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 fortifie 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 Countrey, 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 splendor.

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 [Page 3]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 Island Salamina, both Cities pretended its dependance on them; the Athenians founded their right on Tradi­tion; Philaeus and Eurisaces, Sons of A­jàx, being made Citizens of Athens, had given the Island of Salamina to that Commonwealth, in token of their ac­knowledgments. 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 ex­pence 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 Sove­raign Authority, and judged it would be easier to reduce to obedience, People [Page 4]softned by Pleasures and Idleness, then Men grown warlike, and accustomed 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 Island; 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 Authorise 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. [Page 5]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 Island was subdued, the Megarians who endeavored to defend it, cut in pieces; but Orgina, the Charming Orgina, for whom the War was undertaken, could not be found in the surrendred City; her Father had conveyed her thence some days before he stood affected 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 favor of a dis­guise, stole 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 Melancholly 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 preferrable to the Liberty they en­joyed. Solon accepted not their offer, [Page 6]for besides that, he too well loved his Countrey to see it inslaved, 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 acknowledgments 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.

This Magnanimity of Solon gained him an Authority among the Athenians, not at all inferior to the title he had refused, they obeyed his Orders like the voice of an Oracle. Pisistratus beheld 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 [Page 8]be seen at this of Pisistratus, Vessels of Gold of an excessive weight, very rich moveables, 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, [Page 9]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 Vertue. 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 it self 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 extreamly 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 Brest as in mine. That name of Orgina [Page 10]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 Island, an­swered Pisistratus, and Daughter to Amphi­cles, considerable both for her Birth and Degree; her Father having been always in­clineable 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 accomptable 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, [Page 11]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 intrusted 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 satisfie 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 Countrey 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, sirnamed the Milesian, one of the most famous Wisemen of Greece, and par­ticular friend to our Athenian. The In­habitants [Page 12]of the Island of Coos had sent him a Tripod of Gold, fished out of the Sea, near their Island, which was pre­tended to have been cast in there by He­len, 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, cryed 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 my self for the opinion I have conceived of your Wisdom; and I observe with much satis­faction, it is not friendship hath prepossessed me in your favor. Accept the Tripod, dear Solon, for you onely are worthy to receive it, nor can any other possess it without usurpation. [Page 13]Thales and Solon had contracted so strict a friendship, there could be no Vail or Hypocrisie 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 threatned her. This trust injoyned 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 violencies 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 [Page 14]is learned and instructive, you are externally calm and quiet, and have refused soveraign 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 humane frailty, which hath spred it self 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 Byas, 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, sirnamed 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 diswading 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 [Page 15] Thales observed, and he found these words.

Solon burst out into a cry of joy, at the reading of this Letter, and kissing with an extasie 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 reflexion. 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 [Page 16]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 our selves 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 your self, 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 suspitious, 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 Countrey-house of his, two days jour­ney from Athens. This news afflicted [Page 17] 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 publick. 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 labored 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 [Page 18]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, [Page 19]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, recal 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 strove 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 beheld, 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 rob'd 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 it self inward and intire for [Page 20]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 lie, therefore tell me, nothing may make me less happy; for why should you declare your self 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 cry­ed Solon in an extasie, 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 [Page 21]as a simple Slave, then as his Daughter; the person he chose to supply my place, is young, handsome, and vertuous. 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 cheifest 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 tranquility of your mind has gained head, since I have been out of your sight, you are neither jealous nor suspitious. 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 learn'd 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 marry 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, [Page 22]he made particular ones for his Mistress; of which, see here some Articles.

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, Py­rates who were coursing for Booty about the Aegaean Isles, hoping her beauty might make her prize 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 [Page 25]to the Estate of Wisdom, before I put you to this tryal. 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 staid 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 [Page 26] fied me before; and even the confused vapors 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 hapned to him. The Gods had too much favored me, said he, in restoring my Orgina to me. If they had likewise preserved to me my Doughter, and my Friend, I should have forgot my self in such height of Happiness; and some great misforture was necessary to ballance 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 endeavored 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 [Page 27]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 Butter­flie, 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 Pyrates, 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 Countrey, as may be judged by his own refusing the Dominion over it, he knew the ambitious humor of Pisi­stratus, and his flight from Athens having angred the Areopagites, they had issued a [Page 28]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 perswaded that he married the Daughter of Amphicles, but when we come to think his Mistress his Wife, we cannot well think she staid behind at A­thens. Solons Predictions had a full effect, Pisistratus subjected his Countrey, 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 LOVES OF Great Men.
SOCRATES.

TIs not of absolute necessity for that Man to be handsome, who designes to make Love. The best Descriptions the World has given us of Socrates containe 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, [Page 30]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 sparkes 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 extreame 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 [Page 31]of Vertue: For what reason (would he say to her) think you, the gods have made you be borne 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 Axiome, 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 alarm'd the Gallant, gave yet the Alarme 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 [Page 32]that Lady when ever he could get from her, conceived a furious Jealousie. This Woman seemed to have been cho­sen out by Heaven to keep the Virtue of Socrates in breath. Never was there VVife 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 Jealousie could dictate: But Myrto, (said Socrates to her) Is it from your own experience you judge so ill of the vertue of your Sex? We should seldome suspect failings in others, of which our selves are not, or have not a will to be guil­ty. Do you think the Gods have favour­ed you with a peculiar priviledge? 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 read 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 alwayes in them some [Page 33]mixtures of Criminal designs; and, as one of your Schollars said well some dayes since, Men and Women were only sent into the World to propagate. Your memory re­taines (said Socrates very coldly) migh­ty pretty passages of my schollars 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 Schollars 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 spritely and inge­nious [Page 34]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 Signes; 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 deceiv'd? you are continually Preaching to us contempt of the Passions, my Age and other Engagements can gaine no indulgence from you; yet, as if you spent your whole stock of Philoso­phy in Counsel to your Friends, you re­main your self unprovided. Do you be­lieve an angry Woman (replyed 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 appeares so alarm'd at. I acknowledge (replyed Socrates) I have delighted to Cultivate and [Page 35]improve an excellent good Nature, which Chance offered to my Cares, and which all the considerations of Friendship oblige me not to see lie 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 (replyed 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 (replyed he) when I was admonished against the charmes of Namea; How! would I say to my self, can Alcibiades, whom the chiefest Ladies of Athens are proud to favour, and whom a great Queen did not disdaine, love a Curti­san: I will see her, and if my heart can find leasure 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 my self by it; and, into what dangers it led my am­bition. Your soul and mine are very diffe­rent [Page 36]said Socrates your Riches continually sollicite your delights; you are softned by pleasures irreparably attending your degree, and finding your self alwayes in a conditi­on to attempt reliefe, 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 my self in the Port. Alci­biades said many other things to the Phi­losopher to oblige him not to have such stedfast considence 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 Phri­gian stir'd up a curiosity in Alcibiades, to see if Socrates were as well skill'd 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 watcht, to find out Ti­mandra's [Page 37]House; and, having discover'd it, he Apparelled himself like a Phrigi­an, and making choice of a day where­in he knew the Philosopher imploy'd in giving publick Lessons to his Schollers, he presents himself at Timandra's Gate, pretending himself a Phrigian, come to bring her Newes from her Countrey; he spoke 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 proofe against all occasions and all artifices. The Astrologess came in the place of the Phrigian, 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 surprized, asked her, If she were Socrates his Scholler? Yes, reply­ed Aglaonice (who had reasons for that untruth) What have you to say to me, or what are your affaires? Nay, nothing Ma­dam, (reply'd 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 [Page 38]take my leave. Alcibiades had a mighty winning way both in his carriage and converse, which subdu'd 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 Phrigian) you have doubtless heard Me de­scrib'd 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 affected; and at that word she led 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 fraile Beauties Nature can show us; that Scheame containes the destiny of sun­dry Empires; I read 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 Phrigian interrupting her.) Aglaonice gave a disdainful smile at that [Page 39]demand, and affecting a certain tone of a woman well satisfy'd with her skill; Is there any thing in the world I would know, and do not (replyed she) I learn'd from Socrates the houre 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, reply'd Aglaonice, which includes all, not excepting any thing.

I did not believe, pursu'd 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, sur­prizing 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 perswade 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 [Page 40]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 Phrigian, searches her Books, and after a long confronting of the Signes and Planets, Are you discreet, said she, to the disguis'd Athenian? Yes, without doubt, replyed 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 eare, 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 [Page 41]what I have told you: Pardon me; Madam, reply'd Alcibiades, you could not hit any thing righter, I have such visible proofes 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 feares should grow pub­lick. With this Irony Alcibiades took his leave, leaving the Astrologess more taken with the Charmes 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 publick Lessons very short, having more pleasing private ones to give elsewhere; he cast a sower look at his Friend when he saw him disguis'd 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 Declaime 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 punish'd enough by my own curiosity, and by the displeasure it gave [Page 42]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 parted, 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, hastned 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, cryed out the Astrologess, I let Alcibiades see Timandra; From whom have you this false Story? 'Tis too much a truth, replyed Socrates, I have it from Alcibiades own [Page 43]mouth, whom I met not ten steps off, dis­guised like a Phrigian, and, who told me, he came from Timandra. If it were Al­cibiades, continued Aglaonice, came to aske for Timandra in the Phrigian habit, forbear to trouble your self, 'twas I recei­ved his Visit, and 'tis me he takes for your young Phrigian: Whereupon she rela­ted to him all the passages of the inter­view between her and the supposed Phri­gian, making him almost break his Spleen with Laughing at the fallacies of her Science, and the surprize wherein she represented Alcibiades. Timandra's Closet windows answer'd 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, designes a revenge by unde­ceiving Alcibiades; To this purpose she Bribes one of Aglaonice's Houshold 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 fear'd not a liberal payment for the delivery of a Letter from so fair a Lady to the gallant and magnifi­cent Alcibiades, chose the hour he judg­ed [Page 44]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 minde.

Aglaonice, who, according to the Mode of ignorant Astrologers, found still in the Stars what pleased her self, rather then what they denounced, was perswa­ded 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 Phrigian Lady, the following Epistle.

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.

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 [Page 46]his hands, to spare time for a commerce so nauseous and troublesome. 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 shame, 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 [Page 47]feign the miscarriage of his Letter he in­trusted 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 traffick, 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 publick dispute, and Aglaonice weakned 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 blusht at that name, and opening her hand, that she might not receive what [Page 48]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 stept 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 remembred to have sent formerly to her. How! cryed he, and am I become displeasing even to Timan­dra, Destiny is my friend, and I ow it a Sacrifice of Thanks; Lord Sir, cryed 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, [Page 49]Timandra is a very Heavenly Beauty, that staring ghastly air which in her Face, disco­vers the disorders of her Mind; that ill shaped Carcass; that constrained Conversa­tion; and that leaness brought upon her by her Chimerical Studies, are all moving Reasons of Dispair 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 believ'd to have found in the Phry­gian, and running presently to tell him the [Page 50]truth, threw him into a Melancholly not easily represented; his Natural admira­tion for fair Ladies amounted even to Idolatry, and he could not without dis­pair, 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 shews 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 affected by Alcibiades, was but a cunning to make tryal 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 complement 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 [Page 51]assurance, that she writ not that Letter he had refused to read, 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 [Page 52]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 Vertue is publickly 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 favorable Constellations hyes 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 [Page 53]Lodgings; but Love had made him a Hector, he threatned with death the first that opposed his passage and coming to the Phrygians Chamber, surprised her as much with his sight, as himself was ena­mored 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 attone 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 satisfie 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 [Page 54]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 Ver­tue, he has endeavored 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 troublesome consequences might accrew from his want of Charm. But you fair Timandra, who are [Page 55]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 perswade me, whilst your words peirce even into my very heart, they have already setled a secret intelligence with the Motions of my Soul, and make my Sence 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 hap­ned 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 [Page 56] 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, slipt among the Trees, Aglaonice follows his track, 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 tryal of me that you flie me thus. The Philosopher ashamed at the im­pudence of this unknown Lady, stop'd to reproach her for it. Aglaonice perceiv­ing he staid, and as she thought for her, run to him with open Arms, but was sud­denly stop'd by a Woman, who rushing from behind a Tree, thrust her self be­tween her, and him, she took for Alcibi­ades. This Woman was Myrto, who find­ing her Husband absent, and learning at [Page 57]his Countrey House, that he was gone to the Academy, had followed him at a distance to pry 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 Vertue; and do you employ that time you feign to dedicate to the study of Philosophy, in making your self 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 remembred 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 easie to imagine the Philosophers surprise at this apparition. How, cryed he, is it you Ag­laonice who have made an assignation with Alcibiades. The disorder the Astrologess [Page 58]was in, joyned 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 remembred 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 clamors; but he vouchsafed not a word to appease her, nay, scarcely did he perceive his Wife speak, so strongly had his suspitions seiz'd 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 [Page 59]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 easie a cause; but Socrates you love Timandra, I ever mistrusted it, the disorder wherein now you appear, confirms all my suspitions. 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 Jealou­sie, 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 Jealousie from his friend. What have I done to you Alcibiades, said he, thus to stir up in my Brest, thoughts I knew not of, and which prove most cruel, because they can [Page 60]be no longer unknown? I have loved you better, then you have loved your self; 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 your self to the hazard of being my Rival. With­draw your self from this danger Alcibiades, and whether you regard me as a Philosopher, who would preserve his Schollar exempt from Passion; or whether you regard me as a faith­ful friend, who merits some compliance. Withdraw your self, 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 gain'd 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 privi­ledge 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 satyrical 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 stile of that [Page 62]preciseness it has been forced to, by the Philosophers in these two first Histo­ries.

THE LOVES OF Great Men.
JƲLIƲS CAESAR.

IF neither Wisdome 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 Conquerour, 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 [Page 64]the Cilician Pyrates, when he Marry'd Pompeia Sister to Pompey the Great.

In those times as well as now a dayes, the Marriages of Great People were ra­ther Politick 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 Marryed Caesars Mistress: Love, which had not so easily complyed 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 Armes 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 waite on him only to Court his Wife, and therefore restrained him­self [Page 65]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 produc'd; 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 publick 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 constrain'd 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 Solemniz'd, 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, [Page 66]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 paire of Staires to a back door, which was very seldome 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 selfun­dispos'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 enterprize, 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 Supt at Pompeys to prevent all suspition, he went thence to Cato's, whither he knew his Brother-in-Law would not accompany him, because Cato [Page 67]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 discover'd 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 spoke) It is I; It is a long time I have expected you, and I begun to believe you would break your word: Caesar dispos'd 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 [Page 68]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 confirme with my Tongue what my eyes have so often protested to you. The Lady snatching out of Caesars armes, and throwing her self down from the Bed, sought for the door to save her self: Caesar believ'd it some sudden compunction of Conscience come in an evil hour to disturb his Joy, he felt for the Fugitives armes, and having graspt one of them, From whence comes this confusion, sayes he, embracing her afresh? How have I made my self unworthy of the obliging impatience you expressed at my first arrival? Do not discompose your self by these endeavours to escape me, added he, finding that this Murcia strugled 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 [Page 69]you with, and if you are not satisfied with throwing into despaire 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 my self to be surprized 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 surpriz'd to find it to be young Claudius the Lover of Pompeia, dis­guis'd 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 consider'd him the better he must know him; 'Tis I, Cae­sar (said he) you are not deceiv'd, you see 'tis not you only whom love has prevailed [Page 70]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 deceiv'd in the voice of the Woman that spoke to me, reply'd Claudius; But Caesar, I can take no other for Murcia, you have too often and too plainly named her, and that secret is of counterpoise enough, to exact from you an oblation of your suspiti­ons, 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 de­clar'd in express termes, that you love Pom­pey's Wife. Caesar, whose reason follow'd Claudius's word for word, and whose am­bition had no less a concerne then his love, in the concealing his intrigue with Murcia, apprehending it might be both the loss of his Mistress, and ruine of his designes, if he suffer'd his resentments to take place, us'd all his endeavours to sup­press them; and, giving the Light he held to his wives Gallant Go, march, said he, and boast if thou dar'st, that thou hast done Cae­sar [Page 71] the greatest injury he can receive, and that he has not the courage to revenge it; Thou mayest now talke whatever thou wilt, the discretion I owe to my Love submits it self 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 Staires seeing Claudius put out his light, as soon as he espy'd her, began to have some suspition of the truth; She stop'd the disguis'd Lover, demanding what he was, and whether he went; the confus'd an­swer he gave, and the fulness 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 deliver'd 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 carry'd to Cato's, whose very near Kinsman he was. Aurelia could by no meanes ap­prove this excess of Mercy: You know not, said she to her Son, what kind of [Page 72]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 disguis'd 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 lead 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'le assure you she lied not, she had indeed great business there.

Of all this Discourse Caesar was igno­rant of that part only which concern'd 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 chose for him a better retreate: 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 [Page 73]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 encou­rag'd 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 reines to all the fury, and all the Jealousie 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 reach'd 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 [Page 74]himself the most miserable man li­ving: He past the rest of the night walking in a disconsolate manner in his Chamber, and assoon 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 disguis'd 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 ca­lumniated her; he therefore urg'd 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 humor, that the Wife of Caesar be free from crime, I would have her be so from Suspition. Pompey us'd 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 tranquility, that nothing should be believ'd 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 [Page 75]recoils on your self; 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 joyned 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 blush. Cato who always distrusted his ambitious humor, and who was be­sides naturally suspitious, 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 troublesome with [Page 76]your distrusts Cato, replied Caesar. I swear to you by all our Houshold-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 spoke 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 chusing 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 [Page 77]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 read the Let­ter privately, and opening it found what follows.

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 [Page 78]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 outstript 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 retreive 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 [Page 79] 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 perswaded 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 [Page 80]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 reprizal 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 easie 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 [Page 81]him? Had you seen with what per­verseness he forced Caesar to shew him Ser­vilia's Letter, you could not read 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 my self 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 dishonorable to the Gallant. Aurelia may prophesie 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 troublesome 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 [Page 82]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 humor 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 publickly 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 mixt with shame 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, [Page 83]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 uneasie to dainty minds, and so far I may be criminal towards you; for I acknowledge 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 favor, 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 [Page 84]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 recal Caesar into the right way of playing his game; Was it not Servilia, that I named, 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 alarm'd at that undue application. Your Vertue is sig­nalised, and this Letter, said he, taking that Pompey held out of his hands, is an easie 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 bryars: But Pompey's spirit was too searching to have the change put up­on him with such ease, he was dull and melancholly 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 [Page 85] Servilia, to be by her enlightned in the obscure sence 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 politick pretence to authorise 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 spoke 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, endeavored 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, [Page 86]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 suspitions of Pompey, seeing so direct an appearance of intrigue with Servilia, which discharged Murcia from the concern. But this good Mans jealousie 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 Gardners where those he sought were, expresly 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 slipt 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 suspition of the truth. I would never have given your Letter to Cato; it was my part onely to conceal it from his sight, and [Page 87]Pompey was named by the Senate to read 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 extream, it slights 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 your self 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 ow 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 dispenced 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 [Page 88]for her Husband, have suppressed those extasies 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 hid there; but you spoke 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 perswade me, you ow some regard to what you believe I love. You change co­lour at this discourse, and the moderation I [Page 89]request, is doubtless not palatable to your jea­lousie; 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 secresie. 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 recompence 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, cryed 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 expence of Pom­pey's ignorance.

The voice of Murcia's Husband, which Caesar soon knew, threw him into a [Page 90]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 suspiti­on; so 'tis too little for me, though Murcia continue chast, if she can conceive a thought [Page 91]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 publick, 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 ruine, 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 Battel, 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 LOVES OF Great Men.
CATO of ƲTICA.

WHen coldness between Friends destroy not their Esteem, the Reconciliation that followes 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 politick reasons were lull'd asleep, yet when things were reaccomodated, it became [Page 94]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 terrour 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 Counsell, and yet the whole shame 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, reply'd Pom­pey, but yet Custome gives Authority to this injustice, and the title given to a Husband whose Wife is unchast, is one of the greatest [Page 95]Ignominies can be thrown on him. Hold, hold, said Cato, interruping him, and sha­king his head, I esteem my self not a rush the less for having seen Martia in Horten­sius his Armes, 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 surprizes me, reply'd Pom­pey, Martia should not be lookt upon by you as a disloyal Woman, you surrendred 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 ratifie your Gift. All things in this life wear two fa­ces, Pompey, (reply'd 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 returne in friendship to you, by the secret wherewith I shall intrust 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 charmes 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 [Page 96]love when I absolutely and perfectly knew her, then when decency and good manners conceal'd a part of her merit; and, if the words of a Woman may have any credit with a well-grounded understanding, Mar­tia acknowledg'd to have found in me all I discover'd 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 us'd to tell me, I prov'd 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 show'd himself to the Senate and Common-wealth, and methought she spoke truth. I justifi'd her opinion with all the complacencies a wife could expect from the best of Husbands; and those who are perswaded they deserve any ones kindness, easily believe they possess it: I had an absolute confidence in Martia's faith, she might have betray'd me before my own eyes without fear of conviction, she perceiv'd without doubt this advantage, and would not let it lie fallow. Hortensius is a handsome Man, his riches vast, which make his expence easie, and Women natu­rally weak are sooner taken with glittering [Page 97]then solidity: Hortensius was captiv'd by Martia's beauty, and Martia yielded her self to Hortensius gayety; dispence 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 betray'd me, she is at present the Wife of Hortensius; great things alwayes presuppose the less, and when effects speak, a discourse of the wayes 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 listned to, but Drusus Livius our Ʋncle, under whom we had all been bred, and whom we respect as a Father, is a Man infinitely scrupulous in the Cu­stomes of his times, and would never con­sent to marry 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 chose to ask Portia rather then Servilia. The in­tentions [Page 98]of this supposed Lover appeared to us as sincere as they were false, we endea­voured to support his patient expectation with a very strait familiarity, he had the same liberty in my house and my Ʋncles as if he had been my own brother, and he con­tinually seem'd 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 lookt upon as seeds of Love, what was indeed but a simple Civility; and these sus­pitions troubling and disturbing her humour, which was naturally somewhat imperious, she writ to Hortensius in these termes.

She was doubtless about to write 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 Melancholly making me apprehend something had happened to Martia, that fear made me post home to rid me of the Suspition of it, and taking upon me the humour of Gallant, that I might surprize my Wife with my arrival, I had forbid my Peo­ple giving her notice; I surprized her indeed as I designed, but alass not with such a surprize as my blind passion flat­ter'd; she turn'd her head as I entred into the Chamber, and I observ'd 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 hid the Let­ter she had writ if she would; the joy [Page 100]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 smil'd in a careless confident way at this discourse, which was soon observed by my Wife, I see you believe me not, continu'd she, but read what is in that Paper and you will perceive I tell no untruth: I was so pre­vented by Martia's wisdome, 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 enjoy'd; I feign'd some amaze­ment at it, and asked Martia what that Letter signify'd? 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 [Page 101]was not there, a Letter dictated much after this rate lay on the Table, I read it, and found the Contents so singular, that I endea­vour'd 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, reply'd I, there is nothing in it but is authorized both by Drusus orders and my own, but I will advise Hortensius to be more Regular in his conduct, his suite to Portia has gone now too farr 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 satisfy'd with those excuses wherewith such lightnesses are ordinarily colour'd. Martia told me it was not convenient for me to concern my self in this business, that it was a little quarrel between Lo­vers which Love would conclude upon the first interview. I vallue 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, [Page 102] said I, with a composed coun­tenance, they seldome go unpunish'd who make sport of Men of my ranck; I never sollicited you to love Portia, the propositions were made by your self; and, without too much boasting my race and my authority, Drusus believ'd he honour'd you in accepting you for his Nephew; and yet I am inform'd 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 discom­pos'd) I make a trifle of my Engagements with your family? Pray Sir, from vvhom have you advice carries so little sence with it? From Portia her self (reply'd I) and, to show you I say nothing without founda­tion, read this Letter, and judge if I am informed of your deportment herein. Hor­tensius changed collour, surpriz'd 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 expence, 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 [Page 103]Letter is coppied 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 alarme your self 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 re­flexion on them. She took upon her to relate to Porcia what had passed between [Page 104]Hortensius and me; and, when I offer'd to ease her of that recital, she perswaded it would not be convenient for me to concerne my self 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 approv'd Martia's Counsel, and prais'd it, because I thought it Judicious You then return'd from your Asiatick 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 recompence to the applause of the People. You show'd them a sight of wild Beasts, Martia could not be present at this Specta­cle, she had got a slip which confin'd her to her bed, and my Sisters seldome appear­ing in publick but in her company, staid 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 [Page 105]play'd 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 favorable glances pass between them; and adding, it was fit to be searched into, and not suffer him to be in treaty at once, with my Sister, and my Cosin, 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 affected an indifference with Lucia almost amounting to incivility, she spoke to him twice or thrice, and he an­swered her without looking at her, I observed more plainly how he shun'd 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 [Page 106]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 lookt 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 Spie upon you, Martia had for my Sisters sake enjoyned me to take some heed to your actions, I have given her a good account, and am consident, you will perceive it the first discourse you have with Portia. Hor­tensius could not contain himself to see me so excessive a Wittal, 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 Sence could not restrain it self at this circumstance. I heard after­wards, that he went directly from Cicero's to my House, and let me beg you to represent to your self, the Scene he had there to play [Page 107]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 my self 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 my self hurt, during the heat of the con­flict, but our faction yielding under the power of yours; and being constrained to save my self by those little by-ways that abut upon the Campus Martius, I there began to feel the smart I remembred 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 frightned at sight of my Blood. This [Page 108]is nothing my good friend, said I, give me onely a piece of Linnen to make me a Roller: The little house wherein this Woman dwelt, contained onely a very small Hall where I was, and another Room wherein she lay, and kept her Chests. Alass 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 send for a Smith, she said there was none thereabouts: I bled vehemently, and began to find my self grow weak, I en­deavored to break open the door, which not being very strong, was no hard matter to do; but I had no more need of any Linnen to stanch my Blood. What I beheld at the open­ing that door, seised me with such a Palsie, 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 our selves 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 [Page 109]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 perswading my self of my misfortune, without being willing to believe it, I forced my self 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 releif 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 your self Cato, and re­member you are accomptable to Posterity, for the esteem which Rome has given you. I ac­knowledge, replied I feebly, that 'tis an Election puts me into the despair you find me, but alass it is not that of a new Consul. At that word I grew senceless, but Munatius forgetting no offices of a true friend, to give me what assistance was necessary, I soon re­covered. My Wound was drest, for it seems Martia was run out onely to fetch a Chirur­gion; and Munatius having sent for a Lit­ter, they carried me home, Martia followed me at a distance, bath'd in her tears for what had hapned to her. The People looked upon them as proceeding from an effect of conjugal Love, though they had a quite contrary cause, and praising her for what merited eternal blame, 'twas from this action she gained that reputation of Vertue with which Rome has favored her. She durst not see me neither that day, nor many following, but intrusted 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 [Page 111]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 my self over to the in­clinations of my heart, that secreet 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 favor of Cato, and be assured he shall never have cause to repent it.

Munatius acquitted himself faithfully of the Commission he had received, he endeavor­ed to justifie 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 suspition that he had be­trayed me; I would repudiate her, and had [Page 112]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 dimentions 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 al­ledge.

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 your self 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 [Page 113]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, perswaded me I might better re­venge my self this way then any other. The jealousie of Husbands never breaks forth, says he, but to their shame 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 favored Gallant of Cato's Wife, the opinion had of Mans happiness, is often more essential then happiness it self. Why should you procure it for your rival? Rather make him share the danger to which he has exposed you, he de­serves [Page 114]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 perswaded 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 surrendred 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, cry­ed Pompey, when Cato had finished his story, I would neither take her, nor any [Page 115]other; if I could dispence with it, replied Cato. But suppose I were necessitated to marry, 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 jealousie 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 Curtizan, 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 intrust 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 Curtizan, 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, [Page 116]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 violencies of debauchery, and yet has ever been restrained within the bounds of Vertue. 'Tis a conjugal tie must put a stop to my Heart; and where other Mens desires enter into their Tomb, and are buried, 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 Curtizan, which we cannot dispence 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 tendred 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 beheld 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 wisht 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 buried in that obscurity, she is onely the daughter of a Mechanick; 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 de­spoil'd Flora of a great Soul: 'Tis a small matter to see this Portraict, 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 sence 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 inrich 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 [Page 119] was represented under some of her Features.

I protest I was dazled with the Beauty of the Maid, and if I may say it, she thought me not unworthy to be considered, she blusht as soon as her eyes met with mine, she looked earnestly at me when I feigned to look off her, and she seem'd troubled to turn away, when I surprised her with a glance. I prais'd her Beauty exceedingly, and I told Metellus he had administred 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 read in them a de­stiny happier for me then that of Metellus. You know well such favorable 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 bu­ried Sylla's Daughter, and not yet faln in league with Murcia, so that I looked upon an [Page 120]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 listned to, and I fancy, had I kept silence, I had been intreated 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 Vertue 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, perswaded 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 suspitions, 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; [Page 121]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 Jealousie 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 dispair into which I should fall, if I should find my self betrayed by Flora, used incredible endeavors to suppress this powerful inclination. The Com­bats [Page 122]of the Soul are more dangerous to a sen­sible Man, then the most Bloody Battles. Geminius fell grievously sick, I stir'd 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 it self 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 parted with my life to save my friends, I should have given it without reflexion; but when I understood Flora was the con­cern, [Page 123]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 dazles 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 re­flexion.

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 my self, 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 [Page 124]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 possest 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, cryed 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 ceas'd 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? Alass, I ex­pected a thousand thanks for my chearful obedience, 'twas a thousand tortures to me [Page 125]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 ask'd 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 perswaded 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 rupture, 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, broke off the converse of these two Ilustrious Romans. I shall find out a way [Page 126]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, endeavor after their example, to enjoy some time of repose.

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 Forest of Fontainbleau, and to kill the Wild Boar. In one of these Chaces, the Dutchess D'Aumale, Natural Daughter to King Henry the Se­cond, and Diana of Poictiers, coming near to the Inclosure they had made, a Wild Boar broke the Toyls, and frighting her [Page 128]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 Dutchess, cry­ed 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 frightned, 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 where-ever 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 faln. That sight made him strive hard again to stop his Horse, but since he could [Page 129]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 Dutchess 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 Dutchess 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 humor, and fear­ed her Gallants worth; nor in reason had Madam de Brion less cause of grief, [Page 130]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 jealousie 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 rob'd 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 [Page 131]was not so great, but he returned on horsback to Fountainbleau.

The Marshal de Montmorency, Gover­nor of Paris, who was his near Kins­man and Brother-in-law to the Duke D'Aumale, having heard what had hap­ned at this Chase, came to visit the Dutchess and D'Andelot. The Marshal was a mighty amorous Gallant Person, who always loved more then one; and his inconstancies were authorised 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 intreaties and yield to his friend­ships, who being desirous to know his story, he thus began it.

THE LOVES OF Great Men.
BƲSSY D' AMBOYSE.

THe Battel 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 ruines 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 [Page 194]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 [Page 195]desired; his Rivals believed they had reason to be jealous of him, and he took little care to perswade 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 Eies 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 [Page 196]nothing to give you, nor nothing to take away, replyed 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 increas'd his grief without diminishing his Love. The Duke of Guise, jealous and impatient, and who found no pleasure in loving alone, prays 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. Assoon 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 jealousie 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 Madame, and the King of Navarre.

The Duke of Guise and Ligneroles knowing that she would not go this pro­gress, pressed the obtaining some favo­rable answer, but she declared for nei­ther, there was only observed in her, more civility towards the Duke, and more com­plaisance for Ligneroles; the Dukes Me­lancholly rejoyced Bussy, but Ligneroles joy made him almost despair.

The King was two days at St. Germains 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 perswade [Page 198]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 Solicite 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 jealousie, was, that she never so much as cast her Eies 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 Eies have the in­fallible [Page 200]secret of inchanting Hearts? but I was ignorant till now, that to so many Excellencies and so many Beau­ties are joyned 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 Madame 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 Madame come in. He was the Man of all the world she most desi­red [Page 201]to engage; she loved him, and she believed her self Beautiful enough to cre­ate Love in him. This easily perswaded 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 perswaded it might produce a good effect, to spare him any farther trouble, She sent him this Note next Morning.

This Note was without superscription, and inclosed a Bracelet of Hair of admi­rable weaving. Bussy rejoyced he had so well succeeded in his amorous Embassie, 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 af­fected, 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 favor, so much more worthy, because less expected: E­steeming [Page 202]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 behavior towards him, but endeavors 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 Suspitions, 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 [Page 203]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 intangled 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 affected, successfully labors to create confidences with the Mareshale.

Bussy had designed to fight Ligneroles on the first occasion presented; on the morrow one brake 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 [Page 204]execution, and that his Soveraign 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 chuses 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 expence 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 Hermite, 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, hindred him from answer­ing [Page 205]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 favor 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, [Page 206]and parted 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 endeavor to preserve you as an honest, but unhappy Man, who have, doubtless, neither deserved death by the cruel maximes 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 ow you nothing. In vain I examine and search my self, 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 Madame, and the King of Navarre, was onely an ingenuous pretext, the more securely to ruine the Hugonots. The silence and confusion of Ligneroles accused him, and he had now [Page 207]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 alledge, he would not take the advise he gave him not to go this progress, nor take the ways to secure himself he offered.

Ligneroles spoke 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 my self 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 ac­compt of my Negations, then to give me [Page 208]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, Proceded 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 pit­tied, 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 beheld 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 parted from Ligneroles more like a Friend then a Rival. [Page 209]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 judgment. She con­cluded by their actions they were become Friends, and that Bussy had yielded to Ligneroles, all the pretentions 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 cryed 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 [Page 210]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 publick, 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 favor, 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 [Page 211]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 spoke to her since she had forbid him seeing her. She was full of anger, and of shame, 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 enterview 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 [Page 212]other foundation then Monsieurs Friend­ship, on which he had much less reason to confide, 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 undrest, 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 staid looking on a Picture of a Mignon love which endeavored to climb to the top of a Rock, he drew a Pencil out of [Page 213]his Pocket to write, 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 stopt her, asking the cause of her fright, and endea­voring to reassure her; but he perceived she swounded, and was in condition to create extasies of love: So that Bussy suckt 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 endeavored 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 [Page 214]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 swounding. 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 whereever 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 shame 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 [Page 215]in vain attempted to perswade her, she ought to hear what Bussy had to say to her.

In the mean time Bussy was to be pit­tied, 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 Lorrain, who having already broke off the Match between Madame, and the King of Portugal, would do the like with the King of Navarre, and by his credit with Queen Katherine of Medices, marry her to his Nephew. The love he had for the Mareshale, withstood this great [Page 216]Fortune, but the interest of his family, and his ambition made him comply with what was desired. He began therefore in more steddy manner, to fix his thoughts on Madame, and considering her as the daughter of a great King, and whose Wit and Beauty might pleasantly revenge him of the rigors 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 melancholly, 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 recompence he requested, was enough to make him believe there was none to give. Sometimes anger and suspition 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 [Page 217]her, but she strove 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 favor, Dugua had the substance, whose subtile 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 [Page 218]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 allay of those cruel sufferings his Passion torments him with, and I shall be happy in obtaining what I request for him. The Mareshale blusht 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 pit­tied, if he accounts upon any favorable 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 pardoned when we find a sweetness in being betray­ed; and since you will find a great deal [Page 219]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 my self, but I thought I could not neglect serving him, without leaving my self 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 perswaded of your sincerity; but what can I do for Ligneroles? I have [Page 220]not any power; you have an absolute one over his heart, replyed 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 succor 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, [Page 221]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 endeavors 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 chuse to die out of too much con­fidence in Monsieurs friendship, then se­cretly accuse him by his flight of having consented to his death. Bussy joyned [Page 222]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, Madame, and several other Ladies, all on horseback. After having for some time chaced 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 Soveraign Faith, by the cunning of Katherine de Medices, and by the Honours and Dignities they received.

At this Chace the Duke of Guise was still neer Madame, 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 signe to come speak with her, just at the same time that Ma­dame 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 Eies turned to­wards you, and seeing nothing so perfect and accomplished as he, I wisht 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 seis­ed you. In summe, Madame, 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, Madame, when you took notice of my hearkening 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, re­plyed 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 [Page 224]knowing what to think; how many reflexi­ons did he make on this adventure. He believed Madame 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 Madame 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 affect­ed to have it believed.

Madam de Bonneval was at this hunting, and would fain have perswaded the Mare­shale, that Bussy had held some amorous Propositions with Madame, 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 tendrest 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 [Page 225]great delight which surprises us, when we least suspect it, is that brings most sweet­ness with it. Bussy made this pleasant try­al, 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, [Page 226]that appeared so full of fair Faith, that he went away well perswaded 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 reflexions, 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 spoke 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 goe without seeing what you love, is it thus you would perswade your passion? or do you know how to love? better then you Madam, replyed he, you dare not stand the tryal, for then you would find all the knowledge is on my side, and therefore you would save your self that shame; she blusht at this answer [Page 227]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, replyed she? as I can acknowledge Benefits, so I am sensible of Injuries, and let me advise you that 'tis dangerous making me your Ene­my. Whatever you can say Madam, said Bussy, interrupting her, my resolu­tion is fixt, 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 your self every day thus upon me, replyed 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 lean'd towards what he had so much [Page 228]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 Tryal 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 jealousie in his Mistriss, 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 accustomed 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 Mistriss to perfect.

The Court was to lie at Estampes, he feigned to begone, 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 hid, 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 surprize at their arrival, by feign­ing a great Headach; 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 flame 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 [Page 230]the grief less then it was, endeavored to be perswaded, 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 Houshold-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 hid him, when the Flames that is­sued [Page 231]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 Labor and his Love! she swounded, 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 reviv'd from her swound, and he withdrew, the Servants had re­paired as much as possible the strange disorder caused by the Fire, but the Ma­reshales Lodgings being quite burnt, they were forced to make ready for her ano­ther Chamber. L'Hermite caused the ru­ines of the Closet and Chamber to be searched 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 rejoyced to find him alive; he told her, that perceiving the Fire took [Page 232]hold of the Closet, he chose 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 do­mestiques, hindred him, and made him return back, that the Fire being quell'd 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 assoon 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 [Page 233]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 heark­ened to it, and he feared her accept­ance of the offer, had she had his thoughts she had staid, but not able to withstand the urgent intreaties 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 surprized 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 [Page 234] Mareshale fearing lest Madam de Bonneval should discover Bussy, came to meet her just at the time the Candle was put out, and led 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. Assoon as he was gone thence, he caused Horses to be brought, parted from Paris, and by six aclock in the morning o'retook the Court at Estampes. The Mareshales sur­prize 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 askes L'Hermite, if Bussy had said nothing to her when he went, and un­derstood he had said nothing, but seem­ed melancholly, and she guest it hap­pened [Page 235]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 extreamly 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 Mistriss in his absence, whom though Bussy had offended in the tendrest 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 hid in the Closet and Wardrobe, but there are se­crets Love keeps only for its self.

She now begins to put in practice the ingenious design she had contrived to ruine 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. [Page 236]The Mareshale who would not give occasi­on to suspect the reasons she had to com­plain of him, told them, that she remem­bred 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 parted from her, conceived it easie to make him a Lover, if already he were not. What is in your mind, said she to him, one day, that you doe 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 your self; 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 compleated 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 Feavor 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 com­pleated 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.

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 read,

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 perswaded there will be many o­ther Lovers more to be pittied 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 shame from the same Center whence Men draw subjects of Esteem and Glory; but do you know what we ought to do? raise our selves 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 re­quite 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 [Page 240]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 practice of it; there have some been found in all times, replyed Madam de Bonneval, and you and I should do very prudently in following these Max­imes.

'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 Feavor ha­ving left her, she was carried back to Paris by direction of the Physitians.

Bussy and Ligneroles led a sad life at Blois, and the destiny of the happiest was so averse, that he believed himself most to be pittied 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 my self 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 [Page 242]you have likewise received a favour which was only due to my love, alas, 'tis of that cruel favour I complain, re­plyed 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 rigors, 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, replyed 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 swounded, but I suspected not the true cause of it, till an hour after, I made a show of being gone, and hid my self. L'Hermite came to search among the ruines of the Chamber, and I thought I heard her name you. I guess'd it not im­possible, but you might be stayed at Paris, and in the Lady Mareshales house, though [Page 243]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 affected me, and I was just about to discover my self when you appeared, and seeking a place to hide my self, turned back into a Chamber, and sate me down neer 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 suspitions, they parted 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. [Page 244]He scarce knew how to swim, but trust­ing to his little cunning, ventured out of his depth, and the stream carried him away; he strove 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, div'd so luckily after him, that in a moment he rose again holding Bussy. Every one cryed out assoon as they perceived the danger, but 'twas Ligneroles outstript all that would have saved him, and repaid Bussy the succor he had once given him. He was carried home, having scarce any sence, 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 goe 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 [Page 245]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 assoon 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 melan­cholly he could not suppress; Ligneroles was the cause of it, his Merits, his gene­rous Thoughts, and the greatness of his Sould; 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 reproches 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 [Page 246]King would doubtless have chastis'd this in Bussy, had he had the boldness to speak, but Grillons good Counsels hindred 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 read it, what shall I do, said he? this unlooked for mis­fortune [Page 247]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 counselled 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 spoke 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 [Page 248]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 apointed, and with­out stopping at the unnecessary circum­stances of this interview, I will onely tell you, that she hid Bussy, and that soon af­ter Neufville entred, he had a Black Sat­ten Suit, 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 tire 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 [Page 249]be affected. These words were pronoun­ced by a delicate mouth, and the fairest eyes in the World glanced favorably 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 ac­compt 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. [Page 250]In vain would she have disswaded him from loving the Mareshale, he remained constant, though he thought himself not obliged to do so.

As soon as Neufville was parted 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 spoke 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 publickly sacrifice your love at the [Page 251]feet of your Rival. Alass, said she, I feel all you can instil 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 joyned 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, [Page 252]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 Mistriss 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 Ma­damoiselle 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 Montmorency, then returned from England, whither he had been sent to hinder Queen Elizabeth from giving assistance to the Hugonots, by proposing [Page 253]a Match with the Duke D'Alanzon [...] Bussy staid 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 ruines 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 [Page 254]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 Montmorency 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 Armes, whither the Constable Anne de Montmorency 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 Signor So­liman had sent him, together with a Hanger of Dagger all adorned with Ru­bies; The Queen, curious to see all the [Page 255]several Rooms and Magnificent Furni­ture which adorned them, passed into this Hall of Armes, and thence into the Closet, where she was showed that Dag­ger, thought beyond all vallue, 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 threatning look to his brest, To what use, said she, ought this to be destin'd: To pierce the most faithless of all hearts, said he, taking the point and turning it to­wards the Mareshale: This Anser surpri­zed her, and she expected not such a re­proach, who could not believe she de­served it. Ah Bussy (replyed she in a doleful accent) there was never a more faithless— then yours, Madam (said he, interrupting her) They were entring into a Discourse had not been soon finish'd, but the Queen going out of the Closet called the Mareshale who accompanyed her

Madam de Bonneval was not at Chantilly; [Page 256]the Mareshale had intreated 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 betray'd 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're the misfor­tunes of the Mareshale and Bussy, and when [Page 257]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 shame and anger to be forsaken, hindred 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 staid yet one day with the Duke of Montmorency, 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 judg­ment, but it was not well received, and she was silent. Bussy seldome saw Ma­dam de Bonneval, she complained to Grillon that he might tell him, but he had no more an inclination towards her; he [Page 258]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 cannnot, I have loved you too well. Ah 'tis not that which I desire, (replyed 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, [Page 259]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 Mi­striss dined at Madam de Bonnevals, and that she would return immediatedly.

He was about to go and surprize the Mareshale and Neufville, and to load them with a thousand reproaches; but L'Her­mite who understood the most part of his melancholy hindred 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 aske 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 hearken to all that your [Page 260]heart dictates Madam (reply'd Bussy) and to give your self wholly to Neufville. But if I love him (reply'd she) if I have given him markes of it, and if I do all I can to perswade 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 (reply'd 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 my self 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 (reply'd she) you who went hence for the progress in despite of that kindness of mine to request your stay? Ah Ligneroles (cry'd 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 deceiv'd, she blusht at what she under­stood from Bussy, and the confusion [Page 261]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 spoke 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 counselled me to love you, and to tell you so, thence had my crime its spring; your inchanting 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 [Page 262]believe this perfidiousness; but Bussy ha­ving pul'd out of his pocket a Letter which she had writ for his return, she could no longer be doubtful of her trea­son, after having read her words.

She well knew the Characted to be Madam de Bonnevals, and withal remem­bring 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 suspi­tions you may possibly halp me to give some [Page 263]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 Madame 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 applyed to your self what you said for Grillon; and Grillon doubtless received a favour de­sign'd for you: In the end, she would justifie 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 counselling, 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 ahd managed all things so well, that any other as well as he would have believed her the most un­faithful woman living. Neufville heark­ned, [Page 264]and could not but be amazed to hear how farr Madam de Bonneval had carry'd her lies and treachery, when the Mareshale prayed him to let Bussy know how she had finish'd 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 horrour 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, [Page 265]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 concernes. 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 spoke 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 remembring 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 [Page 266]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 Melan­cholly, 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 spoke 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 perswaded they should find an infinite joy in their first Entertainment, and that then they should find a recom­pence for the so many griefs they had en­dured by Suspitions, Absence, Anger, and supposed Infidelities: They wanted but opportunity to make them happy; but, [Page 267]this happy opportunity came, and 'twas Love that brought it.

'Twas about this time Madame was to marry the King of Navarre, and nothing wanted but the arrival of a dispensation to compleat 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 blusht 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 shun'd 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, replyed he, and that you could not see me have so much love without following me in so [Page 268]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 blusht 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 my self, who am less knowing and experienced then she.

Madam, said Bussy, interrupting her, Since your self know not whether the decisi­on you have made, be just, let us essay by a sweet Tryal 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 enflame 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 [Page 270]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 suddain painted with a Mor­tal colour, Bussy perceived it, and called L'Hermite to her assistance, but all reme­dies could be applyed were in vain, she died iwthin an hour after in Bussy's Arms. Her death was diversly spoken of, but when within three days after happened that of the Queen of Navarre, the perfu­med Florentine Gloves were suspected, and in the clearing those suspitions, 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 dis­pair was violent and lasting, but yet he died not; what he did we may hereafter tell you.