Let Codrus that nauseous pretender to wit,
Condemn all my works before courtier and cit;
I bear all with patience, whatever he says,
And value as little his scandal as praise.
Vain-glory no longer my genius does fire,
’Tis interest alone tunes the strings of my lyre.
Integrity’s nought but a plausible sham,
For money I praise, and for money I damn.
Old politic bards, for fame have no itching,
The Apollo I court, is the steam of a kitchin.
The four first lines, I must own, are something against the grain; and the natural inclination I have to rail, and be thought an excellent poet, gives my tongue the lie; but the four last, which shew more prudence than wit, reconcile that matter. ’Tis certainly, illustrious bard, more difficult to please the world now than it was in your time; for if I write satire, I am beaten for it; if I praise, I am call’d a mercenary flatterer, which so disheartens me, that I address myself now to my Gardener only; and do not doubt but some busy nice critick will be censuring this poem also. Not being in the best humour when I writ it, perhaps it may appear something dark and abstruse; but I can easily excuse that, by maintaining that ’tis impossible for the best author in the world to keep up always to the same strain, Have you ever heard of the tales of the Peau d’Asne, & Grisedilis? if Proserpine had any little children, ’twould be a most agreeable diversion for them, and I wou’d send it ’em for a present. Tho’ that author furnishes you with sufficient matter to laugh at me, yet I must confess he has found the art of making something of a trifle. Every one here learns his verses by heart; and in spight of my translation of Longinus, which makes it so plainly appear, I understand Greek, and know something of poetry, my book begins to be despis’d. Wou’d it not break a Man’s heart to see such impertinent stuff preferr’d before so many sublime pieces? But, as for your glory that will eternally subsist, and nothing can destroy it, since time has not already done it.
Diana of Poictiers, Mistress to Hen. II. of France, to Madam Maintenon.
SINCE the spirit of curiosity possesses us here in this world, no less than it did in your’s, ’tis an infinite trouble for those persons, Madam, who were acquainted with every thing while they liv’d, not to know all that passes after their death; and of this you’ll one day make an experiment. I am not desirous to know, Madam, what you have done to succeed the greatest beauties of the earth, in the affection of an old libidinous monarch, nor what charms you make use of to secure the possession of his heart, at an age you cannot please without a miracle. My planet, dear Madam, has rendered me somewhat knowing in these affairs, for Henry II. was my gallant as long as he liv’d; and tho’ I was little handsomer than you, I was not, I think, much younger. But I must tell you, I cannot comprehend what procures you those loud commendations and applauses which reach even to our ears, and are by their noise most horribly offensive to us. The advantages of my birth were great; and it is well known my charms so captivated Francis I. that they redeem’d my father from the gallows. I marry’d a very considerable man, and the name of Breze Reneschal of Normandy, sounds somewhat better than that of Scarron the queen’s ballad-maker. The house of Poictiers too, from which I was descended, may surely take place of those monarchs from whom that mercenary fellow Boileau derives your extraction; and lastly, if I had a few particular enemies, I did nothing to make myself generally odious. Yet for all this, I was neither canoniz’d nor prais’d, but openly laugh’d at, and by one of my own profession, I mean the duchess of Estampe, who was mistress to the father of my lover, and said she was born on my wedding-day. Blundering impudent Bayard was banish’d for speaking too freely of me; and tho’ it was said, That for me alone beauty had the privilege not to grow old, the compliment was so forc’d, that I was little the better for it. Ragged Marot was the only poet that ever pretended to couple rhimes in my praise; and I will appeal to you if he did not deserve to go naked.
I dare not, (were’t to save my ransom)
Affirm your ladyship is handsome;
Nor, without telling monstrous lyes,
Defend the lightning of your eyes;
For, Madam, to declare the truth,
You’ve neither face, nor shape, nor youth.
Howe’er, all flattery apart,
You’ve plaid your cards with wond’rous art.
When young, no lover saw your charms.
Or press’d you in his eager arms:
But triumphs your old age attend,
And you begin where others end.
What think you, Madam, of this, is it not rather satire than praise? Shou’d the bard, that sings your virtues from the top of Parnassus down to the market-place, be as sincere, how wou’d you reward him? Tho’ I know he has more prudence, yet I cannot believe he compares you to Helen for beauty, to Hebe for youth, for chastity to Lucretia, for courage to Clelia, and for wisdom to Minerva, as common report says; because, were it true, it is not to be suppos’d you would have but a poor deform’d poet in possession of such mighty treasures. For were there not scepters and crowns then enticing? Were not then the eyes of princes open? Did you chuse an author for your love, out of caprice or despair? Did you take his wicker-chair for a throne? Or did the love of philosophy draw you in? Had the latter wrought upon you, you would not have been the first, I must confess; for the famous Hirparchia, handsome, young, and rich, preferr’d poor crooked Crates before the wealthiest and most beautiful gentleman of Greece. I am unwilling to judge uncharitably, but I cannot be perswaded that such an alliance could be contracted without some pressing necessity. When I reflect on the beginning, increase, and circumstances of your fortune, I am astonish’d? for neither your hair, which was grey when you began to grow in favour; nor the remembrance of [33] a vestal once adorned; nor the idea of a [34] blooming beauty, whom cruel death suddenly snatch’d away by the help of a little poison; nor the presence of a [35] rival, by so much the more dangerous, because she had triumph’d over several others, could prove any obstacles to your prosperity. The beautiful lady that brought you out of your mean obscurity; and in whose service you thought yourself happy, is now content if you let her enjoy the least shew of her former greatness. In this Chaos I lose myself, Madam; but if you will bring me out of my confusion, I faithfully promise to give you an exact account of all that concerns me, when I shall have the pleasure of embracing you. I exceedingly commend your prudent conduct; for those young plants you cultivate in a [36] terrestial paradice, will one day produce flowers to crown you; and the zeal you profess for a religion which began to act furiously in my time, must stop the mouths of the nicest bigots, and make the tribunal of confession favourable to you; tho’ perhaps, dear Madam, it may make that of Minos a little more severe.
Madam Maintenon’s Answer to Diana of Poictiers.
CUriosity, Madam, being the character of the great and busy, I will answer you according to your merit and birth, tho’ you have not treated me so, since you know what charms a lover when youth is gone; I will dismiss that point to come to the history of my life, and the virtuous actions I am prais’d for. I know you are of an antient family, that you marry’d a man of power and riches; and that you were Francis the First’s bedfellow, before his son fell in love with you. As for me, I was born in the [37] new world, under a favourable constellation; and the offspring of a Jaylor’s daughter, with whom my father, tho’ of royal blood, was oblig’d, either thro’ love, or rather necessity, to cohabit. Fortune, which never yet forsook me, first deprived me of my beggarly relations, without leaving me wherewithal to cover my nakedness, and then brought me into Europe, where I found a great many lovers, and few husbands. Poor deform’d Scarron at last offer’d me his hand; I had my reasons for accepting him, and his infirmities did not hinder me from receiving that title which was convenient for one in my circumstances. In short, I lost him without much concern; and liv’d so prudently during my widowhood, that Madam Montespan took me out of my cell, to bring me into the intrigues of the court. Every one knows I drove my generous patroness from the royal bed; and that since my being in favour, I have been profusely liberal to all my idolaters. Our poets, who do not resemble Marot, value not honour, provided they have good pensions, which I generously bestow on them, and they repay me in panegyricks; by which means I am handsome, young, chaste, virtuous, wise, and of as noble blood as Alexander the Great. Tho’ I was a Protestant, the church is not so foolish as to enquire into my religion, thus out of a principle of gratitude, and to fix her in my interest, I have fill’d the heart of our monarch with the godly zeal of persecution. I have also founded a stately [38] edifice, where I breed up a great many pretty young virgins, who, no doubt on’t, will prove as modest and discreet as their founder; and I play so well the part of a queen, that the world thinks me so in reality. These few hints may give you some light into my history, Madam, therefore to reward my sincerity, if you find Minos dispos’d to use me severely, prepare him, I beseech you, to be more favourable.
Hugh Spencer the younger, Minion of Edward II. to all the Favourites and Ministers whom it may concern.