THE AMOURS OF 

Solon.  
Socrates.  
Julius Caesar.  
Cato of Utica.  
D' Andelot.  
Bussy D' Amboyse.    
Newly Translated out of French.  
LONDON: Printed for H. Herringman, and John Starkey, and are to be sold at the Blew Anchor in the Lower Walk in the New Exchange, and at the mitre within Temple-Bar. 1673.   

THE LOVES OF Great Men.  

SOLON.  
LOve is a close and cunning Insinuator, and finds such hidden and secret ways of attempt, that no Wisdom or Austerity can be so secure; but whatever Maxims fortify a Heart, there will still remain some weak and defenceless approaches, at which, he will force an entrance.  
Solon, that famous Athenian, the most renowned of the Seven Wisemen, and the Law-giver of his country, in vain sought amongst his Laborious Employs, a Sanctuary against Love: His continual cares for the Glory of Athens, his Commands in War, and his Studies in Peace, could not protect him from the assaults of this Passion. He derived his Pedigree from Codrus, one of the First Kings of Attica: The endowments of his Mind, corresponded well with so illustrious a descent, but Fortune contributed not to the support of its splendour.  
Euphorion, Father to this Hero, had been so bountiful of his goods, where he observed them wanting, that he had scarce left sufficient for himself. Solon who would have used the same liberality, had he been in his Fathers place, would not now permit indigency to defraud him of the practise of it; he made his Industry his Exchequer, and seeking among strangers what he could no longer find at home, was so happy in his Voyages, and his Undertakings were all so successful, that he returned to Athens with a greater Revenue then his Father had consumed. Whatever Philosophers may think fit to tell us, Riches are the main Pillars and Arches of Credit and Authority. Solon was scarce taken notice of whilst Fortune seemed to frown; he was raised to the highest charges in the Commonwealth, as soon as she began to smile. There was now an obstinate War between the Athenians, and the People of Megara, about the iceland Salamina, both Cities pretended its dependence on them; the Athenians founded their right on Tradition; Philaeus and Eurisaces, Sons of Ajàx, being made Citizens of Athens, had given the iceland of Salamina to that Commonwealth, in token of their acknowledgements. The Megarians were powerful in Men and Money: Power is often a valuable title, and Salamina inclined to them. The Athenians feared them, and believing it sweeter to live voluptuously within their Walls, then to extend their Dominions at the expense of their Peace and Pleasure, required that Salamina should be left to the Megarians. Pisistratus, one of the richest Men amongst them, encouraged them in this resolution; he aspired to the sovereign Authority, and judged it would be easier to reduce to obedience, People softened by Pleasures and Idleness, then Men grown warlike, and accustomend to fights.  
This Pisistratus had many great Talents to make himself be beloved, He was young, handsome, and of a sweet and flattering Spirit. Plutarch affirms, he wanted no recommendable quality, but that he could not confine himself to the condition of a private Citizen. The young men and populacy, supported all his designs; but Solon was supported by a power that never found any thing could resist it: He had in his Travels sojourned some time in Salamina, and there fell in love with Orgina, the Daughter of Amphicles, who then governed that iceland; but there was a clause in the Laws of Dracon the first Lawgiver among the Athenians, forbidding any descended from the Royal Stock, to ally themselves with any other but Athenians, or, at least, People reputed to belong to Attica. Salamina must then be made one of the Members of Athens, to authorize the Love of Solon. He summons all his credit to the relief of his Love, and if the faction of Pisistratus was more numerous, Solons had the more Authority. It was concluded, Salamina should be reduced, and Solon was made General in the expedition. He was happy in his Success, as to the concern of his glory.  
The iceland was subdued, the Megarians who endeavoured to defend it, cut in pieces; but Orgina, the Charming Orgina, for whom the War was undertaken, could not be found in the surrendered City; her Father had conveyed her thence some days before he stood affencted to the Megarians party, of which he had given too evident proofs. He feared the resentment of the Conquerors, and not judging his Strengths able to secure him by resistance, he had by the favour of a disguise, stolen out of Salamina, with no greater a train then his Daughter, and a young Slave he loved.  
All Solons Philosophy was now put to the test, to support him in this accident, it made him seem unsensible of the Honors of his Victory, and his secret melancholy passing for Moderation; so charmed the Athenians, that they offered him the title of King; they  told him, That the Glory to obey so great a Man, was preferable to the Liberty they enjoyed. Solon accepted not their offer, for besides that, he too well loved his country to see it enslaved, he could not live without Orgina; he saw not glories enough in a Crown to six his thoughts, whilst she was not there; and knowing likewise, how barren the allurements of greatness are, he made that Oration so memorable to Posterity, wherein, after having by a thousand thanks testified his acknowledgements to the People of Athens for their good will, he made it evident he should declare himself unworthy of the offer, if he should accept of the effect.  
I Cannot suffer ( said he) an Appeal from the decrees of Nature, she is wiser then we; she brought me into the World, since you had shook off the yoke of Dominion; had she thought me fit to be your King, she would have produced me in a time when that title was in my Family, or have deduced that title to my Father. What ever Libertines may say or practise, there is I know not what incomprehensible intelligence that governs the World, and disposes every one in the sphere proper for him, in which, he that has sound sense should content himself. I am satisfied with the condition in which I am born, and shall endeavour to die in it: For when the pamp and lustre of supreme Dignity solicit my Ambition, do I not muster up all those Glories in refusing them: I am above the highest degree, whilst it is submitted to my choice; and I have all the Rights of Authority, whilst I am assured of your Obedience. The Submissions of the People consist more in their Will, then Actions; whilst you will obey me, and I need onely command, I have all the advantages of Power, and onely spare myself the disgusts, and troubles of it.  
This Magnanimity of Solon gained him an Authority among the Athenians, not at all inferior to the title he had refused, they obeied his Orders like the voice of an Oracle. Pisistratus beholded his glory with envy, and as obstructive to his ambitious designs; but it being a principal Policy of his to win the Athenians by applause, he was one of the first to give Solon joy for the greatness of his actions; he exhibited shows to the People as a token of his congratulation, and made a magnificent Feast, where he exposed to view all his riches; a vanity usual among the Ancients, and which made up an essential part of the Treat. There was to be seen at this of Pisistratus, Vessels of Gold of an excessive weight, very rich movables, and Stones of great price; among which, Solon observed a Carbuncle of singular Beauty, which he knew to be the same he had given to Orgina at his departure from Salamina. The sight of it moved him to the Soul, he asked Pisistratus where he got that Carbuncle; Pisistratus smiled, and replied, It was a Mystery he could not explain before so many Witnesses. This answer troubled Solon so much, that he could scarce dissemble it, he was impatient till the company were gone, that he might clear himself of the perplexities of his mind, and pretending some private business to stay with Pisistratus, he asked him, If he were one of those Witnesses, whom he thought unfit to hear the explanation of his mystery. You of all the World, replied Pisistratus; the mystery, in which I am concerned, is a Mystery of Love; Judge then, Whether it ought to be trusted to a conformed Philosopher whose Soul stands like a Rock against all the storms of Passion, and who is continually Preaching its impossibility. I am none of those Philosophers you speak of, said Solon, interrupting him, I reverence Wisdom, and would be truly wise, if I could; but this Wisdom consists not in a brutish fierceness: Those who describe her so, never knew her well; she was made for Man, and should be a sociable virtue. How? replied Pisistratus, If I tell you, that I am in love, and that this Carbuncle is given as a token of my Mistresses kindness; will not my Passion seem a weakness to you, or can you pardon my amour? It is possible, replied Solon, whom this discourse troubled more and more, I may; there are crimes carry their excuses with them. Love is indeed of itself a great extravagance, but there may be a Mistress so perfect, that that Love may become an effect of Reason. Pisistratus had no love for Solon, and believed him as severe as he seemed to be; but it is hard for any lover to resist the occasion of speaking of what they love; and he was so extremely delighted with the thoughts, that so famed a Wiseman approved his Passion, that he could not forbear crying out, Then a thousand thanks to love, that hath made me become the most reasonable of all Men; for never was there Woman so perfect as Orgina, nor ever was the effect of that Reason made me love her; so powerful in any breast as in mine. That name of Orgina put all the Philosophy of Solon to a stand. Do you call your Mistress Orgina, said he, interrupting him. Yes, replied Pisistratus, that is the name of the person I adore: I have heard speak of her at Salamina, said Solon. She is indeed of that iceland, answered Pisistratus, and Daughter to Amphicles, considerable both for her Birth and Degree; her Father having been always inclinable to the part of the Megariana●, escaped out of Salamina, during the Siege, with intent to retire to Megara; but was met by an Officer of the Athenian Army, who seeing him, followed by his Daughter and a very fair young Slave, thought he might make considerable booty by seizing them, he kept his prey very close fearing some sharers; and returning to Athens, after the Army was dismissed, he sold me the prisoner, and his two fair attendants. Had not Solon been accountable to Posterity for the title of Wiseman, that Age had given him, he had ill-recompenced Pisistratus for the confidence wherewith he obliged him: But the quality of Philosopher is a heavy burden for those who undertake to bear it. He was forced to keep a guard upon his Sences, as upon his declared Enemies, and not daring to lift up his eyes on Pisistratus, fearful least his countenance should betray him, he asked him in a doubtful and trembling key, If he were as much beloved, as he loved. I cannot guess I am hated, replied Pisistratus, with the briskness of a successful Lover, and you may judge it by the Carbuncle which hath been the occasion of this converse. Orgina gave it me, telling me withal, That it was the greatest token of Love could be given by the Daughter of Amphicles; and that if I knew the secret contained in it, I would confess, that Orgina offered an obliging Sacrifice, when she entrusted me with it.  
This Relation so much increased Solon's trouble, that grown doubtful of his power to master it, he thought it best to leave Pisistratus, and seeming to satisfy himself by faintly telling him, That Salamina was become one of the Members of Athens, and that he ought not to treat as a Slave, a Virgin whom his country had adopted, he bid him adieu, but in such a disorder, as was very slenderly agreeable to the reputation he had gained. Being come to his house, he found there Thales, surnamed the Milesian, one of the most famous Wisemen of Greece, and particular friend to our Athenian. The Inhabitants of the iceland of Coos had sent him a Tripod of Gold, fished out of the Sea, near their iceland, which was pretended to have been cast in there by heal, in her return from Troy, and which by the Oracle of Pythia the Prophetess, was destined to the wisest Man of all Greece. The modest Thales not believing himself worthy that renown, resigned it to Solon; and now came to prepare him to receive the present, intended to be made him next morning. Alas, cried Solon, when he understood the occasion of his Friends journey, What a labyrinth is the Heart of Man. None, dear Thales, can find out its Mazes and Windings, those who think a Philosopher as perfect in the practise of Knowledge, as in his Precepts, would soon quit that Error, if the Eyes were as certainly the Windows of the Soul, as they are but the Mask. This Morality looks prettily from you, replied Thales, in the glorious occasion that now courts you. I applaud myself for the opinion I have conceived of your Wisdom; and I observe with much satisfaction, it is not friendship hath prepossessed me in your favour. Accept the Tripod, dear Solon, for you onely are worthy to receive it, nor can any other possess it without usurpation. Thales and Solon had contracted so strict a friendship, there could be no veil or hypocrisy between them. Solon had discovered to the Milesian, the birth of a Daughter which he had in his youth, whose horoscope had  told him, She should be one day fatal to her Countreys Liberty. It was by Thales Counsel she was secretly brought up in one of the Isles of the Aegean Sea, without knowing either her birth, or the misfortune threatened her. This trust enjoined a farther, which Solon could not refuse, he discovered to his friend the true state of his heart, and not hiding any circumstances of his love, Judge, added he, if I deserve the mysterious Tripod, which the gods destined for the wisest of Men, two or three violent Passions at once triumph over my Soul; I love Orgina as much as I can love, and I hate Pisistratus as much as I can hate. I am jealous and desperate, and in the extravagancies of my fury, know not whether I should not be transported to act the same violences against what I love, as what I hate. Keep the Tripod, dear Thales, or make a present of it to some one that is wiser then Solon. I know no one, replied Thales, that more appears so; your Laws seem to have been dictated by the gods, your conversation is learned and instructive, you are externally calm and quiet, and have refused sovereign power, if you be not wise, who then is? Or, on what foundation shall we make judgments of Men; If it be true, that your Soul is the Whirligig of so many Passions, let us deplore, dear Solon, the excess of human frailty, which hath spread itself into all Men equally, appearance onely making some difference between them. We can never teach true Wisdom, we learn onely the Art of feigning Anacharsis bias, you, and I, we are all subject to the same failings, and the gods can onely boast perfection. Concluding therefore, that the Tripod ought to be consecrated to some divinity, they sent it to that Temple at Thebes, which the Thebans had lately built in honor of Apollo, surnamed the Ismenian. Solon prevailed with Thales to stay some days longer in Athens, to assist him in his extremities with his wise Counsels. Whiles they were one day shut up together, and Thales dissuading his friends love by all the arguments his Philosophy could furnish him with, a Letter was brought to Solon, left by an unknown person at his Gate, who refused to stay for an answer. Solon opened it with a concern that Thales observed, and he found these words.  
I Have observed you, as I thought concerned for me, and I have had a belief, that I often perceived in your eyes that passionate trouble, might well convince you loved; and yet Solon, you now come often into the place where I am, and pass many hours without letting your love betray me to you. Are you yet Solon? Or can I forbear reproaching you with this calmness, without ceasing to be the delicate  
ORGINA.  
Solon burst out into a cry of joy, at the reading of this Letter, and kissing with an ecstasy the so beloved name of Orgina, put Thales into a strange astonishment. Is it possible, said he to Solon, that that Wisdom so famous in all Greece, and with which I believed, you so liberally supplied, should sink under so weak an assault. Pray, my dear Thales, said Solon, embracing his friend, trouble not my joy by such an unprofitable reflection. It is no more the Solon celebrated through all Greece that now speaks to you; it is a sincere friend who shows himself unmasked to his friend. You would find all men different from what they appear, if you could see their hearts naked as I discover mine to you: And besides, my dear Friend, What do you call true Wisdom, if it be not the Art to make ourselves happy? Can our felicity reside in any other thing? And is it not the impressions we seek of joy or grief, which create our pleasures, or our pains? Believe me Thales, let Men think of us what they please, it is not their Opinion creates our happiness, it is the natural motions of our own Souls. In vain would all Greece believe you happy, if you believe it not yourself, and others judgments of that happiness you found not, would but increase your misery and sorrow. Ending these words, he hasted to Pisistratus House resolved to see Orgina, if the could possibly, but she was not there to be found. Pisistratus had surprised the Letter Carrier, as he came to return an account of his Commission; and though the seeming austerity of Solon might create a dead repose in his Rival, Pisistratus who was born suspicious, believing he could not be too watchful of a treasure he feared to lose, had carried away the young Orgina and her Slave, to a covetous of his, two days journey from Athens. This news afflicted Solon as much as can be imagined, he observed two or three circumstances equally vexatious, he would not for his life that his weakness should grow public. The sudden departure of Pisistratus, and that just at the instant he received Orgina's Letter, made him conjecture something of the truth; and if he were apprehensive of his glory, he was no less of his love; he saw his Mistress carried away, and in the power of a lover, whom he believed jealous, such a Man as Solon seldom fears without seeking a remedy; and People who are in power ever mix the greatest Interests with their own. He had begun the establishment of the Areopagites, a Counsel of great authority in Athens, and whose Decrees have made it since famous; he laboured in the accomplishment of this Work, and declaring to the Assembly, that he had notice, that some Athenians held some of the Inhabitants of Salamina in a kind of slavery; he represented it as a thing ignoble, for Athens to permit, that people by her adopted should be reduced to servitude. This Remonstrance was thought just, a Decree was issued out against those which held any of the Inhabitants of Salamina, commanding their release in three days, on pain of death. Pisistratus being the onely Man aimed at in this Decree, Solon took care to give him the first notice.  
In vain had they imposed the Penalty of Death on the Disobeyers, Pisistratus would have suffered a thousand deaths, ere run the hazard of losing Orgina, he secures himself with her in the Kingdom of Argos; and those who had Commission from the Areopagites, to make him give obedience to the Decree, found onely on his House, the Slave of Amphicles. Solon grew even desperate at this new misfortune. See now, said he, to Thales, how much all your boasted Wisdom contributes to our Happiness, had it not been for that Reputation of wise Man, I so little deserve, I would have forced my Mistress out of my Rivals Arms; she was mine before he knew her, her Letter assures me, I have lost no right in her; and I have a power in Athens, to which, that of Pisistratus must have been constrained to yield: And yet because I pass for a wise Man, and must pay wondrous Caution to that Title, I am robbed of Orgina, and my rival peaceably possesses her. He would needs see Amphicles his Slave, to drow from her some little satisfaction, she was brought to him, but, O Gods! What was his astonishment, when he knew her for the same Orgina, he believed to be in the Kingdom of Argos with Pisistratus; he wanted the charitable advice of his friend Thales to withhold him from proclaiming the secrets of his Soul to all the World. We are not now alone Solon, said the Milesian in his ear, recall that Wisdom is ready to forsake you, and believe that Solon is too much obliged to the opinions the Athenians have conceived of him, thus at once by his weakness to convince them of Error. Solon striven hard to recollect himself, and appear what he was thought, and receiving Orgina with that gravity, his heart approved not, he got rid of the company in the most unconcerned manner he could; but after he thought himself at liberty to return to himself, and love, and beholded, after having believed his Orgina lost, himself alone with her, What said he not? or, what did he not do? to pay his love those Rites Philosophy would have robbed it of. The love of those who make Profession of Wisdom is much more ardent then that of ordinary Lovers; it is not dispelled by any exterior ceremony, but as it reserves itself inward and entire for great occasions, so it ordinarily breaks forth to advantage. I know, said Solon to Orgina, Pisistratus believed himself ascertained of your love; yet I know not whether he had reason to believe it. But Orgina I conjure you tell me he had none. I have so great a confidence in what you say, that your words should make me give my very eyes the lye, therefore tell me, nothing may make me less happy; for why should you declare yourself guilty, when I will believe you innocent, if you will but say you are so. I thank you Sir for your confidence, replied Orgina, it is of all your qualities what I shall make the least use, a Mistress should not be believed but upon unreproachable testimony, and a Love so confiding, has a Face of Indifference; Believe me to be with Pisistratus in Argos, till such time as you are well assured that be mistakes my Fathers Slave for me, and that by the help of that disguise I am preserved wholly for Solon. How cried Solon in an ecstasy, Is it your Slave then Pisistratus hath carried to Argos, and is it you he hath always thought the Slave of Amphicles. Yes Sir, replied Orgina, my Father made use of this precaution, the better to preserve me in the dangers of our flight; he believed he might more easily conceal me as a simplo Slave, then as his Daughter; the person he choose to supply my place, is young, handsome, and virtuous. Pisistratus easily believed her what she appeared, and I thought it a just debt to the merit of that fair Maid, not to hinder her Marriage with one of the chiefest Men of Athens; the adventure of the Carbuncle was innocently contrived to give you notice of the place where I was. But Sir, methinks you believe me very easily, the quiet and tranquillity of your mind has gained head, since I have been out of your sight, you are neither jealous nor suspicious. Can one be a Lover indeed, without these qualities. Solon relieved Orgina from the fears of these nice apprehensions, by making to her protestations, never learned in the Schools of Wisdom, and impatient to hasten the hour of his happiness, by advancing the publication of those Laws, might permit him to mary a Salaminian, he finished that great and painful work: But to let Orgina see, that he dedicated not himself so absolutely to the service of the State, but he still reserved his Heart to his Love; the same day that he engraved his serious Laws and Policies on those Tables, whereon they were to be presented to the People, he made particular ones for his Mistress; of which, see here some Articles.  

The Laws of Love.  

I.  
WHo would a perfect Lovers title gain,  
Must hind his Love in a mysterious chain:  
His Flames under a cloud must wear,  
Jealous, least any trembling Air  
Should to the vulgar Ears his Passion bear.  
This is Loves seasoning: For he  
Who would a curious Lover be,  
Fears less a Rival, then Discovery.   

2.  
The nicest Lover oft does find  
A Happiness in his extreme;  
For Doubt and Caution make the Mind  
Value, what else had been a Dream;  
The greatest Goods have their Esteem  
Not from themselves, but what we pay;  
We to our Passions guide the way.  
And the great Deity of Love does live,  
Not by the wounds he makes, but by the leave we give.   

3.  
When all we wish crowns our Desires,  
If Jealously but gently move,  
'Tis like a Fan to blow those Fires,  
And seems a kind transport of Love.  
But let that frenzy never gain the Field;  
Nor by continuance grow so high,  
That Reason cannot force it yield,  
Or the least Oath make the Usurper fly.   

4.  
Th'unfledg'd Gallant at his first sight does swear Air,  
His Love eternal course shall hold,  
Though tried experience tells those Vows are  
And that no hope can be more rash or bold.  
Happy the Lover, whose kind Star  
Thinks worthy of a Gift so rare,  
But if its Influence prove retrograde,  
Let not a sullen Grief your breast invade:  
For Stars you will like Women find,  
Who are by humour false or kind,  
Without consulting the fond Lovers mind.   

5.  
That Lover whose Desires unjustly tend,  
And onely to his Pleasures bend,  
'Tis fit should miss of his main end.  
But they are Stages in our way,  
And though they oft a Heart betray,  
Are pretty Baits, our travels to alloy.   

6.  
Sincerity in Love, I much esteem,  
As of all Laws, the most supreme;  
Yet for their Interest oft, the wise  
Must cloath the Truth in a disguise.  
I like a dainty Lover would know all,  
Yet like a Man of human frailty sure,  
Would not my own disease procure,  
Nor headlong on Disquiet fall,  
But rather Ignorance, then despair endure.    
As he finished this Gallantry, Thales entred his Chamber, I return to Miletum, Solon, said he, I have so journed but too long at Athens, you shall, I hope, never see me more; and therefore before I depart, I thought fit to tell you that your Daughter is lost, pirates who were coursing for Booty about the Aegaean Isles, hoping her beauty might make her prise considerable, took her away, without ever since being heard of. I came hither to tell you this misforture, rather then to speak to you of the Tripod; but I found you so weak, that I thought to attempt the reducing you to the Estate of Wisdom, before I put you to this trial. I now find you are perverted for ever, and therefore I do, what I hoped in vain to do more to the purpose another time. Solon was so surprised at this news, and the manner in which his friend  told it him, that he had not the power to interrupt him; but having had time to compose himself whilst he discoursed; Is it Thales, said he, that tells Solon one of the greatest misfortunes could possibly happen to him, without appearing himself concerned. I have been too much concerned for you, replied Thales, nor should I, had I not been sensible of your misfortunes, have entertained converse with a Man in love. I should have deserted you, when I found you deserted that Wisdom first united us: That friendship I had for you, made me renounce my severity for your relief; I have stayed with you, have endured to hear you talk of your Passion; and wretch, that I am, there wants but little that your disease is become contagious. I looked the other day upon your Orgina, with an intention, I never had for any thing but my Books: I cannot banish from my memory the bewitching Idea that object left there, I find a kind of indulgence for your weakness; it delights me as much as it terrified fied me before; and even the confused vapours of Sleep, conspire to the breach of my quiet. Athens, pernicious Athens, thou shalt never see Thales more, the distemper he hath begun to contract in thee, cannot be cured, but by his flight.  
And so finishing those words, Thales went out of the Closet, and without more delay hired a passage for Miletum, not suffering the Prayers of Distress of Solon, to stay him a minute lognger. After this so unexpected parting, Solon went to see Orgina, to acquaint her with what had happened to him. The Gods had too much favoured me, said he, in restoring my Orgina to me. If they had likewise preserved to me my daughter, and my Friend, I should have forgot myself in such height of Happiness; and some great misforture was necessary to balance the joy I had in your recovery. But, then let my dear Orgina, be all things to me, since in finding her, I lose all things. Orgina received that obliging request, as she ought to do it, she made new Protestations of Love and Fidelity to Solon, she endeavoured to apply comfort to those misfortunes he already suffered under; and to gain from him the knowledge of those he feared for the future, she heard him relate all the particulars of the Birth and Horoscope of his Daughter; but when in one part of the story she heard him call his Daughter Hypparete. Hypparete, Sir, said she with a nimble hastiness. Yes, replied Solon, so was my Daughter called; and Sir( continued Orgina) of what age, of what stature, and what form of countenance, as near as you can guess was this Hypparete. She is of middle stature, replied Solon, slender, fair complexioned, bright haired, her nose aquiline, black-eyed, and particularly remarkable for a butterfly, Nature took pleasure to imprint on one of her hands, whence I took the Etymology of that name of Hypparete, which I gave her. Ah Sir, replied Orgina, seek not for Hypparete among pirates, she is in the hands of one of your own Citizens: It is that same Slave my Father bought some time before our departure from Salamina, who passed for me during, the time of our Captivity; and whom, Pisistratus, at present, keeps in the Kingdom of Argos. This news was very unwelcome to Solon, he loved his country, as may be judged by his own refusing the Dominion over it, he knew the ambitious humour of Pisistratus, and his flight from Athens having angered the Areopagites, they had issued a Decree against his body and Goods. This rigor furnished him with a pretence to Enterprises, and the Fortune of Hypparete assured their success. Our Law-giver was so afflicted with the misfortunes his foresight denounced, that he could not resolve to stay and be a witness to them; he banished himself willingly from Athens, and took that long voyage through all the Realms of Greece, which his advice to Creasus made so memorable. Those private Authors from whence I extracted this Relation, have not  told me whether Orgina followed Solon. I will believe for the glory of the wise Man, that his Folly reached not so far; it is enough that he loved, and that his love was the innocent cause of the enthralment of his Courtrey. I would likewise be persuaded that he married the Daughter of Amphicles, but when we come to think his Mistress his Wife, we cannot well think she stayed behind at Athens. Solons Predictions had a full effect, Pisistratus subjected his country, and reigned peaceably the rest of his days. Let us now search, if this same City, so famous among the Ancients, and so fruitful in great Men, cannot furnish us with other Examples to employ some pleasant hours.  
The end of the Loves of Solon.   

THE LOVES OF Great Men.  
SOCRATES.  
tis not of absolute necessity for that Man to be handsome, who designs to make Love. The best Descriptions the World has given us of Socrates contain little answerable to the qualities of a Lover. He was neither of a Courtly Humour, nor of taking Shape of Feature. He made Profession of an Austere Philosophy, and yet for all this he was in Love: But, as Love knows how to change his shape, and put on what disguise he pleases; it was not under his ordinary figure he crept into the Soul of Socrates, but under the Image of Virtue. Timandra a young Phrygian Lady, famous to Posterity for the adventures we are about to relate, was Daughter to one of Socrates his Intimate Friends. Some private reasons having obliged this Gentleman to frequent Athens, he dies, and valuing Socrates his Friendship equal to himself, trusts to his care his only Daughter, a charge which the Philosopher accepts with joy and generosity. This Lady was very fair, and Socrates discerned in her such sparks of wit and good nature as he hoped might be one day improved into hands of Wisdom: He undertook to make her a Philosophical Woman; and, prudently judging that converse with the World might obstruct his design, he committed Timandra to the cares of Aglaonice the Astrologess, who, under the pretence of making her Celestial Observations, lived in an extreme Solitude. Socrates charmed with the good dispositions he found in the Soul of Timandra, would spend whole dayes in forming her Manners after the Rules of virtue: For what reason( would he say to her) think you, the gods have made you be born so accomplished? 'tis neither out of any singular love to your person, nor out of any hate to other Women, made less perfect; but, 'tis to manifest in you the power of the qualities of the Soul above those of the Body: had you had but an ordinary Beauty, the assaults made on your Virtue would have been so feeble, your Victory would not become an Example: but now, when in the fairest Lady of all Greece there shall be observed a Soul impregnable against all the assaults of Passion, a laudable disdain of perishable and transitory pleasures, and solid love, for those can never wast; you will become a Living axiom, which all the Arguments of our Libertines shall not have the boldness to insult over. These Arguments, which one would have thought should only have alarmed the Gallant, gave yet the alarm to Conjugal Love, and beat up a Charge to his Spouse Myrto, Socrates Wife, who, for all her being Daughter to Aristides, Surnamed the Just, was not her self the more so, observed some trouble in her Husband, when he saw not Timandra, and discovering, he paid his Visits to that Lady when ever he could get from her, conceived a furious jealousy. This Woman seemed to have been chosen out by Heaven to keep the Virtue of Socrates in breath. Never was there Wife more untractable; and, because the had kept her honour untainted under the shelter of little temptations, she became a merciless Tyrant, exacting tributes of Patience from those least ought to pay it; She aspersed Timandra with all the Titles her jealousy could dictate: But Myrto,( said Socrates to her) Is it from your own experience you judge so ill of the virtue of your Sex? We should seldom suspect failings in others, of which ourselves are not, or have not a will to be guilty. Do you think the Gods have favoured you with a peculiar privilege? or whilst you would have them believed prodigal of Chastity to you, is it to be presumed that they are niggards to all other women? I know not what to answer to these Sophistryes( said Myrto interrupting him) I red no Book but my Prayers, and would scarce be well pleased with any other; but these frequent meetings and interviews between different Sexes are neither lawful nor honest, there is always in them some mixtures of Criminal designs; and, as one of your scholars said well some dayes since, Men and Women were only sent into the World to propagate. Your memory retains( said Socrates very coldly) mighty pretty passages of my scholars lessons, I have no design Timandra should grow so learned, and the Philosophy I teach her has Precepts utterly opposite to those you are pleased to remember. See, see, what a pretty excuse you have found( said his Wife interrupting him) Love never wants pretences; had you been a Painter you would have feigned to teach that art to Timandra, now, being a Philosopher, you would by all means teach her to Philosophize; but Socrates, those who would give Lessons of Modesty and Virtue, make not choice of scholars so young and so handsome. This Dispute was interrupted by the coming in of Alcibiades, the bravest and most Courtly of all the Greacians; whose inclinations, though unconformable with the severity of Socrates, impeded not a strict friendship between them; The Philosopher made a Sign to his Wife to be quiet when he perceived Alcibiades, whom he would not have know Timandra: People so sprightly and ingenious as this Illustrious Athenian, often reap what Philosophy has sown; but Myrto, who was in a talking humour, would not stop for all her Husbands signs; she appealed to Alcibiades whether her Suspicions were not just and reasonable; and, enflamed with socrates his oppositions and endeavours to hinder her being heard, exposed the whole pretended intrigue of her Husband with the faire Phrygian as an incontestable truth, when want of breath made her silently retire. Do you then impose on us at this rate( said Alcibiades to his Friend) or can you think we will be thus deceived? you are continually Preaching to us contempt of the Passions, my Age and other Engagements can gain no indulgence from you; yet, as if you spent your whole stock of Philosophy in Counsel to your Friends, you remain yourself unprovided. Do you believe an angry Woman( replied Socrates coldly) these are visions of her Jealous Fancy, which have neither likelihood nor foundation. How( said Alcibiades) is it not true then you have that affection for this Timandra, at which your Wife appears so alarmed at. I aclowledge( replied Socrates) I have delighted to Cultivate and improve an excellent good Nature, which Chance offered to my Cares, and which all the considerations of Friendship oblige me not to see lye fallow; And, this excellent good Nature,( said Alcibiades, interrupting him) is seated in a fair and youthful person; What is that Circumstance to our purpose( replied the Philosopher in a somewhat an angry tome) or, What communication can there be between the Beauty of a Woman, and the Soul of Socrates? Alcibiades was now returned from his first Exile, and had had some experience in Love; I talked like you( replied he) when I was admonished against the charms of Namea; How! would I say to myself, can Alcibiades, whom the chiefest Ladies of Athens are proud to favour, and whom a great Queen did not disdain, love a Curtisan: I will see her, and if my heart can find leisure to cast off nobler Passions, Court her perhaps for some few houres; but, this light distraction cannot be called Love, nor is Nemea of a quality considerable enough to give it me; this was once my Song, and yet Socrates you Know whither this Love hurried me, to what Censure I exposed myself by it; and, into what dangers it lead my ambition. Your soul and mine are very different said Socrates your Riches continually solicit your delights; you are softened by pleasures irreparably attending your degree, and finding yourself always in a condition to attempt relief, you may desire all things; for my part, the meanness of my fortunes secure my rest and quiet; I regard Beauty but as an effect of Nature, which teaches me the knowledge of its cause; and finding matter to exercise my Virtue in that which debauches yours, from that wreck I learn to keep myself in the Port. Alcibiades said many other things to the Philosopher to oblige him not to have such steadfast confidence in his Philosophy, but he could not shake the opinion Socrates had of its fortitude. Though he yielded Timandra to be worthy of love, yet he would not grant Socrates to be capable of Loving. But, the testimony he had given of the merit of the faire phrygian stirred up a curiosity in Alcibiades, to see if Socrates were as well skilled in his distinctions of Beauty as Philosophy; he had observed by their discourse the Philosopher was covetous of his Treasure, he believed if he would have a sight of it, it must be by stealth, he therefore caused Socrates to be watched, to find out Timandra's House; and, having discovered it, he appareled himself like a phrygian, and making choice of a day wherein he knew the Philosopher employed in giving public Lessons to his Schollers, he presents himself at Timandra's Gate, pretending himself a phrygian, come to bring her news from her country; he spoken very well all Languages in use in his time; and, among other admirable qualities which graced him, he had a most excellent way of acting all disguises: But, Socrates had given such Orders at Aglaonice's, as were proof against all occasions and all artifices. The Astrologess came in the place of the phrygian, and her person being ill favoured and displeasing, as Alcibiades hoped to find it beautiful and charming, he retreated two or three paces at sight of her, and much surprised, asked her, If she were Socrates his scholar? Yes, replied Aglaonice( who had reasons for that untruth) What have you to say to me, or what are your affairs? Nay, nothing Madam,( replied Alcibiades very coldly) I had many things to say to Timandra when I came into this house, but having forgot them all, have now nothing to say, but take my leave. Alcibiades had a mighty winning way both in his carriage and converse, which subdued the hearts of all that saw him. The Astrologess was smitten as with an Arrow, and unable to submit to the loss of an object so soon known dear to her: I see you are somewhat startled( said she to the supposed phrygian) you have doubtless heard Me described fairer then you find me; but Sir,( added she, presenting her hand to Alcibiades) I will let you see with what kind of beauty the great Socrates is affencted; and at that word she lead the Illustrious Athenian into a Closet set out with Globes and Figures, and showing him a Scheame which lay on the Table, See there( said she) what deserves more admiration then all the frail Beauties Nature can show us; that Scheame contains the destiny of sundry Empires; I red in the Stars all that happens memorable upon Earth; and, have more knowledge of things to come then ordinary persons have of things present: I alone have secured Socrates against the fears he had of the Illustrious Alcibiades. Do you then know Alcibiades( said the pretended phrygian interrupting her.) Aglaonice gave a disdainful smile at that demand, and affecting a certain tone of a woman well satisfied with her skill; Is there any thing in the world I would know, and do not( replied she) I learned from Socrates the hour of Alcibiades's Birth, and have Calculated his Nativity; see there, said she, drawing it out from many other Papers, the directions and revolutions, and by this I dare boast to know all that happens to him as well as himself. How, said Alcibiades, interrupting her, Does your knowledge teach event to his indifferent actions? I know even his indifferent actions, replied Aglaonice, which includes all, not excepting any thing.  
I did not believe, pursued Alcibiades smiling, that Astrology entered into the search of trivial things; I know well there may be drawn from the influence of the Stars a judgement upon the inclination and the temper; I will likewise believe the life of Man may be subject to Revolutions, surprising enough to be worth Heavens notice, but that you can tell what Alcibiades is doing this very minute I speak, is what you will hardly persuade me to.  
You know not what I can do, said Aglaonice, People who judge things but in gross, have onely penetrated into a superficial knowledge of the Stars; I have made my searches farther, and when I erect a Figure for any one, I can, if need be, give an account of the very number of his words. Pray Madam, said the supposed Phrygian, favour me with a proof of this rare knowledge in the person of Alcibiades; I knew him in Phrigia, have an honour for him, and resolve to go seek him when I go hence; I shall make proof of what you tell me, and it will be no small conversion, if you can make me a Proselyte to Astrology. Aglaonice well pleased with the opportunity of keeping still with her the lovely phrygian, searches her Books, and after a long confronting of the signs and Planets, Are you discreet, said she, to the disguised Athenian? Yes, without doubt, replied he; and, for your better assurance, one of the best Friends Alcibiades ever had: He is then, said she, inclining her head to whisper it in his ear, at present making Courtship to one of the fairest Ladies of Athens, whom he loves, and by whom he is as ardently beloved: Alcibiades could not forbear bursting out into Laughter at the result of this Observation, and the Astrologess being half put out of countenance; I believe, said she, you doubt of what I have  told you: Pardon me; Madam, replied Alcibiades, you could not hit any thing righter, I have such visible proofs of the certainty of your Science, that I will go admonish Alcibiades to be more cautious for the future; for, since all he does is so perfectly known, he ought to do nothing which he fears should grow public. With this Irony Alcibiades took his leave, leaving the Astrologess more taken with the charms of the Phrygian, then he was ill satisfied with the ugliness of the false Timandra; he had gone but few steps from thence when he was met by Socrates: That Philosopher made his public Lessons very short, having more pleasing private ones to give elsewhere; he cast a sour look at his Friend when he saw him disguised in that manner, and not doubting but Love had a part in the Metamorphosis, he was preparing to make him one of those Remonstrances wherewith he used to declaim against Voluptuousness: But Alcibiades preventing him; I guess all you would say, dear Socrates, said he, I confess I am in an error, and that you have reason to upbraid me, but I am punished enough by my own curiosity, and by the displeasure it gave me, I shall never hereafter be so vain, and if I could have suspected you of so gross a discernement, your Timandra had not cost me the trouble of a disguise. At that word he partend, not being in humour to hear Socrates his Morallo. And, the Philosopher, more troubled at what he had heard, then at all the accidents of his life, hastened the small remainder of his way to Aglaonice's, whom asking for at entrance, and understanding she was in the Garden, he posts to her to upbraid, her negligence. You have promised me( said he chafing) that you would not let Timandra be seen by any other Man i'th' world; It was agreed you should receive the Compliments addressed to her, that we might better order all our Measures for the defeating the Snares and Stratagems of the Curious, and yet Aglaonice, you whom I believed a woman of extraordinary trust, and to whose charge I have committed the person in whom I had placed all my happiness, betray this confidence, and your Promise, in favour of Alcibiades. I, cried out the Astrologess, I let Alcibiades see Timandra; From whom have you this false Story? 'tis too much a truth, replied Socrates, I have it from Alcibiades own mouth, whom I met not ten steps off, disguised like a phrygian, and, who  told me, he came from Timandra. If it were Alcibiades, continued Aglaonice, came to ask for Timandra in the phrygian habit, forbear to trouble yourself, 'twas I received his Visit, and 'tis me he takes for your young phrygian: Whereupon she related to him all the passages of the interview between her and the supposed phrygian, making him almost break his Spleen with Laughing at the fallacies of her Science, and the surprise wherein she represented Alcibiades. Timandra's Closet windows answered directly to the place where this Conversation was held, so that she lost not one word of it; and, discontented with the Captivity of her Condition, designs a revenge by undeceiving Alcibiades; To this purpose she Bribes one of Aglaonice's household Servants, and entrusting him with a Letter for the Illustrious Athenian, makes him promise to deliver it to his own hand. The Porter, who understood well what he had to do, and feared not a liberal payment for the delivery of a Letter from so fair a Lady to the gallant and magnificent Alcibiades, choose the hour he judged most convenient to acquit himself of his Commission, but was unhappily prevented by a former Messenger, who had put Alcibiades into a scurvy disorder of mind.  
Aglaonice, who, according to the Mode of ignorant Astrologers, found still in the Stars what pleased her self, rather then what they denounced, was persuaded that Alcibiades Ascendant and her own Leer'd at one another with a kind of Sympathetical Aspect; she would have Sworn by the faith of her Observations that he was necessitated by an over-ruling influence to love her; and, believing she ought to press forward so happy a destiny, by some kind exhortations she had entrusted an Apprentice in Astrology, who daily came to honour her with his meaner offerings, to give Alcibiades in the behalf of the young phrygian Lady, the following Epistle.  
LETTER.  
CAn you yet doubt my skill? and, is it not true that Alcibiades was making Love, when I saw him disguised under the habit of a Phrygian? Those Masquerades are the appendices of Gallantry, and finding one half of my predictions so true, I dare promise myself that I shall soon see the rest accomplished.  
Understanding People receive as injuries Sacrifices, they judge unworthy of them, and the designs of Women have this proper to them, ever to produce an effect contrary to what they promised themselves. Alcibiades returned this answer by the same Messenger.  
ANSWER.  
YOu have so near a converse with Heaven, that Men are unworthy to have any with you. My Soul is too much inclined to Pleasure, and my Heart so devoted to the satisfaction of my Sences; I am not worthy of you, most knowing Timandra; and you profane your rare Merit, in abafing yourself to the Sensual  
ALCIBIADES.  
An hour after the Messenger of Aglaonice was dispatched, Timandra's came to present her Letter, and demand the like expedition. Alcibiades believed it was a second Epistle of the Nature of the first, he had too many pleasant intrigues upon his hands, to spare time for a commerce so nauseous and troublesone. You may tell Timandra, said he, refusing to receive the Letter she sent him, that I guess what her Letter contains, and that my engagements with Socrates permit me not to have any with her; and therefore I desire her to forbear these kindnesses for ever. These terrible words being brought to Timandra, she received with such an anger mixed with shane, as made her easily resolve on the Silence imposed. But Aglaonice not so easily offended, and whose skill promised her more happy success in her enterprise, would not be repulsed for one difficulty; she assassinated Alcibiades with Astrological menaces, he could never come home without finding some note or other from the false Timandra; they were strewed upon his Table, and in his Closet, as if they had been his daily Agenda, he resolved to stop this current. He was naturally kind and civil, and willing to avoid all occasions of rudeness towards a Sex he adored; but these frequent Messages from a Woman, might prejudice him in some other affairs, he writ to the Astrologess in terms admitted no Answer; and that she might not feign the miscarriage of his Letter he entrusted his Nurse with the delivery. She was a very notable Woman, called Amicla, and a Lacedemonian; but the Austerities of Sparta, could not secure her from some flyings out of Blood and Temper. She takes out of Alcibiades's Closet Petrified Plants, several Sea Animals dried, and becoming a Merchant of this sort of traffic, she goes and asks at Trimandra's Gate, if they would buy any of her Curiosities. The fair Phrygian was alone contrary to her Custom, Socrates was retired for some days to a house out of Athens, where he prepared himself to maintain a public dispute, and Aglaonice weakened with the watchings, and agonies of Love, did that day keep her bed, Timandra would needs see Amycla's rarities, and she set them forth with all the terms and tattle requisite in the person, she played, and following the Phrygian to a Window, where she was looking on a petrified Fruit, slipping the Letter into her hand, See there Madam, said she, the rarest piece of all my Shop, Alcibiades sends it you. The Phrygian blushed at that name, and opening her hand, that she might not receive what was offered her. You may tell Alcibiades, said she to the counterfeit Merchant, that I guess what the Letter contains, and that my engagements with Socrates permit me not to have any with him. At which words she stepped into her Closet, leaving the poor Nurse much afflicted at the ill success of her negotiation, she returns forthwith to Alcibiades. Your business goes ill Sir, said she, I presented your Letter with all the cunning you could expect from me, but Timandra would not receive it; she sends you word, that she guesses what it contains, and that her engagements with Socrates permit her not to have any with you. Alcibiades burst out with laughing at the repetition of the same words, he remembered to have sent formerly to her. How! cried he, and am I become displeasing even to Timandra, Destiny is my friend, and I owe it a Sacrifice of Thanks; Lord Sir, cried Amycla, much surprised, I thought I brought your deaths wound, when I  told you that a person of such Heavenly Beauty would not receive your addresses. Amycla had art, and would droll very pleasantly, and Alcibiades often delighted to hear her, he believed she had a mind now to divert him as she used. Indeed, says he ironically, Timandra is a very Heavenly Beauty, that staring ghastly air which in her Face, discovers the disorders of her Mind; that ill shaped carcase; that constrained Conversation; and that leaness brought upon her by her Chimerical Studies, are all moving Reasons of despair in a Man not beloved. What say you of leanness, ill shape, or ghastly Countenance, said Amycla interrupting him, I could find no such thing in the young Timandra, she is as beautiful in Countenance, as well shaped in Body; her Ways and Manners are obliging; nor know I a Beauty in Athens can be justly compared to her. Alcibiades could not reconcile this report with what his eyes had seen; and therefore conjures his Nurse to be serious, and unravel the Intrigue. Amycla returns to Timandra, and feigning to have lost something, desires to speak with her, to know if she had found it. Timandra mistrusting some new Message from Alcibiades, which her anger for the old repulse, would not now let her receive, goes into Aglaonices's Chamber, to give Audience to Amycla. Alcibibiades's Nurse found in the Astrologess, what he believed to have found in the Phrygian, and running presently to tell him the truth, threw him into a melancholy not easily represented; his Natural admiration for fair Ladies amounted even to Idolatry, and he could not without despair, consider he had given such a one occasion to be angry with him, he implores the assistance of Amycla: She advices him to return some shows of love to Aglaonice, thereby to get opportunity of seeing Timandra, and undertaking to manage the affair, goes forthwith from him to Aglaonice; and tells her the indifference practised and affencted by Alcibiades, was but a cunning to make trial of the kindness she professed, which her perseverance having confirmed, he was ready to be at her service; that he knew well the Stars presided in affairs of Love, and that submitting without murmur to their influence, she might dispose of his destiny, as its absolute Mistress. Aglaonice was transported with joy at this compliment of Amyclaes; she requited the happy news with the gift of a rich Ring from her Finger; and the absence of Socrates giving him fair opportunity to make his visits; Alcibiades grew so familiar in that house, that no hours were interdicted him, he cunningly drew from the Astrologess an assurance, that she writ not that Letter he had refused to red, and both from thence, and from what Timandra had said to Amycla, concluded, That it was the Phrygian had writ it, he was raging mad to see her, and to know her commands. But it was almost impossible to compass his desire, Aglaonice's diligence, and the indignation wherewith the Phrygian was prepossessed, made fruitless all his designs.  
This ill success made him almost desperate, Amycla gave him descriptions of Timandra, which inflamed his curiosity, and the most moderate desires become violent when they meet with opposition. Alcibiades had thoughts to banish all he ought to Socrates friendship, by forcing a sight of the Phrygian Lady, since he could not fairly find a way to obtain it; but the fear to disoblige her, whom he already loved before he knew her, withheld him, he bethought himself at length of an Artifice had less noise in it, and which succeeded happily. Socrates was almost upon return to Athens, Alcibiades pretended to have promised the Philosopher not to go to Aglaonice's, and seemingly betrayed as much fear to be surprised by the coming of Socrates, as reluctancy to be deprived of the conversation of Aglaonice, to accommodate all it was agreed to meet privately in a Grove, about a mile distant from Athens, which was called the Academy. In this place Philosophical Conferences were held, and it took its Etymology from Academes, a Greek Hero born in that place; but since the name has been given to all places where virtue is publicly exercised. The Conditions being concluded with Aglaonice, the time to put them in execution came, Alcibiades made show that Socrates was returned, and by Letter conjured the Astrologess to keep her word. She needed not much summoning, she recommends herself to Love and the Stars, and placing this amorous assignation among the favourable Constellations hies her to the Academy at the hour appointed. Alcibiades who had placed his Sentinels at Timandra's door, to know when he was delivered of his Argus, was no sooner advertised that Aglaonice was gone, but he hastens to make advantage of the opportunity: The Servants would have observed Socrates Order, and hindered Alcibiades from going up to Timandra's Lodgings; but Love had made him a Hector, he threatened with death the first that opposed his passage and coming to the Phrygians Chamber, surprised her as much with his sight, as himself was enamoured with hers. How, Madam,( said he, retreating two or three paces) is it from you I have refused to receive a Letter? Is it to you I have committed the first rudeness that ever I was guilty of towards your sex, and was it against you I conceived so continual an Aversion? Ah Madam, added he, in a passionate accent, What can my heart do, to atone the offence of its blindness? Can all the Love and Service it has prepared for you, ever be capable to blot out its crime? I found by your discourse, that you are Alcibiades( replied Timandra, in a kind of troubled accent) the esteem I always had for your reputation, was never so mortified by my anger, but 'tis revived by your presence. But Sir, from whence come you? Cannot all the fair Ladies in Athens satisfy your curiosity, without searching out her whom Socrates forbids you the sight of: Speak not of Socrates, I beseech you Madam, said Alcibiades interrupting her; If he love you, he is no longer dear enough to me to merit so much reservedness, as that I should forbear it; and if he loves you not, he is unjust to deprive me of your sight. He loves me not, replied Timandra, or at least, if he loves me, 'tis more then either of us know. But Sir, he is passionately in love with virtue, he has endeavoured to communicate to me that Illustrious Passion; but he fears a merit like yours will be able to destroy all his Precepts.  
Retire therefore Sir, and leave all my Soul to the Wisdom, to which Socrates hath devoted it. I feel already, I know not what disorder in speaking to you, which grows incompatible with that constancy and firmness, he has so long Preached. You affect me with some thing, I can neither suppress nor define. Pray then Sir withdraw your sight and Socrates Rules, can never agree together. Alcibiades was transported with Love and Joy at this innocent Confession. Forget( said he to Timandra) Precepts condemned by Nature, and which Heaven testified to have disapproved, when it produced you so fair: It becomes Socrates who has onely the Beauty of the Soul in his dividend to renounce the pleasures of the Sences. He spares himself great vexations, when he prevents the troublesone consequences might accrue from his want of Charm. But you fair Timandra, who are made to be adored by all that approach you, reverse the orders of Heaven, when you bury your Talents in a retreat, makes them useless. That which Socrates has  told me, said the fair Phrygian, interrupting him, was much more judicious then what you tell me; and yet Sir, by what fate I know not, I begin to find all his knowledge too feeble to persuade me, whilst your words pierce even into my very heart, they have already settled a secret intelligence with the Motions of my Soul, and make my sense revolt against my Reason: Yet once more Sir retire, your sight becomes pernicious to me, and if you have not some pitty on my Philosophy, three or four years study will fall under the first assaults of your presence.  
Whilst things passed thus at Timandra's other accidents, no less singular happened at the Academy. Aglaonice was come as she had promised, but in going she had lost the note that contained the Order of the Assignation, which was found by one of Socrates servants, who carried it to his Master. Socrates soon knew Alcibiades hand, and the house where he was, not being far from the Academy, he was resolved to give an interruption to the meeting. He often did these displeasures to Alcibiades, he loved him tenderly, and he knew that his inclinations to love, were often hurtful to his affairs. He got rid of Myrto, who was come that day from Athens to fetch him back, and coming without any attendance to the Philosophers Grove, he found the Astrologess beginning to grumble at the Stars, that Alcibiades was so long a coming, she believed her cause of grief was ceased when she perceived Socrates. It was dark, and the Philosopher, who would not show himself, till it were to purpose, slipped among the Trees, Aglaonice follows his tract, coughing twice or thrice to discover her self, and seeing that signal ineffective, Alcibiades, said she to Socrates, in a tone which her vexation changed from her usual voice, is it for trial of me that you fly me thus. The Philosopher ashamed at the impudence of this unknown Lady, stopped to reproach her for it. Aglaonice perceiving he stayed, and as she thought for her, run to him with open Arms, but was suddenly stopped by a Woman, who rushing from behind a three, thrust her self between her, and him, she took for Alcibiades. This Woman was Myrto, who finding her Husband absent, and learning at his country House, that he was gone to the Academy, had followed him at a distance to prie into his actions, and see what she could discover. When she had this Reason by the Action of Aglaonice, to believe it was an Amorous Rendezvous: And is it thus Socrates, said she, you prepare to dispute for Wisdom against its opposers, must there be an intrigue of Gallantry to dispose your Soul to the defence of virtue; and do you employ that time you feign to dedicate to the study of Philosophy, in making yourself unworthy the name of a Philosopher. The name of Socrates informing Aglaonice of her mistake, she was thinking of a prudent reatreat, when Plato, the beloved Scholar of Socrates, appeared to hinder her; he had lost some Notes, which he much valued, and came to see if they might not be let fall in the Academy, whether he remembered to have brought them, and because it was dark, he had brought a Torch in his hand: That light discovered the Astrologess before she could escape. It is not easy to imagine the Philosophers surprise at this apparition. How, cried he, is it you Aglaonice who have made an assignation with Alcibiades. The disorder the Astrologess was in, joined with the words she had uttered, assured Socrates of a truth, she had not the power to confess; the Philosopher soon dived into the secret of this intrigue. Alcibiades was too dainty to court a Creature of Aglaonices make. Socrates remembered what he had said coming from her house in the Phrygian habit. Aglaonice, feeble Aglaonice, said he sighing, thou destroy'st in a moment the precautions of many years. At these words he runs towards Timandra's; that quarter of Athens wherein stood the Astrologesses house, was not very far from the Academy, Myrto followed him for some paces, continuing her clamours; but he vouchsafed not a word to appease her, nay, scarcely did he perceive his Wife speak, so strongly had his suspicions seized his spirit. He found Alcibiades still with Timandra, he was so charmed with the sight of her, that neither policy in him, nor prayers from her, could make him consent to leave it. There is Tyranny in what you have done, said Socrates, in an angry manner, You snatch from me a secret I would have kept, and without respect to that friendship should be so dear to you, refuse me the first compliance I ever exacted from yours. 'tis not that friendship Socrates makes you thus hot, said Alcibiades, interrupting him, your anger would have been better moderated, had it had so easy a cause; but Socrates you love Timandra, I ever mistrusted it, the disorder wherein now you appear, confirms all my suspicions. It was most certain, as Socrates had protested to the prying Alcibiades, that he did not believe he loved Timandra, he had that confidence in his wisdom, gave him not leisure to examine himself on this point; but his friends reproach forcing him to a sudden review of himself, he found his precaution was strong jealousy, and examining the dreadful fears he had had, least Timandra should love or be beloved, he found out that nothing but love could create such violent apprehensions, he let himself fall into a Chair, more concerned with what he began to discover then a criminal at the reading his sentence, and looking on Alcibiades with an anger mixed with kindness, which at the same time drew Compassion and jealousy from his friend. What have I done to you Alcibiades, said he, thus to stir up in my breast, thoughts I knew not of, and which prove most cruel, because they can be no longer unknown? I have loved you better, then you have loved yourself; I have hazarded my life, my credit, and the esteem of all Athens, to maintain your interests; I have opposed your weaknesses and frailties, with all my power, and when I could not master them, have concealed them. Ingrateful Alcibiades, why should you discover mine? If I love not Timandra, you injure my reputation in accusing me, and if I love her, as I begin to fear I do, you transgress against friendship, by exposing yourself to the hazard of being my Rival. Withdraw yourself from this danger Alcibiades, and whether you regard me as a Philosopher, who would preserve his scholar exempt from Passion; or whether you regard me as a faithful friend, who merits some compliance. Withdraw yourself, and see Timandra no more. I esteem your Philosophy too much, said Alcibiades, interrupting him, to do it this injustice; it is fit it should triumph over those desires have the boldness to contend with it. Stand out then Socrates, and stand out with success, you will sully the glory of your life, if you leave Posterity to believe, that the voluptuous Alcibiades had gained over himself, what you dare not enterprise on yours.  
Socrates was not pleased with these Reasonings, he would have sacrificed all his reputation of Wisdom to the privilege of loving Timandra without disturbance; but Alcibiades keeping firm to his Proposition, Socrates was constrained to submit, Alcibiades loved Timandra, and Timandra loved him. These Precepts of Wisdom so carefully instilled, and which, a long habitude seemed to have made impregnable against all Protestations and Assiduities, yielded at the first assaults of Alcibiades. 'twas for this Timandra he died some time after, as the Historian of his life tell us, and if I may believe my satirical memories, it was the displeasure that Socrates conceived at this adventure, made him meet death with such constancy. The Astrologess was fain to call the Stars to her defence, for the Heart they had made her hope for, but when we are reduced to make use of such Cautions, we find often the Stars but very ill security. I will leave her to consult her Books about their deceit, and pass to the Loves of some great Captains which may ease my style of that preciseness it has been forced to, by the Philosophers in these two first Histories.  
The end of the Loves of Socrates.   

THE LOVES OF Great Men.  
JULIUS CAESAR.  
IF neither wisdom nor Philosophy could secure Solon nor Socrates from the assaults of Love, Ambition and Glory have as weakly defended the heart of Julius Caesar; he was a Lover before he was a conqueror, and we may behold him likewise in the midst of his most illustrious Conquests, not forgetful of the Rites of Love. He was yet but Quaestor, and had only exerciz'd his courage against the Cilician pirates, when he married Pompeia Sister to Pompey the Great.  
In those times as well as now a dayes, the Marriages of Great People were rather politic then Sympathetical unions; Pompeia privately loved Publius Claudius, and Caesar had a violent inclination for Murcia, who was afterwards the Wife of Pompey. The necessity Caesar stood in of Pompey's support, deterred him from Crossing his Suite to Murcia, and the same reason made him seek his Alliance: He Married the Sister of that great Man the same day that Pompey married Caesars Mistress: Love, which had not so easily complied with the conjuncture, but to triumph in the progress, would not let Hymen rob him of his Rites. Caesar loves Murcia no less now she is Pompeys Wife, then he had done before she was so: Nor did Claudius believe himself more unhappy for seeing Pompeia in the arms of Caesar, want of opportunity only made some little change in their fortunes. Pompey was a Man of Authority, necessary to Caesars Ambition; he durst not let him suspect he went to wait on him only to Court his Wife, and therefore restrained himself to stricter Laws of correspondence then the nearness of Relation might have allowed, so that 'twas only by his eyes that Murcia could guess the continuance of his Love. Pompeia was committed to the governance of Aurelia Caesar's Mother, one of the severest Matrons Rome ever produced; she never suffered her Daughter-in-Law out of her sight but when she trusted her to the care of her Son; Claudius could hardly in public steal a wink; and, if Albra, Pompeia's waiting-woman, and confident of the intrigue, had not solac'd the desires of this Lover with some kind Messages, he had been constrained to renounce his Love or his Life.  
Things stood in this manner when Caesar was chosen Praetor; and, during the year of his Praetorship the Consuls being absent from Rome, at his House was to be kept the Feast of the Good Goddess; that Feast was signalized among the Roman Dames: and, on the day it was to be solemnized, the Ladies of Quality assembled at the Consuls, or in his absence at the Praetors House, where they passed the night in Feasts and Dances; and, were it not for some private Ceremonies, to which it was not seemly to admit Men; or, that they feared some escapes of joy repugnant to the Roman Austerity, it was made death for any Man to be found at that Feast: Caesar, whose Soul was incapable of fear, he knew that improbable attempts oftenest escape with impunity, and resolved to make use of this occasion; There was a Closet in the Alcove of Pompeia's Bed, which answered by a private pair of stairs to a back door, which was very seldom opened; Caesar took the Key of this door, and resolving to slip by this way into his Wives Chamber, he writ to Murcia, that feigning her self undispos'd at the Feast, she should desire to repose her self some few Moments on Pompeia's Bed: Murcia, who loved Caesar, and well weighed the hazard of his enterprise, withstood his resolution with all her power; but Caesar accusing the faintness of her Love, that Reproach overcame all other considerations. Caesar left his house at the usual time appointed, he supped at Pompeys to prevent all suspicion, he went thence to Cato's, whither he knew his Brother-in-Law would not accompany him, because Cato and he were at Enmity; he came to Cicero's, and went to two or three places more, that several persons might affirm they had seen him; and then coming to his private door, when he judged it time, he goes without noise, and without being discovered to Pompeia's Closet; scarce was he got in but he heard some body Cough on his Wives Bed, he softly opens the door, and gently approaching the Bed side, Is it you, said he, as softly as possible he could; Yes, was it answered,( with a voice as low as he had spoken) It is I; It is a long time I have expected you, and I begun to believe you would break your word: Caesar disposed himself to repair his neglect, when he heard the Chamber door open, he hastily throws himself back into the Closet; and, whether the conversation of those on the Bed were indeed very long, or that Caesars impatience made him think it so; most certain it is he never thought time more tedious. That wicked quarter of an hour being ended, Caesar distinguishes the voice of his Wife, who making great excuses of not being able to stay longer, took leave, and shut the door after her; he then nimbly comes out of his hole, and embracing the Lady on the Bed with a fervour equal to his love: Murcia, my dear Murcia, said he, Is it possible that I have the liberty to confirm with my Tongue what my eyes have so often protested to you. The Lady snatching out of Caesars arms, and throwing her self down from the Bed, sought for the door to save her self: Caesar believed it some sudden compunction of Conscience come in an evil hour to disturb his Joy, he felt for the Fugitives arms, and having grasped one of them, From whence comes this confusion, says he, embracing her afresh? How have I made myself unworthy of the obliging impatience you expressed at my first arrival? Do not discompose yourself by these endeavours to escape me, added he, finding that this Murcia struggled to get loose from him, 'tis in your pleasure to dispose both of your destiny and mine, for you have an absolute power over Caesar. At that name of Caesar, Murcia, or at least the party he took for her, used redoubled endeavours to escape, and that with so much vehemence, that Caesar for fear of hurting her was fain to let her go; Do, said he, all that your cruelty can inspire you with, and if you are not satisfied with throwing into despair a man that adored you, call the Ladies of the Feast, and deliver me to the rigour of the Laws, I shall without the least murmur consent to my Death; your procedure having made my life so hateful, that, did I not hope to lose it by suffering myself to be surprised here; I had already taken it away. Caesar had scarce ended this discourse when Albra entred the Chamber; she gave a shrieke at the sight of her Master, and would have fled back; Stay Albra( said he) with a commanding voice, let me save the reputation of what I love, and dispose afterwards of Caesars life as thou wilt: With these words he took a Wax-light out of Albra's hand, and, returning to the Closet, resolved to retire as he came; the person escaped from him was got there before him, and Caesar was much surprised to find it to be young Claudius the Lover of Pompeia, disguised under the habit of a Woman, he looked wistly at him more then once before he believed his own eyes, till Claudius judging, the more he considered him the better he must know him; 'tis I, Caesar( said he) you are not deceived, you see 'tis not you only whom love has prevailed with to seek an advantage from the Feast. How( said Caesar, interrupting him) Was it you whom Pompeia came to find when you were laid upon the Bed? and, Was it to give you such full and free entertainment I retreated so quietly into the Closet? You may be deceived in the voice of the Woman that spoken to me, replied Claudius; But Caesar, I can take no other for Murcia, you have too often and too plainly name her, and that secret is of counterpoise enough, to exact from you an oblation of your suspicions, if you can destroy me by revealing me, you run the same danger in being revealed; and, if it be true that I love, you love likewise; and whilst you know not the object of my love, but by conjecture, you have declared in express terms, that you love Pompey's Wife. Caesar, whose reason followed Claudius's word for word, and whose ambition had no less a concern then his love, in the concealing his intrigue with Murcia, apprehending it might be both the loss of his Mistress, and ruin of his designs, if he suffered his resentments to take place, used all his endeavours to suppress them; and, giving the Light he held to his wives Gallant Go, march, said he, and boast if thou darest, that thou hast done Caesar the greatest injury he can receive, and that he has not the courage to revenge it; Thou mayest now talk whatever thou wilt, the discretion I owe to my Love submits itself to all Censures. Claudius went down the Privy-staires, which were the same Albra had brought him in by; but, one of Aurelia's Women being by chance in the Court near the foot of those stairs seeing Claudius put out his light, as soon as he espied her, began to have some suspicion of the truth; She stopped the disguised Lover, demanding what he was, and whether he went; the confused answer he gave, and the fullness of his voice made him known for a man. Aurelia had notice of the accident, she caused the Ceremony to cease, and sending for Officers commanded Claudius to be delivered over to the Censor. Caesar then appeared, pretending to be run into the noise, and the fear he was in to be impeached in the Criminals Examination, obliging him to take him out of the hands of his Mother, he caused him to be carried to Cato's, whose very near Kinsman he was. Aurelia could by no means approve this excess of Mercy: You know not, said she to her Son, what kind of Man you save from the rigour of the Laws, he is your Wives Gallant: I have a long time taken notice that wherever they meet, they have observed each other with a discomposure betraying too much love, and 'twas without doubt by her order he came hither disguised in that manner: for, Pompey's Wife finding her self indisposed, and having desired a moments repose on Pompeia's Bed, she receiving the request with so an unbecoming a manner, that I was forced to led Murcia to mine. I found not your Wife there when I return'd into the Assembly; I caused Albra to search her, and having asked her why she had so left the Feast, she  told me that she had a little business in her Chamber; but I'll assure you she lied not, she had indeed great business there.  
Of all this Discourse Caesar was ignorant of that part only which concerned Murcia, the rest he knew from the original. In the mean time Claudius was at Cato's, who sharply reproved his boldness; Caesar could not have choose for him a better retreat: Cato loved the young Man as wild as he was, and Servilia, Cato's Sister, was the trustee of all his Secrets, she had a long time been in Love with Caesar without finding a way to make him sensible; this disdain had converted her love into an anger equivalent to a violent hate, and as well to find occasions to exercise it, as to revenge her self on him that slighted her; She encouraged Claudius in his passion for Pompeia, 'twas she had put him in his Womans disguise, and inspired that rashness into him to convey himself into Caesar's house. Now, that by the report of what had passed, she understood 'twas a Rival defended Julius his heart against her approaches; she gave loose reins to all the fury, and all the jealousy a Womans breast was capable of conceiving: Nor was Caesar less tormented within, though the causes of his trouble were different; his Spirit was fierce and delicate, he could not think of the affront he had received without such violent indignation as reached almost to Madness: But, that rage being balanc'd with what he ought to the honour of Murcia, and the necessity he stood in of Pompey's friendship, he run from thought to thought, and from desperate resolutions to the most pacifick deliberations, and not knowing precisely what to determine on, concluded himself the most miserable man living: He past the rest of the night walking in a disconsolate manner in his Chamber, and as soon as it was day he went to Pompey to make Complaint of his Sisters demeanour. Pompey would not excuse her, but knowing nothing more of her Crime then that Claudius was found disguised like a Woman at the feast of the Good Goddess; he was of the mind she could not therefore merit all those reproaches wherewith Caesar calunniated her; he therefore urged him to say, whether he had any secret light touching that business which the rest of the World knew not? No, said Caesar, in a perplexed manner, but it is not enough for the delicacy of my humour, that the Wife of Caesar be free from crime, I would have her be so from suspicion. Pompey used all his endeavours to appease Caesars anger; he  told him, That in accidents of this nature, Husbands ought to themselves the best part of their tranquillity, that nothing should be believed but what was seen: And Caesar( continued he) we should in discretion see as little as we can; What advantage gain you in taking away your Wives Reputation? the wrong you do her recoils on yourself; and if you drive on the business to a divorce of her, 'tis an even lay, you take another less honest then she. Chance governs in all Marriages, and Women should be chosen blindfold.  
After these Learned Sentences they went together towards the Senate, they met Cato by the way. Though Pompey and he were enemies, yet they forbore not, on occasion, to talk together. Cato joined himself to the two Brothers in Law, and they proceeded all three together to the Senate; whither, as they entred, Caesar was accosted by an unknown person, who delivered him a Letter, and whispered him in the ear, That a fair Lady sent it. He believed it came from Murcia, and the presence of Pompey made him blushy. Cato who always disinherited his ambitious humour, and who was besides naturally suspicious, asked him what that Letter was. 'tis nothing, replied Caesar, in somewhat a discomposed manner, You seem to me too much condemned, replied Cato, on so light a cause; that Letter certainly contains some attempts against the Commonwealth, and I summon you in your Countreys behalf to deliver it to be shown to the Senate. You are very troublesone with your distrusts Cato, replied Caesar. I swear to you by all our household-gods, this Letter contains onely Family business, wherein Rome is not at all concerned. You may speak truth, answered Cato hastily; but Caesar you here receive a Letter visibly discomposes you, and you refuse to show it, when you are pressed to it. What have you so secret to treat of, which Rome may not know? She entrusts you with all her designs, enterprises nothing without consulting you; and her glory, and her safety, are committed to your discretion.  
This dispute grew hotter, and Cato and Caesar beginning to utter offensive words, the Senate would know the difference. If Cato did calumniate Caesar, it were fit he should make him reparation, and if he spoken truth, it was of importance to examine the matter: It was therefore thought convenient to see the Letter in question, and Pompey was nominated examiner of it. Caesar who could not have any one he more suspected, knowing Cato for a Wiseman, and Pompey's Enemy; and choosing rather to trust his discretion, then any other, gave him the Letter, which occasioned the dispute; and declaring his intentions to be so pure, he doubted not his very accusers. He in genernous terms, exhorted Cato to make no ill use of the secret he now extorted from him. Cato retired to a Window to red the Letter privately, and opening it found what follows.  
WHy should you expose yourself to so many dangers to see what you love, there are Pleasures destined for you to be had on easter terms, if you would please to taste them; nor need you be forced to make troublesone Discoveries, nor attempt any thing hazardous to arrive at them; for what mark of Love or Kindness, may you not, if you will, obtain from  
SERVILIA.  
Cato was distracted to find there his Sisters name, and giving some injurious words to the Praetor, which History sets down in express terms, he flung out of the Senate in such a huff, that his very countenance was changed. Caesar was more surprised at the second sally, then he had been at the first, and following Cato to recover his Letter, he went along demanding of him, if he considered well what he did, and for what Reason he tool so much interest in the concerns of his enemies. Cato would answer to none of these questions, but getting him home with a hast outstripped Caesars, he goes to add new fuel to Servilia's indignation. Caesar much troubled for the hard fate of his Letter, and willing by any means to discursive it, bethought himself of Cato's sister to aid him in this extremity, he knew that she vehemently loved him; and though he were become unworthy of that love, by his neglect of it, yet he had learnt, that the most violent anger of that kind is blown away at the first appearance of a returning Heart. He writes to Servilia, protests that love reduced him to his duty; and making a light apology for what was past, conjures her now to give him the opportunity of extending his Passion. Cato had given such orders at home, this Letter could not be delivered, as it was addressed, it was in short intercepted, and Caesars dissembling, passing with Cato for a perseverance in offending him, he resolved to revenge the injury, by letting Pompey know the wrong Caesar did his Sister. The union of these two Brother in Laws had for a long time been an eyesore to Cato, and he had secretly sought occasions to reconcile himself to Pompey, and to convince him of Caesars ambition, he now sends for his friend Munatius, and instructing him what he had to do, he gave him the two Letters on which he grounded his accusation. This Munatius must surely be of a very insinuating spirit, for he it was who had persuaded Cato to lend his Wife for some years to Hortensius, and to take her again when Hortensius was weary of her. He goes to Pompey, and aggravating Caesars ingratitude, who after having been admitted into so illustrious an Alliance, had made himself unworthy of it by his disloyalty to Pompeia. I know, added he, you love not Cato, and I perceive you could scarce forbear laughing at the humorous part he played yesterday in the Senate. Your factions are different, and in the interests you have to support you, are so frequently of opposite judgments, none can conclude you other then enemies. But Sir, this sort of hatred, though it may destroy Society, should not hinder your esteem for Cato, whilst I am sure Cato preserves his for the Great Pompey. He is justly incensed against Caesar, you ought to contribute to his satisfaction, and besides those Reasons of Equity which are in common among all generous enemies, there are many particular ones to induce you to stop the course of this intrigue. Caesar has espoused your Sister, the faults he commits by breach of conjugal Faith, are of ill example to her, and perhaps the story of the good Goddess, was but the reprisal of an offended Wife.  
Pompey received Munatius advice, like one designed advantage by it, and assured him he would employ his credit with Caesar, to interrupt his commerce with Servilia; but in his Soul, he designed nothing less then this Tyranny: He was a good and an easy Friend, who entred not into his Friends secrets farther then they desired, and onely required from their friendship, a compliance without constraint, he goes into his Wives Chamber, and tells her with much breaking forth into laughter, what Munatius had  told him. Murcia found not the story so pleasant as it appeared to her Husband, she often changed colour, during its rehearsal; and reading Caesars Letter with a grief, appeared to Pompey somewhat serious. Why, said he, do not you think it admirable that Cato, the wise Cato, should draw a vexation upon himself, so little designed him? Had you seen with what perverseness he forced Caesar to show him Servilia's Letter, you could not red its contents without laughing as much as I do. The adventure is indeed something extraordinary, replied Murcia; and if Caesar had not been concerned in it, I should have found pleasure enough to see Cato's mistrust so punished; but I have so much interest in what touches the Husband of your Sister, that I cannot without grief inform myself of the treason wherewith these Letters convince him. This kind of Treason wrongs not the reputation of a Gentleman, replied Pompey, on the contrary it establishes and adds to it; their worth is judged of by the quality of their love; and the Sister of Cato being eminent both for Birth and Beauty, an intrigue with her cannot be dishonourable to the Gallant. Aurelia may prophesy some misfortune to her Son, if she hears he violates conjugal faith, and Pompeia may revenge her self by some disobedience; but these accidents a part( which as you can well judge) are not the most troublesone of our life) I would give Caesar as fair Joy for this conquest, as I would for that of the Gauls.  
Caesar came in as Pompey finished this discourse, Murcia fearing she should not be able to master her Passion, in the presence of a Lover, she now believed false, retired into her Closet; and Pompey who was in a humour to be merry, putting on a grave countenance, which he had much a do to counterfeit. I thought,( says he to his Brother in Law) I had made my friendship so valuable to you, that you would not publicly have renounced it, as you have done: Had none but I known the wrong you do our family, perhaps my love had been great enough to have concealed your fault; but to make Cato a witness of it, and that I must hear from my enemies, the injuries you do our Alliance, is a thing, Caesar, I could not expect from you, and what surpasses the most detestable ingratitude, Caesar explaining of Murcia, what Pompey said to him of Servilia, changed colour at every word, his fury to have been betrayed by Cato, the despair wherein he represented Murcia in his mind, and the confusion he was in to find himself deserving the reproaches of Pompey, brought a colour in his face mixed with shane and anger, that even changed the figure of his countenance. Pompey whose anger was counterfeit, and who knew nothing of what was in Caesars Heart, had much ado to forbear laughing, he turned his head another way to spin out the Comedy; and complaining of Caesars silence, as a contempt that aggravated his fault, he made him resolve on a sincere Confession of his offence, and to ask pardon for what was yet onely in design.  
To take things in the utmost severity( said he) the first steps towards an amorous Commerce, are somewhat uneasy to dainty minds, and so far I may be criminal towards you; for I aclowledge our friendship required me to be scrupulous even to Letters; but Pompey I loved before friendship imposed on me the Law of not loving, my love followed not our alliance, on the contrary our alliance has put a bridle on my love; and that which the consideration I had for you, has confined within the limits of Innocent favour, had, without doubt, made farther progress, had not respect to you extinguished my flames for Murcia. Murcia, who from the Closet into which she was retired, heard all was said in the Chamber, when her name was pronounced, briskly sallies forth. Say Servilia, Caesar,( cried she) your Tongue mistakes your Heart, 'tis from the Sister of Cato you received a Letter some days since, as you went to the Senate, and not from the Wife of Pompey; and pray Sir take heed what you say for the future, and commit no more such mistakes. There needed no more to recall Caesar into the right way of playing his game; Was it not Servilia, that I name, says he, without seeming to be moved. No, said Murcia, in an angry manner, 'twas my name you pronounced, I ask your Pardon, Madam, continued Caesar, the presence of Pompey caused that mistake: But Madam, you are too well known to your Husband to be alarmed at that undue application. Your virtue is signalised, and this Letter, said he, taking that Pompey held out of his hands, is an easy rectifier of all; with that he opened Servilia's Letter, and by it understanding part of the truth, said all that a bold and wary Lover could do to draw himself out of the briars: But Pompey's spirit was too searching to have the change put upon him with such ease, he was dull and melancholy the rest of that day, and at night recalling to mind Murcia's trouble at the reading Caesar's Letter, the confusion of his Gallant at Pompey's first words, and his wives retiring, he drew thence two or three conjectures as just as they were grievous; he resolved to see Servilia, to be by her enlightened in the obscure sense of her Letter. Aurelia who had some Alliance with Cato, would not engage in the animosity of Pompey, but had entertained a civil commerce, between her house and Servilia's. Pompey goes next morning to visit his Sister, and making a politic pretence to authorize a secret conference with Servilia, he engages his Sister, to oblige her to come to some place, where he might privately speak with her. I would draw from her some light touching a design of Cato's , important to my interests, said he, and of which, I believe his Sister has some knowledge. Pompeia without examining whether Pompey spoken truth or dissembled, caused one of Caesar's People to be called, and sent him to tell Servilia, she desired her company in a Garden Pompey had upon the Tiber, where there were many wonderful close Alleys of great convenience. Servilia was at present there with Caesar, who by agreement with Murcia, endeavoured to manage her, and judging this Garden of Pompey's less exposed then any other place, to the surprises of Cato, had chosen those walks for the interview. One of Servilia's Women, who had received Caesar's Message to her Mistress, seeing one of the Praetors people return, imagined him sent to hasten Servilia. My Mistress in gone, said she, she is at Pompey's Garden, at this very time, thou hast nothing to do but return, and might have spared thy pains. The Man returned to Pompeia with this Answer, it might have removed the suspicions of Pompey, seeing so direct an appearance of intrigue with Servilia, which discharged Murcia from the concern. But this good Mans jealousy was now grown to that excess, nothing could gain belief from him, but what his sences demonstrated, he comes with all hast to the Garden, and informing himself from the gardeners where those he sought were, expressly forbid the giving any notice of his arrival. Caesar and Servilia were under a Bower, covered with Roses and Jeffamines, made after the model of the Walks at Capua. Pompey slipped himself behind the thick Hedges, and getting softly within reach of their voices, he heard Caesar say to Servilia. You may easily judge, that if I had had any suspicion of the truth. I would never have given your Letter to Cato; it was my part onely to conceal it from his sight, and Pompey was name by the Senate to red it. But who could ever have thought your goodness, was proof against all my ingratitudes; and that after so great an indifference, never merited by you, you should yet vouchsafe to remember Caesar. I complain not of your indiscretion, said Servilia, I loved with so much affection, I was not ashamed my love should be known; when a Passion is extreme, it sleights vain decencies, and they love weakly whose discretion over-rules their desires. Tell it in open Senate, that Servilia loves you, I consent; but then make yourself worthy of that love, by sacrificing to it your Passion for Murcia. I have  told you already, said Caesar, interrupting her, that I loved Murcia, even before I knew what love was; this impression on my first inclinations, cannot be effaced. I must love Murcia as long as my heart is capable of loving; but what I owe to Pompey, restrains my Passion in such narrow bounds, that it is not all incompatible with a more effective gallantry. Call you then narrow bounds, said Servilia, interrupting, those discourses your mistake dispensed with the night of the Feast of the Good Goddess, in those amorous minutes, Did you at all remember Pompey? And if Claudius had been Murcia, could your consideration for her Husband, have suppressed those ecstasies of Love, were expressed with so much violence. Claudius aggravates things, replied Caesar, the Ideas remaining to him of his conversation with Pompeia, makes him give a Character to mine, very far beyond the truth. Ah Caesar, said Servilia, interrupting, If what you said to Claudius, believing him Murcia, had not been convincing, you would not have sacrificed your resentments to the necessity you stood in of the discretion of that young man. 'twas not the fear of death made you so peaceable, your courage is above such effeminate apprehensions; and besides the assurance you had, your Wives Gallant was disguised in your house, had furnished you with a pretence to have been hide there; but you spoken in such binding terms, that it was a just debt to sacrifice all to the repair of your imprudence. Well then, said Caesar, whom Claudius's indiscretion had raised to an exceeding anger. It must be true, since you will have it so, that I do love Pompey's Wife; and that I have expressed this love in terms, I feared should be revealed. If you love me Servilia, as you would persuade me, you owe some regard to what you believe I love. You change colour at this discourse, and the moderation I request, is doubtless not palatable to your jealousy; but Servilia, Caesar's Soul is not to be stormed by ordinary approaches, and you are in vain one of the fairest persons in Rome; if I find not wherewith to charm my Reason, I shall regard you onely with the indifferency of those fair objects which please the sight without moving the Heart: Would you have me love you, as much as you suspect I love Pompey's Wife; you must sacrifice to me all your anger against Murcia: Conceal what you know of the intrigue, and oblige Claudius to the same secrecy. Are you capable of doing this for Caesar? yes Caesar, replied Servilia, briskly, I am capable; Claudius shall never speak more of it, and I will hold my tongue, but recompense my discretion with some marks of complacency, either feigned or true: I can do any thing for Caesar, whilst I am satisfied he loves me, but can answer for nothing when you neglect or abuse my kindness. Spare a fruitless discretion, cried the secret witness to this discourse, Pompey knows all you would conceal; and if you aggravate the heart of Caesar, it shall not be at the expense of Pompey's ignorance.  
The voice of Murcia's Husband, which Caesar soon knew, threw him into a miserable confusion, he remained unmovable on the Bank where he sat, and Servilia, judging of the love he bore her Rival, by the perplexity the consideration wrought, conceived a malign joy at the adventure which she could not dissemble. You know too much not to know all, said she to Pompey, who now entred the Bower. 'tis true Caesar loves Murcia, and according to all appearance is not hated; but Sir, among people so intimate, as Caesar and you, there should nothing be reserved. You are maliciously disposed, said Caesar, interrupting her, you know in your own Soul, Murcia has reserved to her Husband alone, all essential things; and I swear to you Pompey, by all that is most Sacred in Heaven and Earth, and as a Man that makes Profession of Honor, That I never obtained any Grace from your Wife, might alarm a Rational Man. I may have had some pretence to hope it, but whether it were Chance crost me, or the address and management of Murcia, that hope never had effect. I will believe you Caesar, replied Pompey very coldly, but as it is not enough for you that Pompeia be exempt from crime, unless she be from suspicion; so 'tis too little for me, though Murcia continue chast, if she can conceive a thought of not being so. Caesar took Pompey at the rebound, as he had done him before, he rehearsed all those judicious Sentences he had cited to him on the disguise of Claudius; but Counsels of what nature soever they be, lose their efficacy with those that gave them, when they pass through a third Mouth. Pompey repudiated Murcia, and Caesar to revenge himself of Pompeys rigor repudiated Pompeia. This dis-union became public, Caesar and Pompey were divided with it: Cato made advantage of their contentions, as he had proposed, and reconciling himself with Pompey, became afterwards one of the most obstinate Enemies to Caesar. Murcia's Gallant, mad that his good intentions had such ill success, revenged the Caprichios of Fortune on the indiscreet Claudius, he exasperated Cicero against him, who accused him in the Senate, and freely prosecuted his profanation of the feast. This accusation forced Claudius to withdraw from Rome; and Caesar not content with this voluntary exile, had in all likelihood pursued his vengeance to his ruin, had not his voyage among the Gauls, and the Victories he there gained, diverted his dire resolutions.  
He had many gallant intrigues, during the ten years, that War continued: Love followed him among Strangers, and forsook him not even in the Field of battle, he found Beauties among the Gauls, as perfect as those of Italy, he loved on the Banks of the Rhine, and love left him not when he passed that River, he judged the English Ladies worthy the reputation they have gained in the whole World. He dedicated some time to the delights of Capua, like another Hannibal, and his adventures with Cleopatra, are famous in all History; but the life of Caesar is fertile enough in such adventures, to afford several Relations. Let us stop here, and find a second Hero in Rome, as we have found a Second Sage in Athens.  
The End of the Loves of Julius Caesar.   

THE LOVES OF Great Men.  
CATO of UTICA.  
WHen coldness between Friends destroy not their Esteem, the Reconciliation that follows makes their Friendship the more fervent. Cato and Pompeys first love proceeded only from a knowledge they had of each others Merit, which constrained them to a good will; and though that by some politic reasons were lulled asleep, yet when things were reaccomodated, it became between these two great Men a solid and violent Friendship, not expiring but with their lives: They were together in the same Garden where Pompey over-heard the Discourse between Caesar and Servilia, and the sight of the Bower where it was held calling into Pompeys mind the troubles he felt during that entertainment.  
What a strange kind of Madness,( said he to Cato) is that point of honour a Husband places in his Wives Chastity! Why should the glory of a man depend on a Caprichio, of which he is not Master? When a General flies out of terror of his Enemy 'tis a personal remissness, and 'tis fit that he who commits the fault should suffer the disgrace; but when my Wife acts a Gallantry, I contribute neither by Connivance nor counsel, and yet the whole shane of the Action lights on my head. Who  told you so( said Cato, interrupting him) I perceive not that an honest man is less esteemed by reasonable People, because his Wife is not exactly tender of that we call honour in her Sex. I am sure he ought not to be, replied Pompey, but yet custom gives Authority to this injustice, and the title given to a Husband whose Wife is unchaste, is one of the greatest Ignominies can be thrown on him. Hold, hold, said Cato, interruping him, and shaking his head, I esteem myself not a rush the less for having seen Martia in Hortensius his arms, and would take her again when forsaken by her Lover as the relict of one of my best friends, if at least I found any benefit by doing it. This is not the sort of moderation that surprises me, replied Pompey, Martia should not be looked upon by you as a disloyal Woman, you surrendered her to Hortensius by contract in form of Law, and were forced to make use of all the power you had over her, to oblige her to ratify your Gift. All things in this life wear two faces, Pompey,( replied Cato) and they show to the good or bad but just as the prudence of man knows how to hold the light to them; Listen to what I never  told any but Munatius, and judge of the sincerity of my return in friendship to you, by the secret wherewith I shall entrust you.  
Martia is( as you well know Sir) perhaps one of the fairest persons of the world; I loved her dearly, and thought she loved me as well: The charms of her Soul had preserved, and gave new life in my heart to those flames which Marriage usually extinguishes; I found Martia more worthy of love when I absolutely and perfectly knew her, then when decency and good manners concealed a part of her merit; and, if the words of a Woman may have any credit with a well-grounded understanding, Martia acknowledged to have found in me all I discovered in her: I am in the exterior severe, but this severity is only in appearance; I am in private sociable, and love divertisement like other men; and Martia used to tell me, I proved a more loving Husband then she durst hope for when I was but her Lover, she would often say, that that Cato which permitted himself to be seen by his familiar friends, was not that Cato showed himself to the Senate and Common-wealth, and methought she spoken truth. I justified her opinion with all the complacencies a wife could expect from the best of Husbands; and those who are persuaded they deserve any ones kindness, easily believe they possess it: I had an absolute confidence in Martia's faith, she might have betrayed me before my own eyes without fear of conviction, she perceived without doubt this advantage, and would not let it lye fallow. Hortensius is a handsome Man, his riches vast, which make his expense easy, and Women naturally weak are sooner taken with glittering then solidity: Hortensius was captived by Martia's beauty, and Martia yielded her self to Hortensius gaiety; dispense with me from telling you how they did declare their thoughts, I have not entred into so nice a deduction of the Story: Martia has betrayed me, she is at present the Wife of Hortensius; great things always presuppose the less, and when effects speak, a discourse of the ways is needless. Hortensius got admission into my House by becoming a feigned servant to my younger Sister Portia, being a person both of great honour and as great riches, his propositions were easily listened to, but Drusus Livius our Uncle, under whom we had all been bread, and whom we respect as a Father, is a Man infinitely scrupulous in the customs of his times, and would never consent to mary Portia the younger before Servilia her elder Sister; you know Servilia, and many other persons know her as well as you, and that Matches for Maids of her humour are rare to be found out. Hortensius was therefore forced to prepare himself for patience; He at first made it mighty difficult, but has since acknowledged to Munatius that it was a difficulty he foresaw, and for the reason of which alone he choose to ask Portia rather then Servilia. The intentions of this supposed Lover appeared to us as sincere as they were false, we endeavoured to support his patient expectation with a very straight familiarity, he had the same liberty in my house and my Uncles as if he had been my own brother, and he continually seemed to behave himself more and more worthy of the love he professed to my Sister; My Wife grew not at all Jealous of him, she had so well made up conditions of accord with her Lover in that point, that whatever was done for Portia was placed to the account of Martia; but, it happened not so, nor was she so just with him in the case of Lucia Daughter of Drusus; she there looked upon as seeds of Love, what was indeed but a simplo Civility; and these suspicions troubling and disturbing her humour, which was naturally somewhat imperious, she writ to Hortensius in these terms.  
I Believe I deserve to be beloved, Hortensius, and that opinion makes me easily believe you do love me: I have done no less for you. These dispositions of our hearts may as you perhaps think raise some trouble in mine at the sight of your inconstancy; but Hortensius, expect not that glory: I shall behold your change with as much tranquillity as scorn, and 'tis by that effect of my courage I design to make you know what you lose when you lose.  
She was doubtless about to writ the Name of Martia, but I gave her not time; I had been at the house Drusus had built in the Marches of Ancona, and had once designed to spend some time there, but an oppressing melancholy making me apprehended something had happened to Martia, that fear made me post home to rid me of the suspicion of it, and taking upon me the humour of Gallant, that I might surprise my Wife with my arrival, I had forbid my People giving her notice; I surprised her indeed as I designed, but alas not with such a surprise as my blind passion flattered; she turned her head as I entred into the Chamber, and I observed a strange kind of trouble in her face, I paid her as much respect as I should have done reproach, taking for a sign of love what proceeded from another principle: I cannot remember I ever carressed her with more obliging kindnesses then at this return. She might have hide the Letter she had writ if she would; the joy of seeing again my Martia so transported me, that I neither observed what she was doing, nor should not have taken notice of whatever she had pleased to do; but, whether she imagined me more quick-sighted, or whether being one of the most witty Women in the World, she apprehended cunning was never better concealed then under the cloak of Ingenuity. I was, said she to me smiling, in a pleasant employ when you just entred, I was writing a Love Letter. I smiled in a careless confident way at this discourse, which was soon observed by my Wife, I see you believe me not, continued she, but red what is in that Paper and you will perceive I tell no untruth: I was so prevented by Martia's wisdom, that I was not at all moved by this Letter, but as it was, and had been my divertisement to draw new assurances of the happiness I thought I enjoyed; I feigned some amazement at it, and asked Martia what that Letter signified? she took a Pen, without giving me an answer, and setting down the name of Portia where hers should have stood, See there, said she, showing it me, the resolution of the Riddle, I went yesterday into your Sisters Closet, when she was not there, a Letter dictated much after this rate lay on the Table, I red it, and found the Contents so singular, that I endeavoured to preserve it in my memory to show you at your coming home; but added she, seeing me begin to look serious, do not disclose my theft lest you make me fall out with Portia. I will not speak of this Letter to my Sister, replied I, there is nothing in it but is authorised both by Drusus orders and my own, but I will advice Hortensius to be more Regular in his conduct, his suite to Portia has gone now too far not to have its full effect, and if it be true that he has given her any just cause of complaint, I shall not be satisfied with those excuses wherewith such lightnesses are ordinarily coloured. Martia  told me it was not convenient for me to concern myself in this business, that it was a little quarrel between Lovers which Love would conclude upon the first interview. I value not Love at all, said I interrupting her, Hortensius passion for my Sister is an affair too serious to be mixed with the revolutions of Gallants intrigues: And thereupon whatever Martia could say to stop me, I went directly to seek Hortensius, he was walking alone near the Tribunal for Orations. Hortensius, said I, with a composed countenance, they seldom go unpunished who make sport of Men of my rank; I never solicited you to love Portia, the propositions were made by yourself; and, without too much boasting my race and my authority, Drusus believed he honoured you in accepting you for his Nephew; and yet I am informed that you treat of this affair as a trifle, and intend to make a matter of sport of the engagement of your word with the Sister of Cato.  
I( said Hortensius, not a little discomposed) I make a trifle of my Engagements with your family? Pray Sir, from whom have you advice carries so little sense with it? From Portia her self ( replied I) and, to show you I say nothing without foundation, red this Letter, and judge if I am informed of your deportment herein. Hortensius changed colour, surprised as I believe, to receive from my hand a Love-Letter from my Wife.  
The Person that gave you this Letter, said he, turning a little his head, has a mind to create mirth to himself at your expense, it comes not from Portia. I know it, ( said I) but its being in Martia's hand changes nothing of the thing, 'tis sufficient that Letter is copied from one, you have, or should have received this morning from my Sister.  
Had I known then what I have since, Hortensius his very looks would have  told me what he thought whilst I thus discoursed; but, at that present, I attributed all his changes of countenance to his confusion.  
You alarm yourself without reason, ( said he) I have not in my nature such lightness as I am suspected with; I love nothing but what I have loved, and what I shall love till I die: this is an assurance of which I conjure you to become my security, and that you may without scruple do me that service, I call all the gods to witness I speak truth, and may they punish me in your sight if I do not.  
I did what he desired without thinking I did it, and relating faithfully all this discourse to Martia, gave her fresh assurances of the love and constancy of her Gallant: I remember there escaped her from time to time little effluctions of joy, which she could scarce restrain within the limits of a smile, but I made no reflection on them. She took upon her to relate to Porcia what had passed between Hortensius and me; and, when I offered to ease her of that recital, she persuaded it would not be convenient for me to concern myself in that commerce: Preserve, your countenance of authority with your Sisters, said she, you know not what need there may be of it; it is not fit to become too familiar with persons we would pretend to a right of Commanding; and, if you'l be advised by me, I will tell Portia that you are ignorant of the liberty she assumes of writing to Hortensius, and make her apprehensive of your knowledge of it. I approved Martia's Counsel, and praised it, because I thought it Judicious You then return'd from your asiatic Victories, and the great actions you had done in that part of the World, having made a triumph a debt to you, you yet thought you ought some recompense to the applause of the People. You showed them a sight of wild Beasts, Martia could not be present at this Spectacle, she had got a slip which confined her to her bed, and my Sisters seldom appearing in public but in her company, stayed likewise with her. I know not whether her jealousic were renewed by some new complacencies of Hortensius for Lucia; or, if finding me so perfect in the part I had played upon her Letter, she thought it pleasant to make me play it over again: But she  told me that very morning of the spectacle, that she suspected Lucia was become the object of Hortensius new inclinations, that she had observed some favourable glances pass between them; and adding, it was fit to be preached into, and not suffer him to be in treaty at once, with my Sister, and my cousin, she engaged me to observe that day the carriage of her lover; she had reason to be well satisfied with my report of it. The Officers who appoint the Seats in the Amphitheatres, had placed Hortensius in the number of the young Men of our Family, part of which he was already reputed, and side by side with Lucia, he loudly demanded another Seat; but not obtaining it from the Officers, who show but little tractableness on these occasions, he affencted an indifference with Lucia almost amounting to incivility, she spoken to him twice or thrice, and he answered her without looking at her, I observed more plainly how he shunned giving her his hand to help her down from the Amphitheatre.  
I brought this good news to Martia, and not content to have done such a service for her Gallant to her, the next morning I did the like for her to him, I found him at Cicero's, whom I went to pay a visit to, on the marriage of his Daughter with Lentulus, I took him aside. The Sacrifice, said I, you yesterday offered to Portia, will not be lost to you, I observed all your coldness to Lucia, and have desired Martia to acquaint your Mistress with it. Hortensius looked at me in a way that has since explained to me what I then knew not. You must not be concerned at my observance, continued I, I was a secret spy upon you, Martia had for my Sisters sake enjoined me to take some heed to your actions, I have given her a good account, and am confident, you will perceive it the first discourse you have with Portia. Hortensius could not contain himself to see me so excessive a wittol, but burst out into a violent laughter, till perceiving I began to look grave upon it, and by my countenance approved not the sally. I ask your pardon ( said he in retiring) I know the respects ought to be had to your wisdom; but it is so pleasant to me, to hear what I now hear from you, that my weak sense could not restrain itself at this circumstance. I heard afterwards, that he went directly from Cicero's to my House, and let me beg you to represent to yourself, the Scene he had there to play with Martia on the score of my confidence.  
This intrigue lasted all the time of my Voyage to Cyprus, and would have lasted still for ought I know, if the danger into which I was thrown some days after my return, had not furnished me with an occasion to open my eyes. You may remember well, that thinking myself obliged to favour Domitian, my particular friend, and now Portia's Husband, I undertook to have him preferred before you to the Consulate. I brought him to the Field of Mars, where you know the election is made, and carried on his interests with so much heat, that your party began a disturbance, a tumult arose, and I was in danger of my life, I received a wound with an Arrow in my right arm; I perceived not myself hurt, during the heat of the conflict, but our faction yielding under the power of yours; and being constrained to save myself by those little by-ways that about upon the Campus Martius, I there began to feel the smart I remembered Martia's Nurse lived near that place, and into her House I went to bind up my wound; the Woman grew pale at sight of me, which I thought might proceed from her, being frighted at sight of my Blood. This is nothing my good friend, said I, give me onely a piece of linen to make me a Roller: The little house wherein this Woman dwelled, contained onely a very small Hall where I was, and another Room wherein she lay, and kept her Chests. alas Sir, said she, half distracted, I have not a Rag to give you, all I have is in that little Room you see, of which my Husband has carried out the Key. I  told her she must sand for a Smith, she said there was none thereabouts: I bled vehemently, and began to find myself grow weak, I endeavoured to break open the door, which not being very strong, was no hard matter to do; but I had no more need of any linen to staunch my Blood. What I beholded at the opening that door, seized me with such a palsy, you might have cut all my Veins, and not let out a drop. There was my disloyal Martia shut up with Hortensius; the confusion the sight of me wrought in them, appeared to me a guilty distraction. I saw enough for any Husband that loved his Wife, and I believed I saw more then I did. Ah Pompey 'tis in vain that love of ourselves makes us aspire to the Philosophical insensibility, which lifts up the Wise Man above all Accidents; Men are but Men, and what ever care they take to raise themselves above Nature, the first movers will still keep their course. I fell into a seat that stood by chance behind me, and sometimes looking on Hortensius, sometimes on Martia, I sought in their eyes that which would have made me mad to find, and persuading myself of my misfortune, without being willing to believe it, I forced myself to think that a Dream, which the impression of my grief, assured me, was too much a truth.  
Martia, not able to endure my sight, went out without having power to speak one word, Hortensius followed her example, and my Fury increasing, as my surprise grew less, I was about to run into the utmost extremities, if Munatius, who followed me at some distance, had not come into the relief of my decaying Prudence; he found me so changed, that he believed me more wounded then I was, he set himself to comfort me, but kindly repulsing him with my hand, I conjured him not to think of my wound, and  told him it was become the least of my miseries. He attributed this Despair, to the ill success of my undertaking, and composing his countenance to gravity began to upbraid me with weakness.  
How, said he, can the election of one Consul for another, put Cato into such a dumps? What is become of his so much boasted Courage? Return to yourself Cato, and remember you are accountable to Posterity, for the esteem which Rome has given you. I aclowledge, replied I feebly, that 'tis an Election puts me into the despair you find me, but alas it is not that of a new Consul. At that word I grew senseless, but Munatius forgetting no offices of a true friend, to give me what assistance was necessary, I soon recovered. My Wound was dressed, for it seems Martia was run out onely to fetch a chirurgeon; and Munatius having sent for a Litter, they carried me home, Martia followed me at a distance, bathed in her tears for what had happened to her. The People looked upon them as proceeding from an effect of conjugal Love, though they had a quiter contrary cause, and praising her for what merited eternal blame, 'twas from this action she gained that reputation of virtue with which Rome has favoured her. She durst not see me neither that day, nor many following, but entrusted Munatius with Justification. She protested that Hortensius was in the House without being sent for, and if she swore truth, she was not resolved to speak to him, when she had seen him, but onely to break off all commerce for the future. She acknowledged she had been sensible of his merits, and declared likewise to Munatius all I have  told you of the secret of the intrigue; but she protested that sensibility had still been kept within the bounds of desire, without ever coming to act. I should possibly have become less severe in time ( added she) had I given myself over to the inclinations of my heart, that secret esteem which I dispensed with, had gained more power then I perceived or thought of; and it was to reduce it to its duty that I was forbidding Hortensius my sight, when Cato surprised us together, swear on my part, That all our discource tended to this prohibition; and if the sincerity you may have observed in the Confessions I make you, deserve any trust with you, procure me the favour of Cato, and be assured he shall never have cause to repent it.  
Munatius acquitted himself faithfully of the Commission he had received, he endeavoured to justify what was past, and forgot nothing to make me hope better for the future; but both his Zeal and his Eloquence were fruitless. I had loved Martia too well to be reclaimed from a suspicion that he had betrayed me; I would repudiate her, and had been hurried to some more memorable revenge had I been governed by my own thoughts: For I imagined in these occasions, my fury was to take its dimensions from my love, and that the life of Martia was the onely fit sacrifice to the Passion I had for her. Munatius who was not of my mind, opposed my Severity with all the Reasons he could allege.  
The Evil, Cato, said he, which you complain of, is not an evil in effect, 'tis onely a Chimera founded upon your imagination. Hortensius was as much beloved by your Wife before your Voyage to Cyprus, as he is at present. If that Mans happiness were to be regarded by you as a real evil, you would have felt the rigor of it more then, than now; yet you then thought to enjoy a perfect happiness, and now account yourself the most unfortunate of all Men. Are your Wives merits at all augmented? Are the Laws of Marriage changed? In short, What is happened should disturb your mind more now, then at that time? I know now my misfortunes, and I could wish to be ignorant of them, answered I very sadly.  
You see then, continued Munatius, that your grief is onely a fancy, you are wounded now at this time I speak to you; 'twould be in vain to conceal your Wound from you; you see it, you feel it, and 'tis that we may call a true grief; but to give that name to a thing you have born several years without being sensible of it; believe me, Cato is to subvert all Rules of Philosophy. I could no longer hear these Arguments, Martia had betrayed me, and I would be revenged, and whatever withstood my vengeance, seemed contrary to Reason. Munatius bethought himself of a secret to reclaim my understanding, he feigned to submit to my obstinacy; and proposing to me the Marriage of Hortensius with Martia, as a punishment of their crime, persuaded me I might better revenge myself this way then any other. The jealousy of Husbands never breaks forth, says he, but to their shane and disparagement, their violence aggravates their grief, and their fury ill trained in the art of satisfaction, serves onely to adorn that triumph it would prevent; let not Hortensius have the glory to pass in Rome for the favoured Gallant of Cato's Wife, the opinion had of Mans happiness, is often more essential then happiness itself. Why should you procure it for your rival? Rather make him share the danger to which he has exposed you, he deserves at best no better then Cato. Martia will doubtless treat him as she has treated you, or were he so happy to escape it, he will at least feel the discontent to imagine you despise Martia, since you quit her to him; that very thought will lessen his happiness. 'tis small satisfaction to the vanity of mankind, to be themselves persuaded of the value of what they possess: If all the world think it not precious, and your seeming indifference creating a real disgust in the heart of this new Husband; he will be the revenger of Martia's disloyalty, whilst she revenges you on Hortensius rashness, I surrendered to these Reasons, and Munatius undertaking the management of it, that so singular Marriage which Antiquity has no example for; and which, I believe will be as rare in times to come, was concluded in the manner I have  told you.  
I signed to my Wives Contract, Hortensius received her from my hand, as if she had been my Daughter; and they lived as peaceably together, as if I had been dead, or Martia never the Wife of Cato.  
And would you take this Wife again, cried Pompey, when Cato had finished his story, I would neither take her, nor any other; if I could dispense with it, replied Cato. But suppose I were necessitated to mary, and that Martia would return to me, she has given me such prejudice against all her Sex, that I believe all Women equally unperfect; and if misfortune on misfortune must come, that we are prepared for, is more supportable then that surprises us. I know not, replied Pompey, interrupting him, Whether the jealousy of Lovers be more violent then that of Husbands? But Flora found not me so tractable as Martia is like to find you. Pray, said Cato, since we are upon the recital of these secret intrigues, let me hear the sum of that story.  
Flora was but a courtesan, but by her beauty became so famous, that her love to you is none of the least presents you have received from your good Fortune; and the secret of your breach with her, has come to the knowledge of so few, that I shall be highly obliged if you entrust me with it.  
I care not for falling into that Discourse, replied Pompey, it is not for Flora's advantage; and though 'tis true, she was but a courtesan, yet I once so dearly loved her, I still preserve a respect for her; but it is fit I sacrifice something to the desires of Cato, shall it ever be said I refused the first mark of friendship demanded after our reconciliation.  
'tis difficult to define, that Love agrees with my Nature, it has all the violences of debauchery, and yet has ever been restrained within the bounds of virtue. 'tis a conjugal tie must put a stop to my Heart; and where other Mens desires enter into their Tomb, and are butted, mine receive Spring and Life. I showed such overflowings of Passion to Antistia, my first Wife, That People of my Age reproached me with it, as an extremity of weakness. I had been no less kind to Sylla's Daughter, had I had time to have perceived I was her Husband; and the disloyal Martia will assure all the World, that it was not any coldness or indifference of mine inspired her with the design of betraying me. Such a particular inclination agreed not with the title of courtesan, which we cannot dispense with the giving to Flora; but could I at that time have foreseen, she would ever have deserved it, she should never have been the Mistress of Pompey; but she tendered her self to my heart in such honest appearances, that they overcame all scruples.  
I was one day with Caecilius Metellus, in the Temple of Castor and Pollux, which was then to be dedicated, and to take care of its adorning, Metellus had Commission from the Senate; he discharged his trust with as much care as magnificence, and that I might be a witness of it, he had then carried me into the Temple: I there beholded many Pictures of an exquisite perfection, and among the rest, one of the Conception of the Twins, where Leda was represented so fair, it was impossible to look on her, and not envy the divine Swan that enjoyed her. The Painter who drew this piece, said I to Metellus, had his fancy very excellent, and extraordinary; it were to be wished Nature were as perfect in her Lineaments, we should not then see so many ill faces as we daily do. Nature deserves all the praises you give the Painter, replied Metellus, that face of Leda's is taken from a young Roman, whose Beauty far exceeds that representation you there see.  
Is it possible, cried I, that there can be a Woman in Rome, as fair as that painting, and she not be as famous as the Capitol, and other Singularities of the City?  
The young Flora whom this Picture represents, answered Metellus, is of so mean a Birth, that she has been as it were butted in that obscurity, she is onely the daughter of a mechanic; and if he had not formerly wrought in my House, Flora had been as unknown to me as to all other people of quality; but Pompey, that low Birth has not despoiled Flora of a great Soul: 'tis a small matter to see this portrait, and to know that it flatters not the Original. I will tell you, to perfect her description, that I have loved this Maid for above two years, and that there are no marks of Love capable to beget a sense of it, in persons of her Character and Condition, which she has not received of me. I load her with presents, I maintain the whole Family, and would enrich it for ever, if Flora would but comply with my desires; but imperious as she is, she disdains all my offers, and stands more on her Beauty, then I can, either on my Birth or Quality. She believes she should honor me in accepting me for her Husband, if my Passion could carry me to that extravagance.  
Flora entred the Temple as Metellus ended his Discourse, she came to sit for some touches of a Picture wherein Clytemnestra was represented under some of her Features.  
I protest I was dazzled with the Beauty of the Maid, and if I may say it, she thought me not unworthy to be considered, she blushed as soon as her eyes met with mine, she looked earnestly at me when I feigned to look off her, and she seemed troubled to turn away, when I surprised her with a glance. I praised her Beauty exceedingly, and I  told Metellus he had administered a necessary preservative, when he had  told me of her cruelty; she bravely defended her self from that quality, and  told Metellus in a pretty scornful way, that often the title of Cruelty was given to what was but a result of right Reason; and at the pronouncing that word, turning her eyes towards me, methought I red in them a destiny happier for me then that of Metellus. You know well such favourable encouragements are seldom neglected. I caused Flora be followed to learn her dwelling, and on the morrow pretended some necessary business to employ her Father in, and made use of the Occasion to speak with her.  
I was at this time a Widower, having butted Sylla's Daughter, and not yet fallen in league with Murcia, so that I looked upon an intrigue with Flora to be the most pleasing amusement of my mind I could find out. Sympathy had prepared me the way, I need but speak to be listened to, and I fancy, had I kept silence, I had been entreated to break it. Facility generally disgusts delicated nice Minds, but it produces a contrary effect, when a Lover regards it as a miracle of Love. That of Flora had this Character. What Metellus had  told me of the virtue of this Maid, what I daily discovered of the Reputation she had gained; and more then all that, somewhat of a sincere pressing forward of my heart, and fully discovering to me that of my Mistress, persuaded me that all the love in her was new, and that no Star in the World but Pompey's, could have had that influence.  
You may judge by what I have  told you, of the discourse I had with Metellus, he could be no long time without perceiving my good Fortune; he had a mind to be cleared in his suspicions, and Flora thinking her Love an Honor, never took the pains to disguise it to my Rival.  
Yes Metellus, said she, I love Pompey, one main circumstance would be wanting to my happiness, if you should not know his; and my heart would be an offering unworthy so great a Man, should it not be accompanied with a sacrifice of your desires.  
This Declaration making Metellus observe as much Disdain in it as Ingenuity, transported his jealousy almost to a Fury; I was forced to use all my credit and authority to rescue Flora's family from the effects of his anger, and had he not died about that time, he had possibly done by stratagem, what he could not do by open force. His death leaving me in a peaceable possession of the fair and loving Flora, I cannot say Iever passed more happy time, then the first five or six Moneths of this intrigue; but there's no happiness lasting here below, and Man would forget the end for which he was born, if the Providence of the Wise God did not mix his pleasures with some pain. Geminius, the Companion of my Studies, and Comrade of my Travels, and whom next Flora I loved more then all the World, became unhappily in love with this fair Maid, I concealed from him none of the secrets of my Soul, he knew my Love, and representing to himself the despair into which I should fall, if I should find myself betrayed by Flora, used incredible endeavours to suppress this powerful inclination. The Combats of the Soul are more dangerous to a sensible Man, then the most Bloody Battles. Geminius fell grievously sick, I stirred not from his Bed-side, and Flora who could forbear my sight no more then I hers, spent whole days with me in this sick Mans Chamber. Our love was violent, and scarce contained itself before suspected witnesses, but we constrained it not before our best Friends.  
I was still speaking kind and feeling things to Flora, and she answered me in terms every way as touching, our eyes made a continual commerce of eloquent glances, and the most indifferent things were advanced to profit by our laborious Passion, every thing turning into an occasion of expressing the warmth of our desires. Judge into what condition we put the passionate and discreet Geminius; he was brought to that extremity, that the Physitians gave him over; and when he felt his death approaching he declared to me the cause of it. The Friendship I had for Geminius, could not be balanced by any thing, but my love to Flora, were I to have partend with my life to save my friends, I should have given it without reflection; but when I understood Flora was the concern, I asked time to resolve; resolve nothing Pompey said the dying Geminius, I discovered not my grief to find a remedy; I am too happy to die for that I love best in the World, and though your generosity would contribute to my recovery, I know it depends not on you, your happiness is so great, it dazzles you, and you see but a part of it. I am( since so Destiny pleases) more clear sighted, I have observed particulars in the love of Flora, that destroy the confidence I could have in your friendship. Live happy, and let me die miserable, and give not that increase to my torments to let them cost you one sorrowful reflection.  
This discourse pronounced by an expiring Man, and one I so dearly loved, touched me to the very Soul, I thought I ought to my friends life, at least, a seeming willingness to contribute to his cure; and presuming enough on Flora's constancy to believe she would preserve her self wholly to me in despite of myself, I assured Geminius that if he could gain her love, I would look on his happiness without a murmur: I have not faith enough in the fictions of the Poets, to believe this assurance restored Geminius life, but his disease being come to the Christs, certain it is, that from that day we observed his amendment. I resolved to assist it by my absence, and as well to convince him of my sincerity, as to avoid the reproaches of Flora, I went to spend some time at the Countreyhouse, whether Sylla was retired, after having laid down the Dictatorship.  
I writ every day to Flora, Letters full of that Love possessed my Soul. I had not engaged never to love her more, but onely promised she should love my friend if she could. Wretch that she was, she could but do it too much; Love is no mighty task to one of that Sex.  
Geminius Painted my slight compliance with such lively colours, that at my return to Rome, I learned from Flora's own Mouth her infidelity. How, cried I, can it be true, that you loved Pompey with so much fervency, and cease to love him with so much ease? Who has  told you I have ceased to love you, replied Flora? Do you give the title of change to that sacrifice you constrained? Is it because I have restored you a Friend, whose loss had made you desperate, that you accuse me with want of love? alas, I expected a thousand thanks for my cheerful obedience, 'twas a thousand tortures to me to yield to it; and I made use of all the powers of my kindness to resolve upon, what you reproach for a decay of Passion.  
Ah Flora, said I, how cruel is your obedience to me? How much more would you have obliged me, had I found you less submissive.  
Flora asked pardon for her error, and swore to me, she would stop the career of it, and doubtless would have done as the said: That deadly grief she expressed at our separation, hath fully persuaded me Geminius destroyed me with my own Weapon, and that Flora believed she pleased me in betraying me; but the remembrance of that inconstancy has given me disgusts, I could never vanquish.  
Flora forbore to see my Rival any more, she felt a remorse for her credulity, which almost cost her her life. I loved her a long time after our rapture, and her memory is yet grateful to me; but Cato, I was born nice and delicate, and in my mind true love is incompatible of partnership.  
Night rather then want of Matter, broken off the converse of these two Ilustrious Romans. I shall find out a way to renew it hereafter, but it is good to make use of the leisure of contriving it; and leaving these two reconciled Enemies to their quiet rest, endeavour after their example, to enjoy some time of repose.  
The End of the Discourse of Cato and Pompey.   

THE LOVES OF Great Men.  
D'ANDELOT.  
DUring the Progress to Bayonne, the King had given leave to the Duke D'Aumale to hunt in the foreste of Fontainbleau, and to kill the Wild Boar. In one of these chases, the duchess D'Aumale, Natural Daughter to King Henry the Second, and Diana of poitiers, coming near to the enclosure they had made, a Wild Boar broken the toils, and frighting her Horse, he ran clear away with her towards the left-hand, D'Andelots Horse frighted at the same accident, followed Madam D'Aumales; her Husband was: good way off, with Prince Patien, an Madam L' Admirale de Brion; two other Ladies who were near the duchess, cried out, that weak assistance being all they could give her, none daring to venture their skill in riding at her rate, except Madam de Brion, who pursued her on full speed. The cry came soon to the Duke, who hearing how his Ladies Horse was frighted, had not been concerned for her, had he not at the same time heard that D'Andelots with a likefright, took the same way with the Dutchesses, he rid then with all speed to overtake them. D'Andelot who could not guide his Horse, letting him run wherever he pleased, heard a noise beside him, and saw Madam D'Aumale coming up very near him, but in a moment she was passed him, and he lost sight of her, by reason of a small Coppice was before him, which the way dividing in two, he was forced to enter, and there saw Madam D'Aumale fallen. That sight made him strive hard again to stop his Horse, but since he could not, he threw himself down to take care of her, whom he feared was hurt; she was almost stunded, and in that disorder discovered some part of her fair body. There is scarce that Love and Constancy in the World, can resist against so many Beauties, and though possibly this minutes sight, changed not utterly the object of D'Andelots love, yet so pleasing an adventure made him at least very sensible; but care of the duchess made him soon forego the pleasure he reaped with his eyes. He was come to her, and had just taken her in his arms to lift her up, when the Duke and Madam de Brion arrived; yet he gave not over his officious employ, and the asking her, whether she was hurt. The duchess thought her self alone with him, and was reaching her lips to his, but he turned his head the other way; a refusal she would have looked upon, as a rude injury to her Love and Beauty, had not she sooner perceived what was the cause of a Modesty Men are seldom guilty of. But what a sight was this for a jealous Husband, who was both suspicious of his Wives humour, and feared her Gallants worth; nor in reason had Madam de Brion less cause of grief, suffice it both felt what was hard to be expressed even by themselves; nor were Madam D'Aumale, nor D'Andelot, without their share of jealousy and trouble; and whilst they could not utter what they thought, their thoughts were the more oppressive.  
Madam D'Aumale having a little hurt on her hand and knee, was in her Coach carried back to Fountainbleau; but her hurts being slight, the Men waited not on her, but returned to the sport, and took their Darts to assail the Wild Boars. D'Andelots Horse being wounded by one of the largest, he was forced to alight, and assail him on foot. The Duke D'Aumale had a care of him, though he was both his Wives Gallant, and the Dangerous Rival that robbed him of Madam de Brions Heart, and coming up to the Boar, lanced his Dart at the same time that D'Andelot plunged his in the Boars shoulder, his throw was unlucky, wounding D'Andelot in the hand, as it passed into the Boars Flanck, who immediately fell. This unhappy accident much added to the Duke D'Aumale's trouble, though chance and misfortune contributed more to D'Andelots wound then he, which yet was not so great, but he returned on horseback to Fountainbleau.  
The Marshal de montmoremcy, Governor of Paris, who was his near Kinsman and Brother-in-law to the Duke D'Aumale, having heard what had happened at this Chase, came to visit the duchess and D'Andelot. The Marshal was a mighty amorous Gallant Person, who always loved more then one; and his inconstancies were authorized by his being one of the handsomest Men of his time; he knew there was a Treaty of Love between D'Andelot, and Madam de Brion, in which Madam D'Aumale seemed to have some concern. The pain of his Wounds, being in eight days allayed, he was obliged to comply with the Marshals pressing entreaties and yield to his friendships, who being desirous to know his story, he thus began it.  

His story of the Loves of the Lady Admirale De Brion and D'Andelot.  
THe Siege of Orleans having wasted much time, and forces of the Kings Army, Queen catherine● endeavoured a Peace: The Conference of the Isle aux Boeufs being ended, leave was as you know granted to the Prince of Conde, who together with the Constable, had been taken at Dreux, to come to Orleans with the more freedom to confer with the friends of their party. The Princess of Conde came likewise thither from S. Mesmin, and brought with her the Admiral de Brion. War had diverted my mind from Love, and if I may say it without vanity, I had no leisure to entertain any thoughts of that Passion; but now he took his time, and surprised me at Orleans at the sight of Madam de Brion. I spent there one part of the day in consulting with the Prince of Conde and Saint Cire, about the best ways of preserving the power of our party, and in the evening failed not to wait on the Princess, where I enjoyed the pleasure of an indifferent and serious converse, which was somewhat hard to advance; but which I begun to desire might become more satisfactory.  
Madam de Brion had not yet perceived in me what I desired she should, her unconcerned and indifferent carriage made me fearful of success, but love emboldened me. It may be, I put too much trust in him; but when we find we must love, and are sure to love well, what is it we are not inclined to hope from so fair a Passion.  
I was one day with her, when an Italian Painter brought some Pictures to sell; he happened to be in the City when the Siege was laid to it, and was forced to stay there till it was drawn off, having heard of the arrival of the Prince and Princess; he had showed them some Picture which they had bought, and being informed that Madam de Brion loved them, he brought what he had left to her Lodgings.  
The Painter spoken French so ill, he could scarce be understood. I earnestly viewed one of his Pictures, which Madam de Brion observing, and finding something in it both curious and pleasant, asked me if I knew the story.  
The ingenious Fable you there see described Madam, said I, is taken out of the Works of the famous Tasso. Armida the Enchantress having received many cruel affronte from Rinaldo before she knew him, was resolved on revenge; she advances towards the Christian Camp, discovers, approaches, and in short, enters it under pretence of craving aid from Godfrey the General. Rinaldo, who till then, had never thought of love, could not restrain his eyes from wandring on hers, his heart sob'd and was troubled, and began to feel for Armida, what it had never felt before. How glad was he when she made choice of him in the occasion she pretended to have to make use of valor? Though Armida was learned in all magic Sciences, and knew well the virtues and power of all Simples, Characters, and Words; yet her greatest charm and strongest enchantment lay in her Beauty; which Tasso tells us, was so commanding, that the whole Camp would have followed her. But Rinaldo gains the pference, because she onely asked for him. Armida having now got her enemy into her hands, buries her revenge in looking on him: Love banished indignation, and Rinaldo was too brave and too much enamoured to prove ingrateful to so kind and fair a person. Armida builds an enchanted Palace, and in the Gardens of that Palace which you there see represented, these two lovers forgot every thing else to enjoy all the pleasures of love. Take notice, Madam, of that young Lady, seated on the Banks of a Fountain, proceeded I, showing her by her eyes, by her air, by her features, you cannot judge her other then Armida; and that lovely handsome Man, cannot be other then Rinaldo.  
The Painter, who doubtless sought in the whole story, some what might appear most pleasing, could find nothing more proper then this to represent, which he has done with so much art, that it is impossible to behold Armida so full of love and beauty, and Rinaldo so handsome and so passionate without desiring to be in love.  
I observed the Admiral was pleased with hearkening to me, and it highly contented me to see her buy the Picture. The Princess just in the neck came to take her out to walk, and I'll promise you this was the first time ever her sight had grieved me; the Picture had given me the opportunity to enter on some discourse of my love, which I had determined not to lose, but now was constrained.  
Going thence I met with Saint Cire, who  told me the Prince would speak with me. I hastened to him, but found 'twas no state affair he had to communicate; you know him, and know he is very inclinable to love, and hard to forego it, once entred into. Mademoiselle de Bourlemoni whom you have see near the Princess, had smitten him ere he was ware, the letting her know it, was a thing wherein the Prince was obliged to observe much Caution: Yet he had so well ordered the affair that he had spoken, and the Lady had not believed it dangerous to harken to him; nay more, she appeared jealous, as if she could have wished the Princes love no straggler.  
This was in short what he had to communicate, having drawn me to a Window that none else might hear, he  told me he had chosen me for his confident, and encouraging me thereby to a freedom, I declared to him my concern for Madam de Brion, he promised me, and I assured him of a reciprocal assistance in his love.  
Hereupon we went into the walks to wait on the Princess and the Admiral, who as soon as we came up to her, 'tis tedious being here said she to me, cannot you invent some pleasing divertisement to drive away melancholy. I have it at hand Madam, said I, what can be more pleasant then to talk of love, you have nothing here to divert it, and I find my heart inclinable to treat of it with none but you. Where did you learn to talk thus, said she, smiling; who has taught you to look so on me, Madam, replied I, in a jovial manner, but was much afflicted I could say no more, for Bourlemont and another of the Princess Women coming up to us, interrupted us, and I could not find a minutes opportunity all that Evening to continue what I had begun.  
Bourlemont who took notice with what delight I observed Madam de Brion, softly in my ear, asked me, if I were in love; as much as the Prince is with you, replied I, so that the rest might not hear: She would needs know what I meant by that, and I explained it to her, she blushed, and seemed coy, as if she desired not his kindness; but I judged the contrary, and  told my observations to the Prince, who requited them with giving me such an account of his Negotiations with the Admiral, that I began to believe my attempts not impossible.  
Soon after the Duke D'Aumale came to Orleans to treat on the Kings behalf, as you very well know about the Restitution of some places, which the Prince could hardly consent to. The duchess was with him, whose arrival, turned the whole Town into pleasure and divertisement, and many days were spent in Feasts and Balls.  
That day the duchess coming was first known, I happened to be with Madam de Brion, we were at first talking of a thousand indifferent things; but in the end, I changed the discourse, endeavouring to improve those few minutes my good Fortune gave me. The Admiral answered very wittily to all I said of my Passion; but I sought a return of love, and was little satisfied with those reperties. I observed the melancholy and seriousness, with which I discoursed, caused some joy in her, and I loved her too well to rob her of that pleasure. I guessed, Madam, said I, that love would rejoice you, and you would not believe me; but if you would now frankly declare your thoughts, I am sure they must agree with mine.  
I'll swear your company does divertise me, replied she, and I cannot but laugh at your design of Courtship; but you must understand I have a kind of stubborn heart, that neither knows love, nor desires to know it: I'll awaken that desire in it, Madam, replied I, and will assure you, on Loves behalf, he takes it very ill you should treat me so cruelly. Take heed of quarreling with him, he is a powerful enemy, who infallibly revenges himself on his despisers. To let you see I don't fear him, replied she, I'll wager with you, he never overcomes me: Do not lay any wagers, answered I, for you will be sure to lose.  
She would not take my advice, and we concluded to agree on the wager, when Fontpertuis came in, and was chosen judge, if any difference happened between us, she is a Kinswoman of hers whom you have often seen with her, and who had a great power over her. We had much ado to agree what our wager should be, I would have had hers to have been some favours, but that was not her design; yet having represented to her, that she run no hazard, being as she affirmed, she was sure to win, she consented in the end, to engage to admit my utmost service, and I consented never to see her more, and to quit the Princes party, if I lost. What will not men in love promise? I gave her my word, and she assured me hers; two Moneths was the time allowed for trial, at the end of which, Fontpertuis was to give judgement which had won: I took my leave of her, with telling her, that I was resolved to neglect nothing to gain her; she answered, that she already accounted me of the Kings party, and I you Madam, said I, of loves.  
I came thence well satisfied with what I had said, and what I had done, and my joy made the Prince suspect me more happy then he. I endeavoured to persuade him the contrary, who easily believed me, but I  told him nothing of the wager. You cannot imagine, said he to me, how lovely Bourlemont appears to me, I fancy I shall ever love her. All say so, said I, when they begin to be in love; and there is a pretty delight in saying and thinking our love shall never end; but afterwards when its fervency begins decay, and the kindness decreases without knowing a reason for it. Believe me, we return to ourselves, and to our wonted tempers and yours, being to be inconstant; so soon as you are satisfied, we shall hear no more from you, that Madam Bourlemont is fair, or that you shall love for ever. Its very true, answered he, I love change, and finding it delightful, cannot think of confining myself. Believe me, D' Andelot there are pleasures in inconstancy, and 'tis a mighty satisfaction, to make love in a great many places at once, and to find answers suitable to our desires.  
I left the Prince in this opinion, in which I could not resolve to imitate him.  
That Evening the Duke and duchess D'Aumale arrived, there was a Ball at the Princes, where I received, without thinking of it, some favourable glances from Madam D'Aumale. I desired not hers, but Madam de Brions, whom the Duke entertained, and me thought I observed in his addresses to her, something thing of the courtship of a Man in love. He was a Rival might well be feared, the Admiral hearkned to him, and my jealousy made me discover a thousand things distracted me. The duchess came to take me out to dance, and I left her not all that Evening. Madam de Brion observed what I did, I perceived it, but I forbore not discoursing with the duchess.  
On the morrow the Duke came to visit the Admiral, I happened to be there, and having observed her more nearly then at the Ball, began to suspect her already in a condition to make me lose my wager, the loss was considerable, and many reasons obliged me to prevent it.  
Mean time the Prince prosecuted his love with Bourlemont, and his endeavours were not successless, he had the satisfaction to know she did not hate him; he let me know his happiness, and not trusting to any other the secret of his Passion, gave me a Letter for her, but I lost it, and it unhappily fell into Madam de Brions hands, who not knowing my Character, thought after having red the following Lines I had deserted her for the duchess.  
YOu unjustly accuse me with loving the Admiral, have a better opinion of your own Beauty, and my Faith, and think not I can love by halves. 'tis possible I may have given occasion for your suspicions by those enterviews you have seen between us; but believe me, they were not all on the score of love, and when their causes shall be known, you will repent you: Injustice and I shall have the satisfaction not to have any cause to reproach you.  
Though at the sight of this, she dissembled a joy and content, I found afterwards she had much ado to restrain her grief and anguish.  
The duchess loved her very well, and that she might have the more of her company, she left her Lodgings, and went to sojourned at Madam D' Aumales, during her stay at Orleans.  
The first night she went to lye there, there happened a tumult in the City. One of the Duke D' Aumales servants quarreled with a Citizen, who was wholly interested for the party, and called him Rebel: He could not endure that injury, and the servant was very scurvily treated, other servants came in to his aid, and the Neighbors to the Citizens. The quarrel grew general, and the Citizens in great numbers pressed even to the Dukes Gates, and entered them, and their animosity made it be feared they would force in that tumultuous manner through all the Lodgings. The Duke D'Aumale being with the Prince, had news of the commotion, and having  told it me, I made hast and came just at the instant they had past the Court, and were breaking open the duchess Chamber, I appeased the multitude, and at my name the door was opened, and I took the duchess, and conveyed her out by a convenient postern.  
I knew not that the Admiral had that night changed loadings, nor did the duchess tell me so, till I had put her in a place of security. Saint Cire, whom I had made stay at the Dukes Lodgings to complete the appeasing of the tumult, took care of the Admiral, and I returning immediately to see if I were obeied, was surprised to see Madam de Brion coming out with Saint Cire, who was conducting her to the Princesses, I excused myself, not knowing her to have been at the Dutchesses, she received my excuse very coldly, yet upbraided me not, but civilly dispensed with my attending her.  
The Prince understanding from Bourlemont, I had not given her his Letter, asked me, what I had done with it; I  told him how I had lost it, and sought in vain for it, in all places where I had been. Bourlemont was mighty angry at my neglect, fearing his privacies with the Prince might take air by it; but I satisfied her by telling her, none could suspect to whom it was writ, being without superscription; and the hand was so well counterfeited, 'twould rather be taken for mine, then the Princes.  
All which was but too true, and that resemblance but too much justified, when the Admirale saw in the duchess hands Verses, she had prayed me to give her, and which I had writ.  
For my part, I who suspected not Madam De Brions thoughts, employed all my cares to incline her affection: The Duke managed the same design, and I often feared with better success then myself.  
Though the duchess was still extremely favourable to me, yet I constrained myself not to perceive what she would have me see; how easy had been my passage unto her Heart, had I had a design to enter it. All Prince Portian's Merit had vanished for me, and I plainly saw it must be my fault if I were not beloved by one of the fairest Persons of the world, but I could not consent to it, whilst my Love to the Admirale withstood it, and I choose rather to be constant and unhappy with her, then dearly beloved elsewhere.  
My mind  told me, these thoughts ought to hope for some reward, if they were but known, but there was nothing beholded in me but Treason and Inconstancy, and that was a strange kind of way to gain Love from any Person.  
They were playing one night at the Princesses, the Admirale was onely looking on, and I thought it a convenient time to speak to her, and having drawn her out of the hearing of the company, I begin to apprehended, said I, that you will not love me, and that I shall lose my wager, but Madam, is not the Duke D'Aumale the causer? that reproach drew on hers, and she appeared to me full of anger and jealousy, and yet in the mixture I could discern some Love; you will supply that loss with Madam D' Aumale, said she, and her Beauty will make good all you can lose by me, Ah Madam, 'tis onely your heart I am ambitious of, replied I, and though I cannot obtain it with all my sufferings, I will never give you the pleasure to call me unfaithful. You have fully done it already, answered she with a disdainful smile, but you deserve not I should complain of you; that would be a mark of esteem, and I have onely scorn for you: I besought her to no purpose, to explain why she treated me thus. She returned to see them play, and I withdrew, satisfied to know a part of her thoughts, but terribly afflicted at the reproach she made me.  
The Duke D'Aumale having finished his Treaty with the Prince, returned to Court. The duchess at departure, seeing me sad and melancholy, attributed it to her self, and obliged her thoughts with an opinion I was concerned for her. The Admirale thought as she did, and continued for some time that she stayed at Orleans to shun my company and scorn me.  
The Constable being brought back to the City, the Prince and Princess went thence together with Madam de Brion. She would not have seen me, but I would wait on her on the way; I expected at least some indifferent regards, but I had not so much as the small content, and believed myself unhappy. Fontpertuis perceiving my grief, made me assign to hope, and I answered her by other signs.  
My Brother the Admiral was come to Orleans one day before the Princes departure, he was dissatisfied with the Treaty, and would have had it broken, but the Prince could not consent.  
Soon after, Peace being concluded, I heard that Madam de Brion was at one of her Lordships, within two Leagues of my House at Tanley; having no business of consequence at Court, I went down under pretence of building a Lodge after the Italian mode, and to that end some days before me, sent down and Architect had undertook it.  
As soon as I had reached Tanlay, all my thoughts were employed how to see the Admirale; I knew her fair, and loved her, and would purchase her love at what rate soever. I acquainted Fontpertuis by Letter of my design to see Madam de Brion, she returned me answer, 'twas not yet time, and that the Admirale was very angry at me, but mentioned not the occasion; but withal  told me, that she was going for eight days to visit an Aunt of hers; whither, if I would take the pains to come, I might know the cause of all.  
As soon as I could learn Fontpertuis was come to her Aunts, I went to her House, which was but three Leagues distant from mine. I have already  told you, Fontpertuis was a kinswoman of Madam de Brions, and that she entrusted her with all her secrets, yet certain it is, the Admirale knew not that I had writ to her, or that she had answered me, or appointed me to see her.  
She made me a very civil and courteous reception, and at her sight I was more rejoiced then I had been since the absence of Madam de Brion; she  told me from whence the anger proceeded, and that its original was from the suspicions she had, I was in love with Madam D' Aumale, which were confirmed by a Letter she accused me to have writ to her; 'twas not hard to pacify myself on the whole to Fontpertuis: did it, she believed me, and assured me I was not hated.  
The assurance made me hope I must be beloved; she was to be judge, the time drew nigh that our wager was to be decided; I trusted neither so much to my love, nor the kindness the Admirale might conceive for me, as to neglect the care of making my judge favourable: there lay all my thoughts, after having taken leave of Fontpertuis and his Aunt.  
My household affairs, Unseasonable visits, and Letters from the Prince and Admirale, which I was obliged to answer, kept me two days from seeing Fontpertuis. You may have observed she is taking enough, has Wit and pleasant Converse, and I stood in need of her Credit. As soon as I came she complained of my neglect in not seeing her all that time; her manner of looking and talking with me made me suspect her heart was smitten: I resolved to make trial, an found myself not deceived, she was indeed in love, I  told her what I thought, she confessed it, blushing, and casting down her Eyes. In this conjuncture, I forgot the Love and Faith I owed the Admirale, and greedily snatching the opportunity offered, had the pleasure to seduce my Judge.  
In four other visits I paid her, I had the like entertainment; I confirmed her good intentions towards me, and doubted not of her giving sentence on my side, if the Admirale would be determined by her judgement; yet sometimes I feared lest Fontpertuis had too much love, which might forbid her suffering me to be happy, and engage her for the Duke D'Aumale, who since his departure from Orleans, had put all those things in practise, carried any likelihood of contributing to his desires; but she satisfied me with so much sweetness and kindness, that I had no farther trouble then the expectation of the hour of judgement.  
She took leave of her Aunt, and returned to Madam de Brion, counseling me to come thither, without asking her permission, and I was too much in love to neglect her counsel; I followed her next morning, and without telling the Servants who I was, asked for Fontpertuis, who was brought to me; she  told me the Admirale was in an arbour in the Garden; I requested her to show me the place, she was my guide, and showing me the arbour, left me within some few steps of it.  
I presently went into the arbour, and there beholded Madam de Brion asleep on a Bed of Sods. Had I till then been unsensible, this sight would have made me love: The sweet composure and loveliness of her Neck, which all appeared, strangely moved and tickled me, a pleasant ecstasy spread itself through my whole body, and I was wrapped up into transports and desires that appeared to me almost like a third Heaven, to which I found all my inclinations so ready to bend, 'twas onely one way possible for me to find a happiness beyond it, for still I but looked and durst do no more, till love made me a little bolder; and what had I not done if she had not waked? she was surprised to see me, and see her self alone with me. How D' Andelot, said she, you that are so obliged to me, how can you forget that I requested you no more to see me. Alas Madam, said I, who would not forget it when Love Commands it? At this she rose up, and Fontpertuis coming in, I continued talking after that rate, not doubting but my discourse was more acceptable, then it would have been persuaded.  
You see Madam, said I, an unhappy Man, who comes onely to know, by what justice you have condemned him to such sufferings? do you set no value on his Love and Faith, and must he hope nothing from his perseverance? Pardon me Madam, if I call you ingrateful; you deserve that Title, added I sighing, though once I thought I should never have cause to call you so. Your perfidiousness, replied she, has smothered all I found lovely in you, I have observed your crime at large, but you have given me so little leave to discern your passion, that I have happily suppressed the Commencements of mine. Ah Madam, said I, interrupting her, that victory you will gain over yourself, will cost me dear; 'tis hard for me to be accused of Treason, by what I love more then all the world, and judge but how it must afflict me, I cannot make you sensible that Love deserves any thing! At this I asked her what was my crime, she fairly  told me, and 'twas as easy for me to justify me self by showing many other Letters in the same Character which the Prince had writ to me; she began to listen, and in sho●●, was so well convinced, that I overthrew all the unjust suspicions she had conceived against me; our discourse ended in her gracing with an apparent joy, the finding me loving and constant, and I studied to fix her imaginations upon the consent I received from her sight and goodness, and left her not till I bore off all that Hope could promise.  
Fontpertuis had indeed great care to oblige me, and seconded earnestly the persuasions of my innocency. I saw very well what thanks she expected, and she deserved them, but poor soul, was cheated for want of time and opportunity.  
Soon after my return to Tanlay, the Duke and duchess of Aumale came thither; the sight of my Rival troubled me as much as the Dutchesses; I understood presently, that the Duke could not pass by without seeing the Admirale, and those desires made him submit to persuade the duchess to pass by Tanlay, which found in her a readier compliance, out of hopes her Beauty and address might at last vanquish the indifference I had shewed towards her: They stayed two days at my house, where I entertained them with all the divertisements a country House could afford in the best season of the year; since 'twas impossible for me to avoid conversing with the duchess: she took her time when the Duke was otherwise employed; I found in her discourse so much love would have ravished me, had it come from the Admirale; what would not I have given to have heard her say half those kind things the duchess did? You are pensive D' Andelot, said she to me, jogging me by the Arm, and take no care to answer me: I turned myself towards her, sighing, without thinking of it; what would you have me answer Madam, said I? recollecting myself, you cannot but think as well as I, how little I deserve the respect you give me: I could not have thought, replied she, there was a Man in the world so cruel, or who had so great a value of himself as to slight the entreaties of one of my birth, but you have made me believe there are such, and I find it so great a torment, as nothing can counterpoise, unless you change your thoughts. Ah Madam, cried I, interrupting her, why cannot I love you; or why may not I lay open to you the secrets of a heart, I cannot give you; for if I should divide it, 'twould give you continual cause of complaint, and me no satisfaction: No, no, said she, I will have no divided heart, and had much rather it should be all Madam de Brion's, then I have but a part.  
One of the Admirales Gentlemen came to interrupt us, his message was to compliment the duchess on her arrival, and to desire her to come and spend some few days in her House; she was somewhat at a stand what to answer, when the Duke who came up to us, took the word out of her mouth, and promised on the morrow to come wait upon her; I perceived her discontent at the Dukes hast to leave Tanlay, but now she must submit, and I had too much interest to accompany her, to omit it.  
The Duke and duchess had Lodgings appointed them, looking out upon a Terrace of Orange Trees( as most of the rest do) the duchess lay in one Chamber, and the Duke in another by the side of it.  
At Madam de Brions we received the news of the preparations made to besiege Havre de grace, the English Forces were much feared, the Prince was in League with them, during the War, and it was feared upon a breach, they would sand him considerable relief. Orders being brought to me for the march of the Infantry, I dispatched them to all places whither they were to be distributed, and I made ready my Equipage, to be in eight days at Soissons, where the Rendezvous was appointed.  
The Duke D'Aumale was much affencted at the sight of Madam de Brion, and I was as much pleased to know I was beloved. The duchess easily spied out my joy, and all I could do to conceal my happiness, was of no proof against her jealousy, which formed things bigger then they were.  
The two moneths the Admirale and I had taken for the decision of our wager were now expired within four days; I put her in mind of it, she only blushed, and answered nothing, but her silence was a Million, my Love understood it very well. I was diligent to secure my Judges favour by that complaisance a faithful Lover should onely give to the Person he loved; but Interest changes maxims of Love and that obliged me to treat thus with Fontpertuis, to whom my kindness was but policy.  
There were sent from Paris to Madam de Brion, two China Gowns excellently stained with little antic Figures, which appeared the more admirable, because Europe had seen so few of them. She gave the finest to Madam D' Aumale, who seeing the Admirale, wore hers, put it on the same day. That Evening, as we were all in the Garden, and that walking in the Serene, gave us a delight, the heats of the day had robbed us of. I coming near to Fontpertuis, be sure to meet me, said she, on the Orange Terrace, I have somewhat to say to you in behalf of— I made her a sign to speak lower, Madam d'Aumale being by us.  
The Duke, Amorous, Zealous, and withal ill treated, talked of love with the Admirale. Will you be always cruel Madam, said he, and never pitty what I suffer; you will find much more sweetness in that amorous conversation, I so sincerely propose then in that indifference hinders, and by its niceness, obstructs the enjoyments of those pleasures love would confer, but Madam d'Andelot loves you, and can you be so insensible as you appear? These words smote her, but after having stood mute a while, Should I permit you, said she, to search my heard, you would find little there, contributing to your desires; your love should be applied to the duchess onely, she is one of the most charming persons of the World, and I will never be upbraided to have bread a disunion between you.  
He would have replied, but the Admirale unwilling to hear any more, called Madam D'Aumale who was still talking as fast of love to me, as I was assuring her, that if she knew me well, she would soon be convinced I did not deserve her kindness.  
The Duke D'Aumale closing continually with Madam de Brion, it was impossible for me to have any talk with her; but my eyes spoken what my tongue could not, and hers answered me, so that I enjoyed not onely the content to know I was understood, but that my sufferings were shared in.  
The Haut Boys and Flutes I had brought playing us some tunes, we stayed till night being pretty well spent, Supper was brought into a Pleasure-House in the Garden, and having afterwards taken some few turns about the Alleys, all withdrew to rest, but I to expect the good hour Fontpertuis had assigned me. All the obliging signs and glances Madam de Brion had given me, made me believe she would hasten my felicity, and that Fonpertuis had order to be the intelligencer.  
I came therefore to the appointed Terrace, the night was as cloudy as lovers would desire. I gingerly marched on towards the Admirales Lodgings, and as well as night would give me leave; methought I perceived a Woman come out, I advanced, and she came towards me. I thought I knew her by her China Gown, and her stature, but methought much more by her desires and mine, that were so pressing, they made her understand I would speak with her, and she had the goodness to hear them at the Foot of an Orange three adjoining to an arbour.  
On a sudden I heard a noise on the Terrace, and saw the Duke D'Aumale passing swiftly by, we imprudently stayed in the place where we were, and he perceived us, and sighing, withdrew. I was half distracted at this adventure, but much more when I discerned I was not with Madam de Brion, but the duchess. I perceive by your surprise, said she, you thought yourself happier then you are.  
At that a door opened, and out came Fontpertuis, but I had said so much to the duchess I had not a word to say to her, who strangely reproached me for that silence she did not expect.  
The duchess withdrew by the Terrace, over which she came, and retired into her Chamber, much confused to think on what might happen on the morrow, not knowing what to resolve, nor how to bear the reproaches she expected from the Duke.  
He had other thoughts then to suspect it was she that I entertained so kindly on the Terrace, he was as well as I deceived by the likeness of the Gowns and believed it was Madam de Brion with his Rival. It was that sight troubled him, and he rose as soon as it was day, impatiently waiting the Admirales rising, she stirred not till it was late, and he attributed her sleeping so long, to her last nights watching on the Terrace, which ranged all along the Lodgings; and therefore it was an easy matter for the Duke the duchess, Fontpertuis, and me, to meet.  
The duchess had heard what Fontpertuis said to me in the Garden, and studied to inhanse all the sweetness of that rendezvous, and had her desire. The Duke thinking the duchess asleep, softly passed her Chamber, and having observed some kind glances, and perhaps more imprudent signs pass between the Admirale and me, which bespoke a great Union of Heart, his jealousy urged him to spy, whether I went not into Madam de Brions Chamber, who having watched longer then I thought, went to Bed onely at break of day, and rose not till an hour before Dinner.  
As soon as she was up, she asked for me, and hearing I was with the duchess, was coming directly to her Chamber, when the Duke coming out, desired a moments audience. She was irresolute at first, but at last consented. You are onely ingrateful to me Madam, said he, and I must be the unhappy witness of an action of love represented last night on the Terrace, between D'Andelot and you. Though Madam de Brion was not disposed to mirth, what the Duke said seemed to her so full of raillery, she could not forbear laughing; that action madded him, and he had rather have heard her rave and be angry, then have beholded so injurious a scorn. He could not apprehended the meaning of it, and I believe had he known it, would have excused himself from acquainting the Admirale with what had happened.  
But her laughter being all the answer, the Duke could with all his complaints and reproaches obtain, she comes into the duchess Chamber, who asks her the cause of her mirth; but Madam de Brion could not truly tell it her. She found her intelligence false, as to my being there, for I was before gone out into the Garden, where I began to muse of the cruel consequences might arise from that adventure to my love, if the Admirale knew it. alas, she but too well knew all the circumstances, for having heard a noise upon the Terrace, she had stepped into her Closet, whence she saw the duchess, and soon after knew me, and saw my infidelity at large. Till no longer able to endure the sight, she withdrew to her Bed, but the remembrance of what she had seen, so afflicted her, she could not sleep a wink, such strange thoughts it possessed her with.  
One came in the morning to tell me, the Duke desired me to come to his Chamber, but it was the duchess would speak with me. I imagined it was her love had formed this deceit, and would have retired, but she withheld me. Had I believed, said she, to me, that the gift I have made you of my heart, would have onely been the parent of such an indifference, I should have struggled hard ere I had given way to it; what has love done to you, to make you so little sensible of his favours received from me? Have you so soon forgot how kind and endearing they were? Must I first sand for you? Or should you have first begged my sight, unless you think me so unworthy that I am bound always to be the wooer? Though you love the Admirale, you still seem lovely to me, and you shall always find me with the same amorous intentions, you thought so happily to find upon the Terrace. The duchess desires were very violent as you may perceive, but I willing to preserve all mine for Madam de Brion, whose wager I would gladly win, was content with the reservedness, and moderation to which they were restrained, whilst solicited by a person so beautiful and fair. She was forced to break off her complaints against my unconcernment, by the Dukes entrance, who found us alone. And I began as well as the duchess to fear some cruel effects of his resentments for the offence we had committed; but he not knowing it, our fears were soon blown over.  
I met Fontpertuis 〈◇〉 the Garden, walking with one of Madam D'Aumales Women, I perceived she was angry with me. I knew well that I deserved not to be loved by Madam de Brion, I had neither given sufficient testimonies of love, nor done all I ought to arrive at such happiness; but all my hopes lay in the inclination and kindness of my Judge, who now avoided my sight.  
The Admirale who was filled with anger and disdain, looked now no more on me with the accustomend sweetness; that change made me sensible she knew all passed upon the Terrace, and I was fully convinced of it, when from one of her Gentlewomen I received this Letter.  
I writ to the most ungrateful Man living. Examine the perfidiousness of your heart, and you will soon find, it is to you this Letter is addressed. How happy had mine been, had it never had thoughts for you? But what has it done; you should affront it with so much cruelty: That heart which thought onely of you, and was decreed onely for you? But of what use are these feeble complaints and reproaches? You have affronted me, and it is a sin to forgive you: Yet could I find the least doubt of your infidelity, my grief would be allayed, and I should not be reduced to the doleful constraint of never more seeing that Man I have so much loved. But alas, I saw your disloyalty, nor could ever Man be more guilty then you. You cannot now say you love, nor have any pretence to justify yourself; therefore begun immediately, and fly from the pretence of that unhappy Woman, can no longer endure your presence.  
After having red it, I entreated her that brought it to carry an Answer, but she excused her self as being forbid.  
All her rage fell not upon me, Fontpertuis had her share, she had seen her on the Terrace with me, and that place looked suspiciously at such a time of night: She took unkindly all that Fontpertuis could allege to her, believing she had betrayed her, in favour of the duchess.  
I knew not what to think, nor what to resolve in this accident, the securest way had been to speak to the Admirale, but she blasted all opportunities. That therefore being impossible without displeasing her, I choose rather to be gone, and by that observance of her commands, make her sensible I still wore her Chains.  
But I did not that till I had spoken with Fontpertuis, showed her the Letter the Admirale had writ, and given her one in return of it: Which done, I took Horse for Tanlay, where after I had stayed two days, I went to the Rendezvous at Soissons. I lay under great vexations after my departure, though I heard my Letter had driven away most part of her suspicions. At first she was unwilling to see it, but Fontpertuis having opened it, Madam de Brion red these words in it.  
I Am not so guilty as you think me Madam, Love brought me not where you saw me, nor thought I to find what I met with. Though my absence from you, makes me unhappy enough, my condition is much more to be lamented for the distraction caused by your belief of my infidelity. I am unwilling, were it possible, to accuse you of any thing: But why should you not ascertain your suspicions? Why should you break off a love in its infant sweetness? No, you never loved me, since you could do thus. farewell Madam, I shall never lose the remembrance of having displeased you, yet I do love you, never ceased loving you, and have that inward satisfaction to know that I must for ever love you.  
She could not red this Letter without being touched at the very Soul. Fontpertuis perceived it, and we having before any departure agreed upon a correspondence, she sent me word what effects my Letter wrought on Madam de Brions heart.  
The duchess dreamt not of my so sudden departure; she was now almost convinced, I had no intent to answer her kindness, since I had neglected taking leave of her.  
The Duke and duchess went next morning for Paris, where having stayed some time, the Duke attended the King towards the Siege of Havre de Grace, whether the Queen Mother likewise coming, was waited on by Madam D'Aumale.  
You went every morning to Fecamp to give an account to the King what had passed that night at the Siege. I seldom followed you for fear of seeing the duchess, least the Admirale might have cause of complaint; but one day I could not excuse my not going, the Constable sending me. My Commission being performed, I was just upon return when Madam D'Aumale having heard of my being at Fecamp, under pretence of enquiring news from her Husband, made very heavy complaints of me. I very quietly heard them, and could not yet answer in the manner she desired. Prince Portian came luckily to take me off, and I returned to the Camp. This Prince had formerly great pretences on her heart, and it was thought he was beloved, he was still in love; but now his cares and kindnesses were not valued at a rush, I was the darling that could make no returns.  
Madam de Brion being come some time before to maul, informing her self of the particulars of the Siege, understood that Madam D'Aumale went with the Queen; her jealousy revived her love, she feared the losing me. Fontpertuis gave me intelligence of all the Admirales thoughts, and I found myself less unhappy then I thought. The same day that I assailed the Watch-Tower, which I made myself master of, I received a Letter from the Admirale which spoken these words.  
MY Anger and Resentment cannot hold out against my love, I have nothing more to upbraid you with; and could I but see you, I should think I had nothing more to desire. But is not this too kind to you? Or do you deserve this goodness? Were it not more just in me to hate you, pursuing the Counsels your unfaithfulness gives me? But alas, when I am apt to yield to that, the secret intelligences you have in spite of me, preserved in my heart, blast all these thoughts. Yet you could not expect these expressions, and therefore must think them very kind. But I demand an equivalent reprisal, and will not be refused it, tell me not that your honor and glory oppose it, I will be preferred before both; for all should be renounced at the command of her you love. Dismiss yourself then from the Siege, what you lose on the score of glory, you shall retrieve from the pleasures of a passion, I will make happy. If you obey me not, never see me more, and suffer me to believe you prefer the sight of Madam D'Aumale before mine.  
Never was Man in a greater plunge then I, I could not imagine which way to steer. Love offered me pleasant and pretty things, but I could not consent to blemish my reputation by quitting the Siege. Saint-Cire was the first perceived the trouble I was in; since I always used his advice, I held it unfit to conceal from him the cause, who upon first hearing it,  told, there needs no consultation, on this matter. You must not stir, nor can your going off, be any way justified. Stay but till the Siege be ended, and then in the name of God, go see Madam de Brion as long as you will, and in the mean time take no heed of a Womans jealousy or anger. Your Ladies will find out a return of kindness, when once their lover pleases them, and your peace will easier be made there then here, whatever Articles she have against you. Saint-Cire was a true friend, and reason counseled me to follow his advice, but love would not listen to it.  
The Treaty with the Town, which began about two hours after, eased me of my trouble, and made me determine to depart at the beginning of the night, taking along with me, onely one Gentleman. I got to Madam de Brions on the morrow, having rid that long way post, and on the Wings of Love. Never did I find in myself so great a disposition to joy and content. I was going to see the onely person in the World I loved best, and I was sure to find her heart full of a violent Passion which I had begot there. I would not suffer her to be  told I was come; but choosing rather to surprise her myself, went directly up to her Lodgings, and into her Chamber which I found open. But is it to be believed, what I there saw? Madam de Brion in the arms of a Man, and Madam de Brion, as I thought, kissing him very lovingly. She perceived me, and came running towards me with an obliging air, the joy in her face displaying nothing but pleasure; but what I had seen making me contemn all she could offer me. Disloyal Lady, said I, what would you have with me? How wretched am I to have been the witness of what I have seen. She held me by one arm, but not able to listen to her, nor see her longer, I snatched away from her, mounted again my Horse, and taking the road towards Havre, returned to the Camp.  
My melancholy was too great to be concealed. 'twas thought to proceed, because the English had not addressed themselves to treat with me, when my Battery was nearer advanced then any other, but the true cause was never guest at, and you yourself were deceived as well as others. What lamentable reflections did I make on my adventure, no cruel thought nor just suspicion but represented to me Madam de Brions crime, and made me judge myself the most unhappy Man living, because I still loved her guilty as she was. Sometimes my Anger gained the day against my Love, but in few minutes, my Love again vanquished my Anger: yet I would listen to no justification she writ to me, but I sent back her Letters without opening them, and made her judge by all my proceedings that I broken off all Commerce; the time for giving judgement on our wager, was above a month expired, I was content to have lost, but it madded me to lose by the treason of a Person I so well loved.  
The Siege ended, the King you know went to Roen to be declared mayor, and thither came the Admirale, whom I took no notice of, amongst all the Feasts, rejoicings and Delights. Madam D' Aumale continued her endeavours to seduce a Heart I designed to keep at rest, since the Person to whom I had given it, so ill treated it, in a time when I least deserved her rigor. I withstood her kindnesses best, by the care I took to shun her; that was enough to tell her I could not love, but my indifference increased her passion. Madam de Brion, could not without jealousy behold all the duchess did to engage me, she would not yet lose me, and at last found out the secret to make me return. She nicked the time to a hair, for I was just ready to comply with Madam D' Aumale's love, and one day more had put me quiter out of her reach.  
Fontpertuis whom she had instructed what to say to me, talked a long time with me at the Ball; at first I had refused to hear her, believing her an accomplice in the Admirales infidelity, but at length my anger abated, and she made me consent to come and see her on the morrow.  
Madam D' Aumale who was still in hopes her Beauty would at last affect me, seeing the discourse held between me and Fontpertuis, feared something was contriving contrary to her desires, and therefore came to interrupt us, but my resolution was taken, and having promised to see the Admirale, what ever kind or endearing things the duchess could say, drew from me no other answer then a sigh. She began to complain of my silence, and I know not how I should have justified it, had not Prince Portian come up to my relief, he left Madam D'Aumale no more that evening, and the company breaking up, I retired, not yet dreaming which way the Admirale would justify her self. She had made Fontpertuis say a thousand things to me, not at all relating to the infidelity I accused her of. I thought onely to see her to make a trial, whether there were yet in my heart any love remaining for her.  
On the morrow I forgot not the hour appointed. I was brought to her chamber by Fontpertuis, and I found her to have dismissed all other business onely to entertain me; she appeared wonderful handsome, and every look had a charm, and so much was I bewitched with her Air, Action, and Carriage, that I had nothing more to desire to make me happy, but only to be persuaded of her innocence, and now we were alone. What? you will forsake me then, said she, and can you thus easily resolve to relinquish a passion begun with so much Eagerness, Fervency and Delight. Alas Madam, said I, you snatch it from me by the uncertainty wherein you leave me of your Faith: and I restore it you, said she, by an assurance I never betrayed you. You cannot say so much to me; the Beauty and Kindness of Madam D' Aumale have made you forget what was due to my Love, even in a time when I loved you,  told you so, and that you were sensible of it, and this in my own house, and in my own sight. What Treasons have you not been guilty of to me? yet I forgave you, writ to you, you come and have scarce seen me, but you rudely leave me without giving me time to convince you, of the injustice of your suspicions; since my arrival, you have never come nigh me, have scarce been heard pronounce my name, nay have shunned the very sight of me. Go, you cannot love me, ingrateful Man that you are: as she ended these words, I saw a Man coming in by the Closet door with his sword drawn. I knew not at first what to think of it, but turning towards the Admirale, I could hear her cry out, See there that dangerous Rival robs you of my heart; if you still love me, you will defend yourself against him. I was sat with one of my Arms thrown over the back of the Chair, and in that posture surveyed this Man, whose fury had methought little terror in it; at length I thought it to be Fontpertuis disguised, and it was she indeed, who, as Madam de Brion  told me, I had under the same mask taken for a beloved Rival, when I came from the Siege of Havre to see her.  
My suspicions being thus blown over, 'twas now my part to clear those the Admirale had against me. What had passed on the Terrace of Orange Trees, she could scarce forget; but now I was in love, and was loved again. it proved no hard matter to justify myself; we renewed again a fair correspondence, and Fontpertuis persuaded us 'twas the best way to banish all complaints, and let old suspicions give place to Love. We had no small Interest to believe her, and we did so.  
She then proposed, giving judgement who had won the wager. At that I looked on Madam de Brion, and perceived she blushed, and stood silent. I drew a good Omen from her blushes, and no longer doubted, but my happiness was near. I begged her to consent to Judgement, she turned onely her eyes towards me and sighed. That answer had a charm passed sweetly unto my soul, and made me feel an unexpressible delight. Fontpertuis knowing the favourable thoughts the Admirale had for me, asked both her and me, if we would stand to her judgement. Yes, yes, we will stand to it, said I, judge us. Madam Brion cried out, it was not fair I should answer for her, without consulting her mind, and would have withstood the sentence, but I entreated her so well, that she was appeased. Whereupon Fontpertuis putting on the Looks and Formality of a grave Judge, with Sternness and Authority, pronounced in this manner.  
I ordain that Madam de Brion pay you the forfeit of the wager, said she to me, and if she fail, I condemn her never to love you more. 'tis an unjust sentence, and I appeal, said the Admirale; and to whom Madam, said I, can you appeal? who will judge with more equity then Madam Fontpertuis? I know not, answered she, but Love possibly will judge better. You may try then, said Fontpertuis, interrupting her, but I'm of the mind his judgement will not much differ from mine. at which she was going out of the chamber, the Admirale would have stayed her, but at last acepted her pretence of going to change her Habit.  
Madam de Brion durst not now come near me, shane, Love, and Modesty made her blushy, Sigh, and cast down her eyes; I stepped to her, and reaching out my hand, she gave me hers, and looking up kindly at me, my eyes spoken to her, and she understood them, and I had no reason to be displeased at the answer she returned me. I took notice she had some Flowers in her bosom, I snatched at them, and with a little resistance got them; she  told me I should not keep them, and I was willing to return them to the place whence I took them.  
What should I say any more for, we were both in love, and well satisfied with one another, and our contents increased before we ended this interview. It lasted three hours, and Fontpertuis at her return, soon perceived Love had given judgement in a manner different from other Judges, since neither one party nor the other complained.  
The next was yet a happier day for me, and those which followed more. 'tis hard to pass from great sufferings to extreme joy, without being discovered. The Duke D'Aumale, who observed all my actions, sooner believed my joy to proceed from my re-accommodation with the Admirale; my good fortune doubled her jealousy, and made him become more melancholy and hateful. And though the duchess took kindly whatever Prince Portian talked to her of Love, yet she could not forbear loving me more then I was willing; the content she observed in Madam de Brion, and my diligence to attend and wait on her wherever she went, produced the same effects in her, my joy had done in the Duke; but I troubled not myself to take notice of their disgusts, or if sometimes I did, 'twas only to take pleasure in them.  
One evening coming out of the Old Palace, I met Madam D' Aumale in the Queens antechamber. I would have avoided her but could not, she urged there all she could, and made use of all the obliging ways imaginable, to make me unfaithful, but I answered her like a constant man, and I retired as soon as I could, though not till Madam de Brion, who came by chance into that room, perceived our parley; she grew a little jealous of it, but I soon appeased her, by promising never more to talk with the duchess.  
Mean time Fontpertuis had not forgot the sweetness of our conversation at her Aunts; she had done me great service, and thought she deserved some kindness. I saw her every time I went to the Admirales; I had an esteem for her, she was our Confident, and I was pleased with her, but she was not satisfied with my indifference; one day thinking to find Madam de Brion in her chamber, I met there none but Fontpertuis. Her joy at sight of me made me guess her thoughts, and I was returning to seek out the Admirale, when she stopped me in a manner that begged my stay, whither would you go, said she? you know not where to sinned Madam de Brion, and why do you fly me? I was once thought worthy of a little Love; what has changed me? I have advantageously served you in your passion, and do not now desire you should love me for kindness sake, onely love me a little for gratitude.  
Whatever Fontpertuis could urge, I continued faithful, my refusal tormented her, I could observe some signs of her anger and vexation, yet they wrought no effect on me, and I went off blameless.  
There had for some days before great preparations been made for Running at the Ring. 'tis so small time since you cannot have forgot what passed at it, and that I won one of the Rewards, which was a Picture-Case richly set with Diamonds; I destined it for Madam de Brion, who at first thought it not convenient to take it, but at length I made her resolve to accept it. I had left it at my loadings, and would have sent for it, but she would not let me, telling me I might leave it with Fontpertuis, who would give it her at her return from the Queen: I went and brought it to Fontpertuis, who employed it to bring about a Treason, has since cost me a thousand sighs, and is still the cause of those torments; I cannot better describe to you then by telling you, I am now as much deserving pity, as I was worthy envy when I was beloved.  
Fontpertuis having got the Picture-Case, went to Madam D' Aumales, whom she saw but seldom; yet she had the cunning so to close in with her, that speaking of his Beauty and her Wit, she passed from their Praises to the Glory that Man would possess, should be beloved by her till such time as the Duchess could no longer forbear discovering she loved me; that I engrossed all the thoughts of her soul, and yet made no return of one, because I was in love with Madam de Brion.  
Fontpertuis had the knack to prevail so well o'er the Duchess judgement, that she made her believe, I no longer loved the Admirale, and that doubtless if she made but the least show of a desire of being beloved, I would make an amorous return to her, utterly disengaged from the charms of her Rival.  
We easily believe what pleases us, Madam D' Aumale resolved to writ to me, and Fontpertuis undertook to give me her Letter. Madam de Brion being returned from the Old Palace, asked if I had given her the Picture-Case; Fontpertuis made answer she had not seen me, the Admirale wondered at my neglect, but said nothing of it.  
On the morrow Fontpertuis gave me notice to come at the beginning of the night to Madam D' Aumales, where Madam de Brion would be at play, I believed her, promised to go, and at the hour appointed, came thither: Going in, I met a servant of Madam D' Aumales, who  told me her Mistress was gone forth, but that Madam de Brion and Fontpertuis were in her chamber, I went up and met Fontpertuis, who received me with such a smiling countenance, as I could not suspect of any Artifice or Deceit. I asked her where Madam de Brion was, she  told me in Madam D' Aumales little Chamber, she was on a sudden troubled with a little headache, and was lain down on the Bed. I went in, the Chamber was dark, and I had my mind full of the Image of what I loved, and perceived not the Treason practised against me, but committed one myself against the Admirale, and knew it not; was ever such perfidiousness heard of, or could any Man be made more unhappy? Y'are very much to be pitied indeed, said the Marshal of montmoremcy, laughing to have obtained such a favour from one of the finest Women of a Kingdom. I know not the Man would not have been glad to have supplied your place, as scrupulous as you are to account the greatest of pleasures for an unsupportable torment. When one is in love, replied D' Andelot, we value not the finest Women, but think onely of those we love, and yet methinks, said the Marshal, you digested very well your kindnesses to Fontpertuis, and are not so regularly faithful as you would have us believe. 'tis true, replied D' Andelot, that I have not observed that maxim with her, but I was to work her to my designs, and could I better engage her to my interests, then by engaging her love. But pray proceed, said the Marshal, interrupting him, to tell us what you did in the little Chamber. I knew, continued he, Madam D' Aumale by her voice, I sighed for grief at the deceit put upon me, and was about to be gone, when Fontpertuis brought in Lights, and I saw not Madam de Brion, but was alone with the duchess, so many Beauties, of which I might dispose at pleasure, made my heart utterly unfaithful; and upon trial, I found that there is sometimes as much pleasure in Infidelity, as in a true and constant Passion. I renewed again and again my Disloyalties to the Admirale, and my Treason began to grow familiar to me, when there had like to have happened a scurvy accident.  
The Duke D'Aumale came home, and wanted but little to surprise us; Fontpertuis came running in affrighted and had scarce the time to say, He followed her. I hide myself behind the Bed, had I gone into the Chimney, as I was once thinking to do, I had perished either with the fire or smoke; for the Duke coming in pale and heavy, and his looks enough declaring him distempered, called for some fire, believing a fit of an Ague was seizing on him. I knew not possibly how to get out; and Madam D'Aumale seemed to be in more trouble then I. Each of us were deliberating what was the best course to be taken, when it pleased my evil destiny to bring in Madam de Brion, who having heard I was at the Dutchesses, came either to know the truth, or to surprise me in the very Act of Treason against her love. She met with Fontpertuis, and asking what her business was there, she replied, I come, says she, to satisfy myself, about some suspicions I have of D' Andelot, I am afraid he abuses your love; he has been a whole hour together alone with the duchess, and is at present hide behind the Bed.  
The Admirale upon this came in full of anger against her lover, and unable to endure the cruel injury, she believed she had received, the duchess began shrewdly to apprehended her rage and resentment. Fontpertuis having carried her treachery thus far, went home to the Admirales, and left the persons concerned in no little trouble and perplexity, brought on them by her cunning and artifice.  
The Duke whose fever augmented, not able to keep up any longer, retired into his Chamber, and went to Bed. Scarce was he gone out, but the Admirale maliciously  told the duchess she was somewhat ill, and throwing her self upon the Bed, pretending to have a pain at heart, she learned her head towards my side, and drawing the Curtain, gave me such fierce looks as spoken a thousand things to me, without uttering a word; when on a sudden, her first dissembled grief, became a true one, and I perceived her swoon away.  
At that fight, without premeditating what might happen, I gave so grievous a shout, that almost all the house came into the Chamber, I came out from behind the Bed, and endeavoured to assist her what I could. My sight had much contributed to her swooning, but the Picture Case which Fontpertuis had without my knowledge, given on my behalf to the duchess, was that completed it; Madam D' Aumale chanced to have that Case in her Pocket, and it was fallen upon the Bed. The Admirale by chance laid her hand upon it, and looking to see what it was, knew it, and presently imagined, that either I had given it the duchess, or that it was dropped out of my Pocket, whilst I was tumbling with her on the Bed.  
The Duke returns to the Chamber, my sight amazes him, and being jealous of both, he knew not which to reproach, his Wife, or the Admirale, who was long before she recovered out of her swoon. I took her by one of her hands, spoken to her; she at last opened her eyes, and seeing me, turned them towards the Duke, on whom, she kept them a good while fixed. The Duke could not imagine what to make of this adventure, there was a secret in Madam de Brions distemper, which he would have given any thing in the World to discover.  
The Picture Case which he knew, partly satisfied his desire, and he thence apprehended the cause of the Admirales sudden grief, and the duchess confusion; yet he could not clear all the doubts his heart mustered up, touching his Honor and his Love; neither by it, nor by the convincing knowledge he had of his duchess love for me, and his amorance, I enjoyed all the Admirales affection, not able therefore to stay there any longer, he retired into his Chamber.  
The Admirale restrained her Passion, and gave me not a reproaching word, but she ordered me to be gone with all the authority of a commanding Mistress. Madam D' Aumales eyes requested my stay, and seemed to entreat they might be preferred before Madam de Brions, but Love gained the day over Infidelity. I repented my crime, and went away more in love with the Admirale, then I had ever been before.  
Soon after I was gone, she retired to her Lodgings, not without easing some of her fury on Madam D' Aumale; who not caring at what rate she gained my love, was little troubled at the discontent of her rival. Fontpertuis glad at this success, added new Treasons to them, by telling Madam de Brion I had given the Picture Case to the duchess: That our correspondence was settled, and that I had received a Letter from Madam D'Aumale, which she had cunningly, and without suspicion got from me.  
All these apparent Truths, such exact Reasons of suspicions, and the Imaginations Fontpertuis inspired into the Admirale, made her resolve never to love me more, but to abandon me to my inconstancy, and leave me master of the duchess heart, which I could not accept. I was guilty, but still I loved, I would fain have been pardonned, and endeavoured all I could, to deserve that pardon by a sincere and lasting repentance, which I had the better hopes of, because I believed the Admirale could not refuse it to that love and tenderness she once had for me.  
We were in this condition when the King left roven. I have done all I could since to regain the Admirales good will, but cannot effect it. The Progress of the Court to Bayonne, not requiring my attendance, I stayed at Paris, and knowing that the Duke and duchess D'Aumale, the Admirale, de Brion, and Prince Portian, went to Fontainbleau. I am come hither either to disturb their content, or with hopes so firmly to establish myself in the kindness and affection of the Admirale, that nothing may hereafter ruin me. But I have yet been deceived in my hopes; Madam D' Aumale still loves me, and dispises Prince Portian who loves her so well. The Duke continues my rival, I am fearful least he should be happy, and the Admirale adds to my fear, by the obliging manner in which she treats the Duke; and I am the more unhappy, because I cannot renounce my love, nor ever hope to incline Madam de Brion to be touched with what I suffer, or to restore me to the same place I once possessed in her heart.  
Your condition is not so bad as you think, said the Marshal de montmoremcy to D' Andelot, I know the very thoughts of the Admirales Soul, and am confident she preserves very kind ones for you, but you must deserve them. What would you have me do to be happy, said D' Andelot. Me thinks it is no hard task, replied the Marshal, and were it my case, I would surprise the Admirale in her Chamber, cast myself at her feet, aclowledge my crime, refer myself to her for punishment, join sighs and tears to my repentance, promise never more to see Madam D' Aumale, and in short, not part from her, till I were as much beloved as I loved.  
D' Andelot took the Marshal's counsel( who was a notable man in affairs of love, and whose story shall follow D' Andelots) he surprised the Admirale, he sighed, herepented, till his grief made her relent; and that soon turned into love, and that love became as kind, as passionate, and as happy as ever it had been before.  
The duchess D'Aumale was quiter disconsolate, to have thus utterly lost all hopes of D' Andelot, Prince Portian underrook to comfort her; but he succeeded not at first, but since Love and Patience overcome the greatest difficulties, it need not be wondered at, if they vanquish those which would oppose their Felicity.  
The End of D' Andelot.    

THE LOVES OF Great Men.  
BUSSY D' AMBOYSE.  
THe battle of Jarnac was fought under the Reign of Charles the IX., the Prince of Conde, chief of the Hugonots, lost there his life, Admiral Chatillon rallied the ruins of the broken Army, and put his Brother D' Andelot into Cognac, who by his valor made Monsteurs Victory fruitless. 'twas in this Field Bussy D' Amboyse began to give such large assurances of what he one day would be, that Monsieur, though he loved him not, had the Generosity to praise him at the head of the whole Army.  
War had its time to revenge Hate and sustain Authority; and Love must have his to create Pleasures for those who had the happiness to reach them, and Pains and Sufferings for who were destined to be miserable.  
Three months after this Battle, Bussy conceived a design of gaining an esteem in the heart of the Widow to the Marshal de St. Andre, the number of her Lovers was great, he had reason to think his Rivals dangerous, but Bussy feared nothing from Mankind, and hoped all things from his Merit and his Love.  
'twas with the Duke of Guise and Ligneroles, the favourite of Monsieur, that he was to dispute the heart of the Lady Mareshalle; There were many other Rivals, but these two were the most considerable.  
Bussy tries all imaginable ways to please, he makes addresses to the Lady Mareshale, he observes she delights in them, he continues them, he becomes both pleasing and necessary, and makes himself be desired; his Rivals believed they had reason to be jealous of him, and he took little care to persuade them the contrary.  
He durst not speak for a long time of his Love, but at last ashamed of her silence, he breaks it. He goes into the Lady Mareshales Chamber, at a time she would not be seen. Mr. Lover, who let you in? said she, with a severe cast of her Eye; return immediately: He feared he had displeased her, that fear was obliging to the Lady, she perceived it, and recalled him, who was withdrawing, not expecting this return, I came to tell you Madam, said he, that I am in love, you have put it into my heart, which all others might have attempted in vain; I comply with delight to all it inspires, 'tis very tender, and what will not you lose by being unsensible? but Madam, I see you are angry, continued he, perceiving she turned her eyes towards him, in a manner forbidding despair.  
The Mareshale was angry with her self, that she had cast so kind a glance at Bussy. Never see me more, said she, I cannot endure you; Take away my Love, and I consent, said he, interrupting her, I have nothing to give you, nor nothing to take away, replied she, but once more I forbid you my sight. Bussy goes forth just at the same time that Ligneroles was  told she was not to be seen; he believed Bussy happy, and that belief increased his grief without diminishing his Love. The Duke of Guise, jealous and impatient, and who found no pleasure in loving alone, preys the Lady Mareshale to bear him company, but her heart beginning to be engaged, received coldly the Dukes proposition.  
Ligneroles was the handsomest, and best proportioned Man in all the Court; yet his Love making no progress, he would at least give some trouble to his Rivals, he entreats Monsieur to feign to love the Mareshale. Bussy who had preserved some intelligence with Chateauneuf, let her know that she was about to lose Monsieurs heart, if she found not a quick way to withhold it. as soon as she saw Monsieur, she fills his Ears with reproaches and complaints, he justifies his Love and Fidelity, and promises no more to see the Mareshale.  
Bussy durst not go near her, and Ligneroles sharply repaid the jealousy he had given him.  
The Court was at Paris but preparing for a Progress to Blois, where the Peace lately made with the Hugonots, was to be Signed, and the Marriage Treated between madam, and the King of Navarre.  
The Duke of Guise and Ligneroles knowing that she would not go this progress, pressed the obtaining some favourable answer, but she declared for neither, there was only observed in her, more civility towards the Duke, and more complaisance for Ligneroles; the Dukes melancholy rejoiced Bussy, but Ligneroles joy made him almost despair.  
The King was two days at St. germans with Monsieur and a very small number of Courtiers. Ligneroles entertaining the King, was so indiscreet to let fall some words, made him suspect that the secret of the Marriage of Madam with the King of Navarre, was not unknown to him; Monsieur kept nothing from him, and therefore he thought it was not to be doubted but he had discovered all the design. The King, who knew best the Art of dissembling of any Prince in the world, cunningly interrupts him, by asking whither it was true that he loved the Lady Mareshale, as much as some would persuade him, Ligneroles acknowledged that he did Love, but was not beloved. The King being in Bed, caused Monsieur to be called, with whom he grew so angry that he made him consent to the destruction of Ligneroles, and promise that he would not speak to him of it, but nothing can be kept concealed from what we love; the King returns to Paris, Monsieur goes to visit Chasteauneuf, she perceives his sadness, he suffered her solicit a long time before he let her know the cause, and knowing it, she condoled, and became partner in his grief without acquainting Ligneroles.  
The King gave a Ball at the Louvre, the Mareshale takes out Ligneroles to dance. Bussy believed her carriage not indifferent towards him, and that which doubled his grief and his jealousy, was, that she never so much as cast her eyes on himself.  
He comes to Chasteauneuf who had something to say to him, the Mareshale knew he had loved her, she feared lest Love should be renewed between them, and Chasteauneuf perhaps found an easiness in it, to which Bussy agreed not.  
His heart no longer able to bear the Mareshales disdain, which he believed was caused by her kindness to Ligneroles, he resolved to challenge him.  
The friendship of Bussy with Grillon was begun some few days before, for he not enduring to live without Love in so gallant a Court, found Madam Bonneval the most proper to beget it in him; she was a very well made person, but her Manners were more engaging then her Beauty; Grillon follows her in all places, she perceives it, but forbids him not to follow her. What would you have with me Grillon? said she, one evening in the Queens Closet; All that should be given to those love well, Madam answered he; the King who overheard it, began to laugh; Madam de Bonnevall was vexed, and Grillon somewhat abashed: from that day forward, she was very rigorous to him; he complained to Bussy, who was beloved without knowing it. He promises to serve him with Madam Bonneval, and without any longer delaying the effects of his promise, that very day he goes to her, and finding her alone; Who knows not, says he, that you are lovely, and that your eyes have the infallible secret of enchanting Hearts? but I was ignorant till now, that to so many Excellencies and so many Beauties are joined such strange cruelties, and that the pleasure of seeing you has for its certain consequence such mighty sufferings, 'tis that I come to complain of, continued he,( looking on her with and Eye full of Love without any design) but I have some counsel to give you, will you receive it? continue I beseech you, the chains of those which adore you, 'twill be no great favour done them; 'tis so great a misery to be disdained, that it becomes natural to wish for happiness: Speak Madam, he was about to say, and give some joy to the unhappy Grillon, when madam and Chasteauneuf came in, Bussy conceiving he could not now continue the entertainment he had begun, went and found out Grillon, and gave him an account of what he had said.  
Madam de Bonneval believed not at all that it was on Grillons part she had heard those loving words, but on his own; she was resolved to have kindly answered Bussy; had not madam come in. He was the Man of all the world she most desired to engage; she loved him, and she believed her self Beautiful enough to create Love in him. This easily persuaded her not to doubt, but it was the design of his heart, and not being capable of a cruel thought towards him, and moreover being persuaded it might produce a good effect, to spare him any farther trouble, She sent him this Note next Morning.  
LOve me, and tell me so, what should hinder 068 you? And to let you see I am more lovely then you think, look here what Chains I command you to carry.  
This Note was without superscription, and enclosed a Bracelet of Hair of admirable weaving. Bussy rejoiced he had so well succeeded in his amorous embassy, as much as he would have grieved, had he known the tender goodness of Madam de Bonneval, was addressed to himself, and not to Grillon; who was much affencted, when Bussy gave him both the one and the other, he applied to himself all the sweetness was in that Note, and received the Bracelet as a favour, so much more worthy, because less expected: Esteeming himself happy, by an adventure had made him despair, had he known the truth of it. But how should he come to learn it, if Madam de Bonneval without appearing, surprised at so ill tuned an accident, does put on so cunning a disguise that Grillon cannot know her thoughts; yet she cannot digest the affront, it is a touch too sensible for Ladies, and they never pardon the slighting of their Beauty.  
Let Bussy serve for example, Madam de Bonneval stifles all the love she had for him, and onely meditates revenge; she alters not her behaviour towards him, but endeavours to discover the cause of his refusal. What is often said of love is true, it cannot be long kept secret. Madam de Bonneval lets nothing scape may serve towards the revenge as she designs. She interprets and comments upon the Actions, the Looks, the Words of Bussy, and draws thence suspicions, which become Truths, and tell her he is in love. One day she was with the Lady Mareshale, when Bussy comes there, but his carriage seemed so unconcerned, that none but Madam Bonneval could have divined his thoughts. Not able long to contain, he throws on the Mareshale such amorous glances, that Madam Bonneval perceived them, though he durst not sigh so loud as to be heard: She discovered love in the eyes of Bussy, and was enraged, it was not all for her; by all these signs, she knew he was deeply entangled And the more ingenuously to advance her revenge, she doubles her appearances of Friendship, and under the false resemblances of a complacent sincerity, which she affencted, successfully labours to create confidences with the Mareshale.  
Bussy had designed to fight Ligneroles on the first occasion presented; on the morrow one broke forth, the King would speak with him, he loved him, and doubted not a good issue of any dangerous design, if entrusted to him. The King comes into his Closet, where he was  told he attended, and proposed the killing of Ligneroles. Can you have any esteem for me Sir, answered Bussy, and make choice of me to rid you of Ligneroles by unhandsome ways. Ah Bussy, said the King, what will not any Man undertake to revenge himself of a beloved Rival, and to sustain the Interest of his King, when he finds in his own Courage a security for the execution, and that his sovereign abbets the action. But what ever the King could say, or promise, he could not make Bussy consent to his desires. In this desperate affair, he becomes the friend of Ligneroles, and chooses rather to expose himself to the Kings anger, by representing the merits of his Rival, and the services he might one day render him, then to oblige his revenge at the expense of his honor and reputation. The King appeared, ill satisfied with Bussy's generous thoughts; but in his Soul approved what he seemed to condemn; yet forbidding him upon pain of death, once to pronounce the Proposition he had made him. Bussy answers nothing and withdraws.  
Madam de Bonneval who had grown into great confidences with the Mareshale,( though not such secret ones as la hermit, who was one of her attendants) tells her that one of her people had seen Bussy go to Chateauneuf's, but she drew false conjectures from this visit, Chateauneuf had sent for Bussy to come to her Lodgings, to tell him the design the King had to destroy Ligneroles, believing he knew it not. She loved Bussy, and the love he had for the Mareshale, hindered him from answering her love. She believed Ligneroles was beloved, and that by preserving his life, Bussy might lose the hopes of ever affecting the Lady Mareshale, and then she flattered her self he might return to her. Directed by such prudent policy, she  told him the cause of Ligneroles disgrace, as she had learnt it from Monsieur, representing to him, that it was more glorious to overcome a Rival by generous procedure, and by advertising him his destruction was designed, then to triumph over his evil Fortune, by concealing from him, that the Kings most cruel resentments were ready to fall upon him. Bussy hears all Chateauneuf would say on this subject, without promising any thing, save onely to be secret in his having learnt it of her. He perceived by her carriage, that she desired an entertainment like to those they had had together in the time they loved; but that time was passed, love had disposed of Bussy's heart, in favour of the Mareshale; and though Chateauneuf were one of the fairest persons of France, and employed now all her charms which had formerly seemed so alluring; and let him now hear a thousand flattering and pleasant things, he still remained constant, and partend from her without giving the least reason to be reproached, as to his love.  
Understanding that Ligneroles was in the Garden of the Hostel of Soissons, he goes thither; and after having drawn him off some paces from the Mareshale, who was with Queen catherine● of Medices: I was resolved yesterday to kill you as a Rival, whose happiness made me despair, said Bussy to him, to day I would endeavour to preserve you as an honest, but unhappy Man, who have, doubtless, neither deserved death by the cruel maxims of State, nor the particular hate of the King. I should have received you as an enemy fit to be feared, answered Ligneroles, but I dread you more with the merit wherewith now you appear, and if possible, I would owe you nothing. In vain I examine and search myself, in what point I can be guilty. You are not innocent, replied Bussy, since you have let the King perceive you were not ignorant, that the marriage of madam, and the King of Navarre, was onely an ingenuous pretext, the more securely to ruin the Hugonots. The silence and confusion of Ligneroles accused him, and he had now no hopes but in Monsieurs Protection, he could not believe himself forsaken by him, but Bussy assured him of it. My crime is, having spoken, says he, at length, but I had rather die, then doubt of Monsieurs friendship, he knows not my destruction is resolved; for he who never kept secret from me, would not have concealed a design against my life.  
Whatever Bussy could allege, he would not take the advice he gave him not to go this progress, nor take the ways to secure himself he offered.  
Ligneroles spoken after this of the Lady Mareshale. The esteem I have for you, said he, hinders me from concealing the estate wherein my love, and services have put me with her, I love her and she knows it. I have sighed, I have complained, and all the fruit I have gathered from all this, is the pleasure to see myself hopeless; you, believed there were strong ties of kindness between us, and it was my interest not to disabuse you, she wanted one of the family to keep up her affairs with Monsieur. I was capable of serving her, and you took for love, that assiduity she permitted me, rather to give her an account of my Negations, then to give me marks of her goodness. Ah Bussy, must I tell it you, continued Ligneroles, for you onely is reserved the happiness to affect her Soul, and she sees you not, onely for fear of loving you too much. That fear should be a glory and pleasure to you, proceeded he, sighing, what would not I do to inspire the like? But you would be unfortunate, if such a thing were which is, what I cannot desire at such a price after that you have now done. Are you so generous, replied Bussy, to tell your Rival in good earnest, that he is not hated? I am unhappy enough to be pitied, for not being loved, said Ligneroles, interrupting, and that I am in danger of losing my life, and need not be suspected to want sincerity towards the Man I esteem most of all the World.  
The Mareshale who observed them, feared their Discourse might end in a quarrel, but her apprehensions changed subject, when she beholded them embrace.  
Her suspicions of Bussy increased, she was jealous of Chateauneuf: Their confidences at the Ball, and the impressions of his visiting her, much perplexed her mind; and besides that, he partend from Ligneroles more like a Friend then a Rival. What then, had she not reason to fear? Ladies would lose nothing; they believe the number of their lovers is a mark of their merit, and an increase of their reputation. I say not the Mareshale had these thoughts, but she could not look upon the semblances of his change, but as an injury in his judgement. She concluded by their actions they were become Friends, and that Bussy had yielded to Ligneroles, all the pretensions he had on her heart, she seemed to have more scorn for Bussy, and more fierceness for Ligneroles, when they met the Queen, who soon after went to the Louvre, and the Mareshale with her.  
These Rivals went together from the Hostel de Soissons. Ligneroles was assaulted by four unknown men, who cried out to Bussy, they would have onely the life of Ligneroles; but all the answer he gave, was to let them know, it was hard to take that from a man he defended. Ligneroles opposed his courage to his enemies numbers, and conjured Bussy to let him perish alone, and not run the hazard of losing his life, either by these Assasines, or by the anger of the King, who would not want advice of the assistance he gave him: Bussy impatiently endured what Ligneroles said, and parry'd most part of the thrusts made at him. The Duke of Guise chancing, at this moment, to pass by, took their part; the four men yielded to the courage and constancy of the Duke, Bussy and Ligneroles; they fled in disorder, some of them wounded, and one of them was taken by Bussy's servants, whom Ligneroles, let go against the Dukes mind, not doubting, but from him, might be learned the first authors of this attempt. But Bussy and Ligneroles who judged it, commanded by the King, drew off the Duke from those suspicions he might have had, by feigning a Family quarrel which they would revenge. This assassinate made a great noise, and Monsieur talked public, That he made Ligneroles case his own, but in private he said otherwise: He knew from whence the blow came, and Dugua who was beginning to enter into his favour, and who was gained by the King, had made him approve the design conceived for the killing Ligneroles at his coming out of the Gardens of Soissons.  
The King who was violent in the first eruptions of his anger, was about to command the arresting of Bussy for assisting Ligneroles, and whom he believed had betrayed his secret; but the esteem he had for him, banished this design of revenge.  
The Duke of Guise had no share in the Kings resentments, not being at all faulty: Bussy came that Evening to the Louvre, and saw the King, who received him with many praises for the action he had done, though he did not approve it; but he understood dissimulation. On the morrow, Bussy sent to request of the Lady Mareshale, he might have the honor to kiss her hands, he had never spoken to her since she had forbid him seeing her. She was full of anger, and of shane, and could not prevail over her heart, to bring it to that indifference she desired, which hindered her agreement to Bussy's request.  
Just as her answer was brought to him, Ligneroles came into his Chamber, understood it, and assured him he would omit nothing possible for him to do, to procure him an interview with the Mareshale. It is hard to be obliged for such a kindness to a Rival, but Bussy was constrained to it. Ligneroles was still of the same mind not to retire from Court; and Bussy argued hard against a resolution, which had no other foundation then Monsieurs Friendship, on which he had much less reason to confided, then on a provident and quick withdrawing, which was the onely way to secure him. Ligneroles came to the Mareshale, and at first pleaded in vain on Bussy's behalf, but at last she consented to see him. She after asked him, who were those had assaulted him; he would not tell her the secret, but he  told her that without Bussy's assistance he had been in very great danger, and that the Duke of Guise had likewise defended him.  
It was agreed between them, that Bussy should come after Supper, and that on condition he brought him, which he did. She was beginning to be undressed, and desired him to be present at their entertainment, to deprive Bussy of the happiness, he might find in seeing and discoursing her alone, which Bussy feared; but Ligneroles who would not be generous by halfs, civilly retired, and by his retreat left him full liberty to see, speak, and be heard. She went for a moment into the Alcove to change her shift, whilst Bussy stayed looking on a Picture of a Mignon love which endeavoured to climb to the top of a Rock, he drew a Pencil out of his Pocket to writ, I shall arrive, when the Mareshale gave a great shriek, and came running almost naked into his arms. Such a sight would certainly affect one indifferent, what then could be Bussy's thoughts who was in love. He stopped her, asking the cause of her fright, and endeavouring to reassure her; but he perceived she swooned, and was in condition to create ecstasies of love: So that Bussy sucked in pleasures at his eyes, their employment was to him obliging and charming, and they showed him curious things; it is impossible to express the sweet and tender motions of his Soul, love onely can do it; but love is discreet, and tells not all it feels. L'Hermite who was as fraid as her Lady, was fled to call other Maids to her assistance, whilst Bussy endeavoured to bring her to her self.  
They entred readily into the Chamber, followed by Ligneroles, who being got onely to the Stairs foot, ran back in hast to know the reason of the noise he heard. How was he surprised, How astonished, And how afflicted, all at once, to see the Mareshale in the arms of one she loved? What jealous thoughts did not this sight inspire him with? He believed himself unhappy, but, what thought he not of the happiness of his Rival? Yet those thoughts gave place to others more sad and grievous, when he perceived that all Bussy's trouble proceeded from the Mareshales swooning. They put her in Bed, and soon after she opened her eyes, and her fright being allayed, Ligneroles and he withdrew. The Mareshale had as was well known a strong natural antipathy against Spiders, of which she could tell no cause; she then saw one on the Hanging and saved her self wherever she could, and L'Hermite sharing in her Mistress fright, fled as I said before.  
On the morrow Bussy returned with design to see her, but the shane and confusion wherein she was to be seen, in a condition so contrary to Modesty, made her resolve to refuse a pleasure, she would gladly have received, under pretence of not being well recovered from her fright.  
He divined one part of her thoughts, but unwilling to be a second time obliged to Ligneroles, and trusting in Neufville, he gave him Commission to let the Mareshale know he had some important business to discourse with her. Neufville did it, but not being happy in serving his Friend, he in vain attempted to persuade her, she ought to hear what Bussy had to say to her.  
In the mean time Bussy was to be pitied, he had not onely the pangs of his love, and the cruelties of the Mareshale to groan under, but must likewise endure all that grief caused by Ligneroles his misfortune.  
The Duke of Guise assisted by the Counsels of Madam de Bonneval who he had formerly loved, and who was still his friend, neglected nothing he thought might make him be beloved. This Prince was young, brave, ambitious, and handsome, every way lovely and deserving; but to what end were all these great qualities, whilst he was not beloved; and yet made all his happiness consist in the being so.  
But in a Conference he had, his love changes object; it was with his Uncle, the Cardinal of lorraine, who having already broken off the Match between madam, and the King of Portugal, would do the like with the King of Navarre, and by his credit with Queen Katherine of Medices, mary her to his Nephew. The love he had for the Mareshale, withstood this great Fortune, but the interest of his family, and his ambition made him comply with what was desired. He began therefore in more steady manner, to fix his thoughts on madam, and considering her as the daughter of a great King, and whose Wit and Beauty might pleasantly revenge him of the rigours of his Mistress, he steered all his love and cares towards her. This change surprised Madam de Bonneval, and afflicted not at all the Mareshale.  
Grillons Constancy was yet unhappy, Madam de Bonneval was perplexed and melancholy, she had laid designs which she could not execute, and Grillon must suffer for it. He was impatient, and would have love immediately returned for love, and the refusing him with any sharpness, the recompense he requested, was enough to make him believe there was none to give. Sometimes anger and suspicion tempted him to inconstancy, but when he thought to love no longer, one glance of Madam de Bonnevals recalled him to his Chains.  
She thought on nothing but revenge on Bussy, for being in love with the Mareshale. She knew almost all passed in her heart, her inclination for Bussy was no secret to her, but she striven to lessen it by her malice and counsels, and by the cunning she had to possess her with the thoughts of his love to Chateauneuf. In sum, she made her so ashamed of her thoughts, that the Mareshale could not have kept them alive, had she not been strongly prepossessed with the worth and honesty of Bussy.  
Ligneroles had onely some shows of Monsieurs favour, Dugua had the substance, whose subtle spirit, raised so many quarrels, and caused so many disorders. Yet so cunningly was his disgrace concealed, that he could never discover, whether he had consented to his death; the same signs of trust and friendship still appeared, but all those signs were onely kept up like false lights to deceive him.  
Bussy not able to disabuse him, together with Grillon, very rarely left him.  
Beauty, good Men, Birth, and love in Monsieur, could not banish from Chateauneuf the Passion she had for Bussy, she envied the Mareshales happiness, and the difficulty she foresaw, would be found in depriving her of her lover, strongly increased her desire.  
Neufville not having succeeded with the Mareshale, Bussy resolved himself to speak to her, and his attempt was happy. She was ready to go forth, but her confusion was so great at the sight of Bussy, that she would have drawn back into her Closet; but he placing himself before her in a Suppliant, and respectful posture; Stay Madam, said he, I come not to speak of my love, but of Ligneroles. You know him, continued he, seeing she stayed to hear him, and you know he loves you. A little of your pitty would be a great alloy of those cruel sufferings his Passion torments him with, and I shall be happy in obtaining what I request for him. The Mareshale blushed with anger at this discourse of Bussyes, not doubting but he had given over loving her, but willing to conceal her concernment. You shall not obtain what you pretend from me, replied she, I find I have no disposition to do good, and Ligneroles is to be pitied, if he accounts upon any favourable thoughts. I have none, my heart is submitted to whatever I will, and I fear not its betraying the interests of my glory, to take part with those of my love: Madam, replied he, Treason is easily pardonned when we find a sweetness in being betrayed; and since you will find a great deal in this crime; if your heart commit it, you will, without doubt, be induced to pardon the fault, by the pleasure you will receive, in loving, and being beloved. Remember then Ligneroles, Madam, he is unhappy without deserving it; he has a tender and violent Passion, which he cannot communicate to what he loves, besides his destruction is resolved. I come to tell you of it, who should have been the minister of the Kings revenge, he would have obliged me to have killed him; and Monsieur has resigned him to those cruel Reasons of State, may possibly produce effects dismal to all France; it is not from him I speak this, he is ignorant I prest to a sight of you; nor durst I have done it for myself, but I thought I could not neglect serving him, without leaving myself liable to just reproach; he had already been lost without the assistance the Duke of Guise gave him. Say without yours, said the Mareshale, interrupting him, and fear not I shall value you too much: That which you tell me, surprises me not without cause, and I should hardly believe all you have said, were I not well persuaded of your sincerity; but what can I do for Ligneroles? I have not any power; you have an absolute one over his heart, replied Bussy, and the Commands of a Person beloved may gain from him, what neither the Counsels nor Prayers of a friend can hitherto do. Employ your Beauty to oblige him not to go this progress, and let him know, he has now no part in Monsieur, and that his death is unavoidable, if he withdraw not from Court. This Madam is all that I have to say, can you now complain of me, or are you at all troubled to have heard me? She was about to answer when Ligneroles entred, from whom she concealed not the least circumstance of what had been said to her. My destiny's very strange, said Ligneroles, to find more succour from a Rival, then from the friendship of a Man I have so long served, or from the heart of a Mistress I have so dearly loved. No Madam, I deserve not your love, one alone is worthy of it, if any can be, his thoughts are so Noble and Virtuous, his Love so excelling, his Heart so great, he possesses all qualities required in a true brave Man, and all that the most delicate Lady can desire in a Lover; Therefore love Bussy, continued he sighing. Hold, said Bussy, interrupting, your indiscretion ought to be reproved.  
The Mareshale could not enough admire the Character of these two Lovers; Bussy refused to rid himself of Ligneroles; it was as much as his life was worth to let scape the secret entrusted him by the King, he believed it not important, not enough to make Honour its sacrifice, he advised Ligneroles of the designs against him, and defended him after that against those the King sent to take away his life. He speaks of the Love of Ligneroles, and not only endeavours to serve him as a friend, but essays to make him be beloved.  
Ligneroles soul yields not in greatness to Bussy's, he declares himself unworthy of his concern for him, praises his Rival, and pronounces him alone worthy of Love. The Mareshale seeing Bussy about to withdraw; stay, said she, and be witness, I will spare nothing to save Ligneroles, but all her goodness proved in vain, he let her know he would rather choose to die out of too much confidence in Monsieurs friendship, then secretly accuse him by his flight of having consented to his death. Bussy joined his Counsels and Reasons to the Mareshales, but he remained firm in his resolution of going the progress▪ The next day the King hunted with the Queen, madam, and several other Ladies, all on horseback. After having for some time chased an Hare, which the Dogs eat, the King had a desire to take some Conies with a Ferret, saying, He would kill all came out of their Buries. These words were observed by the Hugonots, and Politicians, and they drew judicious conjectures from his humour, which might have served to secure them against those cruelties acted soon after upon them, but they suffered themselves to be deceived by sovereign Faith, by the cunning of Katherine de Medices, and by the Honours and Dignities they received.  
At this chase the Duke of Guise was still near madam, taking the same course to win Love from her as he had done with the Mareshale, Bussy carefully observed all the Duke did, to whom the Queen had made a sign to come speak with her, just at the same time that madam having taken notice of Bussy's curiosity, called to him to know the reason.  
In the last Assembly at the Louvre Madam, said he, I observed that the Duke of Guise always had his eyes turned towards you, and seeing nothing so perfect and accomplished as he, I wished he might fall in love, for I thought you alone a worthy object of his passion. I had those thoughts when you took him out to dance, I observed his joy when he received your hand, and the blushes that seized you. In sum, madam, I employed so well my Eyes, that I could not doubt but you might one day love. I know not but I might be deceived, but it seemed to me, as if the day approached; this is what I observed, madam, when you took notice of my harkening to you.  
She begun to laugh at what he had said; you fetch your conjectures a great way off, said she, but I have too much esteem for you, to leave you in an opinion that I will ever dispose my heart to the Duke of Guise. To whom then that is worthy of it, can you give it, replied he, if you refuse it to him? To Bussy, interrupted she, inclining her self towards him, when he shall cease to love the Mareshale. Ending these words, she rid off, leaving him confused, and not knowing what to think; how many reflections did he make on this adventure. He believed madam had a mind to divertise herself with him, rather then hoped, she had any design of inspiring him with the boldness of making love to her.  
The Chase ended, all returned to Paris. In the way, Bussy and Ligneroles complimented the Duke of Guise, that the Beauties of madam had delivered them from so dangerous a Rival. He received with a good Grace, what they said on that point, not utterly disowning his love to her, and yet not seeming too much affencted to have it believed.  
Madam de Bonneval was at this hunting, and would fain have persuaded the Mareshale, that Bussy had held some amorous Propositions with madam, but she began to give less Faith to what ever she attempted to say against him. He was grown powerful in her heart, his merit, his generous thoughts, and above all the love which had touched her, had made him gain a place in the tenderest receptacle of her Soul, from whence it was very hard to snatch him.  
Bussy was ignorant what his happiness was, and despaired of being beloved. A great delight which surprises us, when we least suspect it, is that brings most sweetness with it. Bussy made this pleasant trial, he could not think himself happy, but how joyful was he when he could not doubt it.  
The Court prepared to depart next morning, and the Courtiers took leave of those Ladies did not go the progress. Bussy intended not to take his of the Mareshale, fearing to offend her by his sight, and by this respectful and prudent carriage, he light upon the secret of making himself be desired not to go without seeing her, he thought not to find her at Madam de Bonnevals Lodgings, whom he believed his friend, and therefore would not omit waiting on her, having employed the time he thought necessary in this visit, he rose up to be gone. How will Bussy part then without seeing me? said the Mareshale to him; he answered, that before he durst not, but now he took what she had said for a Command.  
He failed not to attend the Mareshale about two hours after her going from Madam de Bonneval, who the better to deceive him, had at his going out, assured him of her friendship in a manner, that appeared so full of fair Faith, that he went away well persuaded he had not a better friend then she, and that without doubt she would be serviceable to him in his Love.  
Bussy was so quick-sighted as to have observed that the Mareshale began happily to purge away her errors of indifference, and with such sweet reflections, and such kind thoughts he came to her; his Looks were full of Languishing and Submissiveness, and his Words full of Love and Eloquence. He spoken at first of what he felt, of the torments absence would create, and of his fears to be hated. The Mareshale answered to all this, or rather her passion answered for her. In the sequel of the discourse she made some complaints, but they were obliging ones; should you permit me, said she, to have the least occasion to reproach you? Could you go without seeing what you love, is it thus you would persuade your passion? or do you know how to love? better then you Madam, replied he, you dare not stand the trial, for then you would find all the knowledge is on my side, and therefore you would save yourself that shane; she blushed at this answer and asked if he went with the King. No Madam, you have affronted me, said he, and being resolved to be revenged, I am not now for the progress: and what revenge can you take of me, replied she? as I can aclowledge Benefits, so I am sensible of Injuries, and let me advice you that 'tis dangerous making me your Enemy. Whatever you can say Madam, said Bussy, interrupting her, my resolution is fixed, and without fearing your threats, I must attempt to make you love me; this enterprise will displease you, and then I at least shall have the delight to have given you some vexation. Revenge yourself every day thus upon me, replied she, I shall know how to give affront for affront, and then I shall have the pleasure of not having yielded to you in resentment. This discourse gave much relief to Bussy, who was before in great disquiet, out of the uncertainty he was in of the Mareshales thoughts for him, but never found Lover more kind ones, nor greater hopes of happiness, when l'Hermit came to give notice that the Duke of Guise entred.  
His new passion could scarce subsist, his heart leaned towards what he had so much loved, and all the glory of Madames Beauty could not lessen his grief, that he could not bend the Mareshales heart. He came to make the last trial of overcoming it, but Bussy having already done it, and having Desert and Love enough to preserve his Conquest, the Duke understood from the Mareshale, he was past hope.  
Madam de Bonneval having given him the occasion by her arrival, he took leave. Chateauneuf came with her, with design either to break off the conversation of Bussy with the Mareshale, or to be a witness of all that passed, but she came too late, and Bussy retired, unwilling to beget a jealousy in his mistress, or hopes in Chateauneuf; Grillon, and Ligneroles went home with him to supper. After they were gone, he began to think of his happiness, and how blessed a thing it was to be well-beloved; his heart had not been accustomend to such delight, nor could he relish it with moderation, but coming afterwards to examine closer what his good fortune was, he found something wanting, which he reserved till the morrow, to desire his mistress to perfect.  
The Court was to lye at Estampes, he feigned to begun, and understanding the Mareshale was in her chamber, he was brought in by L'Hermite.  
What come you hither for? said she, at his entrance, I believed you already gone; and was preparing to rail at you: he was about to answer when one came in to tell her, that Madam de Bonneval and the Duke of Guise desired to see her. Bussy desired the Mareshale he might be hide, because he was believed to be gone, and being found there, they would suspect he had a great intelligence with her. L'Hermite undertook that care, who thrust him into a Closet near the Mareshales Bed, whilst she went to meet them, lest they should perceive Bussy was with her. She masked her surprise at their arrival, by feigning a great headache; Madam de Bonneval proposed remedies for it, but she refused them, and her friend divined not those would have done it. Perhaps she had desired not to be interrupted. Bussy was in a flamme of Love, and in a fair road, and I doubt not but he would have stood in it. Madam de Bonneval and the Duke of Guise, apprehending the grief less then it was, endeavoured to be persuaded, made their visit very long. Love has its impatiencies, judge those of Bussy. Hearing easily all that was said in the chamber; he overheard Madam de Bonneval ask the Mareshale what was a clock, for she must be gone at ten, and reaching to a sounding Watch that hung in the Closet, he made it strike that hour. The Mareshale who knew her Watch went right, easily conceived Bussy had put it forward. In short, Madam de Bonneval and the Duke went and left them a full liberty of entertainment.  
After having given some Orders to L'Hermite, she opened the Closet door, and Bussy came into her chamber, when immediately a great noise was heard below, and word brought there was fire, and that the Flames increased: she would have seen her House burn, and her household-stuff, well known to be the most Magnificent of the Kingdom, consumed without the least trouble, but the fear she was in of Bussy's danger, cruelly afflicted her; and notwithstanding the arrival of Ligneroles, she would go into the Closet where L'Hermite had once more hide him, when the Flames that issued from the door made her believe her Lover was consumed. What a loss at the point of being happy, and recompensing Bussy for all his labour and his Love! she swooned, and none but L'Hermite at present knew the cause. Ligneroles, who was to part next morning, passing by that Street, faw the neighbors run towards her House, and understanding the cause, comes directly to her Apartment, where the Fire first took; One whole wing of her House was burnt, in despite of all help could be brought. The Mareshale revived from her swoon, and he withdrew, the Servants had repaired as much as possible the strange disorder caused by the Fire, but the Mareshales Lodgings being quiter burnt, they were forced to make ready for her another Chamber. L'Hermite caused the ruins of the Closet and Chamber to be preached for Bussy's Body, but all in vain. The Mareshale sad and desperate, Commanding her to take a Torch, would go her self, to see if she could not discover the unhappy remains of a Man she had so dearly loved; but passing out of her Chamber, she rejoiced to find him alive; he  told her, that perceiving the Fire took hold of the Closet, he choose rather to leap into the Garden, then expose himself to what might have been talked, had he been seen pass through the Chamber, which he could hardly have that way avoided. That being concealed by the darkness, he waited a time to get away undiscerned, but when he thought he had found the opportunity, feared to be discovered by Ligneroles domestics, hindered him, and made him return back, that the Fire being quelled and nigh far spent, not knowing how to get out of the House, he sought for L'Hermites Chamber, when now he met her. Bussy saw her all in Tears, her Hair in disorder, and only in her Night-Gown, but in that negligence she discovered great Beauties, which still inflamed his desires.  
Madam de Bonneval, who knew not the accident till it was late, returned to the Mareshale as soon as she heard it. L'Hermite brought Bussy into a Wardrobe belonging to her chamber, and which on the other side, had a door into a Gallery of Pictures, and put him into a great Press, lest Madam de Bonneval should see him. She condoled with the Mareshale for her loss, and judging she would have but an ill night of it in that Chamber, pressed her to go lodge with her. This proposition pleased not Bussy who harkened to it, and he feared her acceptance of the offer, had she had his thoughts she had stayed, but not able to withstand the urgent entreaties of Madam Bonneval, she consented, and after having whispered something to L'Hermite, goes into the Wardrobe, telling Madam Bonneval she would immediately return: and L'Hermite who by her Mistress order, gave light but by halfs, being ready to open the Press, saw him just by her; deserve what I have done for you by a kind and faithful passion; I love you, as you may perceive, said she to him, kissing him, and I beg you would not be gone. He was so surprised at the sight and action of the Mareshale, that he could not rise, he onely took one of her hands, and squeezing it between his, sighed. Madam de Bonneval at the same time was coming towards the Wardrobe, but L'Hermite feigning to light better, lifting up the Candle, put it out against the door, she run presently to take another, which was on the Chamber-Table, and the Mareshale fearing lest Madam de Bonneval should discover Bussy, came to meet her just at the time the Candle was put out, and lead her back to her chamber; L'Hermite bringing another lighted one. In short, she went to lodge with Madam de Bonneval, leaving charge to L'Hermite to be careful that Bussy might go out unperceived, which she performed. as soon as he was gone thence, he caused Horses to be brought, partend from Paris, and by six o'clock in the morning o'retook the Court at Estampes. The Mareshales surprise at his departure, was so much the greater, because she believed she had explained her thoughts to him in so kind a manner, as could not deserve this Ingratitude. How cruelly was she angry at her self, for having been so yielding; she resolved to love him no more, but Love soon made her know, he is not so easily rid off, and that he is a sort of guest not to be driven when one will, from that Heart he has once taken possession of.  
She asks L'Hermite, if Bussy had said nothing to her when he went, and understood he had said nothing, but seemed melancholy, and she guest it happened by reason of Madam de Bonnevals coming, and that not having expected her going to lodge with her, he could not undergo so cruel a disappointment, without being extremely afflicted.  
I  told you that Bussy left Neufville his trusty friend at Paris, he was to believe in Madam de Bonneval, and to agree with her in what manner they might bestserve him with his mistress in his absence, whom though Bussy had offended in the tenderest part of her soul, far from imitating his proceedings; she continued to love him, and forgot not the least duty of a kind and faithful Lover. Madam de Bonneval knew nothing of Bussys being hide in the Closet and Wardrobe, but there are secrets Love keeps only for its self.  
She now begins to put in practise the ingenious design she had contrived to ruin the correspondence between the Mareshale and him.  
Neufville was a Man proper for her design, he was young, handsome, and discreet, but he had a Heart of Wax, and by that she believed she might revenge the scorn she thought Bussy had put upon her, when he gave Grillon that Letter and Bracelet she had sent only to himself. The Mareshale who would not give occasion to suspect the reasons she had to complain of him,  told them, that she remembered him with delight, and that his absence much more troubled her, then ever any Persons did. Some true friends gave this account to Bussy, but Neufvilles Love contradicted it as well as the Treason of Madam de Bonneval, who observing Neufvilles joy when he saw the Mareshale, and his Heaviness when he partend from her, conceived it easy to make him a Lover, if already he were not. What is in your mind, said she to him, one day, that you do not love; look upon the Mareshale, there is nothing so beautiful, you are an accomplished Person, and have desert enough, and why should you be ungrateful to yourself; she  told him so many other fine things, that he suffered himself to be seduced, and it must be added, that the sweet and obliging carriage of the Mareshale completed his loss by deceiving him: thus he became unfaithful to his friend, but Love was his excuse, and when he undertakes a justification, we are constrained to grant pardon to the most guilty.  
Neufville then forgot all that he ought to the esteem and friendship of Bussy, believing that his passion ought to see nothing beyond its own satisfaction.  
Ligneroles who stayed a day after his Rival, overtook not the Court till they came to Orleans, where a fever seized Chateauneuf. Its accesses not having been violent, Monsieur resolved to go as far as Blois, but the next day the distemper doubling, she was constrained to stay.  
Whilst Love is forming these cruel vexations for Bussy, Madam de Bonneval entrusts the Mareshale with the whole secret of her commerce with Grillon. Love had some difficulty to enter her Heart that way, but at last he found a passage; her anger against Bussy assisted, and the diligence and constancy of Grillon completed the rest. How stand things, said the Mareshale to her; does he know you love him? I think he has no reason to doubt it, answered Madam de Bonneval, I have writ to him, in a manner sufficiently explaining my thoughts, and as we seldom forget things done for what we love, I believe I remember that Letter to be thus.  
YOu are very pressing, and I have occasion enough to complain of you: I might justly load you with a thousand reproaches, but I cannot; content yourself to know that you are not forbid guessing, whether I love or hate you: Put yourself in a condition to deserve the first, by your Love and Faithfulness, and I promise to secure you from all pains, may accompany the latter.  
What was Grillons answer, said the Mareshale; shall not I know whither he writ kindly: you are about to be judge of it, said she, drawing a Letter from her Pocket, where she red,  
SInce happy Lovers are never content, you cannot wonder if I complain, who am not so. 'tis the property of Love still to be asking, and I have never yet received so much from him, that I can think he deserves thanks for his Presents. But if he resolve to make me any, let them come by your hands, all I can receive elsewhere, will bring little satisfaction, and without your goodness, I cannot but be unhappy, would you have me so?  
No, doubtless he shall not be so, if his happiness depends on me, pursued she, returning again her Letter, his Desert and Love have made a great progress in my Heart, and if I continue in this mind, I am persuaded there will be many other Lovers more to be pitied then he; what do we signify if we love not, without Love there is no solid Pleasure, and without that of what use is Life? we are soon tired with the constraints of severity, and by that we may find how cruel the Laws are to us, reducing us to extract our shane from the same Center whence Men draw subjects of Esteem and Glory; but do you know what we ought to do? raise ourselves above these sorts of Laws, and Love, since nature has given us Hearts tender and sensible: That Sage-Mother would not have let us be born with such strong inclinations of loving, unless she had designed us to requited with Love Mens Love to us? let us then follow the bent of our own Hearts, and believe that that Virtue which has so many pains and troubles for its guard, is only an endowment which Women unprovided of allurements of the Body, or charms of the Mind have maliciously invented, to revenge the Scorn Nature has thrown on them, but we who have thanks to return to her, may tread in more pleasant paths, and since Love in accounted one of the greatest Virtues, is it not so always to do virtuously, so follow what it inspires.  
This is, doubtless, most singular Morality, said the Mareshale, but who is it will begin the practise of it; there have some been found in all times, replied Madam de Bonneval, and you and I should do very prudently in following these maxims.  
'twas thus, she concluded, the discovery of her passion. The same day that the King arrived at Blois, where the Articles of the Treaty of Peace were at last decided, by which the Hugonots obtained the greatest part of their desires. The Marriage of the King of Navarre was likewise agreed on, and a Courier sent to Jane D'Albret, Queen of Navarre, to advertise her of it, and to press her coming to Blois, whither the accommodating the affairs of that Marriage and the Peace.  
Monsieur went every other day do see Chateauneuf at Orleans; her fever having left her, she was carried back to Paris by direction of the Physitians.  
Bussy and Ligneroles lead a sad life at Blois, and the destiny of the happiest was so averse, that he believed himself most to be pitied and lamented. They were one evening in the Garden, but apart. Grillon was with Bussy, to whom he was showing a Letter he had received from Madam de Bonneval. Ligneroles who walked alone, and was some what near them, seeing a Letter in Bussy's hands, believed it came from the Mareshale; If I could hate you, said he, drawing towards him, I should not be so unhappy, and perhaps the pleasure of revenging myself on a Rival that triumphs over me, would help me to support with less grief, the cruelties fo the Mareshale. There was, said Bussy, but one way, wherein I desired to be Master; I hoped all from my Love, and from her I love, but you have deprived me of the only good, could make me happy, by telling me my happiness makes you despair; you that are loved, you that know it, and to whom it has not only been  told in my presence, but you have likewise received a favour which was only due to my love, alas, 'tis of that cruel favour I complain, replied Ligneroles, I am sensible it was designed for you, I was not used to be so treated, and had I had my choice, should rather have been content with usual and known rigours, then a moments kindness received from chance, and not from the heart of the Mareshale. Hitherto, said Bussy, interrupting, we have lived rather like Friends then Rivals, let us continue to do so; Grillon is not to be suspected, we may freely speak our thoughts before him. To show you I approve what you say, replied Ligneroles, I am about to tell you that not being able to resolve on my departure without having some privacy with the Mareshale, I went to kiss her hands that evening the fire took in her Lodgings. That accident so affrighted her, that she swooned, but I suspected not the true cause of it, till an hour after, I made a show of being gone, and hide myself. L'Hermite came to search among the ruins of the Chamber, and I thought I heard her name you. I guessed it not impossible, but you might be stayed at Paris, and in the Lady Mareshales house, though you were believed to be gone. Alas, I was but too certain of it, some time after I saw come forth the Mareshale with L'Hermite, who  told her there was no doubt to be made but you perished in the Flames of the Closet; her Tears affencted me, and I was just about to discover myself when you appeared, and seeking a place to hid myself, turned back into a Chamber, and sate me down near a Press. What could I think of your return, and of the kindness of the Mareshale, when she came up to me? Ah Ligneroles, said Bussy interrupting him, tell me not that I wish I had never known: then he related to him all had happened with her; and perceiving his thoughts concerning Grillons Letter, prayed him to show the Character, but Ligneroles would not see it, Bussy having assured him, that it was not from the Mareshale; having thus cleared their suspicions, they partend with such expressions of Esteem and Friendship, that Grillon was amazed to think how Rivals could live in such good intelligence, but these were no common Men.  
'twas now Bathing-time. Bussy who was prescribed it, went every night; so did the King and most part of the Court. He scarce knew how to swim, but trusting to his little cunning, ventured out of his depth, and the stream carried him away; he striven against it, and endeavoured to regain the shore, but all his striving was in vain; in the end he grew weaker and weaker, breath and motion failed him, and he was ready to sink to the bottom, when a Man swimming with skill and strength, dived so luckily after him, that in a moment he rose again holding Bussy. Every one cried out as soon as they perceived the danger, but 'twas Ligneroles outstripped all that would have saved him, and repaid Bussy the succour he had once given him. He was carried home, having scarce any sense, and 'twas Grillon  told him how Ligneroles had saved him; he came to him soon after, and what they said, was worthy of what they had done the one for the other. The Court had then resolved to depart within two days for Borgueil, thought Bussy was not in a condition to go within those two days, yet he would have followed it, but Ligneroles and Grillon opposed it.  
His Grief was not so great to hinder the thinking of his Love; The Mareshale was innocent, he had offended her in coming away against her Orders, and without telling the cause, and had neither writ to Madam de Bonneval, nor to Neufville, he resolved to go as soon as he was recovered, and repair his fault with so much service, that she should lose the memory of it.  
With his hopes in a short time to see the Mareshale, there grew up a melancholy he could not suppress; Ligneroles was the cause of it, his Merits, his generous Thoughts, and the greatness of his sold; all troubled him; not that he had not a Rival he might hate, but that he had a friend, whom he was not in a condition to serve and make happy. These sad thoughts were his entertainers one mornig, when Grillon came back to Blois, and  told him, Ligneroles was killed as he was Hunting, and that within five hundred paces of the King. The grief he conceived at his death is not to be imagined; he would have risen, and returned to the Court, made open complaints, and thrown out reproaches and threats, but what would they have done? are the Great abliged to give an account of their action? or agrees it not with their interest and authority to punish Pride and Insolence? The King would doubtless have chastised this in Bussy, had he had the boldness to speak, but Grillons good Counsels hindered his going, and on the morrow he went with him towards Paris.  
Madam de Bonneval made use of Bussy's absence, she omitted no occasion of blaming his carriage and forgetfulness. The Mareshale for the most part heard her, but without ansering her, and made her judge by her manner of acting, that she was kind and constant; her cunning becoming fruitless on the Mareshales part, she attempted to succeed by Neufvilles, who assisted but two much with his love; all being fittingly disposed for the design by her contrived, she sends an express to Grillon with Letters which he received at Orleans, after Ligneroles death was known at Paris; at which the Mareshale was very lively afflicted, but had the satisfaction to know that she could not alone grieve his death, whom all the world lamented.  
Bussy received a Letter by Grillon from Madam de Bonneval, which gave him notice of the infidelity of the Mareshale.  
After he had made Grillon red it, what shall I do, said he? this unlooked for misfortune over-whelms me, and in the condition I am, I know not what to resolve.  
Grillon seemed at first as troubled as he, but at length counseled him to make hast to Paris, and above all things convince himself of the matter. Bussy approved Grillons advice, and sent back the Express empty: Being come to Paris, Madam de Bonneval, who was content with Grillons love, received him like a lover she hated not, and he appeared not unworthy her reception. However, though she gave him a thousand testimonies of her trust and kindness, yet she never let him know either her anger or design of revenge on Bussy; she spoken of him with esteem, she seemed earnest to serve him, and it was she had advised him of his Mistress treason. We are less sensible of any affront, then that committed against our love. That offence is most cruel, and he that receives it without deserving it, has strange griefs to undergo. In the midst of all these perplexities his love still subsisted; and the inclinations of his heart  told him sufficiently, that he must still love, though he knew himself forsaken. Then thinking of his unknown Rival, who had snatched from him what had cost him so much to seek after, fain would he have found out who this happy man should be, but would never have guest Neufville, whom he believed his friend, tell he was disabused the next morning, when Madam de Bonneval made Grillon tell him, she desired to speak with him. He came at the hour appointed, and without stoping at the unnecessary circumstances of this interview, I will onely tell you, that she hide Bussy, and that soon after Neufville entred, he had a Black satin svit, Embroidered with Silk of the same, and between space and space might be seen double L L in Embroidery of Pearls. Bussy at first sight, guest not what those Cifers meant, but he soon found out they were the Mareshales, who was of the House of Lustrac. She was not long ere she came, and Madam de Bonneval, feigning to order her head tyre at the Glass, Bussy over-heard the Mareshale say to Neufville, I fear least you undertake to please me, you must succeed in it; your manners are so obliging, you are so ingenuous and complaisant, and have so much estimable merit, that I fear I cannot resist it. Change your procedure, it is too winning, and know that I will not be affencted. These words were pronounced by a delicate mouth, and the fairest eyes in the World glanced favourably on Neufville, and Bussy believed all this due onely to his love. Have no care nor complaisance for me, continued she, nor prefer me before all other Ladies, nor shall I be so weak to love you for it. How happy was Neufville? And how desperate grew Bussy? He was in the mind to come forth and upbraid the perfidiousness of his Friend and Mistress; but knowing that it is love always makes reproaches and complaints, he withdrew, without hearing out the remainder of their discourse, which he believed he could not quietly listen to. The Mareshale knew not of his return, no more then did Neufville.  
About twenty paces from the Mareshales, Bussy met Chateauneuf, who desirous to know some news from the Court, and to tell him that Neufville was his Rival, carried him to the Tuilleries, whither he had designed to go. Whilst he walked two turns with her, he gave her an account of all she desired to know, and  told her so respectively, that he would never love, that she had not the power to complain of a Man she could not hate. In vain would she have dissuaded him from loving the Mareshale, he remained constant, though he thought himself not obliged to do so.  
As soon as Neufville was partend from Madam de Bonnevals House, the Mareshale and she came to the Tuilleries; they discerned Chateauneuf at a great distance, and the nigher they drew, the more Madam de Bonneval obliged the Mareshale to observe, that the man was with her did much resemble Bussy. She granted the resemblence, but could hardly believe she saw him, till Bussy and Chateauneuf turned towards them; the Mareshale blushed at the sight of her lover, he passed by her with much respect, and could not forbear looking aftger her; but he spoken not, and continued his walk with Chateauneuf.  
Madam de Bonneval whose design was to increase the Mareshales grief, put her in mind how she would not believe her, when she had formerly  told her Bussy loved Chateauneuf. Ingrateful Man, said she to her, do you see in what manner he treats you; after all this, can you love him? to be in Paris without seeing you, and publicly sacrifice your love at the feet of your Rival. alas, said she, I feel all you can instill into me, but let me suffer and complain, I have no need of your Counsels, and will onely follow the dictates of my own heart. Bussy at his return home,  told Grillon all he had seen and heard at Madam de Bonnevals.  
So great a cause of despair in so constant a Passion, the Treason of the Mareshale, and the death of Ligneroles, infinitely perplexed him, and created sufferings he could hardly undergo; sometimes he was resolved to love no more, but to seek in a quiet Retreat, the Remedy of so many Griefs. Grillon  told him, that was to yield the Mareshale to Neufville, and that he ought to make her return, either for glory or for loves sake, but he was too incensed to follow this advice.  
Some days after, the Court arrived at Paris with the Queen of Navarre, who joined it at what time it was at Bloys.  
The ties of Friendship and Interest which had formerly been between the late King of Navarre, and the Mareshale de St. Andre had made her have▪ a great esteem for his Person after his death; she had preserved for the Mareshale, the same thoughts she had had for her Husband, she Commanded her to see her often, and had no cause to blame her neglects, for that she seldom was from that Queen, but shared in all her divertisements and all her pleasures.  
Queen catherine● of Medices mortally hated her; she knew that Jean of Albret had remonstrated to the King of Navarre, that he might be chosen Head of that Faction divided France, if he knew how to make use of the occasion of taking the Authority into his hands. If this counsel had been executed with as much boldness as was given with judgement, catherine● de Medices had been no longer mistress of affairs; she could not live without ruling; but the King of Navarre being too moderate, and suffering himself to be carried away with the passion he had for mademoiselle de Roy, who was gained by catherine● de Medices, he yielded to her what he could not keep. This was the true foundation of that hate, ended not but with the death of Jean of Albret.  
Bussy was gone to Chantilly to visit the Duke of montmoremcy, then returned from England, whither he had been sent to hinder Queen Elizabeth from giving assistance to the Hugonots, by proposing a Match with the Duke D'Alanzon●● Bussy stayed there two days, during which came the Queen of Navarre, under pretence of seeing his fine House, but indeed to engage him in the interests of the King of Navarre, the better to oppose the hatred and Authority of Katherine, who in the ruins of the greatest Men of the Kingdom would not spare the Montmorency's, whom she ever hated, both because of their uprightness, and because they would not abase themselves, to depend directly on her power.  
The Duke civilly received the Queen of Navarre, but would not enter into any Treaty with her, though some forbore not afterwards to give other interpretations to the conference he had with this Queen; and had not he prudently remained at Chantilly during the King of Navarr's Wedding, he had been possibly enveloped on that dismal St. Bartholomews day, which cost France so much blood.  
The Duke treated her with all the Magnificence she could expect from a great King. The Mareshale was with her, still fair, but Languishing and negligent of her self. catherine● de Medices not able to suffer the Imperious humour, the Spirit, the Courage, and the Constancy of Jeane d'Albret, and her hatred making her take cruel resolutions, she soon after put them in execution.  
Bussy's Merits were well known, though he had not yet that great repute he afterwards gained; There were then few men of France had so much Wit, Valour, or good Mien as he: The Duke de montmoremcy presented him to the Queen, she received him so kindly that he was compelled to stay at Chantilly, though he were resolved to return to Paris; besides the entreaties of the Duke, and the sight of his Mistress abating his desire of going so soon, her the easier consented to stay.  
There was in Chantilly a Hall and a Closet of arms, whither the Constable Anne de montmoremcy had caused to be brought from all Europe, what could most worthily embellish them with what ever was rich or rare. Above all these things was in esteem a Scimitar set with Diamonds and Emeralds, which the Grand signior Soliman had sent him, together with a Hanger of Dagger all adorned with Rubies; The Queen, curious to see all the several Rooms and Magnificent Furniture which adorned them, passed into this Hall of arms, and thence into the Closet, where she was showed that Dagger, thought beyond all value, both for the Stones which enriched it, and for its workmanship, which added to its beauty and Ornament.  
After it had been in the Queens and some other hands, the Mareshale would see it, and having sufficiently admired it, Bussy not being far from her, having observed his stand, she went towards him, and drawing out the Dagger, and setting it with a threatening look to his breast, To what use, said she, ought this to be destined: To pierce the most faithless of all hearts, said he, taking the point and turning it towards the Mareshale: This Anser surprised her, and she expected not such a reproach, who could not believe she deserved it. Ah Bussy( replied she in a doleful accent) there was never a more faithless— then yours, Madam( said he, interrupting her) They were entering into a Discourse had not been soon finished, but the Queen going out of the Closet called the Mareshale who accompanied her  
Madam de Bonneval was not at Chantilly; the Mareshale had entreated her to go, and Grillon had desired her to stay at Paris; thus the Friend was refused, and the Lover had his request. Was not this very just? they could never before converse with so much Love as they had a desire to do. Grillon now passed one part of the day with her, the Lady was tender, in short, they said a thousand things were never  told. This entertainment being on their own private account, and they being discreet Lovers, and that passed could never be know; but, it may be judged they treated of nothing less then indifferency, and the curious have observed that they received often these Entertainments, and that if Love had not been mixed with them, they had not taken so much delight in talking without witnesses.  
Was not Madam de Bonneval too happy? she was beloved by one of the honestest men of France; she had by her cunning betrayed her Friend, made Bussy unhappy in stead of doing him Services as she had promised; she fears not the penalties, treason and perfidiousness deserve; she triumphs o'er the misfortunes of the Mareshale and Bussy, and when she is with Grillon forgets all the World, the better to think of her Love.  
The Mareshale and Bussy found often at Chantilly opportunities of talking; but the Mareshales fierceness, and Bussyes shane and anger to be forsaken, hindered them from uttering what they even died with a desire of speaking. Thus each had their grief and affliction. Bussy, that to find the Mareshale more lovely, since he believed her false; The Mareshale, to observe in Bussy a sadness which had very much changed his countenance.  
The Queen of Navarre returned on the morrow to Paris, but Bussy stayed yet one day with the Duke of montmoremcy, after which he returned to Court: he became every day more and more in Love, and the beauty of the Mareshale made him forget the infidelity he thought her guilty of.  
Madam de Bonneval continued still seeing the Lady Mareshale, that is to say deceiving her. L'Hermite  told her judgement, but it was not well received, and she was silent. Bussy seldom saw Madam de Bonneval, she complained to Grillon that he might tell him, but he had no more an inclination towards her; he looked upon her as the cause of her misfortune without suspecting her Treason, and he could have wished never to have heard the person he loved pronounce words in favour of another; but, the thing was done, he had seen, he had heard, Can he any longer doubt?  
So many cause of sorrow in a passion so tenderly preserved, tormented him beyond a power of enduring; so that he was often in the mind to quit utterly his love, and silently retreat from the World.  
The Soul of the Mareshale was tossed with no less violent storms, she was loth to lose Bussy, and she gave sufficient assurances of it one evening that she found him at the Queen of Navarr's. She was resolved to know if he yet loved her, and made use of an ingenuous feigned device to discover his thoughts. Will Bussy refuse to serve me( said she.) I should( said he) but I cannot, I have loved you too well. Ah 'tis not that which I desire,( replied she interrupting him) come to me to morrow and you shall know what I have to say. She had time to say no more by reason of the arrival of Madam, who beginning to fancy some interest in Bussy, observed nicely all actions. On the morrow goinng towards the Mareshales, he passed by Madam de Bonnevals, where he saw Neufville enter; L'Hermite had order to make Bussy stay, she  told him his mistress dined at Madam de Bonnevals, and that she would return immediatedly.  
He was about to go and surprise the Mareshale and Neufville, and to load them with a thousand reproaches; but L'Hermite who understood the most part of his melancholy hindered his going out: In short, the Mareshale soon returned, she would not see Neufville, but had left him in the hands of Madam de Bonneval, who too officiously pressed her to hear what he would say.  
Being then alone in her Chamber with Bussy; Though all treary of love be for ever ended between us( said she) yet I have so great an esteem for you as to ask your Counsel, Will you give it me? Bussy promised it, and she proceeded thus. Since I have lost all hopes of being beloved by you, I think it may be permitted me to engage in another violent passion which may last all my life, my heart whispers me in favour of Neufville, he is worthy of love, he loves me, What do you counsel me? To harken to all that your heart dictates Madam( replied Bussy) and to give yourself wholly to Neufville. But if I love him( replied she) if I have given him marks of it, and if I do all I can to persuade him that no one can be more beloved than I do him, Will you have no regret for what you lose. What matter whether I am unhappy or desperate( replied he) you my love, you may be happy, and you may have the pleasure never more to remember Bussy: follow, follow your own thoughts Madam, and never think of those cruel torments you make me undergo. Ah Ingrateful Man,( said the Mareshale) Will you forsake me then? you that have made me so sensible, Can you Counsel me to give myself to another? You have done it already( said Bussy, interrupting her and sighing) and I have known but too well how dearly you love Neufville. Is it possible that you can upbraid me in the least( replied she) you who went hence for the progress in despite of that kindness of mine to request your stay? Ah Ligneroles( cried Bussy) How happy were you at that time, and how did I envy the delights you then enjoyed? He  told the Mareshale in what manner she had been deceived, she blushed at what she understood from Bussy, and the confusion she appeared in made her yet seem fairer.  
In sum, he  told her he could no longer doubt her being false, that he saw her at Madam Bonnevals with Neufville, and heard her say to him a thousand kind and obliging thing. The Mareshale fell a Laughing at this discourse, Bussy grew angry, and would have been gone, when Neufville entred the room, whatever L'Hermite could do to hinder him, and though the Mareshale had forbid his entrance; He looked pale, and grief and repentance seemed lively represented in his Countenance: Having demanded only the favour of Audience from the Mareshale and Bussy, it was granted him, and he spoken thus. Had I not been assisted and pressed forward to become so guilty, I had never betrayed either the trust or friendship of Bussy, or have dared to prosecute my Love; but, Madam, will you believe me, 'twas Madam de Bonneval who counseled me to love you, and to tell you so, thence had my crime its spring; your enchanting carriage, your charming features, and in short all your Beauties brought it into a Stream. The Mareshale who had a respect for Madam de Bonneval, could scarce believe this perfidiousness; but Bussy having pulled out of his pocket a Letter which she had writ for his return, she could no longer be doubtful of her treason, after having red her words.  
REturn Bussy, the Mareshales constancy stands in need of you: Her heart is assaulted in one of its most sensible places, I know it, and know she cannot visit. You have a Rival thought too lovely, his sight in one moment destroys all that ought to be reserved for your passion. How unhappy are men to have so much Love for ungrateful Women.  
She well knew the Characted to be Madam de Bonnevals, and withal remembering how she had still endeavoured to divert her from loving Bussy, she began go search the cause.  
Will you tell me the truth( said she to him) Did Madam de Bonneval never love you? possibly some refusal you made of her heart, has made her attempt revenge on yours. I know nothing certainly Madam( said he, after having thought a little while on what she had said) but I have some suspicions you may possibly halp me to give some light to. He then began to tell her of the request Grillon had made to him, to serve him with Madam de Bonneval, in what manner it was performed, and the interruption given by madam and Chateaneuf; and, that on the morrow she sent the Note and the hair Bracelet, which he carried to Grillon. There needs no more said the Mareshale: The cause of Bonnevals hate is plain, she applied to yourself what you said for Grillon; and Grillon doubtless received a favour designed for you: In the end, she would justify her self, concerning those thousand kind things Bussy had heard her say to Neufvi●●●, assuring them to be caused by Madam de Bonnevals artifice, and that she had engaged her to speak so to Neufville, to discover if he were truly in Love with her, by counseling, that if it were so to command his absence, that Bussy might have no cause of complaint at his return. He understood as well as the Mareshale that he had unhappily contributed to make the Treason succeed, and that Madam de Bonneval and managed all things so well, that any other as well as he would have believed her the most unfaithful woman living. Neufville hearkned, and could not but be amazed to hear how far Madam de Bonneval had carried her lies and treachery, when the Mareshale prayed him to let Bussy know how she had finished that Discourse, of which as he had  told her, he had heard the beginning. Imagine( said he) what pleasure I had to hear such kind and charming words pronounced in my favour, for, Who had ever the like said to them? I hoped, and I dare say I believed I was beloved; but, How great was my despair? when, after having acknowledged I was in Love. Ingrateful and most perfidious man that you are( said she) going away from me; Is it thus that you serve, Bussy? Love will not permit me, Madam( said I) and I obey his commands. Let me never see you more( said she interrupting me) It begets a horror in me to behold such unworthy proceedings in a man of Honour. At these words she turned to reproach Madam de Bonneval, and I withdrew in confusion and despair. After this cruel adventure Madam,( proceeded Neufville) Repentance for having offended you, and done so great an injury to Bussyes friendship, threw me into such deep affliction, that could I but tell one part of it, you would possibly have the generosity to pardon me. I came to Madam Bonnevals with intent to beg it, you avoided seeing or speaking with me, and I am come hither to tell you all this. 'tis my fault( said Bussy, interrupting him) I ought not to have requested you to take care of my concerns. I might easily have understood it, because what I feel in seeing you Madam( said he, turning towards her with a look full of love and kindness) must be likewise felt by others; Could Neufville answer otherwise then he did, when you spoken so kindly, let us forget his fault, and lament his misfortune; for my part I will never spy out in him any other qualities than those of a Friend, without ever remembering that he has been my rival, and that he may yet be so. The Mareshale yielded to what Bussy had declared; his mind forgave Neufville, and permitted him to visit her: At this, one came for him from the Queen of Navarre, to whom Byron gave a Treat at the Arsenal. And Bussy and Neufville went together to the Louvre, and sometime after to the Arsenal, where Madam de Bonneval saw plainly that the Mareshale had discovered her Treacheries, as well by a biting reproach she made her as by the good intelligence she observed between Bussy and Neufville.  
She easily allayed this misfortune with Grillons love, and that remedy seeming to her very sweet and very pleasant, she took good care to apply it.  
Bussy was now free from all melancholy, Trouble and Rivalship: He was in Love, he was Beloved; What could he more desire? One great delight he yet wanted, which his Love made him hope for, and which he resolved to obtain. On the other side, the Mareshale had retrieved her Lover, she loved him, and those that Love can refuse nothing.  
During the Collation they spoken a thousand things by looks, which their hearts understood; but, this is not enough for true Lovers, there are yet greater pleasures; they had both the same impatience and the same desires, and they were both persuaded they should find an infinite joy in their first Entertainment, and that then they should find a recompense for the so many griefs they had endured by suspicions, Absence, Anger, and supposed Infidelities: They wanted but opportunity to make them happy; but, this happy opportunity came, and 'twas Love that brought it.  
'twas about this time madam was to mary the King of Navarre, and nothing wanted but the arrival of a dispensation to complete the affair. The Duke of Guise loved her, but she answered not his Love again, and Bussy was beloved without loving. He still received some favourable glance from that Princess; she blushed when ever she saw him, and he observed she delighted to converse with him. He knew himself in love, and doubted not her capable to be one day as much, he often shunned her glances, and as often avoided her presence. Those that love truly, act thus, They are neither pleased, nor desire any person but that they love. And 'twas this made Bussy design to surprise the Marashale in her chamber, without letting her have notice. She was im a charming negligence, Bussy saw her, and Bussy was in love, and alone. Whence comes it, said she, That I have such a kindness on my Spirit, and that all the motions of my Heart are so favourable to you? 'tis because you love me Madam, replied he, and that you could not see me have so much love without following me in so fair a path. There is your question decided, proceeded he, casting at her glances full of Love and Eloquence, which so well express what the Tongue is not able to utter.  
But I have another more amorous question to ask you, 'tis for your Wits, your Heart, and your Experience to resolve such difficulties, and the decision you shall give, is so important, that on it depends our happiness.  
Bussy's Question to the Lady Mareshale.  
That which I would know from you, Madam, is; Whether Love, that ingenious Artificer of the most voluptuous Delights, has nothing beyond Looks and Words. Some Pleasures and Transports which may confirm the Thoughts I am in, that it consists nhot only in the Sight and Discourse.  
The Mareshale blushed at the question he would have her decide, but when her blushing and confusion were suppressed by what she inwardly felt, she made this answer.  
Beyond Looks and Words to to use your own terms, I find a confused mixture of impressment, Pleasure and Love. It is made up of all these— I know not well how to decide your question, proceeded she; My Heart never learnt, what it has now  told you: but I had it from a friend of mine, to whom all the delicacy of this passion was a familiar Virtue, and not from myself, who am less knowing and experienced then she.  
Madam, said Bussy, interrupting her, Since yourself know not whether the decision you have made, be just, let us essay by a sweet trial of our desires to find out a truth we cannot doubt of: he ended these words with a kiss, she made at first some resistance, with design only to inflame his desires; but in the end, fearing to offend his kindness, she attempted to give Bussy an amorous and ready revenge for his kisses, and that she might not appear ingrateful, she returned them with usury, and neither the one nor the other would have the last kiss. The Mareshales Eyes were more sweet and languishing then usual, and seemed to invite Bussy to treat of the most endearing mysteries of Love, In this very moment her chastity began to yield to the violences of her Lovers passion, but alas! can any one believe the cruel destiny of this amiable Person. Her Face was on a sudden painted with a Mortal colour, Bussy perceived it, and called L'Hermite to her assistance, but all remedies could be applied were in vain, she died iwthin an hour after in Bussy's Arms. Her death was diversely spoken of, but when within three days after happened that of the Queen of Navarre, the perfumed valentine Gloves were suspected, and in the clearing those suspicions, it was found that the Queen of Navarre had given a pair of those Gloves to the Mareshale. In so dismal an adventure Bussy could not leave the Body of the Mareshale, he lamented in so feeling a manner, that his sorrow seemed almost as griev ous as the death of the Mareshale. He had lost the fairest Person in France, just at the point of being happy, his despair was violent and lasting, but yet he died not; what he did we may hereafter tell you.  
FINIS.