THE ROCKS, July, 1614.
You flatter me too much, my dear count; I shall accept of but one part
of your fine speeches, and that is the thanks you return me for having
given you a wife, that constitutes all your happiness; for, indeed,
I think I contributed a little toward it: but the authority you have
acquired over her in Provence, has been wholly owing to yourself, to
your merit, your birth, and your conduct; all this I have nothing to
do with. Ah! how much you lose by my heart not being at ease! Le Camus
is delighted with me; he tells me I sing his airs extremely well: he
certainly composes divinely; but I am so dull and woebegone, that I
can learn nothing. You would sing them like an angel; I assure you Le
Camus has a high opinion both of your voice and judgment. I regret the
loss of these little accomplishments which we are too apt to neglect.
Why should we lose them? I have always said that we ought not to part
with them, and that they can never be an incumbrance; but what is to be
done with a rope round the neck? You have given my daughter one of the
most delightful journeys in the world; she is quite enchanted with it;
but then you have dragged her over hills and dales, and exposed her to
the dangers of the Alps, and to the uncivil waves of the Mediterranean;
in short, I have a month’s mind to chide you for it; but let me first
embrace you most affectionately.