But I believe this foolish constancy was only owing to my want of experience; and if I had liv’d a little longer, I should have had the curiosity to try the variety of human performance, like the rest of my neighbours. You have been, my dear demi-goddess, in love, and have been belov’d; therefore, I beseech you, give me some healing advice, or consolation, as my case requires.
The Cumean Sybil’s Answer to the Duchess of Fontagne.
IS it possible that so charming a beauty should think of such an old decrepid creature as I am! I was desirous to talk with Mercury about you, but he flew away like a bird. It extremely troubles me, dear child, that I am oblig’d, in answer to your letter, to tell you there is no hopes of your returning to Versailles; for you must consider that when I conducted Æneas, I was then living, and that ’tis impossible for any under a Hercules to fetch you from whence you are; and where shall we find one now? The bravest Boufflers in France is but a link-boy in comparison to him. Your lover, fair lady, is so fast link’d to his old [47] Duegna’s tail, that he thinks no more of you and your complaints are insignificant.[48] She that hurried you out of the world in the flower of your youth, with a favourable dose of poison, is now neglected, and grown so monstrous fat and lecherous, by living lazily in a nunnery, that she’s not a fit companion for any creature that has but two legs to support it. You know not what you do, when you envy my destiny, for I’m sometimes so teiz’d and tir’d with answering the virtuosos and beaux, that it turns my very brain. I own, ’tis a sad thing to dye at eighteen, in the heighth of one’s greatness and pleasures, because nature always thinks she pays her tribute to death before-hand. I would willingly divert you a little, but I know not which way, unless this little history I send you, which a traveller gave me not long since, and which has novelty to recommend itself, will do it. Do not believe, good lady, the scandalous story some ignorant rhiming puppy has made of Æneas and me; he was not so brisk as that comes to; and I can assure you, never put the question to me. Ask Dido, she can tell you more of him than I can; and as modest as Virgil describes her, yet she was forc’d to take this Trojan prince by the throat to make him perform the duty of a gallant; by this you may judge of his constitution: besides, had he been never so amorously inclin’d, yet not knowing my inclinations, he might think his courtship would displease me, and so disoblige Apollo, for whose assistance he then had occasion. Therefore laugh at all those idle railleries of impertinent people, and turn your eyes and thoughts on the following dialogue.
The MITRED HOG: A Dialogue between Abbot Furetiere and Scarron.
Furetiere. OH! Have I found you at last, old friend? Tho’ I were certain you were here, and desir’d earnestly to see you; yet being gouty, and tir’d with walking, I began to have no more thoughts of searching after you. How many troublesome journeys I have made, and leagues have I travell’d, and all to kiss your hands, tho’ I am a virtuoso, I cannot tell; for in truth, I am quite out of my element, and confounded ever since I have lost sight of sun and moon.
Scarron. Who are you, and please ye? What’s your name? For the dead having neither beard nor bonnet, nor any thing else to distinguish them by, I know not exactly what, or who you are; but by your language and mien, suppose you some mungril of the French academy.
Furet. Well guess’d; I am call’d Monsieur l’Abbé Furetiere,[49] alias Porc de bon Dieu, who has long, but in vain, been gaping and scraping at Versailles for a mitre, that I might wallow in peace and plenty like a hog. But alas! what a left-handed planet was I born under? A debauch with stummed wine, setting an old pox, which lay dormant in my bones, into a ferment, soon carry’d me off, almost in the heighth of my desires, and when I bad fairest for the bishoprick.
Scar. I am sorry for your misfortune; but am at the same time heartily glad to see you, Monsieur l’Abbé. You will not, perhaps, meet with all these conveniencies here, you enjoy’d at Paris; but, in recompense, you will meet with much honester dealing. For my part, I must own myself infinitely happy; for now I am neither troubled with lawyers, physicians, apothecaries, collectors of taxes, priests, nor wife, the plague and torment of men’s days when on earth. But how have you had your health since you have been in the country.