I have testified to M. Turretin, the joy I should feel to be of some service to him.  He found me among my friends, many of whom deemed him worthy of the praise you have given him.  If he desires to profit by what is left of our honest Abbes in the absence of the court, he will be treated like a man you esteem.  I read him your letter with spectacles, of course, but they did me no harm, for I preserved my gravity all the time.  If he is amorous of that merit which is called here “distinguished,” perhaps your wish will be accomplished, for every day, I meet with this fine phrase as a consolation for my losses.

I know that you would like to see La Fontaine in England, he is so little regarded in Paris, his head is so feeble.  ’Tis the destiny of poets, of which Tasso and Lucretius are evidence.  I doubt whether there is any love philter that could affect La Fontaine, he has never been a lover of women unless they were able to foot the bills.

XVI

Saint-Evremond to Ninon de l’Enclos

The Memory of Youth

I was handed in December, the letter you wrote me October 14.  It is rather old, but good things are always acceptable, however late they may be in reaching us.  You are serious, therefore, you please.  You add a charm to Seneca, who does not usually possess any.  You call yourself old when you possess all the graces, inclinations, and spirit of youth.

I am troubled with a curiosity which you can satisfy:  When you remember your past, does not the memory of your youth suggest certain ideas as far removed from languor and sloth as from the excitement of passion?  Do you not feel in your soul a secret opposition to the tranquillity which you fancy your spirit has acquired?

Mais aimer et vous voir aimee
Est une douce liaison,
Que dans notre coeur s’est formee
De concert avec la raison. 
D’une amoureuse sympathie,
Il faut pour arreter le cours
Arreter celui de nos jours;
Sa fin est celle de la vie. 
Puissent les destins complaisants,
Vous donner encore trente ans
D’amour et de philosophie.

(To love and be loved
Is a concert sweet,
Which in your heart is formed
Cemented with reason meet. 
Of a loving concord,
To stop the course,
Our days must end perforce,
And death be the last record. 
May the kind fates give
You thirty years to live,
With wisdom and love in accord.)

I wish you a happy New Year, a day on which those who have nothing else to give, make up the deficiency in wishes.

XVII

Ninon de l’Enclos to Saint-Evremond

“I Should Have Hanged Myself”

Your letter filled with useless yearnings of which I thought myself incapable.  “The days are passing,” as said the good man of Yveteaux, “in ignorance and sloth; these days destroy us and take from us the things to which we are attached.”  You are cruelly made to prove this.