lay hands on the Saints themselves, and on their Altars, and nothing is so sacred, that can escape the hand of sacrilege. Only those persons that can revenge offences, may venture to give offences; and a man that will give the lie, must be of a condition to fight a Duel, & maintain it by Arms. My Niece hath no great need of these precepts, nor indeed of any foreign instruction; she cannot wander from the right, if she go not astray from her own inclination; nor can be troublesome to others, if she borrow not a vice which is none of her own. I have therefore represented to her, the woman of the other day: but after their example, who showed their slaves drunk to their children, and that is to make her afraid of fil●…hy objects, and to make that hateful to her, which is not in itself lovely; to confirm her in the principles which you have taught her, and to draw her out some rules from her own actions: she is (I know) naturally good; but the best natures have need of some method to guide them, and direction doth never any hurt to virtue: she is able to keep herself in terms extremely obliging, without ever falling into the baseness of flattery: She is able to please without colloguing; and though she call not every thingby the right name, nor be so very curious to speak in proper terms, yet her style shall not for that, be the less liked, nor her company the less desired. She may call them wise that want the reputation of being valiant; and women that are sad, she may say they are serious. If a man be not of a quick spirit, she may say, he is of a good judgement: and if one be unfortunate in his actions she may say, he hath a good meaning in his counsels. But yet in this there is a measure to be held, and a choice must be made, in laying her colours, that she seek not to disguise all sorts of subjects: for there are some indeed that are not capable: of disguising. Those that are pale, she may praise for their whiteness: but those that have a dropsy, she must not praise for their fatness: she may say, that scruple is a bud of piety. But she must not say, that profaneness is an effect of Philosophy. She may make a favourable construction of things doubtful, and sweeten the rigour of particular judgements; but she must not contend against common sense, nor be opposite to verities that are public and manifest. She must make a difference between errors and crimes, between a docible simplicity and a presumptuous stupidity, between sots that are honest, and those that are wicked. And if she happen to be in company, where some weak spirit is oppressed, as the world is full of such that will triumph over the weak, and take no pity of any, she must then, by all means, be a protectress of such a one, and make herself a Sanctuary for all those, whom stronger adversaries would otherwise ruin. This only is to be observed, that she so undertake the maintaining of weak causes, that it may appear by the tune of her voice, that it proceeds from excess of goodness, and not from want of knowledge: and that she compassionates humane infirmities by an act of charity, makes not herself a party by false persuasion. I am now at the end of my paper; and should have been a good while since at the end of my letter: but I always forget myself when I am with you, and never think hours shorter, than those I bestow upon your memory. And so my dear sister, I bid you farewell, not without great longing to see you: and if you and all your company come not hither the next week, I proclaim it to you, that I am no longer  
Your, etc. At Balzac, 10. july. 1634.    

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

To my Lord the Cardinal, Duke of Richelieu. LETTER I.  
MY Lord, being stayed here by some occasions, I suffer this hard necessity with a great deal of pain, and account myself banished from my Country, being so long a time deprived of your presence. I deny not, but the victorious and triumphant News, that comes continually from the Army, gives me some resentment of joy, and that the brute of your Name in all quarters, toucheth me very sensibly; but it is no perfect satisfaction to me, to learn that by others relating, which I ought to know as an eyewitness, and I conceive so great a pleasure to consist, in the sight of your glory, that there is not a common Soldier under your Command, whose happiness and good fortune, I do not envy. But my Lord, though I cannot serve you with my bodily actions, yet I revere you day and night, with the thoughts of my mind, and in this so worthy an employment, I never think the noblest part of myself, can do service enough. Your Lordship, next to the King, is the eternal object of my spirit, I never turn my eyes from the course of your life; and if perhaps, you have Courtiers more officious than myself, and such as do their duties with greater ostentation and show, yet I am most sure, you have no servant that is more faithful, and whose affection comes more truly from his heart, and is fuller of life and vigour. But to the end, my words may not be thought vain, and without ground, I send you now a proof of that I say, by which, you shall perceive, that a man that is himself persuaded, hath a great disposition to persuade others, and that a Discourse, founded upon the things themselves, and ●…ated with the truth, both stirs men's spirits with greater force, and also begets a firmer belief, than that which is but feigned, and comes but in the nature of declaiming. This, my Lord, is a part drawn out from the whole body, and a piece, which I have taken most pains to polysh; which, I freely vow unto you, that all the hours of a calmer leisure than mine, and all the powers of a more elevated spirit than ordinary, would have found work enough, to bring to perfection. In it, there is handled, Of the virtue, and victories of the King; Of the Justice of his Arms; Of Royalty and Tyranny; Of usurpers and lawful Princes; Of Rebellion chastened, and liberty maintained; but because the Prince I speak of, is a stirrer, and makes no stay any where, and that in following him, I should embark myself in a world of several subjects; I have therefore, prescribed to myself certain bounds, which in his actions, I should never have met with: and after the example of Homer, who finished his Ilias with the death of Hector, though that were not the end of the war; I have thought fit, not to go further, than the taking of Suze, though this were but the beginning of the wonders, we have seen of his. You know my Lord, that this kind of writing, which I propose to myself, is without comparison, the most painful of all other; and that it is a hard matter, to continue long in an action that must be violent, and to be violent in an action that must continue long. This praise belongs properly to Orators, I mean such as know how to persuade, how to please in profiting, and can make the people capable of the secrets of Governning a Commonwealth. For as for Philosophers, that have written of this argument, their discourse is commonly so dry and meager, that it appears, their intention was rather to instruct, than to reconcile; and beside, their style is so thorny and cumbersome, that it seems they meant to teach none, but the learned. And in this, there is no more difficulty, than there is in healing of men that be in health. And for a man, to make himself obscure, there needs no more, but to stay upon the first notions we have of truth, which are never, either wholly pure, or purely mingled, and which falling from the imagination upon paper, leave upon it such a confusion, that it resembles rather an informed abortion, than a perfect production. Besides, in the composition of a History, especially where the Politics have to do, an Author is carried, and borne out by his matter, and the things being all made to his hand, which case him of the pains of invention, as the order of the time caseth him of the care of disposing; he hath little to do for his part, but only to contribute words, which is by some made so small a matter, that when Menander was pressed by some friends to publish a work of his, that he had promised: He made answer, it shall presently come forth; for it is in a manner all finished and ready, there wants nothing, but to make the words. But in the persuasive kind of writing, (besides, that there must be a better choice made, and a stricter order used, in placing the words, than in simple Narrations, which for all their lustre and riches of expression, require no more but plainness, and fit terms) they which desire to attain perfection, or indeed to do any thing at all of worth, endeavour all they can, to put in use, and reduce to action, the most subtle Idaea's of all Rhetoric; to raise up their understanding to the highest point of things; to search out, in every matter, the verities less exposed to view, and to make them so familiar, that they who perceived them not before, may by their relation come as it were to touch them. Their design is, to join pleasure to profit, to mingle daintiness and plenty together; and to fight with Arms, not only firm and strong, but also fair and glittering. They endeavour to civilize Learning; drawing it from the College, and freeing it from the hands of Pedants, who mar and sully it in handling: and to say the truth, adulterate and corrupt it, abusing this excellent and delicate thing in the sight of all the world. They seek not to avoid Rocks by turning aside from them, but rather by sliding gently over them, and rather to escape places of danger, than to shun them. And to make it appear, that nothing is so sour or bitter, but that it may be sweetened and allayed by Discourse. Finally, they suffer themselves sometimes to be transported with that reasonable fury, which Rhetoricians have well known, though it go beyond their Rules and Precepts: which thrust an; Orator into such strange and uncouth motions, that they seem rather inspired, than to be natural; and with which, Demosthenes and Cicero were so possessed, that the one of them swears by those that died at Marathon, and of his own authority makes them Gods: the other, asks questions of the Hills and Forests of Alba, as if they had ears, and were able to hear him. But if I were one that did come any thing near so noble an end, (which I neither will nor dare believe) and that I were able to make strangers see, that all things in France are changed for the better, since the happy Reign of our King, who no less augmenteth our spirits, than he increaseth our courage: yet it is not I that should merit the glory of this, but I must wholly attribute it to the happiness of my time, and to the force of my object. Howsoever, my Lord, if I cannot be taken into the List of learned and able men, at least, I cannot be denied a place amongst honest men, and loyal servants; and if my abilities be worthy of no consideration with you, at least, my zeal and affection, are better worth, than to be rejected. With which meditation, I am sometimes so ravished, that I doubt not, but my resentments must needs content you; and that it is no unpleasing recreation to you, to cast your eye upon a Philosopher in choler. And though true love content itself with the testimony of its own Conscience; and that I give you many proofs of my most humble service, which I assure myself, will never come to your knowledge; yet for your satisfaction, I desire you might hear me sometimes in the place where you are, and might see, with what advantage, I maintain the public cause, in what manner I control false News that runs about, and how I stop their mouths that will be talking in disparagement of our affairs. It is certain, that it is not possible our State should be more flourishing than it is, or that the success of the King's Arms should be more glorious than it is, or that the Peace of the People should be more assured than it is, or that your Government should be more judicious than it is; and yet we meet with certain spirits, that are troubled with their own quietness, are impatient of their own felicity, cannot be held in any good belief, but by prosperities that are supernatural; and longer than they see miracles, give no credit to any thing. If present affairs be in good terms, than they cast out fears of those to come; and when they see, the events prove happy, than they fall affrighting us with Presages. They take an Oath, to esteem of no persons, but foreigners; of no things, but far fet. They admire Spinola, because he is an Italian, and their enemy; they cannot abide to praise the King, because he is a Frenchman, and their Master. They will hardly be drawn to confess, that the King hath overcome, though they see before their eyes, an infinite number of Towns taken; of Factions ruinated; eternal Monuments of his Victories: and more easily the King hath gotten the applause of all Europe, than these men's approbation. They would persuade us, if they could, that he had raised his Siege before Rochel; That he had made a shameful Peace with the Protestants; and that the Spaniards had made him run away. They do all they can, to exterminate his History, and to extinguish the greatest light that shall ever shine to posterity. I doubt not, but they cast a malicious eye upon my Book; for presenting an image of those things which offend them so much. And they who believe Fables and Romances, and are in passion, for an Hercules or an Achilles, who perhaps never were; They who read with ecstasy of joy, the actions of Rowland and of Reinold, which were never done, but upon Paper: These men will find no relish in a true History, because it gives testimony to the virtue of their natural King. They can like well enough, that against the credit of all Antiquity, Xenophon being a Grecian, and no Persian, should frame Cyrus a life after his own fancy, and make him die in his bed, and amongst his Friends; when yet he died in the wars, and overcome by a woman: and they can like well enough, that Pliny should tell a lie in open Senate, and praise Trajan for temperance and chastity, who yet was given to wine, and to another vice so fowl that it cannot honestly be named; but they can by no means like, that I, who am the King's subject born, should say that of him, which no man can deny to be most true, and that being to make a pattern for Princes, I should rather make choice of his life, than either of that of Cyrus, which is fabulous, or that of Trajan, which is not the purest, that I may not speak of that of Caesar Bogia, which is all black with licentiousness and crimes. Heaven itself is not able to give this kind of people a Governor to their mind. He that was according to Gods own heart, should not be according to theirs: They would not think Solomon wise enough, nor Alexander valiant enough. They are generally enemies of all sorts of Masters; and accusers of all things the present time affords. They make our heads ache with crying out, that there was no necessity to make a war in Italy; but if you had stayed still at Paris, they would have cried out much louder, that it had not been honest, to suffer our allies to perish. Because some of our Kings have made unfortunate voyages beyond the mountains, therefore they will needs have it, that our King, though he follow not their counsels, should yet fall into their misfortunes. They accuse your conduct with old proverbs, because they cannot with sound reasons. They say, Italy is the Churchyard of the French: and being not able to observe the least fault in all your carriage in that country, they lay upon you the faults of our aunestors, and charge you with the error of Charles the eighth. Yet I conceive that these men's sin is rather of infirmity than of malice, that they are rather passionate for their opinions, than Pensioners of our enemies; and that they have more need of help by Physic, than of restraint by law. But it is a grievous thing to see, how the busybodies of our time, speak the same language, which Rebels did in times past; and abuse the happiness of liberty, even against him, who hath procured it unto us. They come continually, and tell me, we are like to receive much prejudice by the discontent of such a Prince, that is gone from our side. And I answer them, it is better to have a weak enemy that cannot hurt us, than hold a troublesome friend, that would do us no good. They will by all means, that the King at any price, should succour Cazall; and I tell them, that he hath succoured it already, by his conquest of Savoy: and that in the state as things now stand, it cannot be taken, but to be delivered back. They are not contented that you perform actions that are extraordinary, they look you should perform some that are impossible: And though there arise sometimes such difficulties in things, that they cannot by any possibility be encountered; I say not, by defect in the undertaker, but by reason of repugnancy in the subject; yet they will not take for payment, such reasons as wise men are satisfied withal, but they would have the King do that, which the Turk and Persian joined together, were not able to do. These things, my Lord, would put me extremely into passion, and I could never be patient at such excess of ungratefulness, if I did not remember, that there hath sometimes been a spirit, so sullen, and so saucy, that it dared to find fault with the works of God himself, and was not afraid to say, that if he had been of his counsel, as well in the creation as in the government of the world, he would have given him better advice than he took at first, or than he now follows. After so immense a folly, you must not think it strange, if there be some Extravagants; and the vulgar at all times hath been found but an unjust judge of virtue; and yet for all that, it hath never been without admirers: and now, if those that have but little instinct, and can do nothing but murmur, and do not favour him, it is for us, my Lord, to testify unto you, that reasonable men, and such as know how to speak, are of the better side.  
Your most humble and most obedient servant, Balzac. At Balzac, 4. Aug. 1630.   

Another to him. LETTER II.  
MY Lord, hearing that Monsieur de— means to question me about the Benefice you did me the honour to give me: and that by virtue of his dispensation, he hath sent to take possession, I have conceived no better shelter, to avoid this storm, than under the greatness of your Name; nor any safer defence against the forces of such an adversario, than the respect of such a Protector as you are. I require not in this any straining of your Lordship's power; I know you are sparing of it in your own proper interests, and reserve it for occasions that are public and important: I only require the continuance of your love, and that you would signify to him that troubles me, you would be glad he would let me be at quiet. For besides that to stand in suit with a man of his robe, were as much as to fight with a Master of Fence, and to put one's whole right in hazard. It would trouble me, my Lord, though I were assured of success, to think I should owe any part of it to any other besides yourself, seeing I account it more glory to receive from you, than to wrest from another. Monsieur de— may do well, to keep his dispensation for a better market, and draw much more profit with a little patience. And indeed, I verily believe, he looks for nothing to make him surcease, but for some demonstration from you, of your desire: and that he rather hath an ambition to be entreated by M. the Cardinal, than any design to take your gift from me. I humbly entreat your Lordship to give him contentment in this point, and not suffer me to fall, at this first step of my Fortune; and that I may not always be unfortunate, being as I am with all my soul,  
My Lord, Yours, etc. At Balzac, 8. Novem. 1631.   

Another to him. LETTER III.  
MY Lord, I am infinitely bound unto you for the honour you have done me, to remember me, and for the pains you have taken, to write in my behalf to Monsieur de—— It is true, your pains hath not had so good success, as I verily hoped it would: for though he had given out, that for his satisfaction he required no more but some small sign, that it was your desire: yet having received that sign, he continues still in the same terms, and holds the same rigorous course he did. It makes me think, my Lord, that he knows not of what worth your commendation is: certainly, if it had been employed for any other but myself, it had found all the yielding and respect it meriteth: but indeed, I cast unfortunateness upon all matters I deal in: my evil Fortune suffers me not to make benefit of your love; you have no sooner a thought to do me good, but presently a thousand impediments arise to hinder it. You give me presents, and I do not receive them: You command I should be paid my pension, and your command is not obeyed. Not yours, my Lord, of which one might say, Est fatum quodeunque voles. You have read my book with pleasure, and spoken of it with commendation; and yet I suffer persecution for making it, as much as to say, for being a true Frenchman, and a lover of public liberty. For as for the objections they make against me, they certainly are but colours and pretences: If my words be not learned, or eloquent, they are yet found, and full of truth. There is not one to be found in all my work, which a mean Advocate were not able to defend before the severest Tribunal in the world. The makers of libels, who condemn them, are the men of all other, that first corrupt them. I begin my Lord, to be weary of this long and obstinate injustice; my Philosophy begins to fail me in this case: and I should be clean and altogether out of heart, if I had not your goodness to rely upon. For this, at this day, is the common refuge of all oppressed innocents, and no man invocates it in vain. I therefore make myself believe, that it will at last send me also some fair days, after so many storms and tempests raised against me by mine enemies: and that after you have saved Nations, and set Princes in their Thrones, it will be no hard matter to relieve a poor private man who adores you, and whom calumny seeks to ruin. I know some my Lord, whom you have made happy, and yet scarce knew their names; when you did me the honour to give me your good word, and yet fare never the better for it. And some I have known advanced by you, that lay hidden in the throng, when yourself drew me out, and placed me amongst the few, yet what get I by it? For in truth I could never make any use of this advantage, because indeed I could never serve you with such care and subjection, as the forwardness of your favours obliged me to do. My indisposition hath always hindered my good designs; I have always combated with weakness of body, and never durst venture to begin a life, which I was not assured I were able to hold out. This hath forced me, my Lord, to court you in a new fashion; and to seek to do you service by my absence and ease, and not trouble you with unseasonable officiousness, and with many low curtsies to no purpose. I am able to say, unworthy as I am, that I was the first man that preached the wonders of your life unto the people, exhorted all Frenchmen to do their duties; have in mine own person given good example in the Provinces, and have healed many spirits that were sick, and ill persuaded of the present government. I am not so well known by my name, as by my forwardness in your service. And when the spiteful rumour ran abroad of late, many persons of quality can tell, how generally I took it: and how I resolved to follow you to the world's end, if so be the unfortunateness of France should remove you from the Court. Yet I am not troubled, that I make you not these proofs of my Fidelity, though they would be less difficult to me, than to entertain you, as now I do, with my interests; which to say true, is a cruel torture I put myself to. It is not my desire, you should have misfortunes, to the end I might make use of my consolations: nor is it my wish, there should be disorders in my country, and disgrace to my master, to the end I might the better show my self a good Frenchman, and a loyal servant. But yet my Lord, why may I not be of some use in a calm, and have a place as well in the joy, as in the sorrow? You alone are the author of your victory; but you alone cannot furnish your triumph, but must have many Artificers to work about it. I have materials enough to make many large Fabrics; but to undertake the work, I must entre at your Lordship I may have a little contentment, or at least, a little quiet. The splendour of your person is so great, that it sends forth beams of light to your remotest servants: and the power which heaven hath given you, is so redoubtable to all sorts of tyrants, that to give a period to my persecution, there needs no more, but that you give some sign you mean to protect me; which favour I persuade myself you will not deny me: for besides the common cause of being oppressed, you have known a long time, that I make a special profession to be  
My Lord, Your, etc. At Balzac, 5. jan. 1632.   

To Monsieur Cytois, Physician to M. the Cardinal. LETTER V.  
SIR, my curiofitie were undiscreet, if I should ask you news of occurrents in the Army; but you cannot take it ill, that I ask you news of my Lord the Cardinal's health. I learn the progress of his glorious actions by the mouth of Fame: but I must learn from you how he fares in his continual agitation; and whether the temper of his body feel no alteration by the violent motions of his spirit. I conceive that God doubles his force when there is need; and that he hath regard to the necessity of so many people that cannot miss him: but I know also, that he makes use of the second causes, and that your cares and industry concur with his providence. The services you do to one particular man, are obligations to all the world. Never had any Science a more worthy or more profitable employment than yours hath: And if the Romans erected a statue to Antonius Musa, for healing of him who oppressed their liberty, why may not you justly expect a public acknowledgement for preserving of him, who makes us all both free and happy? I send him the discourses which—— I humbly entreat you to take care they may come to no other hands but his: and therefore that you will keep them in your custody, that they may be safe until I come myself to Paris. I expect this courtesy from that good will you have always promised me: and here I make you this solemn protestation, that you can never honour any man that is more passionately than I am  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 5. Aug. 1630.   

To Monsieur de Chastelet Counsellor of the King in his Counsel of State. LETTER V.  
SIR, it is great work of memory to be mindful of me at the Court: but it is an effect of a divine goodness to make it rain dainties in the desert: Since Manna, there was never seen there, such a thing as you sent me; and if you were bound to furnish me with such fare, forty years of banishment at this diet, would be to me forty years of felicity. To speak in plain terms, your present is unvaluable: and to help myself in speaking of it, I have been forced to fetch comparisons from heaven, because inferior things are never able to express it. You do it wrong to give it the name of a Preface: but what may we expect from the work itself, before which such a preface is set? If the outside be so rich, and there be so great magnificence in the Gatehouse, what will be in the Galleries, and Cabinets? and what will the Palace be that is worthy of such an entrance? I see indeed that it is a mark of greatness, but I fear withal, that it is a want of proportion, and being not possible the rest should equal the the beginning, you will be accused for disturbing the order of things, and for putting perfection out of its place, which should not come in but at the last. See here an accusation that is very nice, and whereof it is a glory to be convinced. In this there is less account to be made of virtue than of vice; and the disorder which makes a magnificence, is more worth than the method which retains a poverty: Blame not sir, the event of this dispute: Beauty begets the prize in all causes where the eyes are judges: and they who blame you for adorning too much your refutation of the Books of Flanders, blame you for having your Armour too much guilded, and that in striking you dazzle their eyes. It seems they know not that the Lacedæmonians never tricked up themselves, but when they went to fight; and that Caesar made his vaunt, he won battles with perfumed Soldiers. The pomp of your style arrests not the sight without profit: It is pleasing to the Reader; but withal it is fatal to slander. In it there is to be seen the lustre and bravery of Tournaments; but withal, there is to be seen in it the force and terribleness of war. The only pity is, you had not a competent Enemy to fight withal, and that so much force and valour should be spent upon a feeble fury, and which is now at the last drop of its poison. The wretched man you pursue, and who dies blaspheming; was not worthy of so noble a Resentment as yours, having nothing considerable in him, but that you vouchsafe to speak of him: you make him of some worth by alleging him so often. In undoing him, you make him famous, and his objections will one day not be found, but in your answers. It is five and twenty years since he was a fugitive from his order, and should have had his trial before the General of the Jesuits. And if these good Fathers did not deal too gently with delinquents, and change imprisonment into banishment, he had from that time been suppressed, with all the filthy books he hath made ever since. But it was necessary, that (to crown his inconstancy) after he had abandoned above a dozen sides, he should now for his last prize, become a parasite to the Spaniards, and a Secretary to those bad French that are at their Court. Let it never trouble us Sir, that he calls us Flatterers: Atheists call honest men superstitious. Catiline called them all slaves that would not be parricides; and it hath always been impossible, to be virtuous with approbation of the wicked. They are delinquents themselves, that find fault with our innocency, & they are idle fellows, who prostrate themselves every day before a Don Diego, or a Don Roderigo, and yet think much we should do any reverence to M. the Cardinal Richlieu. But it is fit they should be taught, that here is the true worship, at Brussels but Idolatry; and that to adore a foreign Power, and such a one that doth mischief to the whole earth, is not, at least an action so truly French, as to revere a virtue, that is native of France, and that doth good to all the world. Seeing they abuse our tongue, in praising their Tyrants, and justifying our Rebels; It cannot be denied us, to bring it back to its natural and proper use, and in more honest subjects, to purify and make clean those words and phrases, which they have prostituted to the conceits of the Marquis of Aytona, or made to serve the passion of Spain. If tyranny were more to be feared than it is, and that the unfortunateness of France should make it reach hither; yet it should never make me to unsay the propositions I hold, and it shall be all my life a most pleasing object to me, to see myself enroled in the Catalogue of Authors, condemned by the enemies of my Country. I think, I may boldly say, I was one of the first maintainers of the truth, and he perhaps that laid open the field, where so many Orators and Poets find themselves exercise: It is time now, that I leave it to younger men, and such as are more able than I am. Yet I entreat you to remember Sir, that I give place without running away; and that it is the coldness of my blood, and the abatement of my strength, that forceth me, 〈◊〉 not any want of courage or change of will. Never think I will ever fail in these: I always preserve in my heart, the principles of good actions, I mean, good desires; and when I can no longer be a runner in the Race, yet I will be one of the most earnest Spectators, and fight at Cuffs, when I can do nothing else. In the mean time, to the end, that a good part of my ancient travail may not be lost, and that I may not make that an unprofitable secret, between my Muses and me, which may perhaps serve for some edification to the Public: I think fit, to make you account of certain things I have heretofore conceived; and to show you, that in actions of my duty, I oftentimes content myself with the testimony of my own Conscience. These are Pieces that were wrought before the second voyage into Italy, and before the lamentable Divisions of the Royal Family. In the puritic of public joy, amidst the applauses of all the King's subjects; and even of those who have since lost their loyalty, and now lie railing upon us at Brussels. I send you some sheets, as I first light upon them, and I send them Sir, rather to do you Homage by laying my Compositions at your feet, than to make a Challenge, as opposing them to yours, rather to acknowledge the superiority of your Eloquence, and to go in your Lyverie, than to make myself your Competitor, and seek to brave you, with so rash a Comparison. If you find any relish in Discourses so far short of the force and merit of yours; and if you think they may give my Masters of the University, any the least contentment, I earnestly entreat you, to present them a Copy; and withal, my humble submission to their judgement. I know, this Society is at this day the supreme Tribunal that Censures all works of the Brain, and gives Rules to all other Tribunals of France. I neither doubt of the susficiencie, nor suspect the integrity of the Judges that praeside there: Moreover, I confess Sir, it could never have a more happy Conception, seeing yourself was the first that spoke it, nor a more illustrious birth, seeing M. the Cardinal was a Patron to it; and therefore, borne in Purple, as were those Princes in Constantinople, whom I would call, Porphyrogenetes, if the Academy had Naturalised this Foreign word. The honour it hath done me, to make me a member of their body, without binding me to part from hence, and the place it hath given me, without taking away my liberty, are two singular favours I received from it, both at one time. And to say the truth, it is no small benefit to a man of the wilderness, that turns his face sometimes towards the world, and is not altogether devested of humane affections, that he may enjoy together, both the repose of solitude, and yet flatter his imagination with the glory of so pleasing a Society. This I cannot do without thanking you for so great a favour; and if they understand not of my Resentment by your mouth, they may have just cause to condemn me for one of little Gratefulness. Lend me therefore, I beseech you Sir, some five or six words, I would ask you more, but I know they are of that worth, and so high in their account, that these few will be enough, not only to satisfy for the compliment I owe; but for the Oration also, it is expected I should make them. You will not, I hope, deny me the testimony of your love, and I require it of you by the memory of the other Obligations I owe you. Atque per inceptes promissum mu●… Jambos: you know my meaning, and that I have a long time been, and am  
My Lord, Your, etc. At Balzac, 15. Jul. 1635.   

To Monsieur de Bois Robert. LETTER VI.  

SIR, I hear you have been seen at Paris, from whence, I conclude, you are not at the war in Flanders, but are content to go and give it your malediction upon the Frontiers. If you would acquaint us with the passages of that Country, you should infinitely oblige your old friend, who feeds upon no other nourishment but News, and takes no News to heart, but those which concern the King. He is so careful of the Reputation of his Arms, that he cannot abido his victory should be spoken of with doubtlng: To make him confess, we have lost one man, it is necessary there should be four Regiments defeated; and when he is spoken to, of the Emperor's aid, that this is a Remedy to be looked for, when the contrary part is dead. To make this man a Present, the Poet you wot of, made lately some Verses upon the estate of affairs in Lorraine, and answers another Poet, who had written, that the King would never be able to hold it, and that the relliek of affection, which the Country bears to its ancient Duke, would never suffer any familiarity or friendship to reflect upon us. The—— that are the Latins of this Country, would make him believe, that he hath found a mean between the Character of Catulus, and that of Marshal, and that he hath avoided the dryness and harshness of the former times, without engaging himself in the luxury and intemperance of the latter times. With these new Verses, I send you the old Prose you desired, and which hath lain so long asleep in my Closet. Though they be writings of an old date, yet you know, they are always in season; and seeing they entreat of the sovereign ve●…tue, that is of M. the Cardinal, they entreat of a mattet that is immortal, and can never lose the grace of being new. Thermopylae and Platea, are to this day the common places of the Grecians that are in the world; and our remotest posterity, which shall more quickly enjoy the labours of this rare man, than we do; shall speak more often, and more honourably of them than we do. I believe, the Letter to Monsieur Chastelet, will not dislike you, and that you will find something in it worth your reading. I had word sent me from Paris, that his style was too much painted, and too full of Figures for a military style; but you shall see, how in praising him for the rest, I justify him in this; and with what byace I defend the cause of worthy things. I entreat you to ask him for me, the last Libels of—: and to deliver them to— to bring them to me. You have heard by— the cause I have to complain of Monsieur de—: Delays in such cases are very dangerous, and if you have not already made an end of the matter, I fear me, the Stock that was apppointed for paying of me, will go some other way. Do herein what you shall think fittest, and I shall remain  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 15. Jul. 1635.   

Austrasia infaelix, ne somnia blanda tuorum,  
Neu memores Aquilas, Imperiumque vetus.  
Quamvis & Titulos & Nomen inutile Jactes,  
Multusque in vano Carolus ore sonet.  
Carolus ecce iterum, Nostri virtute Capeti  
Concidit, & lapsas luget Egenus opes.  
Vel solo Dixisse sat est, capta Oppida nutu  
Atque ultro exutum terga dedisse Ducem.  
Austrasia huic vilis nimiùm & neglecta fuisti,  
Nec te ita qui tenuit, credidit esse suam.  
Credidit hostiles fugitivus linquere terras,  
Sed te qui propriam jam tueatur adest.  
Ille Triumphata redijt qui victor ab Alpe,  
Et per quem placidis Mincius errat agris  
Ille suo natus Juvenis succurrere saeclo,  
Non tantùm Patriae sistere Fata suae.  
Cur sequeris Funus? Vacuam cur diligis umbran?  
Evereque colis diruta saxa domus?  
Desere Fessa tuos supremâ clade jacentes,  
To validam & stantem, Deseruere tui?  
Prima mali patiens, atque inter Gallica pridem.  
Fulmina, & Arctoas non benè tuta minas:  
Tandem pone animos, ac Nostra ass●…esce vocari  
Ni facias, Ceoinit quae mihi Phoebus, habe.  
Alternis vertet te Celta & Teuto ruinis,  
Et nifi Pars uni es, Praeda duobus eris.    

To Monsieur Favereau, Counsellor of the King in his Court of Aids. LETTER VII.  
SIR, He whose Verses you commended, believes upon your word, that he is a great Poet: but I told him, that your words are always favourable, and that he should not flatter himself with an approbation which you never denied to any. He hath, since that, showed me other Verses, which he made for M. the Cardinal, and entreated me, to show you some of the places, which I thought the most accomplished, but upon this condition Sir, that at least for this once, you shall be a conscionable Judge, and shall tell us upon your Oath, whether you think this good, or that bad:  

Quid reforam Oceanum tibi ne vialentior obstet  
Oblitum solitus segniùs isse vices?  
Et 〈◊〉 concords siluisse ad Claffica ventos,  
Surgeret ut tacito machina fixa mari.  
Machina quam vastos Gens sera tulisse Gigantes  
Credat in Aequorei Caerula regua Jovis.  
Quidreferam Captas primis rumoribus arces,  
Castraque nec faciem sustinuisse tuam?  
Nempe aliquid caeleste tibi est, quòd cuncta verentur  
Praesentesque trahis semper ad arma Deos.  
Non hostem timuere hosts, sed Judice viso,  
Horruit ad certam pallida turba necem.  
Si pugnas vicisse parum est, etc.   

Cernis ut ad subitum conspecti muricis ignem  
Depressum attollat Parthenopaa Caput.  
Quae quondam vim passa, ferumque exosa c●…bile,  
Gestit in antiquos Castra redire thoros.  
Non animum faedi amplexus, faedaoscula muten●…  
Sed prior invi●…to durat amore fides.  
O quoties superos Mortem Manesque rogavit.  
Dum fugeret passus Maure superb●….  
O quoties voluit fieri vel in aequore rupes!  
Frustrarive tuas aquoris unda manus!  
Fata obstant, dominumque imponunt multa queren●…  
Quo gravior Siculus non fuit antè Cyclops.  
Qui dapibus diris, qui sanguine vescitur atro,  
Qui formosa sacrâ polluit ora lieu.  
Qui furto, non Marte potens etc.   

HÎc placidis Doris Tellurem amplectitur ulnis,  
Ac leviter summas languida mulcet aquas.  
Littus Amore calet solo, cui Myrtea sylva,  
Sufficit & virides Citria sylva comas.  
Quò dulces Zephyro●… animas fragrantibus 'em-  
Miscet, & Ambrosio tingit odour Venus. (bris  
Exul hyems fugit inscopulos, ubi mollia tantùm  
Frlgora, & ●…ivas jussa parare nives.  
〈◊〉 quid memorem? teneri domus ●…urea v●…ris  
Hic 〈◊〉, aeternis Ora bent●… ro●…is.  
Nec steriles ostentat opes, sed Praside Baccho,  
Luxuriant pleno Flora Ceresque sinu.  
Et dubitat tantae Ludovix accodere doti.  
Hectoreis Ludovix jam quoque major avis!  
Et Nymphae, ingenuos morientis despicit ignes,  
Nec memor est altra quam premit esse suam?  
Rump moras Armande, haec pars pulcherrima rerum  
Te vocat, & segnes increpat usque moras.  
Parthenope te maeste vocet etc.   
I have some conceit, this last Description will not dislike you, and having heard say, as well as I, that the Kingdom of Naples is a Paradise inhabited by Devils; you will find some ●…ollish in the fiction of the 〈◊〉 Nymph, and not be troubled with the Encomiums which our Friend affords the Spaniards. Naturally he doth not much love them; but since the war hath been proclaimed, and that all traffic with them is forbidden, now his nature is turned into Reason, and now he saith, He should not think 〈◊〉, a true Frenchman, or a good Citizen, if he should hold intelligence, so much as with Seneca; much less (as you may perceive by the Character of his phrase) with 〈◊〉; whom Scaliger hath handled so hardly, or with another of that Country, of whom he is continually repeating these words, which I think fit to let you hear: Hispani Poetae & Romani Sermonis Elegantiam contaminarunt, & cum instatum quoddam & ●…dum, & Gentis suae morib●… congruens inve●…issent Orationis genus, 〈◊〉 Exemplo suo caeteros, a recta ill a & in qua, praecipua Poetarum sita 〈◊〉 est, imitation●… naturae. Itaque fore post Augusti tempora, ut quisque max●… versum instaverat, sen●… 〈◊〉 cont●…rferat, eo denique modo locutus fuerat, quo nemo serio soleret loqui, it a in pretio haberi caepit. Quinetiam fucatus ille splendour, & adulterina Eloquentiae species, ita nonnullorum qui verae Eloquentiae gustum non habent, ●…vit animos, ut his quoque temporibus extiterint Hispani Duo, quorum alter, Lucanum Virgilio, alter Martialem Catullo, anteponere veritus non est. Quorum abutroque ita diss●…, & siquis Deus potestatem mihi optionemque faciat etc. You see by this, that the Spaniards have marred all in the world, and have always been the corrupters of all good things. It is not the Politics only, that they have spoilt, making it an Art of wickedness, and a science of piracy; but they have done as much hurt to other inferior knowledges, and have 〈◊〉 no kindlier with the servants, than with the Mistress. It is they that brought in the first haerefie, and the first novelties in the Latin Eloquence. It is they that have pi●… quarrels with Cicero and Virgil; that have made Books with nothing but Antitheses, and as one should make Feasts with nothing but Salt and Vinegar. I make you report of a Poet's opinion, who requires yours upon the fragments I send you, where his desire is, to come as near as might be to that ancient grace, which was to be seen in the Roman writings, till such time as the plaster and daubings of the Spaniards, had marred their purity. I entreat you to send him your judgement of it; and in the mean time, will assure you, that he is as much as I can be  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 1. Septemb. 1635.   

Another to him. LETTER VIII.  
SIR, I am your vexation in ordinary, and because you have not rejected my first importunities, you have given me encouragement to continue them still. He that brings you this Letter, believes that my commendation would do him no hurt with you; and I believe so too; and seeing his interests are very dear unto me, I earnestly entreat you, to let him find that our common belief is not ill grounded. The savours you do me, are so much the more pure, in that they look for no requital, and that you have no friends that have suits at Balzac. You therefore may work, as your custom is, by the only motions of your virtue; and as it is fit, you should be more ambitious than I, so you must be content, to leave me all the profit of our friendship, and keep for yourself all the glory. I expect an answer out of Holland, where, I doubt not, but your work is in high esteem, as well for the merit of the matter, as for the excellency of the form: I mean, as well for that it is the Production of a great Poet, as for that it is the action of a good Citizen. As soon as I hear news from thence, I will acquaint you with it; and entreat this favour from you, that you will believe I passionately am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 10. June, 1635.   

To Monsieur Girard, Secretary to M. the Duke D'Espernon. LETTER IX.  
SIR, your last Letters have exceedingly comforted me, and you have such things for me, that they make me forgetful of all my miseries. With such a friendship, I can mock at ill fortune, and it makes me taste contentments, which good fortune knows not of. It is true, that your absence is a perpetual cooling Card to my joy; and possessing you but in spirit, it requires a very strong imagination, to desire nothing else. Shall we never come to be Citizens of one City? Never to be Hermits in the same Desert? Shall my Counsel be always twenty miles from me? and must I be always forced to pass two Seas to fetch it when I need it? I hope your justice will do me reason, and that Heaven will at last hear the most ardent of all my prayers; but in the mean time, whilst I stay waiting for so perfect a contentment, I would be glad to have of it, now and then, some little taste: which, if it be not in your power to give me; at least lend it me for some few days, and come and sit as supreme Precedent, over both my French, and Latin. I promise you, I will never appeal from you to any other; only for this once, give me leave to tell you, that the word Ludovix, which you blame as too new, seems to me a more Poetical and pleasing word, than either the Aloysius of the Italians, or our Ludovicus; and beside, It savours of the Antiquity of our Nation; and of the first language of the Gauls; witness these words, Ambiorix, Eporedorix, Orgetorix, Vercingetorix, etc. In which you see the Analogy to be plain; yet more than this, I have an Authority, which I am sure, you will make difficulty to allow: you know Monsieur Guyet, is a great Master in this Art; but perhaps you know not that he hath used this very word Ludovix, before I used it; for I took it from excellent Verses of his:  

Non tulit hoc Ludovix, justa puer acer ab ira,  
Etpatriae casum sic videamus, ait.   
For other matters Sir, you may add to that which was last alleged in the cause of Madam Gourney, this passage out of the divine Jerusalem, where Aladin calls Clorinda the Intercessor of Sophronia, and of her lover,  

Habbian vita Rispose & libertade  
E Nulla a tanto Intercessor si neghis.   
I kiss the hands of that fair creature you love, and am with all my soul.  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 20. Septemb. 1635.   

To my Lord the Earl of Port. LETTER X.  
SIR, I have received a letter from you since your being in England, but not being able to read the Gentleman's hand that writ it to me, for want of a decipherer, I have been forced to be uncivil till now, and have therefore not answered you; because indeed I know not whom to answer: but now, that this Gentleman (whose name is a mystery in his letters) is by good fortune, come again into this country, I can by no means suffer him to part without some testimony of the account I make of your favour, and the desire I have to preserve it, by all the possible means I can. I will make you Sir, no studied Protestations, nor send compliments to a man that is borne in the Country of good words, I will only say, there are many respects that make your person dea●… unto me: and that besides the consideration of your virtue, which gives me just cause to honour you, that also of the name you bear, and of the rank you hold, are things that exceed the value of indifferency. I love all them that love France, and wish well to our great Prince, of whom in truth I have heard you speak so worthily, that as often as I remember it, it stirs me up to doing my duty, and to profit by so good an example. If he had been seconded in Italy, we should have seen all we could have hoped. But God himself saves none but such as contribute themselves to their salvation. Saguntum was taken while the Senators were deliberating: and a wisdom that is too scrupulous, commonly doth nothing for fear of doing ill. The most part of Italians are themselves the workmen, to make their own fetters: they lend the Spaniard their blood, and their hairs, to make a slave of their country, and are the particides of their mother, of whom they might have been the redeemers. But of all this, we shall talk more at Paris, if you come thither this Winter, as I am put in hope you will. In the means time do me the honour to let me have your love, and to believe me, there is none in the world more truly than I,  
Sir, Yours, etc. At Balzac, 10 Sept. 1630.   

To my Lord the Bishop of Nantes. LETTER XI.  
MY Lord, the joy I take in the recovery of your health, is not yet so pure, but that it always represents unto me a terrible Image of your last sickness. The imagination of a danger, though past & gone, yet makes my momorie afraid, I look upon it rather in safety, than with assurance. We miss the losing you but very narrowly: and you were upon the point to leave us Orphans. I speak it seriously, and without any flattery at all, all the victories we have gotten, or shall get, would never be able to make us amends for such a loss: you would have made our conquest turn to mourning: M. the Cardinal would have found something to complain of in his great felicity, and would have watered his triumph with his tears. Let it not be Gods will to lay this cross upon our time: and if it be a cross inevitable, yet let it be deferred to our posterity. It is necessary the Pho●…nix should live out her age, and that the world should be allowed time for enjoying the possession, and so profitable and sweet a life as yours. It is true, the world is not worthy of you; but, my Lord, the world hath need of you: your virtue indeed should long since have been crowned, but that your example is still necessary: and the more happy ones there be in heaven, the fewer honest ones will be left upon earth. Love therefore yourself a little for our sakes; begin now at last to study your health, which hitherto you have neglected, and make a difference hereafter between cold and heat, between good and bad air; between meats that are sweet, and those that are bitter. Though you take no care of your health for your own sake, yet you must take care of it for the common good: For, I beseech you my Lord, tell me, what should become of the cause of the poor? what of the desolation of widows? what of the innocence of men oppressed? I speak not of the hope of such as hope for preferment by you: for though I write to you my Father, and call you Monsieur,—— yet I am none of that number. I desire nothing from you at this time, but that which you may give me without ask it of another; your love and good will is the only object of my present passion. I renounce with all my heart, all other things in the world, so I may keep but this, and shall never complain of my shipwreck, if it leave me so solid a plank as this to rest upon. Be●… pleased to do me the honour to believe it, and that I am with all my soul,  
My Lord, Your, etc. At Balzac, 15. June. 1635.   

To Monsieur Senne, Theologall of the Church of Saints LETTER XII.  
SIR, I have been in ecstasy to hear of your health, and that you keep your body in that reasonable fullness of flesh, which contributes something to your gravity, and adds nothing to your weight. I would not wish you to seek to abate it, nor long to be like the city and tawny skins of the first Christians. For all Tertullians' saying, all Saints have not been lean and melancholic. The last that we have seen, were of your colour and 〈◊〉; and you do an honour to Divinity, to preach it with a bright visage, representing in some sort the state of future glory you speak of the people. Monsieur de— made me so rich a description of your health, that I could not choose but begin my letter with this compliment. I have seen since Monsieur de— who delivered me one from you, and withit, our friend's book, for which I thank you with all my heart, I have yet perused only some Tracts, which in truth seem very learned, and are as intelligible as the obscurity of the matter would well bear. It is true, the Title deceived me; and seeing you will have me speak freely what I think, I must tell you, I think they are nothing less than Orations, and that they are 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 be●… read upon a join stool, than pronounced at a Tribunal. I had thought to have found in them the persuasive motives of Orators, in the highest strain of their style, and I find nothing but the dry doctrine of Philosophers, and of them neither, nothing but the ordinary language of their precepts: that it makes me think of these new Companies of soldiers which are levied under the name of Horse, but are put to serve on foot, when they come to the Army. I say not, it is necessary to handle school 〈◊〉 with all the pomp and force of 〈◊〉, I only say, that such discourses ought not to be called Panag●…rickes, or 〈◊〉, & that there is either craft or rashness in this proud ins●…iption, which promiseth more than a Philosopher can perform. Cicero 〈◊〉 it of impropriety, as you shall see at the end of this Letter: and you cannot but confess unto me, that our friend hath mistaken himself two ways: First, to believe he ought to play the Orator in Divinity: and scondly, to imagine, that to make Orations with success, he need but to draw forth some 〈◊〉 out of Plutarch's; lives, and to allege the so famous Bucephalus, that was broken by 〈◊〉 the great. These are ornaments so vulgar and so stale, that to use them at this day, is rather a mark of Clo●…nishnesse, than of neatness. When fashions are left off in the City, they are then taken up in the Country; and there are none now but poor Gentlemen, that will offer to wear the massiest silver lace, when it is once fitterd, or the richest Plush, when it is once grown thread bare, Both the one and the other have been in fashion, but they are not so now. They were heretofore novelties, but are now but Rellickes. The first comparison that was made of the burning of Diana's Temple, was excellent: all other since have been but idle. And it is not enough, that the spring from whence water is drawn, be itself clear, but to draw that which is clear, it is necessary also that Lawndresses and Passengers have not 〈◊〉 it. I make no doubt Sir, but that which you will show me, shall be very choice and perfect. You are I know, of too dainty a taste to be contented with every sauce. I am very impatient till I see those rare productions: and I should ere this have seen them, but that your promises are as deceitful as the Titles of your Book; which notwithstanding is otherwise full of 〈◊〉 discourse, and profound knowledge. It is now four months that I have waited for you, and you have still continued to wrong me, in continuing to break your word: yet as much wronged as I am, I leave not to be  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 1. Octob. 1635.   

The Opinion of Cicero concerning the style which Philosophers use intheir Writings.  
LOquuntur Philosophi cum doctis, quorum sedare animos malunt, quam incitare. Siquidem de rebus pacatis ac minime turbulentis docend cansa, non capiendi loquuntur, ut in eo ipso, quod delectationem aliquam dicendo aucupentur, plus nonnullis quam necesse sit, facere videantur. Mollis ergo est eorum or atio & umbratilis, neque nervos & aculeos oratorios habet. Nec sententijs est, nec verbis instruct a popularibus, nec junct a number 〈◊〉, sed soluta liberius. Nihil iratum habet, nihil atrox, nihil mirabile, nihil astutum; Casta, verecunda, incorrupta quodammodo virga Itaque sermo potius quam oratio dicitur. Quanquam enim omnis locutio oratio est; tamen unius orationis loc●…tio hoc proprio signata nomine est.   

To Mounsieur Granier. LETTER. XIII.  
SIR, my persecution should be sweet unto me, if in suffering it, I might have the happiness to see you; but your absence makes it insupportable: and it were as good for me to go and be killed in the place where you are, as to come hither and die with languishing Being here against my mind, I find nothing that pleaseth me: and the objects which I beheld before, as the riches of Nature, I cannot now look upon but with horror, and count them but as the moveables of a Prison. I sigh continually after your Cabinet, which hath so often served for a haven to my tossed spirit: and from whence I have so often fetched Arms and courage to defend me against Fortune. I am not out of hope to see it once again, and to sit me down in that green chair, where you know I have used to be inspired, and foretell things to come, as Sibil did from her Tryvet. In the mean time I must let the unhappy co●…stellation pass away; and must give place to the choler of heaven. So long Sir, as you vouchsafe to remember me, and to hold me in the favour of Messieurs du Puy; I shall not want a good portion of consolation. These are persons that without wearing purple, or bearing office, are yet illustrious and in Authority, at least in the reasonable world, and amongst men, that can rightly judge of things. No employment is so honourable as their Leisure: no ambition so worthily at work, as their virtue takes it rest. You shall do me a singular favour, to let them know from me, in how greet 〈◊〉 I hold them both: and that 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 the Gallery of Mouns●… 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 better persuaded than I am of their inco●…: merit, I will sometimes expect to hear from you; and will always be with all my heart,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 3. Septem. 1632.   

To Mounsieur de Brye. LETTER XIV.  
SIR, My dear Cousin, I have received three of your Letters, within these 〈◊〉 months: the other you speak of, are not yet come to my hands, of which loss. I am very sensible: for being deprived of your conversation I cannot but exceedingly esteem of that which 〈◊〉 it to me. I here oftentimes told you, that you are naturally eloquent; but yet I must confess you have gotten new graces, by being in Cicero's country, and the Air of Rome seems to have purged your spirit, of all vulgar conceits. Monsieur de— is in this of my opinion: and you have written to us such excellent things, that they were able to comfort us for your absence, if we loved you but a little; but in truth, no Copy can be so good, as the Original; and if you come not back very shortly, I could find in 〈◊〉 heart, to go as far as Navona, to have your company. Your last Letter renews in me my old loves, and makes me with so much pleasure, remember the sweetest part of the earth, that I even die with longing, till I see it again. It is a long time that Italy hath had my heart, and that I sigh after that happy cowardice, with which the valiant reproach the wise. If I could have lived, as I would myself, I had been a citizen of Rome ever since the year 1620. and should now enjoy that happiness in possession, which you but only make me see in Picture, but my ill fortune would not suffer me: she keeps me in France, to be a continual object of persecution: and though it be now four years since I left the world, and lost the use of my tongue; yet hatred and envy follow me in to the woods to trouble my silence; and pursue me even in Dens and Caves. I must therefore be 〈◊〉 to go beyond the Alps to seek a s●…ctuary, where I shall be sure to find, at least my old comforter, who will be pleased to 〈◊〉, that I am more than any other in the world,  
Sir, Your, most humble etc. At Balzac 10. May. 1635.   

To Mounsieur de Silhon. LETTER XVI.  
SIR, I have word sent me from Paris, that you make complaints against me: but being well assured, you have no just cause, I imagine, it is not done in earnest, but that you take pleasure to give me a false Alarm. Yet I must confess, this cooling word, I hear spoken, puts me to no little pain: for though it make me not doubt of the firmness of your affection, yet it makes me challenge the malice of my Fortune. I have beeve for some time so unfortunate in friendship; that it seems there needs nothing but pretences to rid me of them; the sweetest natures grow sour and bitter against me; and if this sit hold, I shall have much ado to keep my own brother of my side. I would like as well, to be a keeper of the Lions, as of such harsh friends; for though I were more faithful than Pylades and Acates put together; yet they would find matter of discontentment; and my fidelity should be called dissimulation. I cannot believe that you are of this number; but if you be, it is time for me to go hide myself in the deserts of Thebai●…, and never seek conversation with men any more. It is my grief and indignation that write these last words; for my patience is moved with the consideration of the wrong is done me: and if you should deal as hardly with me as others have done: It were fit, I should resolve to live no longer in a world, where goodness and innocence are so cruelly persecuted. These six months, I have received from you, but only one Letter; to which, I made no answer, because it was delivered me, but in April: at which time, you sent me word you should be in France. Since therefore by your own account, you were gone from thence, before the time I could write unto you; would you, I should have written into Italy, to Mounsieu●… de Silhon; that was not there? And that I should have directed my Letters to a name, without either hands or 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 receive and read them? You are too wise to deal so unreasonably with me; and I should call your former justice in question, if you take it ill, that I did not guess, or rather 〈◊〉 of the stay of your voyage: & yet af●… a 〈◊〉 examination of my conscience, I can 〈◊〉 no other ground for your complaints, 〈◊〉 only this: 〈◊〉 I am ashamed to charge so 〈◊〉 a spirit as yours with 〈◊〉 weak a conceit●… I must have had a ●…will at command to send of my 〈◊〉, and to deliver you my Letters, being so uncertain 〈◊〉, of the pla●… of your 〈◊〉, and in truth, if I had had such a messenger, I had soo●… thanked you, than I do, for your excellent 〈◊〉: and should not all thi●… while, have kept within the secret of my heart, the just 〈◊〉 it des●…rves. It hath taugh●… me Sir, an 〈◊〉 number of good Maxims; the style pleaseth me exceedingly, and I see in it both force and beauty, through all the passages, even that passage which did not so fully please me, yet hath as fully satisfied me, as the rest of the work: and though of myself I be blind in the knowledge of holy things, yet the lustre of your expressing, and the facility of your method illuminate my ●…ight. When my health shall give me leave to go from hence, I will then for your gold bring you copper, and will receive your corrections and advise, with as much reverence and submission, as any Novice: but in the mean time, I cannot choose but put my hand to my wound, and require you to give a reason of your doing. I know not from whence should come this coldness in you; seeing for myself, I am all on fire: nor how, you, with your great wisdom should be altered and grown another than, seeing I continue still the same, with nothing but my common sense. Great spirits are above these petty suspicions which move the vulgar: and I wonder you could conceive ill of my affection, knowing how well you had preserved your own. If it be the jealousse of eloquence that provokes you; I am willing with all my heart, to leave you all the pretensions I can have to it; and if you please, I will make you a Surrender before witness. Consider me therefore, rather as your ●…ower, who is willing to 〈◊〉 your troop, then as your rival to strive 〈◊〉 prece●…ence. Give me leave to live: a man that cannot be lost, what neligence be used in keeping me; and remember that the least respected of all my friends is much dearer to me, than all Sciences or all Books. Yet such is my unhappiness, that few of them return me the like, but seem rather they would make a benefit, of my pains and sorrows. Because they see I am persecuted, they will make every the least courtesy they do me to be of great value, and set an excessive price upon their friendship, because they know I stand in need of it. But I desire them, and you also to take notice, that my friendship was never grounded upon any interest; but my love is ever without any mercenary design, or hope of benefit. If they be not willing to embroile themselves in my affairs, I would have them know, I am as unwilling as they, they should: and if they be not strong enough, to defend the truth in public; and when it is opposed; at least let them not disavow it, when they are in place of safety; let them not deny their friend when the storm is over, and that there is no longer any danger in confessing him. You saw my heart, the first time you saw my face; you were at that time my Confessor; and I have not a sin that is hidden from you. I conceive you are too generous to make advantage of this excess of freeness you find in me; and I do not think you so subtle, that you would make a show of discontent, for fear lest I should begin first. These are subtleties indeed of the country from whence you come: but in my opinion very remote from your natural disposition: and you need not make complaints of me, to prevent the complaints I might else make of you. It is certain, that if I had not equity enough to excuse my friends for things they were not able to perform; I might then perhaps have colour to complain they performed not their promise: but I am one, that know there happen a thousand impediments which hinder a man from keeping his word, and that every thing that is promised and not done, is not presently a violating of fa●…th, or a breaking of promise. Some have laboured to persuade me, that—: but I never believed any such thing, and I could never imagine that you would go about to build your reputation upon the ruins of the reputation of your friend. If any shall make use of such like artifices, to do ill offices between you and me: I earnestly entreat you to make use of the like remedies, to preserve your opinions sound, and not to suffer your judgement to be corrupted. I take God to witness, there is nothing in the world more dear unto me than your friendship; I make public and open profession of honouring you: I highly esteem a number of eminent qualities in you, both Moral and Intellectual; I have oftentimes shed tears, when I read in your Letters of your griefs; all this, me thinks should deserve a little affection, and make the Fathers themselves that are my adversaries, not take it ill that you should love me; especially when they shall know, that I passionately am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Paris 8. Feb. 1631.   

To Mounsieur de saint Marte. LETTER XVII.  
SIR, I am paid for my pains before hand, and look for no greater recompense than you have already made me. My ambition should be very excessive, if it were not fully satisfied with your excellent Verses: and if I did not think myself happy to be honoured by a hand, which crownes none but Sovereign heads, and travels not, but about triumphal Arcks, and public Monuments. I have long since known, that all excellent things grow in your Garden; and that the Latin eloquence, which is but borrowed by others; and a stranger every where else; aught with you to be accounted as your patrimony: but I knew not till now, that this rare quality, is accompanied with so perfect a courtesy; and that a man so worthy of his name, and that adds new glory to that of the great Scavola, could admire any other men's wonders, besides his own. I will do all that possibly I can, to deserve this your favourable judgement, and not to make you sorry for being deceived to my advantage: but howsoever, if I be not able to preserve your good opinion by my merit; I hope at least to merit your favour by my affection, and to make you see that I truly am,  
Your, etc. At Balzac. 2. Sept. 1630.   

To Mounsieur D'Argenton Counsellor of the King, and Master of Requests in Ordinary. LETTER XVIII.  
SIR, having taken the pains that I have done, I cannot altogether disvalue my work; yet I am not a little glad to be confirmed in my opinion by a man of your worth: and that my labour is not unpleasing to the soundest judgements. The second censure you make of it, assures me of the integrity of the first; seeing I should be too presumptuous to believe, you could be deceived twice together. But let us stay there, I beseech you; and think not, I will ever entertain the vanity you put upon me. I neither pretend to instruct the world, nor take upon me to teach you, in any thing: it is enough for me, that I can find wisemen some recreation; & can lay things beforeyour eyes, which you know already better than myself. I may perhaps be some help to your memory, and refresh your old Ideas; but to add any thing to your knowledge, and impart to you any new Doctrine, this requires qualities that are not to be found in me. I rather hope to be much bettered in knowledge by you; and make account, to account you hereafter, for one of my Oracles. Prepare your self therefore to be persecuted with Questions, and look to receive importunities from me in ordinary. Thus I use my friends when they are abler men than myself; and this advantage which is not great, is accompanied with this inconvenience, which is not small. You shall begin to find it, at our next meeting: but in the mean time, I entreat you to believe, that what bad design soever I have against you, yet I remain perfectly to be,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 17. Sept. 1631.   

To the most Reverend Father, Leon, Preacher of the Carmelites. LETTER XIX.  
SIR, you do me too much good at once: your friendship is of great worth being alone; and you send it to me accompanied. It brings with it an infinite number of excellent things, and resembles that happy River which leaves plenty in all places where it passeth. The Present I have received, comes from such a fruitful Vine: it is not a vain show of magnificence, which gives only a light satisfaction to the eyes; but I find it essential and solid; and any spirit that is capable of speculation, may well find nourishment enough in the juice only of your Preface. I will not take upon me any more, though you solicit me to do it; and instead of giving my advice, would have me, I should pronounce a Decree. Take heed my good Father, what you say; and consider what a goodly thing it would be to raise my Village into a Parliament, and make appeals, from Paris to Balzac. Though you had humility enough to submit to an unlawful Magistrate: yet I have not presumption enough to intrude upon an unlawful charge: Remember yourself besides, that your Book is dated from Mount Carmell, which is to say, out of our jurisdiction, and that Decrees are of no force, where time out of mind, there have been Oracles. You know what Suetonius saith of it, in the life of Uespatian, he makes no bones to make a God of a Mountain. I like not the boldness of such Metamorphoses: yet I am not ignorant, how far the force of pletie may reach; and knowing it hath right to remove Mountains, I doubt not but Carmell at this day may be in France; and that upon a place so holy and so high, there may descend more grace and light from heaven, than there ascends ignorance and vapours from the earth. Accept from me this true confession I make unto you, and dispense with me for that sovereign judgement you require of me: Though I am not willing to be your Precedent, yet I am not the less,  
My most Reverend Father; Your, etc. At Balzac 25. April 1635.   

To Mounsieur Chaplain. LETTER XX.  
SIR, I have now these three weekens taken mine ease, in spite of myself; and one of my feet, which I have not very free, keeps me in my bed, with more inconvenience than pain. Heretofore it hath put me to torture; and therefore I count it now a favour, that it only keeps me in prison, which I sweeten as well as I can, with my. Books and my friends. You think you contribute nothing to the comfort I receive; but I assure you, the best part of it comes from you: and nothing comforts me so much for the fair days I lose, as that excellent Ode you sent me: I am even ravished with every part of it; the choice and marshalling of the words; the structure and harmony of the composition; the modest greatness of the conceits; the force which savoursnot of any violence; all these are worthy to be ranked with the best Antiquity. In some places you do not only touch me, but touch me to the quick: the agitation of the Poet, is transferred upon the reader; and no Trumpe●… makes so loud, and silver a sound, as your Harp doth:  

Quand la Revolte dans son fort  
Par une affreuse & longue more  
〈◊〉 cherement l'usure de ses crimes:  
Et que ses bo●…lev ars en fin assuje●…  
Country les appareils des arms legitimes  
Implorerent en vain le secours de Theti●….   

Ils décrivent l'horrible pas,  
O●… par cent visibiles tr●…pas  
On crût de nostre Camp retard●… lafoy valla●…:  
Et figurent encore au milieu de nos rangs  
Themis qui te préta sonfer & sa ballo●…,  
Affin de decider ces fameux differens.   

Ils chantent l'effroyable foudre  
Qui d'vn mo●…ement si so●…dain,  
Partit de ta puissant main,  
Pour mettre Pegnerol en powder.  
Ils disent que tes bataillons  
Comme autant depais tourbillons  
Ebranlerent ce Roc jusques dans ses racines,  
Que mesme le vaincu t'eut pour liberateur,  
Et que tu luy bâtis sur ses propres ruins,  
Vn rampart éternel country l'vsurpateur.   
Either I know not myself in Verse; or certainly these Verses will live to the 〈◊〉 posterity: they will be alleged for proof and testimony in the counsels of the last Kings that shall reign upon earth; and perhaps too, they shall serve for a Law, and for a Decree, as well as Homer's Verses did; by the authority whereof a great war that was kindling between the signory of Megara and Athens was reconciled. I know for myself, I shall never stay till your death, for putting you in the number of my Authors: and as often as in my presence, there shall be speaking of the siege of Rochel; of the forcing of Suza; of the taking and keeping of pignerol; so often shall I allege the divine Verses you have written of them: and these also, which I lay not less carefully up in my memory,  

Ils disent que les Immortels  
De leur culte & de leurs Autels  
Ne doiuent qu'à tes soins la pomp renaissante,  
Et que ta préuoyance & ton Authorité  
Sont les deux for'rs Appuis dont l'Europe tremblante  
Soûtient & raffermit sa foible liberté.   

Dans un paisible mowement  
Tu t'éleues au Firmament,  
Et laisses country toy murmurer sur la terre.  
Ainsi le haut Olympe à son pied sablonneux  
Laisse fumer la foudre, & gronder le Tonnerre,  
Et garde son sommet tranquille & lumineux.   
And these other, which to him, to whom you address them are as much worth as a triumpha●… Ar●…h:  

Tun courage aux monsters fatal,  
Est tousiours plus fort que le mal.  
Sur le solide honneur sa base est estabile:  
Le droit & laraison l'accompaguent tousiours,  
Et sans que sa vigueur soit jamais affoiblie,  
Qu'ou cede ou qu'ou resist, il va d'un mesme course.   
And these other that are so sage and moral.  

L'or pour luy cesse d'estre un metal pretieux,  
La beauté perissable est un bien qu'il mospuso:  
Pour l'un il est sans mains, & pour l autre sans yeux.   
And these other that are so noble and so Poetical;  

Cepandant que la Lune accomptissant son course  
Dessus un char d'argent enuironné d'estoiles  
Dans le sombre univers represente le course.   
And now after all this; tell me, if I have not profited by my reading, & have not made good use of your presents. I should quickly grow rich, if you would send me such presents often; but this is too inordinate a desire, I must be content with one crop in a year; and I may very well entertain myself a long time, with that you have already sent me, for which I thank you with all my heart, and am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 12. july 1633.   

To Mounsieur Bonnaud, Counsellor in Ordinary to my Lord the Prince. LETTER XXI.  
SIR, I acknowledge nothing in your Verses due to me but only my name, all the rest belongs to some body else; and is unfitter for me, than a Crown for a private man. I cannot therefore value myself the more, for having a thing I cannot use; nor is it fit I should put on Ornaments, which being as unfit for me, as in themselves they are rich, would disguise me rather, than adorn me. A courtier would complain that you mock him; Et que vous en faites une piece, A Doctor would say, you undertake a Paradox, and try the strength of your wit, upon the novelty of an irregular subject. I think, I must myself be of this opinion; and charge you Sir, with abusing Poetry; and for choosing an incredible thing to make it believed. Nevertheless, seeing the Philosopher Favorinus took upon him to praise a fever: and the Romans adored it: I wonder not at your design; for I perceive, there is nothing so bad of which may not be spoken some good; and whereof, Quelques vus n'ayent Chaumé le feast. After this extravagant Encomium, and this ridiculous Temple; you might do well to take my miseries too, and consecrate them in your stances, and take me too, and make me a thing adoreable and divine: for they are but the sports of your wit; which delight, though they do not persuade and amuse with pleasure, because they are witty; but do not deceive me because I know their craft. For the assurance you give me by your Letter of your friendship: I am infinitely beholding to you, and make account to reap no small benefit by it, for having a soul as you have, full of virtue, you make me a Present that is invaluable, to bring me in to so worthy a possession: and whilst you offer me ●…eenesse and fi●…elity, you offer me the two greatest rarities this age affords. I believe you speak more seriously in Prose than you do in Verse; and that you are content to be a Poet, but have no meaning to be a Sophister. I likewise entreare you to believe, that the least word I speak, is accompanied with a Religion, which I never violate; and that there is nothing more true, than the promise I here seal you, most perfectly to be,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 6. Octob. 1635.   

To Mounsieur Souchote. LETTER XXII.  
SIR, by your reckoning you have written to me thrice for nothing, when indeed I knew not of your first Letters, but by your last: if I had received them, you may be sure I should have answered them; for though I be not very regular in observing compliments, yet I am not so negligent of necessary duties, that I should commit so many faults together. How profound soever my slumber be; yet I awake presently, as soon as I am once stirred; and specially when it is by so dear a name, and by so pleasing a voice as yours is. Never therefore require me to give it in charge to some other, to let you hear from me; such a request would be an offence to our friendship, an action fitter for a Tyrant than a Citizen: it were to take me for the great Mogul, who speaks to none but by an Interpreter. I like not this savage stateliness; it is far from me to use so little civility towards men of your worth: when it is I, that am beholding to you; I pray let it not be my groom that shall thank you for it. I will take the pains myself to assure you I am wholly yours; and whereas, I did not bid you farewell at my going from Pari●…; you must not take it for an argument of slighting your person; but for an effect of the liberty I presume of, and of the renouncing I have vowed to all vain ceremonies. They that are my friends give me this leave; and you are too well acquainted with the solidity of things, to ground your judgement upon appearances; neither do I think you will require them of me, who am as bad a courtier, as I truly am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 20. july 1630.   

To Mounsieur Tissandier. LETTER XXIII.  
SIR, you shall receive by this bearer the rest of the works of—: or to speak more properly, the continuation of his Follies. They are now as public; as those Duke grand prevost diuin, que vous avez visite autres fois dans les fame uses petites maisons. He useth me still with the same pride and insolency he was wont: and you would think that he were at the top of the empyrial heaven, and I at the bottom of hell; so far he takes himself to be above me: but I doubt not, ere long, his pride shall be abated, and his insolency mortified. He shall shortly be made to see, that he is not so great a man as he thinks himself; and if he have in him but one spark of natural justice; he shall confess he hath triumphed without cause, and must be fain to give up all the glory he hath gotten unlawfully:  
Turno tempus erit magno cum optaverit 〈◊〉  
Intactum Pallanta:  
Mounsieur de—, is still your perfect friend, and he never writes to me, but he speaks of you. He is at this present at Venice, where he meditates quietly the agitation of all the world beside; and where he enjoys the honest pleasures which Italy affords to speculative Philosophers. But Sir, what mean you by speaking of your tears; and of the request you make unto me? Do you not mock me, when you pray me to comfort you for the death of your Grandfather; who had lived to see so many Families, so many Sects, so many Nations, both to be borne and die: a man as old as Here●… itself: the League was younger than he; which when the Cardinal of Lorraine first conceived; he caused a Book to be printed, wherein he advertized France of the conception of this Monster. You weep therefore for the losses of another age; it is Anchyses or Laertes you weep for; at least it is for a man who did but suffer life, and was in a continual combat with death. He should long ago have been one of the Church Triumphant, and therefore you ought to have been prepared for either the loss, or the gain that you have made? Mounsieur 〈◊〉 was not of your humour; I send you one of his Letters, where you shall see, he was as much troubled to comfort himself for the life of two Grandmothers that would not die, as he was for the death of a brother that died too soon. I commend your good nature; but I like not your Lamentations; which should indeed, do him you sorrow for, great wrong, if they should raise him again to be in the state in which you lost him. It may suffice to tell you, that he is much happier than I; for he sleeps, and I wake; and he hath no more commerce with men unreasonable and inhuman, and that are but Wolves to one another. You know I have cause enough to speak thus; but out of this number, I except certain choice persons; and particularly yourself, whom I know to be virtuous; and whose I am,  
Sir, Most humble, etc. At Paris, 3. Decem, 1628.   

The Letter of Peter Bembo, to Hercules Strotius.  
AVias ambas meas, effoetas deplorat as que faeminas, & jam prope centum annorun mulieres, mihifata reliquerunt; unicum fratrem meum, juvenem ac florentem abstulerunt, spem & solatiamea. Quamobrem, quo in ●…rore sim, facilè potes existimare. Heu me miserum: Vale;  
Id. jan. 1504 Venetijs.   

Another to him. LETTER XXIV.  
SIR, if it had not been for the indisposition of my body; I had not stayed so many days from thanking you for your many courtesies; but for these two months I have not stirred from my bed; so cruelly handled with the Sciatica, that it hath taken from me all the functions of my spirit, and made me utterly uncapable of any cenversation: otherwise you may be sure I should not voluntarily have deprived myself of the greatest contentment I can have, when I have not your company: and that I should not have received three Letters from you, without making you three Answers. Now that I have gotten some quiet moments from the violence of my torture; and that my pain is turned into lameness: I cannot choose but take you in hand, and tell you, in the first place, that you are an ungrateful man, to leave our Muses, and follow some of their sisters, that are neither so fair, nor so worthy of your affection. I entreat you to believe, it is a temptation your evil Angel hath cast upon you; and that you ought to reject it, as the counsel of an enemy. Things are not now to begin; it is no time now to deliberate; you are gone too far in the good way to look back, and to be unwilling to finish that little which remains. To leave eloquence for the Mathematics; is to refuse a Mistress of eighteen year old, and to fall in love with an old woman. God keep you from this unhappiness, and inspire you with better thoughts, than those that have carried you to this desire of change. It would be a disloyalty, I should never pardon you; but should blame you for it as long as I live. For making that reckoning of you as I do; and expecting great matters from you: it were an infinite wrong you should do, to make me lose the most pleasing of all my hopes. I therefore by all means entreat you to persevere in your first design, and to resolve upon a voyage of 3. months, to come and be reconciled to her whom you have offended, and to make her a public satisfaction by the edition of your writings, by which it will plainly enough be seen, the great favours she hath done you. And for my part, I promise you a chamber, where you shall have the prospect of a garden twelve miles long; and so you shall be at once, both in the city, and in the country. Besides, I bind myself to set before your Book an Advertisement to the Reader, to the end that no man may be ignorant of the part I bear, in that which concerns you. Consider whether you like of these conditions, and whether you have courage enough to come and lodge Au Pre aux Clerks: where I will wait for you, without any design of knowing, either what you mean, or what you mean to do. You shall be sure Sir, to have there admirable visions, and shall meditate nothing but with success. And in truth, seeing the least motion of your spirit, puts me into ecstasy; what will it be, when you shall employ your whole forces? And if your conceits be so just, and so well governed, in the midst of confusion, and unseasonable disturbances: what a man will you be, when you shall be at leisure, and have the liberty which now you want? Take my word for it, you need not fear the censure of the world; I'll undertake, you shall have the approbation of all honest people's provided, that you make a truce with your Mathematics, and never intricate your brains with that melancholic and doting Science, which cost Archimedes his life; at least, before you cast yourself upon such high and sublime speculations, it is fit you should get you credit by exercises that are more sweet and popular. And now Sir, this is all you are like to have at this time, from my Sciatica, that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 23. March 1628.   

Another to him. LETTER XXV.  
SIR, I do but now receive your Letter of the twelfth of this Month, which confirms me in the opinion I have always had; that my interests are as dear unto you as your own. To compliment with you for this, would be to thank you for being good, as much as to say for being yourself; It is much better to return you friendship for friendship, then to pay you with unprofitable words. In a word Sir, I make profession to be an honest man, and therefore all the thankfulness that can be desired from a person obliged you may expect from me. As concerning—— I assure you I wish him no ill, because I conceive he hath done me none; it is sufficient for me that my friends have no good opinion of his opinions; and that his own friends begin to take notice of his false dealing. In all this there is nothing either new or strange; I am not the first innocent that have been persecuted in the world, and if I could not bear detraction and slander, I should be more dainty than Princes, and their principal officers are, who forbear not to do well, though for their well doing they be evil spoken of; the best and soundest part is of my side, I want no protector either Males or Females, and if I would make use of all my advantages, I could oppose Doctor to Doctor, and Gown to Gown;  
Fratribus & fratres, & claustra minantia Claustris.  
But it is fit sometimes to make spare of ones forces, and to restrain resentment within less bounds than justice allows. The Prince you desire to hear of, is yet in the Idea of the king his father, far from coming as yet to Paris or Thoulouze; for myself I am always blocked up by my ' Sciatica, and I think all the storms of the middle region of the air fall down upon my unhappy legs; but it is you that will bring me health and fair weather, and your presence will work that miracle which I expect from Mounsieur de L'orme; come therefore I entreat you speedily, and suffer not a man to die for want of succour, who passionately is,  
Sir Your, etc. At Paris 30. March, 1628.   

To my Lord, the Duke of Valette. LETTER XXVI.  
SIR, it grieves me much that the first Letter you see of mine, should not be pure and free from all my interests, & that in stead of entertaining you with matters of weight & proportionable to your spirit, I should bring it down to the petty affairs of a private man; yet I cannot believe that you being all gracious and all generous as you are, will think any occasion of doing good unworthy of you, but that your virtue in this doth imitate the supreme, which is never so busy in governing of heaven & the other nobler parts of the world, but that he takes care as well for governing the meanest of all his creatures. I humbly beseech your Lordship to consider me in this last quality; and if it be no incivility to make such a request, that you will undertake the business I present unto you, but as a disburthening you of some more weighty; if it be not that my unfortunateness makes the easiest that are become impossible, I see no reason you need to employ your whole forces about this matter; there needs no more but only the motion of your will, and a light impression of your credit, with—— to give it all the solidity and lustre I desire. I should not seem to understand the terms of the last Letter he did me the honour to write unto me; if I had not yet some little hope left, and a kind of satisfaction in my own conscience. Yet I allege to him no merit of my part, but much generousness of his, nor speak of any services of mine to recompense him, but of his goodness that prevents them, and subjects not itself to the rigours of ordinary justice; This my Lord is all the right I allege for myself, and all the title upon which I ground my pretensions; but now I leave following it myself, and put it wholly into your hands; a place perhaps to which my ill fortune herself will bear a respect; but if she shall be opposite to your desire, and prevail above your favour, yet at least I shall thereby know the force of destiny to which all other forces give place, and which cannot be mastered by any force, nor corrected by any industry; but yet it shall not hinder me from resting well satisfied, seeing I shall in this receive much more from you then I am denied by him, if I hold any part in your grace and favour, which is already my comfort against whatsoever ill success can happen. It sufficeth me to be happy with this kind of happiness, which is more dear to me than all the happiness the Court can give me, being a man no more ambitious than I am,  
My Lord, Your, etc. At Balzac 25. Decemb. 1634.   

To my Lord, the Bishop of Poitiers. LETTER XXVII.  
MY Lord, although Mounsieur de— hath promised me to give you assurance of the continuation of my service, yet I cannot forbear to add these few lines to his testimony, and to tell you that which I tell to all the world that your virtue is a transcendent far above the abilities and carriage of our age. It is a match for antiquity in its greatest pureness and severity. When the Camilli and the Scipios were not in employment, they reposed themselves and took their ease as you do; and when I consider sometimes the sweeten life you lead at Dissay, I conclude that all the employments of the Palace, and all the intricacies of the Court are not worth one moment of a wise man's idleness. It is well known that from your childhood you have despised vanity even in her kingdom, and that in an air where she had attractives able to draw the oldest and most reluctant spirits. All the pomp of Rome hath not so much as given you one temptation; and you are so confirmed in a generous contempt, that if good Fortune herself should come to look you out, you would scarce go out of your Closet to meet her in your Chamber. This is that I make such reckoning of in your Lordship, and which I prefer before all your other qualities; for those how great soever they be, are yet but such as are common with many base and mercenary Doctors, where as this force and courage are things that cannot be acquired in the noise and dust of Schools. You found not these excellent qualities in the Vatican Library, nor yet got them by reading of old Manuscripts; you owe them indeed to Mounsieur your deceased father, that true Knight without spot or wrinkle; equally skilful in the art of war, and in affairs of peace, and that was the Heros of Muret, of Scaliger, and of Saint Mart. I propose not a less object for my worship than they did, neither indeed is it less, or less religious than theirs was; and though you did not love me as you do, and though you should denounce war against me, and become head of a faction to seek my ruin, yet I should not for all that forbear to revere so rare a virtue as yours is, but should still remain,  
My Lord, Your, etc. At Balzac 4. May, 1630.   

To Mounsieur Guyet. LETTER XXVIII.  
SIR, I fear not much to lose a thing I esteem but little, but holding your friendship in that account I do, if I should not have it, I should never see day of comfort more; you must not therefore think it strange that I was moved with the Alarm that was given me, for though I know myself to be innocent, yet my unfortunateness is such that I conceive any bad news to be no more than my due. Now that Mounsieur de—— hath quieted the agitation of my mind, and hath assured me of your love, I cannot forbear to signify unto you the joy I take, telling you wit tall that so I may preserve a friend of your merit and worth, I do not greatly care for losing him that will leave me. There is little to be seen amongst men but malice & weakness, and even of good men the greatest part is scarce sound; there is a cause why a firm and constant spirit as yours is, is of wonderful use in society, ' and it is no small benefit to them that are wearied & overtoyled as I am, to have a person to rest upon, that cannot fall. There is need of courage to maintain a friendship, and indeed of prudence to perform the meanest duty of life; 'tis nothing worth to have a sound will, if the understanding be defective, our— does a great matter, to make vows and sacrifices: Nil veta furentem, Nil delubrajuvant, he complains without cause upon his tax and other inferior matters, this is to accuse innocents: the evil no doubt comes from a higher place, and it is the brain that is cause of all the disorder. The knowledge I have hereof makes me have compassion of him, and excuse in a Doctor of three score years old, those base shifting tricks that are not pardonable in a Scholar of eighteen. Any man but myself would call his action a cowardice and a treason; but I love to sweeten my grief as much as I can. I cannot become an enemy at an instant, and pass from one extremity to another, without making a little stay by the way. I honour still the memory of our former friendship, & cannot wish ill to a man to whom I have once wished well; but this is too much, I to complain and you to quarrel; do me this favour I bese●… you to make choice of something in your study for a consolation of my solitude. I have already the 〈◊〉 of Mounsieur the Admiral de la Volet, but I would fain have the Epitaph of my Lady the Duchess of Esper●…, and those admirable Elegies you showed me once; In quibus 〈◊〉 es Tibullo ●…milis quam Tubullus sibi; I entreat you to deliver them to Mounsieur— who will see them safely delivered to me; if you please we will use him hereafter as our common correspondent, who knowing me to the very bottom of my heart, will, I doubt not most willingly add his testimony to my protestations, that I truly am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 25. Septem. 1630.   

To Mounsieur de L'orme, Physician in ordinary to the King, and Treasurer of France at Bordeaux. LETTER XXIX.  
SIR, it is not now only that I make a benefit of your friendship, I have had profit by it a long time, and you have often been my advocate with so great force, and so good success, that they who had before condemned me, were glad to revoke their sentence as soon as they heard you speak yet all this while you did but only speak well of me, now you begin to do well for me; it is you whom this year I may thank for my pension. Without you Sir my warrant would never have persuaded my partner, it would presently have been rejected, and he still have continued einexorable. But it must be confessed there is no wild beast but you can tame, no matter so bad but you can make good; as you heal maladies that are incurable, so you prevail in causes that are desperate, and if you find never so little life and common sense in a man, you are able to restore him to perfect health, & make him become a reasonable man. I desire not to have the matter in any better terms than you have set it, I am glad I shall not need to invocate M. the Cardinal for my dispatch, and that Mounsieur— hath promised not to fail to pay me in September. If he should pay it sooner, I should be fain to desire you this favour, to keep it for me till that time. Now I only entreat you, to draw from him a valuable assurance of it, and for so many favour's and courtesies done me, I shall present you with something not altogether so bad as those I have already showed you; and seeing one cannot be called valiant for having the better of a coward, neither can I be accused of vanity, for saying I have exceeded myself. I am therefore bold to let my Letter tell you thus much, that if my false Pearls, and my counterfeit Diamonds have heretofore deceived you, I do not think that the show I shall make you of my new wares will use you any better. Yet my meaning is not to preoccupate your judgement, who neither of my self not of my writings will have any other opinion then what you shall please to allow me. Since the time I have wanted the honour of seeing you; I have made a great progress in the virtue of humility, for I am now proud of nothing but of my friends affections; Let me therefore never want yours, I entreat you, as you may believe, I will all my life, most passionately be,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac, 8. Decem. 1629.   

To my Lord—— LETTER XXX.  
MY Lord, I hope you will not take it ill, that I put you in mind of a man, to whom you have heretofore made demonstration of your love; and that after a long intermission of these petty duties which are then troublesome when they are frequent, you will give me leave to tell you, that I have indeed omitted them, but more by discretion than by negligence. I know Sir, you have no time to lose; and to put you to the reading of unprofitable words, what were it; but to show an ignorance, how much the King employs you, and how much the State needs you? It is therefore the respect I bear to your continual employments, that hath caused my ●…lence; and I should be very absurd, if in the assiduity of your cares, I should present you with little pleasing amusements; and should look for an answer to some poor compliment, when you have so many commandments of importance: and so many orders of necessity to deliver forth. It is enough for me that you do me the honour to cast your eyes upon the protestation I make you; that in all the extent of your command, there is not a soul more submiss, nor more desirous to bear your yoke, than mine is; and that as much, as any in the world, I am,  
My Lord, Your, etc. At Balzac. 10. Aug. 1630.   

To Mounsieur Senne, Theologall of the Church of Saints. LETTER XXXI.  
SIR, you need not wonder to see your name in the Book I fond you: Lovers you know, leave marks of their passion; and if they were able, would fill the whole earth with their Ciphers and devises. It is a custom as ancient as the world, for with that began writing also 〈◊〉 and at first, for want of paper, men graved the names of those they loved, upon the ba●… of tree●…. If any man wonder, I should be in love with a Preacher; why wonders he not at that Roman, of whom a Grecian said, that he was not only in love with Cato, but was enchanted with him? You have done as much to other●… in this country; and I have as many Rivals as you have auditors. Yet there is not the same Object of all our affections: they run after your words, and hang at your mouth: but I go further, and discover in your heart, that which is better than your eloquence. I could easily resist your Figures and your Arguments; but your goodness and your freeness take me captive presently: I therefore give you the title of a perfect friend in your Encomium: because I account this, a more worthy quality, than to be a perfect Orator: and because I make most reckoning of that virtue in a man, which humane society hath most need of. For other matters, Remember yourself, in what terms I speak of the business you write of; and that only to obey you. I have been contented to alter my opinion. I was well assured, the enterprise would never take effect; but I thought it better to fail by consenting than by obsti●…acie, and rather to take a repulse, than not to take your counsel. I have known along time that fortune means me no good, and the experience I have of her hath cured me of the malady of hope and ambition. Make me not fall into a relapse of these troublesome diseases, I beseech you; but come and confirm my health: you Sir that are a sovereign Physician of souls, and who are able to see in mine, that I perfectly am,  
Your, etc. At Balzac 10. Febr. 1635.   

To Mounsieur de Piles Clerimont. LETTER XXXII.  
SIR, having heard of the favourable words you used of me at the Court; I cannot any longer forbear to give you thanks; nor stay till our next meeting from telling you, how highly I esteem this favour, I cannot but confess, I did not look to find so great a graciousness in the country of maliciousness; and seeing, that the greatest part, eveu of honest men, have so much love for themselves, that they have but little or none left for strangers; I thought with myself, that the infection of the world had but lightly touched you; and that either you had no passions in you at all; or at least, but very cool and moderate: but I see n●…w, that you have more generousness in you than is fit to have, amongst men that are interessed; and that you put in practise the Maxims of our Ancestors, and the Rules of your Epictetus. It is I that am for this, exceedingly bound unto you; seeing it is I that receive the benefit of it, & that am the Object of your virtue You may then believe, I have not so unworthy a heart, as not to feel a resentment answerable to so great an Obligation; at least Sir, I hope to show you, that the Picture mine enemies have made of me, is not drawn after the life; and that their colours disfigure me rather than represent me. I have nothing in me Heroical and great, I confess: but I have something that is humane and indifferent. If I be not of the number of the virtuous; I am at least of their side. I applaud them whom I cannot follow, and admire that I cannot imitate. I am glad if I can be praised, not only of the judicious and wise, such as you, and our Mounsieur de Boissat are, but even of the simpler sort that are honestly minded, such as— I know Sir, how to love in perfection, and when you shall know me better, you shall confess there is none that can be more than I,  
Your, etc. At Paris 2. April 1635.   

To Mounsieur de Uoyture. LETTER XXXIII.  
SIR, If I did not rely upon your goodness, I should take more care than I do in preserving your favour: and I should not let a messenger go from hence, by whom I should not persecute you with my Letters. But knowing, you are no rigorous exactor of that which is your due; much less expect I should give you more; I have conceived, I might be negligent without offence; and that having an absolute power over me as you have; you would use it upon me, with the moderation of good Sovereigns. And I should still continue to follow mine own inclination, which finds a sweetness in idleness; if I did not think it necessary to advertise you that I am in the world; lest you should think all your courtesies lost, that you have done me. I would have been glad I could have loved you all my life long without any kind of interest, or temporal consideration; yet it troubles me not to give honour to my friend, by giving him matter for his virtue to work upon. I am content you shall hold the higher part in our friendship, which is to do good, but then I look to hold the lover and less noble part, which is to acknowledge; and this is so settled in my heart; that a greator cannot be desired from a man exceedingly sensibly, and exceedingly obliged. But though it were so, that you had no tie upon me; and that without ungratefulness, I might forbear to love you; yet I entreat you to believe, that the knowledge I have of your worth and merit; would never give me leave to do it; but that the natural respect we owe to things that are perfect, would always bind me infinitely to honour you, and to be with all my soul, as I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 15. july 1630.   

Another to him. LETTER XXXIV.  
SIR, you are welcome from Flanders, from England and from Spain. I am not only glad for your return; but I refresh myself after your voyages. For if you know it not, I must tell you, that my spirit hath gone these voyages with you; & you never passed the sea, that I was not near a shipwreck. They that knew what it is to love; will not mislike the novelty of this compliment, I have borne my part in all the fits of your fever: I have drunk part of all your potions; I have accompanied you in all your strange adventures. It is therefore great reason I should give you thanks, for giving my friendship rest, and that by fivishing your travel, you have finished my unquietness. It is better Sir to be a private man at home, where there is courtesy and freeness, than to be a Lord Ambassador among public enemies; and if the jews said well, that the Graves of Judea were more beautiful than the Palaces of Babylon; why may not we be bold to say, that the Dirt of Paris, is better than the Marble of Madrill? It is a juster thing to adore M. the Cardinal, than to put off ones hat to the Precedent Rose, or to the marquis of Aitona; and it would have been a news no less shameful than lamentable, if we had come to read in the Gazettes these pitiful words; A Son of France was waiting for the King of Spain's rising up;  

Atque ibi magnus  
Mirandusque Cheus sedet ad Praetoria regis  
Donec Hesperio lib●… Uigilare Tyr●…no.   
Thanks be to God, the face of things is changed, and a great Prince's liberty hath cost but the life of a good Horse. At our next meeting, you shall tell me all the fortunes you have passed; and in requital thereof, I will tell you news out of the Wilderness: and it shall be at Mounsieur de Ch●… Chamber, that our conference shall be; at least if you care any thing for it; and that I be in his favour still. How soever, this I am sure, he can never love any man that honours him more perfectly than I do, or that hath a greater opinion of the beauty and nobleness of his mind. He is always one of the dear objects of my thoughts; and I still take him for one of those true Knights, which are no where to be found now, but in the History of France. I want such an example before my eyes; tostirre up the faintness I feel in my duty; and to thrust me forward in the love of Virtue. The least of his words makes my spirit but higher and greater, the only sound of his voice gives the both life and strength; and I doubt not but I should be twice as good as I am; if I could but see him once a month, and make a third in your excellent conferences. But this is a happiness which is at home with you, but far off from me, though I have a design to come nearer to it; you enjoy it to the full, and leave to others only a desire of it and a jealousy, and jealous indeed I should be if I did not love you more than I love myself, and if being bound to you for a thousand favours I did not acknowledge myself more bound to take a contentment in your good fortune. Enjoy then your happiness, sir and never fear I will oppose it, seeing I shall always prefer your contentments before my own, and shall be all my life,  
Your, etc. At Balzac 5. Novemb. 1634.   

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

Non ven 〈◊〉 relecant, nec vulnere vulnera sanant,  
Pocula nec tristi gramine mist a bibunt.  
Amissum lymphis reparant impune vigorem  
Pacaturque aegro luxuriante dolour.   
I have since received your learned Letter, wherein you prescribe me the order I must hold in using this wholesome disorder, and teach me to drink with art; in truth you have more care of me then I am worthy of, my health is no matter of any such importance that it should be managed with such curiosity. It is not worth the pains you have taken in treating of it so learnedly, and writing these two leaves of paper you have sent me. The public which you will have to be interessed in it will acknowledge no such matter, it hath no use in these turbulent times of contemplative Doctors. The active life is that defends th●… frontiers, and repels the enemy, and the lea●… musket in the army of M. the Cardinal of Valerio let is at this time of more use than all th●… Peripatetiks and Stoics of this kingdom; we may therefore think that the public you talk off dreams not of me, nor is engaged to preserve my idleness, but it is you that love me, and would therefore make me of more worth than I am, thereby to have the more colour for your loving me. I am much bound ●…nto you for this favour, yet I doubt whilst you set me at so high a price, there is none will take me for such as you would vent me; but I regard it not, I bound my reputation by your account, and desire no other Theatre nor other world but you; It sufficeth me that in your spirit I enjoy the glory you give me, and sweetly possess my good fortune, which I know I merit not if you weigh it in the Skales of Scrupulous justice, but which you will yet preserve to me, if you have regard to the passion with which I testify unto you, that I am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Paris 3. Septem. 1635.   

To Mounsieur de Mesmes D'Avaur, Ambassador to the King at Venice. LETTER. XXXVI.  
SIR, if the persecut●…on continue, I shall be forced to give place to envy, and to go wait in the place where you are for a change to time, which in this kingdom is so adverse unto me. It is indeed my adversaries design to make all sorts of governments my enemies, and not to suffer me to breath at liberty, either in Monarchy, Aristocracy, or Democracie. You have seen his manifests printed, which have flown beyond the Alps; you know the cunning he useth to draw the public state upon me, and to make me ill thought of, as well by the King's Allies as by his Subjects. He goes about to banish me out of all states, to shut all places against me that are open even to fugitives, and not to leave my innocence one corner of the earth to be in safety; yet Sir let him do his worst, and practise what he can, I hope you will bear me out to say, that he shall never hinder me from having a place in your heart; nor be able to take from me this pleasing refuge. And besides that Ambassadors houses enjoy the privileges of the ancient Sanctuaries, and that there is neither justice nor violence but hath respect unto them; I assure myself your only affection will interest itself for my safety, without any other public consideration, and that you will defend me as a thing dear unto you; though the defence of a man afflicted were not otherwise in itself, a thing worthy the dignity of an Ambassador, and wheresoever you shall have power to speak, I shall be sure of a strong protection, being as I am assured of your good word, and this eloquent mouth, which persuades the wise, and makes that appear which is just, shall gain no doubt a good opinion of my cause to the undertaker, and a favourable censure of those judges at least that I acknowledge. I expect this issue from your almighty Rhetoric, and hope Sir that in these troublesome encounters you will double your love and your good offices unto me. Though I should be worse entreated of the world, and of fortune than I am, and should have nothing before my eyes, but lamentable successes, and deadly presages, yet you would remember how that Cato stood firm upon ruins, and held himself constant to a side which the gods themselves had abandoned. I do not think my case is yet in this extremity, it hath yet subsistence and foundation; and as it is not so bad but that an honest man may maintain it with a good conscience; so neither is it so weak but that a mean courage may undertake it without fear. The Gentleman that brings you this Letter hath promised to make you a more amplen relation hereof, and to inform you of my whole story. I humbly entreat you to give him audience, until I come and crave it myself; and that I assure you in your Palace amongst your other Courtiers, that I truly am●…  
Sir, Your, etc. At Paris 20. Decemb. 1627.   

To Mounsieur de Thure, Doctor of the Sorbone, and Cannon of the Church of Paris. LETTER XXXVII.  
SIR, my dear Cousin, the news you sent me surprised me not, I am so accustomed to receive disgraces, that I find in this nothing extraordinary; it is true I am a little more sensible of it then of the former, and the place from whence it comes makes me take it a little more to heart; yet seeing you seem to compassionate my misery, I find myself comforted of one half of it; and having you for my Champion, I fear not what my persecutors can do against me. Suffer me to call them so, that solicit your College against me; and make it less favourable to me, than I had good right to hope for. It is not their zeal of Religion, nor interest of the public that sets them on work; it is an old spite they bear me, which I could never master with all my long patience, it is the hate of a dead man which lives still in his Tomb; it is his relics that war upon me; and whereof some ill disposed French do serve themselves to disgrace a work which hath no other end but the honour and service of the King. I never doubted of your good nature, and I know if need were, your charity would cover the multitude of my faults; but in this ease I think I have reason rather to ask justice at your hands, and to tell you, that if you take the pains to consider my words as I meant them, and not as my enemies corrupt them, you will easily grant they contain nothing contrary to the orthodox doctrine, or that is not maintaineable in all the Schools of Christendom. This being so my dear Cousin, I doubt not but you will strongly defend my cause, at least my person, and will be pleased to assure my Masters of your fraternity; that having always accounted their College as the Oracle of true Doctrine, and as the interpreter of the Church in this kingdom; I could not wish a more sweet or glorious fruit of my travails then to see them entertained by so learned and holy personages, that my greatest ambition is but to merit their good acceptance, and to deserve their favourable censure, and if for obtaining of this I have not either happiness enough, or not enough sufficiency, I have at least Docible●…esse enough to learn of them that which I know not, and to confess that in their learned conferences they possess the secret and certainty of all holy points, whereof we in our private meditations have but suspicions and conjectures, that if I were assaulted by strangers I could perhaps make a shift to resist, and that with success, but that I prefer obedience which I owe before a victory which I might get; that I desire not to contest with my fathers, nor pretend to have reason against their authority, to which I submit myself in such sort, that I am resolved to assure myself of nothing, but upon their word and credit, and from hence forth to acknowledge no truth, but that which they shall please to teach me: I leave it to you to augment, to reform, or embellish this compliment, as you shall think fit; I make you Master of the whole business: and never mean to disavow any thing you shall do, being absolutely,  
Sir my dear Cousin, Your, etc. At Balzac 18. Ianu. 1632.   

To Mounsieur de Uougelas, Gentleman in Ordinary to my Lord, the King's only Brother. LETTER XXXVIII.  
SIR, I humbly entreat you to take for yourself, all the excuses you make to me; and to believe that I have always a love answerable to your virtue: though I say it not so often, as by the laws of Civility I am bound to do. Since the coming hither of Mounsieur de—: you have been the most ordinary and most pleasing subject of all our conference; and I am much more curious to hear of your studies, than to hear all the news of the great world. Yet I intent not hereby to ask it of you with importunity; and to engage you in a Commerce of unprofitable words, which would but wrong your necessary employments: I am well enough satisfied with the assurance I have of your love; and am well contented you should keep your compliments for those you love not so well, when I shall find myself to stand in need of you: I am not grown so bashful, but that I can use the liberty, I have long used; and yet do you no inconvenience by my freeness. Hitherto it hath afforded you nothing but trouble; and it was your evil Angel that inspired you with a desire at first to be acquainted with me. But one day perhaps I shall be mure happy; and for so many and great favours you have done me, it may be you may draw from me some small argument of acknowledgement. In the mean time Sir, I desire you, not to cast upon me a reputation, which I am not able to maintain; make no more mocks at my prattling; and hide the shame of your friend, which your other friend hath published. He only is guilty of the fault that was done; and you may well think, I was not so impudent to send false Latin to the University of Paris, as much as to deliver false money to the Mint; and think to make Mint-men take it for currant. It shall suffice me, that you approve of the French, I mean to bring you; or at least, that you make it worthy of your approving, by making it new, with your corrections. If Mounsieur Far●…t be returned from Brescia, you shall make me beholding to you, to assure him from me, of the continuation of my service, I make infinite account of him, and am with all my soul,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 15. May 1629.   

To Mounsieur Gerard Official of the Church of Angaulesme. LETTER XXXIX.  
SIR, my last Letters, are great Books; and I have nothing to add, but only that I entreat you to t●…ke the pains to read them over again, and to draw them into heads for the help of your memory, which though I know to be very excellent, yet I know also, it is extremely full of business, and that I am but the five and twentieth of your Clients I set down nothing so precisely, but that I leave you liberty to change my orders, if you find them not fit; and to sail with the wind. Nothing but good success can be expected from your sterning●…; you will so manage, I assure myself, my resentments with Mounsieur de—, and make him see so much respect and modesty in my griefe●…, that he will perhaps be sorry he ever disobliged me. I assure myself also, that when you fall upon my Chapter, where I treat with Mounsieur— that you will not carry yourself, as only my instrument, and as one that hath charge of me; but that you will do as an honest man should, that is persuaded to it by the truth, and interessed in the cause of oppressed innocence. Concerning the perfumes I desired of you, I could wish you would bring me a shopfull; but you must use some body else to choose them for you, for you know them not yourself, but only by name; and you may perhaps have the oil of Nuts given you for the oil of jasmin; Et du pain d'espice, pour des pastilles. So it is that petty things are unknown of great personages: you would think you should do yourself wrong to descend to such peddling wares, and of an Ambassador, and a Philosopher, become a Merchant and an Apothecary; yet Aristipp●…s would be dealing in things, that you think scorn of, and said, that he and the King of Persia, were the two unfortunate Ones, whom Diog●…nes pitied. You send me word, that Mounsieur de— hath great Designs in the Commonwealth of Letters; and that he is resolved to be an Author and a Preacher both at once. If you remove him not from so dangerous a resolution, you shall see Books that will be the Funerals of common sense; and let but the name be changed, and it will besaid of his Sermons, as an excellent man of our time, said of the Sermons of Friar Lazarus;  

Peu de zeal, moins de Science  
Faisoit que Lazare bossu;  
Preschant des Cas de conscience  
N'estoit quasi pas apperceu.   
As much as to say; that though the Clock hath been long a striking, and that he hath been talking a long hour, yet so little heëde is taken of him, that none will believe there is any man in the Pulpit. Before he comes to the Ave Maria, all his Auditors are out of the Church, and he may call them Apostates from the word of God, and Fugitives from the Church; yet with all he can say, he shall never make one of them to come back. I have not these two years written thus much, with my own hand; it is to me, as one of Hercules labours: and can you then doubt, how much I would be willing to do, to do you service? I kiss the hands of all the Family, which you see; and which I honour exceedingly; and am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 10. Febr. 1633.   

Another to him. LETTER XL.  
SIR, I love you better than I thought, since you parted from hence, I have had a number of Alarms for you: and though I stand in convert yet that keeps me not from the foul weather of your voyage. But I hope by this time you are upon returning; and that shortly, we shall sit by the fires side, and hear you tell your adventures of Beausse, and of Mantelan. Whatsoever Mounsieur de— have said unto you, when you took leave of him; I do not think, that in all the whole Discourse, there can one passage be found, that is subject to any bad interpretation: if it be considered as a member depending upon the body, and not as a piece that is broken off. There may perhaps be found some proposition, a little bold, but never to go so far as rashness: the Antecedents and the Consequents so temper it, that if a man will not be too witty in another man's intentions, he can never make any doubt of mine. It was never intended, you know, but only to prove a Monarchy to be the best form of government, and the Catholic Church to be the only Spouse of Christ, Neither yet do I write so negligently, but that I am ready to give a reason of that I write; and am able to defend my opinions against those particular persons that oppugn them; for as for the sovereign authority, you can witness for me with what humility I submit myself unto it. The day after your departure Mounsieur de—— came to Balzac, whom I kept with me three whole days; I never saw man less interessed, less ambitions, less dazzled with the splendour of the Court; and to speak generally, better cured of all popular diseases. By this I come to know the nobleness, and even the sovereignty of reason, when it is well schooled and instructed, we need not mount up to heaven to find cause of scorn in the littleness of the earth, the study of wisdom will teach it as well: A wise man counts all things to be below him; Palaces to him appear but Cottages, and Sceptres but baubles, it pities him to see that which is called the greatness and fortune of Princes, and from the height of his spirit,  

Il void comme f●…rmis m●…rcher nos legions,  
Dans ce petit a●…as de poussiere & de 'bove  
Don't nostre vanite fait tant de regions.   
I have at last found the Letter you required of me, which I now send you by this Post; our good father hath taken a copy of it, and saith it is fit to be kept for an eternal monument in our house; and adds moreover that Erasmus never had so much honour done him by the Sorbone, which instead of condemning my divinity hath given a fair testimony in praise of my eloquence; for so he pleaseth to call the little ability I have in writing; for it is his custom to make choice of very noble terms for expressing of very vulgar qualities. For yourself Sir, you know it very well, and I entreat you to advertise our other friends that know it not, that all this testimony and all this honour that is done me, is happened to me by a mere mistaking. I had satisfied the desire of the Sorbone long before it, if I had understood they desired any satisfaction from me; but two Editions of my book coming forth at one time, my charitable neighbours in my absence delivered the Sorbone the less corrected Copy, in which indeed my proposition was not so fully cleared & unfolded as was fit, but never told them that in the other Copy I had clean taken away all colour of wrangling, and justified before hand, that wherein I imagined they could find any thing to say against me; I expect to hear by the next messenger of your coming to Paris, and am with all my heart,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Paris, 25. Ianu. 1632.   

Clarissimo Balzacio, Facultas Theologiae Parisiensis, S.  
REdditae sunt nobis ad Calendas Aprilis abs te Litterae, vir clarissime, omnibus quidem gratissimae, non eo solum nomine, quod multam in ordinem nostrum observantiam praese ferrent; sed etiam vel maxime, quod propensissimam tuam voluntatem, immutandi ea quae in Principe t●…o, offendere mentes Christianas possent. Hunc in librum inquirendi, Fama quae nec te latere potuit, non tam occasionem nobis, quam necessitatem attulit. In quo sane uti nulla nisi disertissimo, sic incogitanti quaedam excidisse deprehensa sunt, ex eorum relatione quibus recensendi ejusdem delegata provincia fuerat. Praecipua eaque maxime instituti nostri huic Epistolae subnectemus; quae & si judicabantur, minus ad orthodoxa doctrine a nussim quadrare, aequum tamen pro Christiana charitate ac dignitate tua duximus, ut omnem judicij aequitatem amicae monitionis humanitas praecederet, quo tu ipse operi tuo emendando quaqua operam dares. Istud vero quam pro voto nostro succ●…sserit, vel ex eo intelleximus, ipse quod tua sponte in idem consilium conspiraveris docilitatem facultati nostrae, ad id tua Epistola pollicitus. Quod & maxime tibi gratulamur, neque velimus tamen in Illud incumbas, ordinis nostri duntaxat authoritate motus, uti benevole recipis, sed ipsius veritatis: cui nunquam faelicius triumphant inge●…ia, quam dum cedunt, summissis praesertim per religionis obsequium armis, quorum usus quantum subsidii, ad decertandum conferret, tantum non posset non affere Impedimento, ad victoriam; siquidem, hoc in genere, Uincere nisi victi non poss●…mus. Nae tu etiam talem deinceps debebis Modestie tuae gloriam, Cujus laude, non minor inter Christianos audies, quam inter mortales Facundia audiisti hactenus; ejusdem merito, lubentissimos laudatores habebis, quos àlias multa urgente querimonia, off●…oii ratio coegisset velinvitos esse Censores.  
De Mandato D. D. Decani & Magistrorum Sacrae Facultatis Theologiae Parisiensis, Prt. Bowot. Apud Sorbonam: Anno Christi, 1632.   

Another to him. LETTER XLI.  
SIR, my Philosophy is not of so little humanity, but that I grieved exceedingly at the reading of your Letter, and was touched to the very quick, for the death of— yet seeing he is happier than they that mourn for him; and that he hath left the world, in an age when he yet knew it not; I think it no wisdom, to be obstinate in an ill grounded sorrow, or to account that an evil to another, which is the greatest good, could have happened to myself. Christianity will not let me say, Optimum non nasci, Bonum vero quam citissime interire: but it hinders me not to believe, that one day of life, with Baptism, is better than a whole age of iniquity. I write this letter to you from— whether I am come to lodge, after I had entertained my Lord— until n●…ght. I conceived, there was some necessity, to deliver him your Letter with all speed; and therefore I exposed my person to all the injuries of an incensed sky; and ventured to make a voyage, that would have frighted a stouter man than myself. By this you may know that I count nothing difficult, which reflects upon any interest of yours; or which concerns your contentment; and I love you so much, that I should not say so much, if I had more craft in me than I have. But my good Nature exceeds all other considerations of vulgar Prudence; and I would not keep you from knowing what great power you have over me, though I knew before hand, you would abuse this power. For other things, I am very glad to hear, you begin to grow sensible of the charms of music, and that Consorts are in reputation with you. Yet I have seen the time, when your ears were no learneder than mine, and when you made no great difference between the sound of Lutes, and the noise of Bells. See what it is to frequent good company; and to live in a Country of neatness. I that stir not from the Village, know no other music, but that of Birds; and if sometimes I hear a more silver sound; it comes from those noble Animals, which Mounsieur Heinsius praiseth so much: and which by Lucian's saying, serve for Trumpets in the Kingdom of the Moon. I give you a thousand thanks for your news; but specially for the last: it is certain, that the choice of Mounsieur de Belieure to be Ambassador for Italy, is a thing will be generally well liked; men talk wonders already of his beginnings: of the readiness and Vivacity of his Spirit, of the force and stay●…dnesse of his judgement, besides some other excellent qualities of his Age, from which we may hope for much. And for myself, who am one, that love my Country exceedingly; I cannot but exceedingly rejoice, in this new fruitfulness which comes upon him, at the latter end of his old age. It doth me good to see famous deceased men, to live again in their excellent posterity; and I doubt not of the good success of a Negotiation, where a Belieure, a Thou, or a Sillery, is employed. These were our Heroes of the long Robe; and the Princes of our Senate: and now their children (that I may continue to speak Latin, in French) are the Princes of our youth, at least they are names more happy, and that portend more good to France, than the name of— and no doubt, she will have cause to thank M. the Cardinal, for respecting razes, that are so dear unto her: and for stirring up in the Kings the old inclinations, of the Deceased King his Father. I fall a sleep always, when I am talking with you, and am rather in case to make ill dreams, then good discourses: and so I take my leave of you, my dear and perfect friend, as I also am to you, as much as possibly can be,  
Your, etc. At Balzac 4. Octo. 1634.   

To Mounsieur Talon; Secretary to my Lord the Cardinal De la Ualette. LETTER XLII.  
SIR, I took infinite pleasure, to see myself in one of your Letters; and Mounsieur—— who imparted it to me, can witness for me, with what greediness I read that passage which concerned me. I cannot say, that he is here, though it be true, that he is not in Gascognie; for we enjoy nothing of him here but his Image; he is so married, that he would think it a disloyalty to his wife, if he should dare to laugh when she is not by. All his sociable humour he hath left with her, and hath brought nothing to us, but his Melancholy. When I would make him merry, he tells me, I go about to corrupt him. All visits he makes in her absence, though it be to covents, and Hospitals, yet he calls them De bauches. So as Sir, you never saw man better satisfied with his present estate; nor a greater enemy to single life. He is not contented to pity you and me, and to lament our solitude; but he reproacheth us outrageously, and calls us unprofitable members of the Commonwealth, and such as are fit to be cut off. As for me, I make no defence for myself, but your example; I tell him, let him persuade you to it first, and he shall soon find me ready to follow his counsel. I hope we shall meet together ere long; and then we shall not need to fear his being too strong for us, in our conferences, when we two shall be against him alone. Provide therefore Solutions for his Arguments; but withal deny me not your assistance in other encounters, where it may stand me instead. You can never do courtesies to a man more capable of acknowledgement; nor that is more truly, than I,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 12. Febru. 1633.   

Another to him. LETTER XLIII.  
SIR, I am exceedingly well satisfied with the news you send me; and with the assurance you give me by your Letter of the continuation of your Friendship. Not that I was afraid, I should lose it, but because it is a pleasure, to hear one's self called happy; and that one cannot have too many titles for a possession, which can never be too much valued. I take not upon me to contend with you in Compliments; or to dispute of civility with you, who live in the light of the world; and have whole Magasins of good words. For beside, that I never had any skill of the Cou●…; it is now so long I have been a countryman, that it were a miracle, if I had not clean forgot it all. Pardon therefore a rudeness which I cannot avoid, and seeing I am not able to answer you; give me leave to assail you, and require you to give a reason of the present state of things: What can you say Sir, of these wretched Flemmins, who shut their Gates against good Fortune when she would come in to them? and are in love with their Fetters, and their Keepers? I do not think there be truer slaves in all Asia: and I do not wonder our Arms can do no good in their Country, seeing it is a hard matter to take a yoke from men's heads, who prefer it before a Crown: and Sovereignty when it is offered them. Sick men are then to be despaired of, when they throw their medicines on the ground, and account of Potions as of Poisonings. It is not therefore our fault if they be not cured: we have active power enough to work, but it must upon a matter that is apt and disposed. I expect hereupon a Decree from your politician; and remain,  
Your, etc. At Balzac 1. july 1635.   

To Mounsieur D'Espernon, Martial of the King's Armies. LETTER XLIV.  
SIR, my compliments are very rare; and I take no great care for preserving your friendship. I account you so true of your word, that I cannot doubt of having your love, seeing you have done me the honour to let me have your promise. It is to no purpose to solicit Judges that cannot be corrupted; It is enough for procuring their favour, that the cause be good. You see therefore, I do not much trouble myself to commend mine unto you, and I present myself so seldom before you; that if you had not an excellent memory, you had certainly forgot me long ago. I pray you not, to do me good offices: for knowing that you let slip no occasion of doing good: I may be sure to have my part of your good deeds, though you have none of my prayers. Your new Acquests at the Court; make you not leave that you have on this side the Loire: your friends that are always with you; take not up all your heart: there is some place left for your friends farther of: of which number I am one; and more in love Sir, with the comtemplative life, than ever. I am always under ground and buried with my trees; and they must be very strong cords, and very violent commandments that should remove me: yet I am contented to give my thoughts a liberty: and my spirit is often in the place where you are; and my absence is not so idly bestowed, but that I can make you a reckoning of it. I speak to you in this manner, because I know you are no hater of delightful knowledges, and have an excellent taste to judge of things. Though by profession you be a Soldier; yet I refuse you not for a judge, in our peaceable difference; being well assured, there are not many Doctors, more accomplished, or of a founder judgement than yourself. This quality is no opposite to true valour; the Romans, whose discipline you seek to re-establish; used to lead with them the Muses to war; and in the tumult of their Armies, left always place for these quiet exercises. Brutus read Polybius, the night before the battle at Philippi; and his Uncle was at his Book the very hour before he meant to die. Never therefore fear doing ill, when you follow the example of such excellent Authors: none will ever blame you for imitating the Romans, unless perhaps the Crabates or other enemies, as well of Humanity as of France. But to be thus blamed by Barbarians, is an infallible mark of merit; for they know no points of virtue, but such as are wild and savage; and imagine, that roaring and being furious, are far more noble things, than speaking and reasoning. I leave them to their goodly imaginations; and come to tell you, that though your Letter to my Sister, be dated from the Army in Germany; yet it is eloquent enough to come from the Academy of M. the Cardinal; it neither smells of Gunpowder, nor of Le pais de adieu pas; I know by certain marks, I have observed in it, that your Books, are part of your Baggage; and I find nothing in it, that is worthy of blame, but only the excessive praises you bestow upon me; and if you were not a stout champion, and able to maintain it with your sword, you would certainly ere this, have had the lie given you a thousand times for praising me so. I should be very sorry to be a cause of so many petty quarrels; and so unworthy of your courage; a foreign war hath need of your spirit; make not therefore any Civil, for my sake; I desire no such violent proofs of your affection: it serves my turn, that you love me quietly; and if you so please secretly too; to the end, that our friendship being hidden, may lie in covert from; injuries; and that possessing it without pomp, I may enjoy it without envy. I reckon it always amongst my solidest goods, and will be sure never to lose it, if perfect faithfulness will serve to keep it; and if it will suffice to be; as I most passionately am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 4. janu, 1635.   

To Mounsieur de Roussines. LETTER XLV.  
MY dear brother, I have upon this last occasion, received nothing from you, but the offices I expected; I know you to be just and generous, and one that will always religiously pay whatsoever you owe, either to Blood or friendship, yet this hinders me not from being obliged to you, and to your good Birth for it. This hath bestowed a friend upon me, which I never took pains, either to look out, or to make; It is a present of Nature, which I should have taken, if she had given me my choice. I desire you to believe, that I never stood less in need of comfort than now; Loppose nothing against the rage of a thousand adversaries, but my scorn: I am Armour of proof against all the tales from the Suburbs St. Honoré; and from all the Libels of the street St. jaques. They increase daily in sight, and if the heat of their spirits do not abate, there will shortly be a little Library of follies written against me. But you never yet heard, of such a gravity as I have, nor of a mind that could take such rest in the midst of storms and tempests as I do, and this I owe to Philosophy, under whose covert I shelter myself: it is not only, higher than mountains, where we see it rain and hail below us: but it is stronger also than a Fortress, where we may stand out of danger, and make mouths at our enemies. All that hurts me in the war of——; is that, which concerns the interest of others: it grieves me extremely, that his cruelty should leave me, and fall upon my friends. I wish I could have bought out the three lives, that touch the honour of— with a third Volume of injuries done to myself, and where no body else, should have any part: and I may truly say, that this is the only blow, which that perfidious enemy hath given me, that goes to my heart; and the only of all his offences that I have felt. I entreat you to let my friend know of my grief; and to make sure unto me this rare personage by all the cares and good offices your courtesy can devise. His Virtue ought to be inviolable to de traction, but drtraction will not spare Virtue itself, but takes a delight in violating the best things. I have reason to place him in this rank, and considering him as one of the most accomplished work of Nature; I must needs consider withal, that Nature itself, is sometimes calumniated. Madame de— inquires often after you, and hath a great opinion of your heart and spirit. You may be sure, I say nothing in opposition to the account, she holds you in; but am rather glad to see my judgement confirmed by so infallible an authority: see, you be always good; and always lay hold upon our ancient Maxims; and be assured, I am and always will be  
My dear brother, Your, etc. At Paris 15. Ianu. 1628.   

To Mounsieur Breton, LETTER XLVI.  
SIR, you are a man of yourword, and something more. You promise●… less than you perform, having undertaken to furnish me but with Gazettes; you extend your largesse to large volumes of Books. This Jonnius, whose Verses you sent me is no ordinary man. The boldness, and beauty of his phrase, comes veri near the greatness and magnificence of Horace. He chooseth and placeth his words with the same preciseness, and care; he speaks always loftily, and if in all things there be bounds and limits; he sometimes seems to go beyond them. For example, upon the Canonization of Ignatius, made by Pope Gregory the fifteenth;  

Nam te ille primus Vaticanis ritibus Admovit aris Caelitem  
Mixtumque superis aureo curru dedit perambulare sydera.   
A Pagan Poet could have said no more of the deifying of julius Cesar, yet in saying so much, he should have said too much: there being great difference between consecrating the memory of a mortal man, or the giving him a Divinity, between the declaring, or the making a God; between being Augustus, or being jupiter. I know not also, why speaking of Protestant Ministers; he stands so punctually to descant upon the word, which of all conceits is the poorest;  

Maleque ominata Verba & inter Obscana  
Exinde lege publica reponendum  
Solus Ministri Carnifex geret nomen.   
I should think, that this descanting, makens not much for the honour of Princes chief counsellors; and it seems, the Poet in this place, forgot M. the Cardinal; who guides the public fortune and governs the world under this name of Minister. There is no great reckoning to be made, no great matter to be built upon three or four little syllables, which signify nothing, but what custom, without any reason pleaseth, & are of no more value than use gives them. This word Vates, is taken sometimes for a fool, sometimes for a sor●…erer, sometimes for a Prophet: and the word Prophet itself, is sometimes taken for a Juggler; witness the Greek; Proverb 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉: Will you upon this go rail upon Prophets, and send them with their name to the Grave, or shut them up Dans le petites maisas? and yet further to endear this subtlety of jonicus, you may say that Ministers at all times have been enemies of Christ, and prove it by this, because a Minister was one of those that struck him on the face in presence of the high Priest; as it is said, U●…us ex Ministris Caiphae, etc. The ground upon which such Figures are built is so weak and ruinous, that there is no means to make it stand firm: our adversaries may make use of it as well as we, and to be even with you for your Text of the Minister of Caiphas, they will I doubt not bring you another Text where our Saviour himself is said to be a Minister, come to execute in the world the decrees of him that sent him, and to do the eternal will of his Father. This is called triumphing for syllables and words, and running after Phantasms. If the ancient Rome had used to play in this fashion, Bishops called by them Pontifices would have been but makers or Bridges, nor Dictator's any more than Schoolmasters. Poc●…e Brutus would have been the Butt for all the arrows of his time. The Assinu, the Porc●… the Beshie would not have had one day of rest, they would have been forced to get themselves adopted into some other Families, and to change their names, thereby to save themselves from the opprobrious Figures of Orateurs and Poets. I meant to have written but two or three lines, and I am come to the bottom of my Paper; this is the pleasure to be talking with you that deceives me thus, and makes me think that we are walking together and conferring about our Books and Studies. After all that hath been said, I conclude that your Poet is a great Lyric Poet, and would have had a Pension of Augustus, and have sat at Table with Maecenas. I bid you good night, and am,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 10. Febru. 1631.   

Another to him. LETTER XLVII.  
SIR, I am at leisure for no body but you, and though I am pestered with a multitude of small affairs, yet I quit them all to come and tell you, that I have received your last dispatch, and find myself infinitely obliged to Mounsieur de— seeing you put me in hope that he will spend this winter at Paris, I purpose at that time to be a daily waiter upon him, and try what I can do to mend my fortune. I am told that you are grown friends with the graces, and will no longer be any enemy to honest pleasures. Hold you firm I beseech you in this resolution, and never give it over if you mean well to your life. There is no danger in refreshing yourself sometimes with pleasing company, that so you may return more fresh and vigorous to your learned exercises. It is better to be innocently merry at the Inn in Venice, then to go kill ones self in the vault of the Church, as the poor— I lament him in truth as a man dead and miserable, and it grieves me he had not time to bethink him of his soul's health, and to ask pardon of God; but to conserve that by his death a great light is extinguished, and that the world hath lost a great man; I knew him too well to have any such opinion. He was to say true a man of mettle, and 〈◊〉 d●…ine 〈◊〉 of wit that were not unpleasant so long as they were not biting; but who would endure him to be enroled amongst modern Authors, or give hisverse a place amongst the Poets of this time? yet he himself counted his courage and his military virtues as nothing in comparison of his eloquence and excellent gift of speaking & writing, wherein he was so highly conceited of himself, that only for telling him one day of it he never loved me after, and is dead I assure myself with a heartburning against me for it. They that reproove me for writing Nonvelles. Victorienses in my first Letter to M. the Cardinal, make it appear they are no far travellours in the Latin Country, and never come to discover Victrices literas, Laureatas literas, Nuntiam laurum, etc. Malice is a very unjust thing, but ignorance much more; Homine imperito, you know the rest. And never take offence that there be some will not so much as allow me for a Grammar Scholar, and perhaps have reason. We oftentimes think ourselves to be the true owners of things, of which indeed we are but usurpers; there is nothing secure against wrangling, every thing is matter of suit in this wretched world, yet I mean not so easily to yield and give up my right, for if I were not able to write according to the rules of Art, I must certainly be one of a most dull capacity, and altogether uncapable of all discipline. For did I learn nothing by seeing the Cardinal Perron? nothing by being a Scholar in the French tongue under Master Nicholas Coeffeteau? nothing by a thousand conferences with the good man Malherbe? and lastly nothing by lodging with father Baudoin? Vel in Bicipiti somniasse Parnassus? for one is as much as the other, as you know well. This man in truth is no ordinary father, his conceptions and productions are without intermission; he fills our studies with his books; he amends, reforms, embellishes the books of others; he smells a Barbarism or an incongruity seven miles off; he hath counted by tale all the improprieties that are in——: he is admirable in the knowledge and use of all particles, and I am sure he loves me not so little to hide any secret or mystery of all his knowledge from me; I entreat you to kiss his hands for me, and to believe that I am most truly,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 20. Aug. 1630.   

Another to him. LETTER XLVIII.  
SIR, three days since I imparted my melancholy and my unquietness unto you, and how much I was moved at the cruelty of— I have since received your Letter of the ninth of this present, which doth not indeed take all my pain from me, because it declares not what is done against me, but yet assuageth it a little, because it declares that nothing is done against me that is deadly. However I must put on a resolution for all events; and comfort myself with Philosophy, and with you; you that are my true and faithful friend, and that stand between me and all the stones my enemies throw at me. Your affection is no small help to me in these troublesome encounters, and the tenderness you show to have of me, binds me in a very sensible obligation to you. Concerning the ill will of— it can do me no great hurt, and pardon me if I do not think my honour is engaged to make so bloody a war upon him as you would have me. The less show is made of resenting petty injuries, the bet●…er and the more readily they are repelled; if I should think upon answering him, I should but make a comment upon his gibberish, for them that understand him not; and thereby bring his folly into the more credit and request. When time and place serves we will handle him as he deserves, and doubt not but his lightness shall light heavily upon him; only do you collect some common places upon this matter, and remember yourself of all that hath passed between— to the end the history may not be lost. I have had speech with the man whose whole life is nothing but a continual meditation of death; I never found him so austere, nor so great an enemy of bravery as now; his devotion respects neither right of nations, nor laws of civillitie. I have not been able to get him to write to that person that loves him so dear, and complains to you so often about it. All the answer he returns to his long Letters, are but these three words of the Gospel, Noli amplius peccare, which in sweeter and more courtly terms is as much as to say,  
Lites heures au lieu de lire ses poulets  
Defile taes colliers, faits-en des chapelets, etc.  
I received the other day a most elegant and gentle Letter from one Mounsieur Ytterius, a Lawyer of Antwerp; but I know not by what means it came to my hands, nor by what direction to return an answer. Pray inquire after him, and let our friends know that in spite of the marquis of Aytona, I have adherents in Flanders, and therefore he need not make his brags for having burnt my book at Brussels. Scilicet illo igne, vocem omnium Gentium, & libertatem Europae, & conscientiam generis humani abolere arbitrabatur. By the next Post I will write to Mounsieur Hottoman, and will give Mounsieur de la Pigeonnerio thanks for the verses you had of him to send me. We have read them here in good company, both of Males and Females, and they all agree that the Fathers my adversaries are none of those Christian Ulysseses, he speaks of, that have nailed their Passions to the cross of Christ. I forgot to ask you of Mounsieur Seton, and to desire you to call to him for the papers he promised me. I regard him as one of the great Doctors of our age, and make use of the riches of his Spirit with so great privacy that he seems to be but as it were my Treasurer. I know not how to make an end, nor yet am willing to say more, because I must reserve something for Monday next. I therefore take my leave, assuring you there is none more truly than I,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 7. Jan. 1631.   

To Mounsieur Girard, Official of the Church of Angoulesme. LETTER. XLIX.  

SIR, I make use of you with the like liberty as I desire you would make use of me; if therefore you have any spare 〈◊〉, you may allow it to the affairs of— but so as you allow it to mine first, and that you make a difference between friendship and courtesy. I doubt not but you will give your best advice to the Gentleman that is recommended to you, and will set forward the best you can the design we have to make him one day an honest man. I find the Book more neatly and more correctly printed than I could have imagined; and I would tell you that you are an able Grammarian, but that I fear your Divinity would be angry for giving you so small a Praise, and so much vilified by the Messieurs our Masters. The two tracts you sent me are as different of style as they are of matter. Any man that can but relish the ancient purity will take the first of them for the work of some Roman that lived in the times of the republic, but the other can be but the writing of some Gaul or Spaniard that came to declaim at Rome, in the reign of the sixth or seaventh Emperor. One meets at the beginning with something that dazels and makes a fair show of some great good to follow, but at the bottom there is no such matter to be seen; nothing but swelling and obscurity, oftentimes false trains, and every where brags and bravadoes that are not tolerable. It is a pleasure as I am told to hear this famous Author talk of himself; he thinks his Pen as much worth as the King of Swedens' sword, and no less fatal to states and Princes. He saith it is he that bestows glory or dishonour, makes men famous or infamous as he pleaseth, and th●…t he hath means enough to be revenged of the Emperor or of the Pope, if the Emperor or the Pope should offer him any wrong. Scaliger, Lipsius and Casaubon were by his own saying but his Forerunners, and all the light of the former age, but the Aurora of his, and yet for all this he hath but a very little head, and but very staring eyes, and but a very sumbling speech, and but a very silly discourse, that you may know his judgement is not the predominant part of his soul. But the world talks otherwise of him; that he is a lost man, and one that hath forfeited his brains, not only swallowed up of a strong and vast imagination, not only bending under the burden of an overcharged memory, but apt to lose himself in the walks of Plato's Philosophy, for which yet he is become an Apostate from Aristotels' doctrine. I confess unto you now that the time hath been I have made much reckoning of this man, and am still of those ill husbands that give presents, but pay no debts. It is certain I discharge my duty extremely ill; and Mounsieur Videll hath just cause to think me the most uncivil man that lives. But you know the secret of this matter, and that in my incivillitie there is a kind of Religion which I have not dared as yet to violate. Unless I should sin against my●… faith given, I can neither enjoy the good he hath done me, nor give him the thanks I owe him, and this is the extremity of my misery, that I have received a most precious gift, and yet can neither be rich by it, nor thankful for it. Take some course for God's sake, that I may dispense with an oath that is so contrary to honesty, and so directly crosseth the right of nations and all good manners. Entreat our friend to give me my liberty again; which I have solemnly promised to employ wholly in doing him service, and in accommodating that confusion which makes me commit this disorder. Mounsieur de Plassac hath so powerfully confuted that which I writ the other day to Madam D'Anguitour, that I am become persuaded myself, and am no longer of my own opinion, but willingly confess that if I should be obstinate in descending my false maxims, I should do as ill as make a schism amongst Ladies, and be the Author of a most pernicious doctrine. I have put his Letter in my packet, that you may see I yielded not for nothing, and that you may show it also to Mounsieur— who hath desired me he might see it. The Encomium of Mounsieur de la Valette, which your brother desired of me; is in the 103. Book of the Histories of Mounsieur de Thou. Change but the date only, and you will agree with me, that it was certainly made for our Mounsieur de la Valette, that is now. I send it you by this Post, and remain,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac 4. Decemb. 1632.   

RUpem-brunam profectus, p●…atis, muris, cum ab oppugnatione tentata cum damno suorum repulsus esset, rursus redintograta verberatione, ubi vidit ab ea parte conatunfrustra esse; jam ruini●… ab obsessis sarta; alio tormentat ransfert; dumque in iis Collocandis laborat, ictu majoris selopeti, 〈◊〉 capite fauciatus est; ex eoque vulnere, post duas horas decessit, incredibili sui Regi Desiderio relicto; cui strenuam admod●…m, sac fi●…am operam semper navaverat. Erat vir summa fortitudine praeditus; in per●…culis; Empert●…itus; in adversis, Constans; in prosperis; moder●…, liberalis, comis, magn●… in expli●… negotiis sollertiae, in imperio ac magistratu, quam privatus, m●…r. Espernonius quem ille haeredem reliquit, cum casum acerbissime tulit: quippe fratre charissim●…, & firmissime Fortune suae invidiosae munimento Orbatus.    

To Mounsieur de Gues. LETTER L.  
SIR, my most dear Father, you have obliged me exceedingly unto you; for imparting unto me the good news that is come, and for communicating with me, the joy you take, in the happy success of the King's Army. I do not think he hath a better subject in all his kingdom, than yourself; never servant was more zealous for his Master's greatness; never Persian more religiously adored Monarchy. You love your children, I know infinitely, yet this is but your second love; that of the State, and of the Public, goes far before it, and I fear me, you would give us all for the poorest Frontier Town of Flanders, or for any paltry Fort of Milan. That which I read in the Postscript of your Letter, did not so very well please me, the good opinion, which Mounsieur de— hath of me, is more a burden to me, than an honour: and I could wish, he would make less reckoning of me, so he would let me be more at quiet. You have a strange friend of him; to take me for his common places, and to think that I am an Index. for finding out conceits and figures. In the matter, you propounded to me on his behalf; I can say no more than what I have said already, but if he please to take the pains to Translaten my French into Latin, he may easily do it in such sort, that he shall be taken for the Author, and I but for the Translator. I have told you, of the Dignity of the Language, in which he means to write, and what great advantage it hath over ours; it is certain, that it elevates and raiseth up the low thoughts of the Authors; and gives much more to them, than it receives from them. Whereas ours chose, hath no beauty, but as the Authors embellish it and set it out; It hath no subsistence: but by the matter, no force, but from the subjects that are handled. I have made choice of some, which I thought fittest for his purpose; if he find them for his turn, he may make use of them: and better them much, by putting them into Cicero's style and phrase: and these are they. Good men ought to desire great Dignities, as a necessary means to perform great achievements; which if they perform not; both God will call them to account, for his graces, no better employed, and the world will justly complain, it is left a prey to the wicked; and that the desire of their own private quiet, makes them abandon all care of the public. This is to tell you my Lord, that you ought to reserve your humility, for actions that pass between God and you; but that for other matters, you cannot have too much credit, nor too much greatness, seeing it is fit that wisdom should be obeyed, and that there are some virtues which cannot be acted by those that are poor, etc. Though we be not so out of the world, but that we hear news of it; yet it passeth through so many places, that it cannot choose but receive diverse impressions; and can never come to us in purity, seeing it gathers ●…dde, in coming but from the Lowre. Yet I have come to know, and fame hath sounded in our desert, the great battles that have been fought for the honour of Fance, and how you have vanquished the spirits of strangers; which is a greater victory, then to vanquish their forces. I have come to know, that Italy hath rigged up all subtleties, and employed them to deceive us, and yet could not, and that these Spirits which thought to reign in all assemblies, and to be the Masters of reason, have not been able to defend themselves against you, but with spite and choler, Nor to complain of any thing, but that you persuaded them to that, which they came resolved never to do, so as they which called us Barbarians; and got always as much by their Treaties, as they lost by our Victories, have found at last, that there is wisdom on this side the Alps, as well as beyond: and are driven to acknowledge, that we had a man amongst us now, able to hinder them from deceiving us as they had done. They wondered to see a servant, that could not endure there should be a greater Master than his own, that felt the least evils of his Country, as if they were his proper wounds, and thought it a hurt to himself, if there were but an offer made, to touch the Dignity of this Crown, but when they saw that you: applied remedies upon the sudden, to all inconveniencies which they thought you could never have avoided, that you not only answered all objections they made, but prevented all they intended to make, that you dived into their souls, and took hold of their intentions there, and at the first conference, made answer to that which they reserved for the second, then in truth their phlegm turned into choler, and then you quite rooted all their humane Prudence, and all their politic Maxims, etc. I am not able to dissemble the joy I take, to hear that your good services are acknowledged, that when diverse counsels had been tried, yet yours at last was still fain to be followed, and that in guiding the fortune of France, you are no less Precedent of all affairs of Europe. It is true, that of all external contentments, I have none so sensible to me as this, but on the other side, when I hear that your health, is continually assaulted, or at least threatened by some accident or other; that the rest which the quietness of your Conscience ought to afford you, keeps you not from having unquiet Nights, and that in the midst of all your glory, and good successes, yet you oftentimes are as it were weary of your life, then in deed, etc. And can it not be, that you should come to hear the public acclamations, but in the unquietness of your watchings? nor of your praises, but in your pains: Must the Sense suffer, and the Spirit rejoice? Must you be upon the Rock, when you are in your Triumphs? Must you do two contrary works at once, and at the same time, have need both of moderation, and of Patience: if virtue could be miserable, and that the sect which accounts nothing evil but pain, nothing good but pleasure, were not universally condemned. Certainly the divine Providence, would at this day be complained upon, by all places of this Kingdom: and all honest men, would in your behalf find something amiss, in the world's government. But my Lord, you know better than I, that it is the happiness of beasts only, of which we must believe the body, for as for ours, which resides in our highest part, it is as little sensible of disorders that are below her, as they which are in Heaven are uncapable of offences by storms of the air, or by vapours of the earth. And this being so, God forbid, that I should judge of your condition, by the state of your health; and not think him perfectly happy, whosoever is perfectly wise. Do but imagine with yourself, that you have made a division of the infirmities of humane nature, with other men, and then you shall find the advantage is on your side, seeing there is in you, but a small portion of pain, for infinite passions and defects that are in others. Yet I cannot but think, that the term of your patience is near expired, and that the time to come, is preparing contentments for you that are wholly pure, and will make you young again after the time, as before the time you have made yourself old. The King that hath need of your long life makes no wishes in vain, and heaven hears not the prayers of the enemies of our state. We know of no successor fit to undertake what you leave unfinished, and if it be true that our Armies are but the arms of your head, and that God hath chosen your counsel for establishing the affairs of this age; why should we fear a loss which hath no right to come but to our posterity? he will not in this only point leave imperfect the happiness he hath promised us; he loves men too well to deprive them of that good which you are borne to do them. When Armies are defeated there may new be levied, and a second Fleet may be set forth when the first is lost; but if you my Lord should fail us, etc. It shall be in your time that people oppressed shall come from the world's end to seek the protection of this crown; that by your means our Allies shall be well paid for their losses, that the Spaniards shall be no conquerors, but the Fronch shall be the f●…rs of all the earth. It shall be in your time that the holy seat shall have her opinions free; that the inspirations of the holy Ghost shall be no more oppugned by the cunning of our adversaries, and that there shall be raised up courageous hearts, worthy of the ancient Italia, and able to defend the common cause. Finally my Lord it shall be by your wis●…dome that there shall be no more tyranny in Christendom, nor rebellion in this kingdom: That the people shall leave in their superiors hands both liberty and religion; and that from this legal government, and from this perfect obedience there shall arise that happiness which Politicians seek for, and which is the end of all civil societies. My hope is that all these things shall come to pass through your wise government, and that after you have made sure our peace and our neighbours, you shall yourself enjoy the benefit of your good deeds with pleasure and at your case, and shall see the state of things continue flourishing, whereof none but yourself have been the Author. I earnestly entreat you so to deal with Mounsieur de— that he may rest contented with this; and dispense with me for any new meditation which would require more leisure than I am like to have. This bearer will deliver you the History of Queen Elizabeth, which may serve you for a recreation till the end of the week, and then I shall come and ask your opinion, and desire you to give me some light of that time out, of the great experience you have of many things. I desire of God with all my heart that he will be pleased to afford you yet some great matter to exercise yourself in, and that this wise old age of yours which we so much admire may long continue to be a strength and ornament to your family. These are my earnest wishes, and withal, to make you by a perfect acknowledgement of your favours, a perfect proof that I am,  
Sir, my dear Father, Your, etc. At Balzac, 7. june 1634.   

To Mounsieur de Boisrobert. LETTER LI.  
SIR, the Muses never favoured man as they do you; you are the only man that need neither retr●…ite nor leisure for your meditations; In the troubles of the world you possess your spirit in peace, and seeing the bruit of the court diverts not your attention, neither can the Sea and all its waves hinder your compositions. It is no small advantage to find that solitude in ones self, which others seek for in the Desert, and not to be bound to go out of the world for setching in of sound opinions and persuasive words. If the merit of yours take place, we shall shortly see at Comaedies as many long Cassocks as short robes, and the most austere Philosophers will have their hands and eyes in the recreations of the people, and so Sir of a mischief you shall make a remedy; you shall set timourous spirits at liberty, and shall free us from two terrible monsters, scrupulousness, and vicious bashfulness. You make me long to bear a part in this action, and in this sort to defend the Theatre; to take the field after you is not so much to fight as to pursue the victory, and I think it no wrong to virtue to justify an innocent pleasure, and that which is only worthy of her; this we owe to jason, to Masinissa, to Brutus, and to other worthy men, who live at this day in the person of the man you so much commend, and whom I admire as often as I hear. It is certain that the grace with which he pronounceth verses gives them a degree of goodness which the Poets could not. They are more beholding to him that pronounceth them, then to him that made them, and this second father (if I may so speak) purgeth by his adoption all the vices of their birth; the tune of his voice accompanied with the dignity of his gestures gives a kind of nobleness to the most vulgar and base conceits. No soul is so strongly fortified against the objects of sense which he forcethnot; No judgement so wary and so well prepared, which is not caught with the imposture of his words in such sort, that if in this world there be any happiness for verses, it is certainly in his mouth, and in his pronouncing, by which as evil things get the colour of good; so good things get the uttermost of their perfection. Let me know Sir whither I hit right upon your inclinations, and in the mean time I give you many thanks for your many favours, particularly for the Letter of my Lord you took the pains to send me. He writes indeed in the style of a Conqueror, and these words Accepi, legi, probavi, savour much of these, Veni, vidi, vici, of julius Caesar, and of these 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉, of another Caesar that was afterwards. Though I should never receive other mark of his love but this, yet were this a full recompense for all the passion I owe to his service; yet I must tell you, I cannot forget the honour he hath done me, in procuring me a promise that I shall be paid of—— I have done all possibly I could to blot this thought out of my mind, but I confess unto you that my imaginative part is a little strong. I could never hitherto satisfy myself herein, and what bad answer soever I receive from men yet still I rely upon this word of God, who commands me to hope well, and therefore I wait still for the accomplishment of the Oracle. All our world is extremely bound unto you for remembering it, and I am myself more than all the world together,  
Sir, Your, etc. At Balzac. 3. April, 1635.   
FINIS.