COURTIN, one of his faithful friends,
Health to the brave prince Vendôme sends;
The meanest of the sons of rhyme
His homage pays at the same time,
From Sully, whither he was sent
By some sprite on his good intent.
You see, sir, that the desire of serving you has united two men very, very different from each other.
One fat, and fair, and in good case,
Looks pampered and replete with grace,
And seems so sanctified his air,
Predestined to an easy chair.
On his unwrinkled face still glows
The healthful color of the rose,
Which makes the abbé still appear
Youthful as in his twentieth year.
The bard by meagre visage known,
Is nothing else but skin and bone,
To occupy much space not made,
Nor quite ill-natured, as portrayed.
Our first intention was to send your highness a regular composition, half verse, half prose, as was customary with the Chapelles, the Des Barreaux, and the Hamiltons, who were the abbé’s contemporaries and our masters. I should have added, Voitures, if I was not afraid of offending the abbé, who pretends, I don’t know for what reason, that he is not old enough to have seen him.
As there are many bold things to be said concerning the times, the wiser of us two — I don’t mean myself — did not choose to speak of them without enjoining profound secrecy.
The God mysterious he addressed
Whose power by Normans is confessed;
That cautious God with artful leer,
Who whispers fearing men might hear.
He much too often knaves befriends,
But still to wise men succor lends.
He does at court and church preside,
And once was even Cupid’s guide.
This god happened unluckily not to be at Sully; he was then, as we were told, engaged by — and Madam de — , or else we should have finished our work under his inspection.
We then had labored to display
Your sprightly wit, your leisure gay;
Had shown you amiable in chase
Of pleasure, dauntless in disgrace.
We had that period blessed related,
Which to love’s joys was dedicated;
Love’s raptures in harmonious verse
We should have labored to rehearse;
All Paphos’ rites we had explored,
Paphos where Venus was adored;
Amours in the Florentine taste
Had our description likewise graced;
But in so artful a disguise
As might deceive e’en bigot’s eyes.
We had not failed to introduce
Bacchus flushed with the grape’s rich juice,
The world had seen with what delight
You in his orgies passed the night.
Imagination by his side
Should have her utmost care applied,
To embellish with her gayest flowers
The pleasure of your blissful hours.
Ye midnight revels, feasts where joy
Yields pleasures which can never cloy;
From you gay sonnets first took rise,
Which the young loves so highly prize;
How much those brilliant trifles please!
They ravish with harmonious ease,
By such famed Horace was the soul
Of feasts when flowed the sparkling bowl,
When with the witty and the great,
He next Augustus took his seat.
We have here given you a weak sketch of the picture we intended to draw.
But who’d succeed should be inspired;
We to such glory ne’er aspired,
That honor we shall ne’er dispute
With the divine, the enchanting lute
Of him who other bards excels,
Chaulieu, who at your temple dwells.
Know then that indolence and ease
Such minds as ours alone can please.