The Answer of Monsieur le Marquis de Barbasieux, to Cardinal Mazarine.
YOUR eminence I find, is in a great passion, because my father did not get an estate in your service: Must you therefore abuse him, and turn that as a crime upon me, which has been practis’d ever since there have been kings in the world? If your talent only lay in pillaging and plundering, must it therefore prescribe to mine? And do you think the glory of taking away by dagger or poison the enemies of one’s prince, deserves less immortality, than of ruining of his subjects? You have, I confess, very meritoriously eterniz’d your name by that method, for which reason you ought in conscience to allow me the liberty to find out another. You are much in the wrong on’t, to complain of the duke of Mazarine, who did you the honour to think you were only in purgatory, and lavish’d your treasures upon bigots, in hopes to pray you out of it. If he in a holy fit of zeal, dismember’d your fine statues, which perhaps too often recalled to your memory the pious sermons of cardinal Anthony, he is severely punish’d in a libel made against him, in vindication of your beauteous niece. If that satire reaches your regions below, you’ll soon be convinced what a coxcomb you were when you chose the worst of men, to couple with the most charming of women. This, with several other passages of your life, makes me not much wonder at your condemning me by your cardinal’s authority, to drink Aquafortis, and eat burning charcoal; it may perhaps be a proper diet for Epicurean cardinals and Italians, who love hot liquors, and high-season’d ragoos; but the lords of Chaville and Meudon do not desire your entertainments. How do you know, I beseech you, but I may take the cell of the young Marquis d’Ancré at [16] Mont Valerine; there, by a long penitence, to purge me of those sins you say I have committed? Therefore if you reckon me in the number of those reprobates, doom’d to people the infernal shades, time will at last make it appear, that your eminence has reckoned without your host.
Mary I. of England to the Pope.
Most Holy Father,
THE malignant planet that governed at my birth, so influenc’d all the faculties of my soul, that I was the most outragious and barbarous princess till that time mounted the English throne; and as it is no extraordinary thing to continue in the same temper, in a country inhabited only with tyrants, and the butchers of their subjects, so you ought not to be surprised, if I am not now dispossessed of it. I had not long troubled the world before my mother [17] was divorced, and I myself declared incapable of succeeding Henry VIII. Anne Boleyn was then brought to the royal bed; and what was worse, with her was introduced a religion so conformable to the laws of God, that it never suited with my inclinations. The proud rival of Catherine, was afterwards sacrific’d to the inconstancy of her voluptuous husband; but that insipid religion, to my grief, was not confounded with her; for the young and simple Edward countenanced it during his reign. But then came my turn, and you know, sovereign pontiff, with what pride and malice I mounted the throne; the means I used to destroy that cursed heretical doctrine; the pleasure I took in shedding my subjects blood; what magnificence and splendor I gave to the mass; how barbarously I treated that innocent and beautiful princess Jane Gray; with what severity I used my sister Elizabeth, and also the immoderate joy that seized my precious soul, when I married a prince who had, as well as I, the good quality of being cruel to the highest degree, is not unknown to you. Notwithstanding what I said in the beginning of my letter, you may, perhaps, think my sentiments now altered: but I assure you the contrary, and that I cannot behold with patience your present insensibility and mildness. Is it possible you can suffer a religion, destitute of all ornaments, that has nothing but truth and simplicity to recommend it, to get the advantage of your Rome, which reigns in blood and purple, subsists by falshood and idolatry, and sets up and pulls down kings? how can you endure it? what a horrid shame and weakness is this? are there no more Ravillacs? is there neither powder nor daggers, in the arsenal of the Jesuits? have they forgot how to build wheels, gibbets, and scaffolds? or is your malice, envy, hatred, and fury, seized with a lethargy? ’s death! holy father, I am distracted when I think that nothing succeeds in England, where I took so much pains, and practised so much cruelty to establish Popery, and root out the doctrine of the apostles; and where your pious emissaries following my zeal, had invented most admirable machines to sacrifice, with James I. all the enemies of your Anti-christian Holiness. Do you sleep? and must France only brandish the glorious flambeau of persecution? Consider, I pray, that I employ the best of my time in imprecations against the deserters from your church; that I so inflamed my blood in those transports, that it threw me into a dropsy, which hurried me to the grave. My husband, who was too much of my temper to love me, was very little concerned: In short, that filthy disease stifled me, a certain presage of the continual thirst I now suffer. But I once more beseech you, most holy father, to re-inforce your squadrons, to join them with the Most Christian King’s, and, with your holy benediction, give them strict orders to grant no quarters to the disciples of St. Paul. You will infinitely oblige by it both me and Lucifer, who is now as zealous a Romanist as your eldest son, and who, like him, would not willingly suffer any but good Papists, the friends and pensioners of Versailles, those sworn enemies of liberty and property, in his dominions. I am so ill-natur’d, that my husband Philip is as cautious of embracing me, as he was in the other world; but that’s no misfortune either to Earth or Hell, for we could produce nothing but a monster between us, which would be the terror of mankind, and horror of devils.
The Pope’s Answer to Queen Mary I.
YOU are too violent, dear madam, and men of my age and grandeur require more moderation. I am acquainted with your history, and know your zeal; by the same token, you need not waste your lungs to acquaint me with either the one or the other. To be free with you, I am not of the humour to espouse madly other peoples passions, tho’ I should leave the triple crown destitute of all pomp and greatness. But I will make the hereticks blot out of their writings, if possible, the names of Antichrist, devouring Dragon, Wolf disguis’d in sheeps-skin, and several others as abusive. Do you not believe people are weary of paying a blind obedience to the see of Rome? Imperious France has made us sensible of it; and it is not the fault of the eldest son of the Church, if he does not dethrone his mother. Ecclesiastical censures are now out of fashion, and no more minded than pasquinades. We were scorn’d and ridicul’d in your father’s time; and tho’ you were as handsome as my quondam mistress, Donna Maria di S. Germano, you would not oblige me to put up fresh affronts for your sake. Your husband is to blame to treat you with such indifference, and I think it very ill for an infected worm-eaten carcase to despise so devout a queen. But I cannot imagine why the popes, who live all under the same zone with you, suffer such coldness. Suppose your husband should, like a heretick, despise their exhortations, one of their decrees has power enough to divorce you; which in time, I hope, may advance your grandeur; for we hear Pluto is in love with you for your zeal, and Proserpine is given over by the physicians. Therefore take my advice, and drink as little water as you can; for being dropsical, the water of Styx must needs be prejudicial to you, and the church would lose an admirable good friend. I offer you no indulgences, they are pure mountebank drugs, and were you got no farther yet than Purgatory, have not the virtue to bring you out. But grant they had that power, as your amours stand now, I suppose you would not desire it; so, till I have the happiness of wishing your imperial majesty much joy, I am, &c.
Harlequin to Father la Chaise.
SINCE we were of the same trade, with this difference only, that I compos’d farces to make the world laugh, and that you invent tragedies that gave them horror: I believe, reverend father, you will not condemn the liberty I take of writing to you.
In the first place, I beseech your reverence, not to put your penitents out of conceit with those harmless diversions which make me and my brother-players live so plentifully; but be pleased to take our small flock into your protection: that power lies in the breast of you and your pious society: and who wou’d grudge it to such holy men, who have no other aim than settling and satisfying men’s consciences, by clearing all the controverted difficulties of Christianity, and rendring religion so plain and easy, that our enemies cannot find the least doubt or difficulty in it. Nay, like a dextrous artist you can, with your admirable morals, remove the justest scruples; for they give so pious an air, so devout a shade to the greatest crimes, that they enchant the world, and hide their deformity, without opposing the licentiousness of passions, or destroying their pleasures or intention. These admirable talents, most holy confessor, open to your society the closets and hearts of princes, and bring all the lovers of voluptuousness and barbarity to be your confessionaries. Truly, reverend father, your fame is infinite, and the great St. Loyola may be proud of having so many righteous disciples. But these miracles make the world believe him something related to Simon Magus; for without inchantments ’tis impossible to do so many prodigies. The lameness in his feet, and megrim he’s daily troubled with, by being too near a hot furnace of brimstone, makes him so peevish and out of humour, that he cannot write to any of you; therefore look upon me as his secretary, and not a-jot the lesser saint for having been upon the stage; all Paris can witness for me, that as soon as I laid aside my comical mask and habit, I could, upon occasion, look as demure and devout as a fresh pardoned penitent; so that the employment is neither above my gravity, nor I hope above my sincerity and capacity; for I have often had the honour of shewing my parts before his most christian majesty in his seraglio, to make him more prolifick, and more disposed to the mighty work of propagation. But, reverend father, ’tis time now to tell you, as a good catholick and your friend, that we are so scandaliz’d here at his conduct, that we cannot believe he follows your holy advice; and were it not for this doubt, and our sollicitations, Lucifer had last summer sent Loyola under the command of Monsieur Luxembourg, to dragoon you. Zounds! says he, is the order that daily sent me so many subjects revolted? ’Tis true, the rogues Ravillac and Clement have a little disgrac’d you, but we don’t value now what they say, for the wits have espoused your quarrel, and blinded the eyes of detraction. Indeed it is no wonder to us, since they sing to Apollo’s harp, which had the power to claim the transports of Jupiter. Is there any thing so charming as the discourse of [18] Ariste and Eugene, and that little Je ne sçai quoi, they speak so wittily of? Who can resist the art of good invention in the work of wit, or an exquisite choice of good verses? And who would not be charm’d with all those panegyricks upon the ladies? Is not once reading of them a thousand times more diverting, than those profound writings you so prudently forbid your penitents the perusal of? I own indeed, that this conduct is not altogether so apostolical, but ’tis much easier than to be always puzzling and hammering our parables. ’Tis certain, most reverend father, shou’d you leave the sacred writ open to all readers, it would fare with a thousand good souls, as with king Ahasuerus, who became favourable to the true religion, by reading a true chronicle, how many blind wretches think ye would see clear? How many favourites would be hang’d, and Mordecai’s raised to honour? And how many Jesuits would be treated as the priests of Baal? But you, I’m sure, will take care to hinder that; for truly ’twould be contrary to your ecclesiastical prudence; and it is much safer for you to darken the divine lights, and confound by sophisms the sacred truths of holy writ: for what would become of your church, if the clouds were once dispersed, since it flourishes by their favour, and the protection of ignorance? Nothing can keep up the credit of a repudiated cheat, whose shams are so notorious, and whole equipage so different from that of the legitimate spouse of Jesus Christ, that neither he, nor any of his faithful servants know or own her, but ignorance and falshood. I ask your pardon, most reverend father, these expressions flow so naturally from my subject, that they have escaped my sincerity; and I own this is not the style of a flatterer. But to atone for my fault, I will give you some wholsome advice, which is, to make hay while the sun shines, for you must not expect much fair weather in these doleful quarters. Those worthy gentlemen called Confessors, being looked upon here to be no better than so many Ignes fatui, that lead their followers into precipices; for which reason they are not allowed ice with their liquor. This I can allure you to be true, in verbo histrionis: Therefore since you know what you must trust to, I need not advise a person of your profound parts, what measures to take. Amen.