Part 1 — 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.

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.