IN one of the Provinces of the The Ne­therlands. Gaule Belgick, which was sometime the countrey of the Tongri­ans, about the time that the glory of the great Lodowick began to be obscured, & that the children of this Lion degenerated into beasts much lesse generous, was born a daughter in the most illustrious family of the Princes of Brabant. Scarce had this lit­tle creature seen the first rays of the light, but her parents gave her a second birth, which rendered her a daughter of heaven, from whence she received the fair name of Genevieva: It is not my design to de­scribe the great vertues of this little Prin­cess nor to make appear the graces w ^ch she possessed, even when her mouth was fa­sten'd to the sweetnes of the breast, no one [Page 2] can see the height of her perfection and be ignorant of the foundations of her piety. The father and mother called her ordinarily their Angel, in which certain­ly they were not deceived, for she had the purity and innocence of them, one sole thing rendered her unlike unto those divine spirits, which is, that they thrust men forward unto good by secret and invisible motions, and she carries them thereunto by examples, which have no lesse of force than of sweetnesse. The Angels have attractions, against which one hath much pain to conserve his liber­ty, and Genevieva possessed graces too charming, not to be inevitable. One could not hate her devotion at lesse rate than being insensible. VVe must not ima­gine that the ordinariy amusements of infancy should possesse her thoughts; no­thing partaked in the care of her devoti­on, but the diverse means to entertain it, and to encrease it. The sweetest plea­sure that she relished, was the love of re­tirement and of solitude: this inclina­tion built her a little hermitage in the corner of a garden, where nature seem­ed to have favoured her designe, making to grow there store of trees, whose de­lightfull shades permitted not the sunne [Page 3] himself, to see the mysteries of her devo­tion. It was there that she erected little Altars of Mosse, and boughs; it was there that she spent the greatest part of the day, from which so sweet entertain­ment, the pastimes of those her sex and age could not divert her: VVhen her mother remonstrated to her that it was time to have more serious thoughts, she answered modestly, that hers had the fair­est and greatest of all the objects, not­withstanding that all her designes were within obedience, and that she should not so soon command her any thing, as she would conform her self wholly there­unto; but if she would permit her incli­nations to make the choice of her con­dition, she could not find any kind of life more desirable, than that which had drawn so many great and illustrious persons into solitude, and which of the half of the world had made a desart.

It is the place (said she) where Kings, and Princes, and Empresses are gone to seek the traces, and steps of their Saviour: It is the place where Saint Iohn conserved the Innocence of his manners: it is the place where poore vertue retires it self, finding more safety amongst the wild beasts, than in the [Page 4] towns, where it meets with the cruelty of salvage creatures. 'Tis in a word, the place where I imagine a perfect repose, and where I could find my contentment, if you would permit me there to seek it. It is not Madame, that I am not dispo­sed to follow all the motions of your will; but surely since you leave me the liberty of my thoughts, I should think to displease you as much in dissembling my sense, as in having one contrary to yours, which cannot be but reasonable.

Oh Genevieva! you know not from whence this inclination comes to you, and wherefore heaven hath given it you; a day will come that you shall follow the example of that incomparable penitent, to whom Egypt hath given name, though you may not imitate her debauchees, it will be then that you shall acknowledge the Providence of God, which dispo­seth of us by those means secret and un­known to all other but unto himself, and which leadeth men to the point of felicity by those wayes, which would seem to cast them headlong into the pit or depth of misfortune. God hath a cu­stome to give us from the birth certain qualities, which make our good for­tunes, and the order of our life. Those [Page 5] children amongst the Lacedemonians, that came forth from the womb of their mo­thers with a Lance in hand, and those others to whom nature had imprinted a sword in the arm, carried on them the presages of the event, and the signes of their Horoscopes. The great Archbishop of Millain, when he was a little infant, a­cted the Prelate, blessing his compa­nions, and imposing hands on them, as if he had already been that, which after he was to be. All those that observed the devotions of our little Virgin, pene­trated not into the designes of God, and saw not that which appeared not long time after. Let us leave those sleight Devotions to the knowledge of him, who knows the value thereof, and who recompenses the merit: come we to those noble actions, which carry more day and light, and which marketh more visibly the care, with w ^ch heaven watch­eth upon the salvation of men. If I en­terprise to describe the great perfections of this great Saint, I think not my self more obliged to touch them all, than those who will put themselves upon the water, to take the river at his source.

Behold me then in the seventeenth year of our Genevieva: but who can [Page 6] mark all the vertues of her soul, and all the fair qualities of her body? another pen, but mine, would say, that nature had made the strokes of essay in all the other beau­ties of her Age, to give in her an accom­plished work of her power and industry: and not to lye, she seemed to be obliged thereto, since it is not more unseemly to see a fair soul in an ill favoured body, than to see a Diamond in the dirt; or a Prince full of Majesty under the ruines of a Cottage, and in the obscurities of a Prison: That which I will say upon this subject, is, that she heeded not to en­crease it, nor to adde unto it these arti­fices by which deformity seems fair, she had no other vermilion, but that which an honest modesty set upon her cheeks; no white but that of Innocence; no scents, but those of a good life: she had also no ruines in her visage to repair with plai­ster, no blacknesse to colour with white, no stinks to cover with Musk and pow­der of Iris. All her graces were her own, and not borrowed; contrary to those maids, who having not charms enough to make them loved, have recourse unto the Shops of Merchants, as unto naturall Magick to buy there what nature would not give them, and to make themselves [Page 7] liked in spight of all her disfavours: but surely, as the clothes, which are used here, last not alwayes, so this beauty loses it self, and they observe with the swine the same difference which they see between the painted flowers and the naturall. Although our Genevieva took so little care to conserve her graces, and her per­fections, yet had she enough of them to make her self a great number of Idola­ters, if she would have contributed any thing to the misfortune of souls, and discover that which Modesty should hide: knowing well that the pearl is not so precious without, as within her shell, and that the gold is exposed as a prey unto men, assoon as it is exposed to their sight; she appeared not out of her cham­ber, but as the lightnings out of the clouds, when necessity or civility com­manded her. Maids believe that they shall never be sought, if they go not to seek men, in exposing all the beauty they have even to the eyes of the blind: but this false opinion betrayes ordinarily their good fortune, for not being rare enough, one esteems them too common, and not­withstanding any moderation men use in judging, the liberty, which they give themselves to take all kind of recreati­ons, [Page 8] makes them passe for Ladies of plea­sure. The Sunne makes himself adored, where he is not seen but once a year; cer­tainly, if women were more restrict in shewing themselves, I know not if the age of the profane Divinities would return, and if the god of the shepherd Paris should not find as much adoration amongst us, as he had formerly with the Idolaters.

Behold all the artifice which our Inno­cent maid used to draw those, who had good opinion enough of themselves to hope for some part in her good will. A­mongst those that made suit unto her, Sigifridus (whom we call Sifroy) was not the last nor the least fortunate, since he carried alone that, which the o­thers had desired: without telling you that he was one of the most puisant Pala­tines of Treves, it is sufficient to under­stand his quality, to know that he had a heart good enough, to aim at the ally­ance of a sovereign house. This young Lord having understood by fame a part of the perfections of this fair Princesse, would rather believe his eyes, than the common report thereof, behold him on his way, with an equipage so magnifi­cent, that he leaves not to any one of his [Page 9] Rivalls the vanity to make comparisons; being arrived, he went presently to do reverence to the Prince, and to the Prin­cesse his wife, who permitted him to sa­lute Genevieva, unto whom he made all the Offers of service that could be expe­cted from a Love without fiction. It was after having seen her, that he confessed that the Poets had not given mouths e­nough unto fame, and that to publish all the perfection of Genevieva, there should have been more than one trumpet. What will he do after being returned from the ravishments, which this amiable object had caused him? his fidelity and his dis­cretion makes him to hope a happy suc­cesse of his love; he fears notwithstand­ing to merit little, and desire too much, and that his Mistris should be as disdain­full as she is fair.

This errour possessed not very long time his spirit, for he had not entertain­ed her twice, but he found her replenish­ed with so much sweetnesse and modesty, that his passion from free became necessa­ry. He endeavoured to expresse himself by his sighs, not daring to declare it by his discourse, for fear to make his true resent­ments passe for sottish and fading foole­ries. Besides he observed that the moti­on [Page 10] of marriage never escaped from his mouth, but an honest shame appeared on the visage of Genevieva, and augmented her beauty. He so feared some evil word, that he dared not utter to her the good. Being in this apprehension, he went to find the Prince and the Princesse, unto whom he declared the design of his Voy­age in these few words.

Sir, if you are as favourable to my de­signes, as your sweetnesse makes me hope, in the ignorance of my good or evil for­tune, I hold my self almost assured, not to be altogether miserable. I am not God be thanked, come from a house, whose name should serve me for reproch; and though the glory of my Ancestors should adde nothing to my merit, I am not so unfurnished thereof, that it should not be easie for me, if it were seem­ly to advance those things from which may be another would derive vanity. My Nobility is not equal unto yours: I know notwithstanding that it can be no shame unto you, if you do me the honour to accept my alliance: fortune hath not gi­ven me so little means, that I should not sustain the dignity of your house; but though it should be much lesse, I could not without betraying my good fortune [Page 11] conceale you the ardent affection, which I have not, so much for the beauty of your daughter, which is incomparable, as for her vertues, which are without ex­ample; her merit is so powerfull upon my will, that if fortune had made me Em­perour, I would come without regreet to lay at her feet all the world, to ac­quire the honour of her respects; it is then in you to work my joyes, or my displeasures, seeing that I know her so submisse to obey you; that if you com­mand her to love me, I cannot fear to be hated of her.

The Prince might have reprehended a little vanity in this complement, and taken it ill that he should demand his daughter with those reasons; notwith­standing being not ignorant how advan­tagious this party was, he thanked Sifroy for having fixed his eyes upon her, where­as he might employ them more worthily elsewhere, and witnessed to him he held his suit as an honour; neverthelesse he would not be unjust to constraine his daughter in an affair, wherin there is no­thing free but the choice onely: he pro­mised him though to dispose, as much as he could, her will to the consent of an Allyance, which made him to hope for [Page 12] as much of satisfaction, as he saw therein of advantage. At the same time the mo­ther had charge to manage this affair, and to order the affections of her daughter. I will not stay to describe what she met with in vanquishing her spirit, before she could make her meet her desire; it was not for that she held any refractoriness in her thoughts, but surely she had much paine to resolve her self, being wholly her owne, to become the half of another, and to deprive her self of a thing, which she could conserve alwayes, not being a­ble to loose it but once in her life. In the mean time she must obey, but with how much repugnance? The vaile that shame laid upon her front, her tears, and her sighes, speak it much better than I. There are few wise maids that trouble not them­selves, when one speakes unto them of a Husband, and who finde not difficulty to cease to be Angels, to begin to be of the nūber of wives. Behold notwithstanding our Genevieva, where all desires, excepting her own, carried her. Behold her married to a great Palatine; it would be a superflu­ous thing to say that nothing was omit­ted of all the rejoycings that could ho­nour a marriage; the Dances, the Bals, the Turneys, and all the other exercises of [Page 13] gallantry were the least pastimes of the Feast.

All those that saw the good fortune of this marriage, believed it eternall, but a­las! how few Roses are there amongst many thorns, and how humane wisdome penetrates but a little into the event! Ge­nevieva, I give you two years to live, if not content, at least in pleasures; your marriage hath begun like that of Eve in a Paradise, it shall end like hers in a soli­tude; enjoy hastily those contentments, which must last so little: why trouble we so many delights? Let us expect the evils without going to seek them: After that our new married had passed some moneths in the Court of Brabant, they must part to go to Treves, the parents of Sifroy received her with all the respects that her quality and merit ought to ex­pect from their affection. Saint Hidulph, who was then Pastor of that great Town, was very glad to see his flock encreased with so innocent a sheep, and to witnesse his joy, as she was upon the point to de­part, for to go unto a house in the Coun­try, he gave her his Benediction.

This place of pleasure was seated in a Campania, which was not bounded but with the Horison; the Castle was encom­passed [Page 14] with a park, where it seemed that the Spring would retire her self with her Zephires, when the Aquilo's raigned in the Plains of Germany, how rigorous soever the winter was, it touched not the oran­ges, and respected no lesse the laurels than the thunder. At the foot of the wall, there ran a river, which nourished al­wayes a great number of Swans; it was in this place full of delights, and like un­to the enchanted Palaces of Romance, that Sifroy, and Genevieva led the sweetest and most innocent life of the world; nothing troubl'd their contentment, & all things contributed to their pleasures, not one of the domesticks was deprived of this happinesse, peace, and good correspon­dence governed all those that were of their train: They talked not of other cunning, but of that which might de­ceive the birds; and to speak the truth, they must change master to doe other­wise, since one could no more suffer tempest in his house, than on the top of Olympus, or in that part of the ayre, which is above the windes and the storms: if any one would have his leave to be gone, he must do an ill action, to the end to obtain it; to merit their affection, they must have the love of God: All this re­pose [Page 15] proceeded from the example of the masters; so true it is, that the Lords make the vices or the vertues of their Subjects.

What could one desire more to the happinesse of this house, unlesse that it might be constant? but scarce were two years slid away in this so Innocent life, but the brazen drum of the Sarazens troubled the contentments thereof. Abde­rame King of those Moores, which were passed out of Africk into Spain, promi­sed nothing lesse to his ambition, than the conquest of Europe. The perfidious­nesse of traytors, rather than his cou­rage, had already put him into possession of all these Provinces which are beyond the Pyrenees.

France was a dainty morsell for him, but he feared to find there other people than the Goths. He was not ignorant that there was yet of those ancient Gauls, whose Ancestors, to the number of thirty Cavaliers, chased sometimes two thou­sand Moorish Horse, and constrained them to retire themselves into Adrumet­ta, considering then that in every Pro­vince he had whole Nations to conquer, and in one Frenchman many men to combat, he raised the most fearfull Army, that the West had ever seen. That deluge [Page 16] of Souldiers stretched it self from the Pyrenees even unto Tourain, where the invincible Charls Martel attended him, with twelve thousand Horse, and three-score thousand French Foot. The re­nown of so famous a battell, joyned to the interest of all the North, led a great troop of Nobles to Martel; insomuch that the bravest Warriours found as much glory to fight under this great Captain, as to gain victories by the con­duct of another.

Sifroy, who was one of the most pui­sant Lords of Germany, was ashamed to sleep in the bosome of his wife, whilst that all the others thought of the pub­lick safety, but he found much resistance in the resolution of Genevieva, and more than one difficulty to overcome, since there accompanied it somewhat of love and of fear. On one side honour pricked him forward, on the other part he could not resolve himself to quit a good, which he began onely to know; and for my part I believe, that if God had not sent a strong inspiration to Genevieva, to dis­pose her to the consent of this voyage, that the desire to conserve his reputation would have been in danger to yield to the violence of his love: notwithstand­ing [Page 17] when they were to part, it was then that these two lovers had need of their vertue. Let us passe quickly this grievous encounter, for fear to drown us in the tears which they shed.

The apparell of Warre being prepa­red, and the day of departure come, the Count called all his Domesticks, and after having recommended unto them the obedience, and the right due to his dear wife, he takes his favourite by the hand, and then addressing his speech to Genevieva, he saith unto her: My Girl, behold Golo, to whom I leave the care of your contentment; the experience which I have of his fidelity makes me hope that the grief of my absence shall be in some manner moderated by the confidence you may take of his service, I say no other thing unto you, as unto his recommen­dation, but that after me you may expect more comfort from him, than from any person of the world, and therefore I desire you to cherish him in my consideration. At these words the poore Genevieva sownds, they raised her, she falls again three times: all the servants sought out remedies to call again her soul, which seemed to fly for fear, to see the departure of Sifroy, or perhaps to remain under the conduct of Golo. The [Page 18] Count who had observed a notable change in the countenance of his wife, when he recommended to her the fide­lity of his Favourite, lifts up his eyes, and saith these words: It is to you onely Queen of heaven, glorious mother of my Sa­viour, that I leave the care of my dear Gene­vieva. Go Sifroy, go boldly where honour calls thee; fear not that there will arrive any dis­grace to that of thy wife; Thou canst not put her into surer and faithfuller hands than those where thou leavest her.

O My God, how little reflection hath the heart of man, and his spirit, pru­dence, to discover the malice thereof! is there any thing more important, than the choice of friends, and of good ser­vants; and yet there is nothing in the world wherein we are more easily and dangerously deceived. O how our Pala­tine failed grossely in the opinion which he had of Golo: Genevieva is not a wife of Potiphar, but Golo is not also a Ioseph; his shamefull and abominable practises will soon make appear the treachery of his soul.

Let us accompany our VVarriour to the Army, where he was very well recei­ved of the great Martell. I think it not [Page 19] from our purpose to describe the combat that Sifroy encounter'd, to the end to trace a light Image of that w ^ch our couragious Princess sustained at the same time. We have said that Charls Martel attended Abde­rame near unto Tours, where a fair Campa­nia seemed to offer him the field of his vi­ctories. Having understood that the ene­my had put his men in order, he dispos [...]d of his in such sort as they had the river of Loire, and that of Cher at their back, and four hundred thousand Moors in front of them. To oblige them to conquer, he ordered the inhabitants of Tours to open the Ports onely to the Conquerour; and to take away all hope of flight, he placed on the wings of his Army five or six hun­dred of his bravest Cavaliers, with ex­presse commandement to cut the throats of the first that forsook his rank, or that put the assurance of his safety otherwise than in his arms; after his Battlia was or­dered, he spake thus to his Souldiers:

Companions, I see well that the ardent de­sire which presseth you to fight, will hinder me to make you a long Discourse, besides I think it unnecessary, seeing that you are better dis­posed to doe good actions, than I to utter fair words. Expect not that I go to seek in the Re­cords [Page 20] of the passed ages examples of reason, I have alwayes known, that you love better to give it to your Nephews, than to take it of your Ancestors. And then though we should be re­solved to be insensible of our Interests, and that the ruine of our houses, the Sack of Towns, the Desolations of Provinces, the plaints of our children, and the honour of our wives should not carry us to the desire of revenge; the inju­ry that they do unto God, and to our Religion should be a sufficient motive to induce us to pu­nish the fury of these Barbarians, who come from so far to bring you Palms. I will never have so ill opinion of your Piety, as to be­lieve you would come to despise that God, which you have adored; that Religion which you have conserved, those Saints which you have honoured, those Churches which you have built, and those Altars which you have erect­ed. It cannot be, that you who are ready to car­ry your faith into the midst of Barbary should permit the impiety of these Moors to tread un­der foot what she possesses most sacred in the bosome of your country, and as it were before your eyes. But I consider not that my discourse hath already saved the life of twenty thousand of those cowards, and hindered that half of the victory is not on our side. Go then, combat be­fore the eyes of Saint Martin, whose quarrell [Page 21] you sustain this day, and remember, that you are French, whose glory should have no other limits, but those of the world.

The impatience of the French permit­ted him not to speak longer; Besides would he not overwarm this ardour ca­pable to conquer all when it is well or­dered, and which nothing can hurt but its excesse. Behold then our Lions, who pierced into the great Multitude of the Sarazines. Hudes with his Gascons as­saulted the baggage by the command of Martell, who judged that the cry of wo­men and children would cause trouble in the Army of Abderame. The Event de­ceived not his expectation, for assoon as the terrour fell amongst these people, there was nothing heard but sighs, nor seen but bloud and slaughter.

Our French massacred all what the flight drew not from under their victori­ous Arms, and to say in a word they carried away the most glorious Victory that ever any one heard speak of, the Sa­razines leaving upon the place, three hun­dred sixty and five thousand dead, with their Chief, which cost but the losse of five hundred men. The rest of the Moors rallied themselves under Aucupa, one of [Page 22] their Kings, who secured, himself at Avignon. Our great Charles willing to leave the marks of his Piety and of the homage he did unto heaven for this Victory, built a Chappell, which they named De bello, and since by cor­ruption, the Chappell of Saint Martin the fair. It was very reasonable to honor the valor of the Princes, and of the Lords with some mark of glory, as the courage of the Souldiers had found its recom­pence in the booty.

After this happy journey, they pre­sented unto Martel a great number of Gennets, which are little black animals, covered with red spots. Willing to make them serve for Monument and Trophie of his victory, he instituted the order of the Gennet, which was three links or rings of gold distinguished from so ma­ny Roses, which our ancient Gauls put in the buckler of the God Mars. At the chain hung a Gennet in the collar of France sowed with Lillies, which repo­sed it self upon a green flowery turf. The number of the Knights were sixteen, a­mongst which Sifroy held one of the principall ranks, as he who had not gi­ven place to any in this occasion. The [Page 23] head of this prodigious serpent, which had drawn his Souldiers throuh France, was broken by our Martell, but the tail moves yet a little. Therefore he designs to follow Aucupa into Avignon. Our Pa­latine, who would not go away with the half of his glory, and who saw himself ob­liged by so honest acknowledgements to pursue the perfection thereof, designed to accompany the Army at this enterprise; not promising himself so soon the end thereof, he sent to visit Genevieva by one of his Gentlemen, who carried her the collar of his order, with this Letter.

Madame, since the time that I parted from you, if I would believe my impatience, I should complain not to have lived since the considera­tion of hnour brought so hard a constraint to the liberty of my contentments. And to say true, passed felicities being but present miseries, I cannot think of the happinesse which I have possessed, without confessing my self the most miserable of all those that live upon the earth. What? thtnk you that my spirit laboureth a­mongst the hazzards of War, so much for a thousand dangers which may environ me, as for the apprehension that I have to enjoy no more your dear company. If the assurance which I have of living in your memory, & in the tender­est [Page 24] part of your heart, flattered not my grief, it would long since hove been mistris of my senses, and have found no more remedy in all my rea­son. It is this confidence which hath conducted me unto the places where death seems to be as certain, as life is there little assured. For I would fain have you know my Girl, that the strongest motive that cast me into the hazzards was this, Thou livest in the bosome of thy Ge­nevieva, who should be so cruel, as to offend that fair and innocent breast, to procure thee evil? no, there is no barbarity hath so much cruelty to commit so hainous a sinne: and death it self, as blind as she is, hath too much knowledge to have so little discretion, She hath made appear, in giving me no wound, that she apprehended to procure grief unto you. Banish then on your part, those vain apprehensions which love puts ordi­narily into the spirit of those that love. Lan­froy will tell you the good fortune of our Arms, and the just reason that hinders me from seeing you: above all, my dear girl, I conjure you to wipe off your tears, and to stop your sighs, which come from so far to seek me; otherwise I shall not be­lieve that you would take any part in my good fortune, if you divide not the contentments sthereof with me. To the end you may have some cause to be pacified, I offer you the present, with which it hath pleased our invincible Generall to [Page 25] honour my courage, and the emulation I had to do well. I knew not to present it to any body, so dear unto me as your self, if you receive it with the good will which I promise me, I shall draw from thence as much satisfaction, as if they should erect statues to my valour, and as if all the mouths of fame were imployed, but to speak of my merit, this is the esteem that I desire you to have of my affection, adiew my Girl, and conserve me the fairest life of this age.

Leave we Sifroy to depart for Provence, and come we to find the Countesse with Landfroy, who was not long on his way before he was with her. VVhen one came to tell her, that there was a Gentleman arrived from her husband, she was walk­ing in the windings of a Labyrinth to loose there her sorrows, or at least wise to charm the troubles thereof. Lanfroy was by misfortune habited in black that day, which made Genevieva to sownd assoon as he appeared: but having observed by his countenance and gesture the testimo­nies of joy, rather than the marks of sad­nesse, she demanded of him with a trem­bling voice how Sifroy did. After that the Gentleman had made an humble reve­ence, he presented his packet: Madame, [Page 26] behold the Letters that will speak it with a better grace than I. Having opened them, she withdrew her self a little into an Alley, and read them two or three times, stopping very long on every word; notwithstanding her joy was not entire, considering that her Palatine was absent. The curiosity of a thousand demands presented it self to her spirit, she called Lanfroy, who by her commandment told her that his Master was at Tours, upon the point to go unto Avignon, to besiege the rest of the Sarazines, who were retired thtiher, and from thence to Narbona, a­gainst Anthime, who held that strong pla [...]e. All this discourse pleased not much the Countesse, who judged well that these sieges of Towns would detain her hus­band long time: lastly, having understood that they feared yet the coming of ano­ther King named Amorus, who brought succours to his Nation, she saw well that the return of Sifroy was not to be hoped till the following year, which made her resolve to dispatch unto him his Gentle­man some dayes after with this answer.

‘Sir if the Letter which you writ unto me, gave consolation to my evils, I will have no other witnes therof but he who [Page 27] rendered it me; but if it hath caused me new apprehensions, there is nothing but my love that can tell it you. Surely, as I desire your return beyond all things so the assurance which I have of your retardment, causeth me as true griefs, as your return gives me vain joyes, was it not enough to conceal me the time that might make me hope, without telling me that I must be miserable a full whole year and that I shall see you only, when you have vanquished an Hydra that springs up again every day? alas, it may be that my miseries shall not go on so far, and that this time shall be longer than my life. VVhen the first news of that great defeat was brought unto us, and that the bloud thereof was come almost to flow at the foot of our house, I could not expresse unto you how ma­ny fears assailed my spirit, and with how many distresses my heart was seis­ed. I heard continually my thoughts that said unto me, Genevieva, believest thou that death hath spared thy Pala­tine amongst so many thousand men as her fury hath devoured? if her blindness takes from her all knowledge, and leaves her not any discretion, thou hast [Page 28] no cause to hope that she hath conser­ved a life which was unknown unto her. That tempest is passed, that storm is dissipated, and you cast me into new despairs! Oh that you would appre­hend a little that which exposes me an hundred times a day, to the hazard of being a widow! consider my dear Si­froy, that fortune hath no means more ordinary to make her favours appear, than their little continuance: her con­stancy not able to be assured, she should be suspected of you. VVhat know you, if the glory of these honours which she presents you, is not of the nature of those fires, that shine not, but to lead into precipices? Oh how much better it had been that it had left your courage without recompence, than to offer it new motives to destroy it self. I am not ignorant of the justice of your Arms, and that heaven is obliged to make them prosper, if it will maintain its own quarrell, but who knows not al­so, that very often it makes us encoun­ter our enemies, to the end to break us, seeking in our losses, either the revenge of our sinnes, or the merit of our pa­tience. I do not oppose my self obsti­nately [Page 29] against that which the will of God seeks from our obedience; not­withstanding whilst that it shall not be known unto me, reason will that I have care of your safety, not willing to forget mine own. Not to lye, if your absence were more profitable to the ser­vice of God than it is dammageable to my repose, I would make all my Inte­ests give place unto his, and would not desire onely to be happy at the least dis­advantage, of his glory, but now that France is propped with an Arm, upon which all the Crowns of the earth might repose the care of their conserva­tion, can I permit you to encrease its assurance without being Accomplice of the evill which you do me? If I should consent thus to mine own misfortune, you have too much knowledge of your merit, not to esteem me unworthy of your amity; and without doubt you would accuse my iudgement, if I had so little wisdome. Esteem me not ignorant, as to this point, for I know that whole Rivers of the enemies blood are not worth one drop of yours and that it should not be desirable, although it might be profitable, to finish the death [Page 30] of all these Barbarians by the least ha­zard of your person. This thought makes me to hope, that you will guard your self from your own courage, which is the most redoubtable of your enemies, for fear to expose may be three persons to the same death. But if you have resolved to seek all the occasions to dye, attend at least, till this little crea­ture, which I believe to carry in my womb, be out of the danger to make thereof its sepulchre.’

Grief had begun this Letter, grief fi­nisheth it. Our Palatine was already at the siege of Avignon, when he received it. To tell you the trouble, that the last words of his wife cast into his soul, would be the occupation of some one that seeks out such matters; I would do it notwithstanding, if it were not time to discourse unto you the most wicked, and most infamous treason that could fall into the spirit of a servant.

Golo, unto whom Sifroy had given more authority than the saver of Egypt recei­ved from his Master, had alwayes looked upon Genevieva with the respect which he owed to her vertue, whilst that the Count remained with her. They say that the Di­amond [Page 31] hinders the action of the Load­stone upon the Iron, if it be put between both; it is true, perhaps, that Golo had ne­ver a thought against his duty in the pre­sence of his master, were it that he appre­hended the punishment of his infidelity, or that he believed his wife would ne­ver divide her heart, having before her eyes him that wholy possessed it. This Lady had beauty enough to be beloved, but she had too much honesty to permit it. This was the cause, that the Traitor Golo concealed his fire for some time; but at last he could not burn with more dis­cretion then the Laurel does; he [...]ighed, he complained, he would fain declare the e­vill that he suffered; yet not daring to hope the remedy thereof, he believed his words would be lost, and his fortune ha­zarded, should he say that which he ought to conceale: His thoughts com­batted long time with his passion, and perhaps it had been vanquished, if it had not been ayded with the presence of its object. Little Flie, you will burn your self, if you keep not from this light, whose lustre will be as fatall to you, as that of a Comet.

[Page 32]What will our intendent doe, be­come slave to the filthiest of all the passi­ons? He takes courage, and resolves him­self to discover his flames to her, who was the innocent cause thereof. He goes in­to the Countesse chamber; but as soon as he perceived her modesty, his temerity expects a refuse and reproaches. This first essay not seeming seasonable, he re­mits the designe thereof to another en­counter. At last, behold the occasion that he takes to discover his desires. The Countesse had entertained a Painter, to work in the Galleries of her Pallace: a­mongst the works that he made, the Tab­let of Genevieva was not the least; and it could not be deformed, being the por­trait of so fair a thing; as one day the Countesse beheld it, she called Golo, and asked him his judgement of that piece, he who looked for an opportunity to de­clare his passion, was very glad to meet with this, and seeing that the servants, and gentlewomen were too far distant to hear him, He saith unto her, Truly Ma­dame, If e're the pencill hath hit right, it is in this subject; there is no beauty how excellent soever it be, that comes neer this Image, and for my part, I think to have eyes is sufficient to [Page 33] a heart. In speaking thus, he had always his sight fixed upon Genevieva, witnessing by his sighs and lascivious looks, that he had passion for something else, than for the colours. Our chaste Countesse perceived it well, notwithstanding the fear to ap­pear too subtile, made her dissemble to comprehend that which she could not be ignorant of. This modesty serv'd as fire to a man all moulded of bitumen; belie­ving then that his discourse was too clear not to be understood, and the mo­desty of his mistris too great, not to be affected, he thus continued what he had so ill begun. But Madame, if your bare picture gives love to those that ow unto you re­spect, would you not pardon a person that would adore the Prototype thereof? without doubt your beauty is too perfect to be so cruell, and so un­just as to desire to command a passion, which the Gods have obeyed. This is to speak like an Idolater (replyed the Countesse) these Divinities being feigned, their love is no­thing else but a fable. At least it cannot be denied (replyed the Intendant) that these fictions may not expresse my true affections. You love then Golo? Yes Madame, and the most beautifull person of the world. Truly I would fain know her that hath given [Page 34] you this innocent affection, I would ad­vance w ^th all my power your cōtentment, & if your design be fixed upon any one of those whom I may command, I would en­devor to render your suit as acceptable to her as it is advantagious. Genevieva, your sweetnes ha's too much cōplacence, if you would be a little more severe, you would be lesse unfortunate. I leave you to think, if our Intendant had his head in the stars, taking the wise dissimulation of his mi­stris for a secret consent. It was then that he shewed his visage more openly, and that his sighs made the half of this evil discourse. Madame I see nothing amiable but you, they are your attractions which have van­quished the constancy that I opposed to my feli­city; but since that I know your answers favour my designes, I cannot be unforunate, if I be not foolish. A clap of thunder had strucken Genevieva with lesse astonishment then these words, notwithstanding being come again to the liberty of speech, her chol­ler and indignation, represented to him the shame of his infidelity, with such sharp reproaches, that if he had not had much passion, without doubt he had never had impudence.

‘How, miserable wretched servant, saith she, do you acquit your selfe thus [Page 35] of the fidelity which you promised to your Master? dare you look upon a person, who hath as much horrour of your crime, as desire to punish it, if re­pentance do not make you wise? the dis­simulation which I used, was it not an advertisement to your rashnesse, that I would not hear it? take heed you never more offer me any such discourse, if you be but as much carefull of your good, as little of your duty. I have the means to make you repent your folly.’ Indignati­on and despight hindered the rest of her discourse.

What wil Golo say? it is no time to speak, and then he sees that the servants perceive the Countess was moved, perswading himself that another occasion would ren­der her more favourable to his pursuits, he remits them w ^th an answer that draws him out of the suspition of the servants, and which excuses him to his Mistris.

Madame (replyed this fox) if there be any fault in that which you reproach me of, it is pardonable, being not voluntary: I hope to make such satisfaction to the person that I have offended, that if she be reasonable she will be angry no more. Those who heard these words, having not conceived what the [Page 36] had said, believed that the Intendant, a man chollerick and brutish, had wrong­ed some one of the house, and that he pro­mised to satisfie the complaints that had been made against him: this encounter passed in this manner; but Golo, who had not valued his conquest, is it had been easy redoubles his passion, & esteems the good fortune to enjoy her by the difficulty to acquire her. He thinks, he medi­tates the meanes to attain to the end on't. At last behold the most unjust, the most shamefull, and most criminal thought that could fall into the mind of a wicked ser­vant. There was a Cook in the house, who had gained the good opinion of the Countesse by his vertue, (that was the onely artifice and magick they must use to possesse her heart and her affection) the Intendant having known it sufficiently with the other domesticks, resolves to make once more his shamefull de­mands; and in case that he should be re­fused, to render the chastity of Genevie­va suspected unto him, who oughted not doubt thereof. Her being with child ser­ved for a pretence to his malice, and the envy, which the other servants bare to this poore Cook, promised an easie be­lief [Page 37] to his calumny. One evening after Supper, that the coolnesse of the time invited the Princesse to come forth, as she walked in an arbour separate from her maids, Golo seigning to have some affair to communicate to her, approached her, and after many words darted out a dis­course, to sound the bottome, and to be the spies of the Combat, that he prepa­red against her chastity; after having put himself into a thousand postures, and ta­ken an infimity of countenances, after having alleadged all the ill reasons of his passion, he ended thus.

This discourse, Madame, is not to constraine you to love me against your inclination, but on­ly to perswade you to one last request, which I make unto you, to advance my death with this weapon, since your rigour permits not my constancy to hope what my love meriteth; this shall be to oblige me by a signal favour, to make me die in another fashion than slowly. When he held this discourse, he presented her a Ponyard: If the Princesse interrupted not the importunities of this perfidious man, it was anger that hindered her; for assoon as she could do it, commanding her just passion not to break out, she re­plyes [Page 38] unto him: Golo, I believed, that my mildnesse would have corrected your presumpti­on, and that it was enough to have shown you, that your pursuit was too shamefull, not to be vain; but seeing my goodnesse is unprofi­table unto you, I declare unto you, that if ever you be so bold to open your mouth to the like purpose, my husband shall be advertised there­of. Oh Genevieva what have you said? this word will cost you but your life, if the credulities of Sifroy second the artifices of Golo, why would you not do it with­out telling him it? you show well that your freenesse hath more of candour than your prudence hath of conduct. My dear Reader, it is now that you come to see Innocence suffer, learn from hence how to suffer with a good grace. The History that I come to describe is capable to give both the example and the motives there­of. Our Intendant provoked with this refusall, retires himself full of rage and fury; this thunder will soon break out into a furious tempest. Some few dayes after Golo called two or three of those that he could best trust in the house, and then having made three or four tears to slide from his trayterous eyes, he said un­to them sighing.

[Page 39] My friends, I cannot expresse unto you with how much displeasure I am constrained to dis­cover unto you a thing, which I have hidden from you as long time as I have hoped amend­ment in the deplorable subject of this discourse. And truly, if the particular sin of our unfortu­nate mistris, passed not into a publick scandall, and that her shame darkned not the glory of her husband, I should permit my silence to conceal the crime of Genevieva, for fear to publish the dishonour of Sifroy. I am ashamed to tell you that which I think, but what means are there to hide a thing from you, of which your eyes are witnesses. Those who have not seen the caresses of Genevieva in the behalf of that miserable varlet, may be ignorant of their cun­ning: those, who have not heard their discourse, may doubt of their evil practise; those, who have not perceived their filthy actions, may e­steem them innocent; but alas! who can do it? the subtilty of their words, the gentlenesse of their glances, the liberty of their actions, and her pregnancy, are the voices that tell us too loud our misfortune. For me, on the fide­lity of whom my Master hath reposed the care of his wife, as I had more obligation to watch o­ver her deportments, so have I seen the things which I would fain have to be false, to unbe­lieve them. Trayterous and perfidious. Slave! is [Page 40] it thus, that thou coverest thy deceit with pretence of devotion? is it thus that thou hidest thy Magick under the fair semblance of a studied piety? I speak this (my friends) because it is miserable for me to think, that my Lady should abase her eyes upon this beggar, if they were not blinded with the force of some charm. I thought it fit to take your advise upon so ill an affair, to the end to con­ceal the infamy of this house as much as it may be possible for us. For my part I believe that it is fit to put this miserable Cook into a prison till the return of our Master, and because that my Lady may enlarge him being free, it will not be unseasonable to make her keep her cham­ber, with the sweetest usage that an offender may hope for, in the mean time I will give ad­vertisement to my Lord of the diligence that you shall have contributed to his affairs.

All this fair Oration was not to per­swade those who were already preposses­sed of the Innocence of the Countesse, but only to keep some appearance of form in a manifest injustice. Behold the resoluti­on then taken against these two innocent victimes. One morning that Genevieva was yet in bed, Golo called the Cook, and with these words which had this in com­mon with the thunder, that they grum­bled [Page 41] not but to dart lightning, reproach­ed him that he had put an amorous poy­son into the Princesses meat, by means whereof he had disposed both of her will and of her person. It was in vain for the poore Drogan to protest that he was in­nocent, to call heaven and earth to wit­nesse of his deportments, and of the ho­nesty of his mistris; he must passe the Wic­ket, and do a long penitence for the sin of Golo, having no other consolation in his griefs, but the tears that he shed day and night in his prison. It was a thing worthy of compassion, when this mis­chievous Impostor went into the cham­ber of Genevieva to make her the evil dis­course, which had rendered Drogan cul­pable. Truly the holy Lady had need of all her vertue in this encounter, yet her patience escaped her a little, but as there was not any creature that was not Go­lo's, so was there not one that hearkened to her plaints, or was moved with her misery. They took her and led her into a Tower, from whence she might hear e­nough the pitifull cryes of Drogan, but not comfort his evils. To expresse the regrets of Genevieva, one must be touch­ed with the same resentments, and for my [Page 42] part I love better that you should meditate them, than to expresse them ill. So many regrets might kill a woman eight months great with child, if God had not taken a particular care of her; all the consolati­on she had amongst so many distresses was that heaven could not leave this injury unpunished, without declaring it self Ac­complice thereof. Indeavouring some­times to make her sighs break prison, she complained amorously in this manner.

Alas my God! is it possible thou shouldst per­mit the evils that I suffer, having a perfect knowledge of their extremity; what have I done unto thee to make me the sad subject of so many dolors? the petty services that I indeavou­red to render to thee, made me hope a better fortune, and I see now, that either thou punishest rigorously their defects, or that thou disdainest to acknowledge their merit. But my most pitifull Father, hast thou no punish­ment more sweet and lesse shamefull? the losse of my riches, was it not capable to make the proof of my patience; and to punish the re­volts of my heart? could not sicknesse expiate my offences? the death of my kindred and friends, and my own, would this be too little a thing to try my fidelity? Oh how thou would­est have obliged me if thy justice could have [Page 43] been contented with that: but alas! that which I have said, are blessings which I may desire, if I compare them to the evils that I suffer. I should not lose enough, if I might not lose what is impossible for me to recover without miracle. This favour would be very necessary unto me, I crave it not for all that, provided that this innocent that I carry be not oppressed under my ruine. I consent that thou shouldest permit it. Let them hide me in the darknesse of a prison, but let him see the light of the day, and that of thy grace, let them beat me, but let not the blows light upon him, let them slander me, but let not the blame stick on him. Let them kill me, but let him live. I may hope of thy mercy that one day they shall acknowledge, his mother was miserable, but innocent, afflict­ed but without sinne, calumniated but with­out cause, condemned but without crime. My ashes shall receive this satisfaction from my e­nemies, and my soul shall be content there­with. If thou permit me to expect this from thy goodnesse, I will not languish without some kind of pleasure, and shall rest content to drown in my tears, rather than burn with a fire which had been displeasing unto thee.

It was thus that the poore Innocent sighed night and day, without hoping any comfort but from heaven; for to ex­pect [Page 44] it from men, had been but to help to deceive her self, and to seek for illusions. No body put foot into this Tower, Golo was the Dragon that kept this treasure, where he had alwayes his heart: he went often to see Genevieva, who received more paine and displeasure from his impor­tunities, than from the evills which he made her to endure. But if he had before found resistance in his designes, he met here now with impossibilitie. The Coun­tesse dissembles no more, her sweetnesse is turned into a just indignation. If Golo thinks to flatter her, she reviles him; if he makes her promises she despises them; if he will approach her she flies, if he touches her, she cryes out. One time he said unto her, that the means to cover her shame, was to permit him that, which a wretch­ed Cook had obtained at his pleasure. At these words the Countesse could no more command her choller, than satisfie the revenge that it inspired into her. ‘Per­fidious traytor (said she) art thou not content to have rendered me miserable, without desiring to make me an adul­teresse? hitherto I have not beheld thee but as a wicked man, but now I take thee for a cruel tyrant. Finish perfidious [Page 45] man, finish thy cruelties, chastity hath her martyrs; I refuse not to be of them, for to expect that I permit thee other thing than to kill me, is to loose thy time and thy pains.’

This wretch considering that his Mi­stresse had too much virtue to sin, indea­vours to cover his crime, under the pre­text of marriage: He made therefore a report flie abroad, that the Palatine ha­ving embarked himself at Sea for his re­turn, had there made shipwrack, and so perished. Upon this news, he forged let­ters, which he made to slide into the hands of Genevieva, to the end to dispose her to his suit by the assurance of her hus­bands death. But the holy mother of God discovers this artifice, which ani­mated the Countesse with such a despight, that the Intendant no sooner made unto her the overture of his marriage, but she sent him away w ^th a box, this artifice suc­ceeding not to him, he had recourse to his nurse, who never did a worse action, than in giving him the brest; the fidelity of this woman, Golo made use of to carry neces­saries to Genevieva; He conjures her to gain him the heart of the Princesse, and to sweeten her spirit by all the artifices that [Page 46] she could devise; he hopes easily to be able to beguile a woman, by the same means that the devill used against a man. But surely he deceives himself, for he finds that Genevieva is a rock; if the windes beat it, it is to fasten it; if the waves strike it, it is to polish it; nor threat­ning, nor flatery, nor sweetnes, nor cruel­ty, nor violence, nor subtilty could pre­vaile any thing against a soul so full of vertue.

During all these devises, the term of Genevieva's lying in arrived: alas! may I say that a Princesse was constrained to be her own Midwife? should I say that in this necessity, where the beasts have need of assistance, the wife of a powerfull Pa­latine was abandoned of all succour? ve­rily he must be of some other matter then marble, to deny tears to so extream a mi­sery. Behold then our holy Countesse in the transes of child-bearing, behold her son in her own hands; who could hear this, w ^ch she saith unto it without pity? certainly it would not be more easie to see her without tears, then without eyes.

Alas, my poore infant, how many sor­rows hath thy innocence caused me! oh how many evils will my miseries make [Page 47] thee suffer! fearing that the necessitie of all things, and the incommodities of the place, might make him die out of the grace of God, she baptised it. Boldly, Genevieva, call your son Benoni, or Tristan, he must carry the name of his Godmo­ther, since God, who is his Godfather, hath none at all: After that this little infant was brought forth, his mother wrapped it in the old napkins, which they had left there by neglect.

When the Nurse told the Intendant that there was then two prisoners in the Tower, and that the Princesse was ex­treamly cast down with sorrow and griefe, pity, which had found no enter­ance into the soul of this barbarian, made then her last attempt to touch him with some sense of compassion: At last he re­lented even so farre as to give her a little more bread than ordinary, rather to keep her to her passion, or to make her dolour live, than to bring her reliefe. A com­plexion strong, and robustious would be ruined amongst so many distresses and an­guishes; it was not then a little miracle to see Genevieva more fair and fresh after the pains of her Childbed, and in the re­sentments of so much bitterness, then she [Page 48] appeared amongst the pleasures and the delights of her prosperity. One would have believed after having seen her, that she was of the nature of that flower, who is never more gay and lively, than when they tread her under foot. Our Inten­dant being gone into her prison, found there new lights, with which his senses were so dazled, that he thought to dye with love: but finding this holy woman firm in the resolution to live miserable, and to dye chaste, rather than to purchase felicities by the losse of her honour, he resolves himself to give the last stroke to his evil fortune.

All this proceeding was yet unknown to Sifroy, he thinks it fit then to antici­pate the spirit of his Master, and to let him know the misfortune of his house. Two moneths were stoln away since the lying in of Genevieva, when he instruct­eth one of his servants, to carry him the news thereof: yet would he make pru­dence appear in his malice, and to this effect he writes onely these few words to the Palatine.

Sir, if I feared not to publish an infamy which I would hide, I should trust a great se­cret to this paper: but all your domesticks, and [Page 49] particularly this bearer having seen the dili­gence that I used, and the artifices which have deceived my prudence, I have no need but of their testimony to put my fidelity out of suspiti­on, and my service in estimation; believe all that which he shall tell you, and give me soon advertisement of your will.

We have said that the Count was at the siege of Avignon when he received the first news of his wife. Since the taking of this fair Town, Charls Martel had likewise reduced Narbone, where Anthime was shut up. The courage & prudence of this great Captain, made it self remarkable in the bloody journey of Tours, and at the sieges of these two towns. Notwithstanding his great Genius never appeared better than in the defeat of Amorus King of the Sara­zines, who having understood the ill suc­cesse of his Nation in France, would needs come there never to depart thence, for he was slain there with all his people, with­out the escape of one from the slaughter, to certifie his losse. This last combat was as advantagious to the glory of Martel as the first, but it cost him dearer than the others, for besides a great number of dead, there were store of Lords wound­ed, amongst whom our Sifroy received a [Page 50] blow, which held him long time in a Town of Languedock, where the ill news which the artifice of Golo had framed, was brought him. The change of Acte­on never gave so much astonishment to that miserable person, as the discourse of this messenger put into the spirit of the Palatine. He meditated nought but high and cruell vengeances; from admi­ration he fell into choller, from chol­ler into fury, and from that into rage.

Oh! cursed woman, must thou sully so shame­fully the glory which I have endeavoured to ac­quire in combats, oughtest thou to bring so much cunning to cover thy treachery, and to make pi­ety serve as a vail to thy filthinesse? well, thou hast made no accompt of mine honour, I will not spare thy blood, nor that of thy infant which thou hast not brought into the world, but to serve as executioner to thy crime. And then set­ting before his eyes the modesty and ho­nesty of his wife, as if he had been deli­vered from some evil spirit, he said with a sober sense: no, it is not possible that Ge­nevieva hath so wickedly betrayed me, I have alwayes known her actions full of vertue, her love being so ardent, it could not be so long dis­sembled: tell me my great friend, how long is it since this miserable woman was brought a [Page 51] bed? Monsieur, replyed the messenger, it is but a moneth. It was herein that the malice of Golo had travelled, for to put the Countesse under a violent suspition of her chastity, he made him say to the Palatine that she was brought a bed the tenth moneth after his departure.

This might well be true, and Genevieva innocent, since Philosophy and ex­perience teach that women may carry their fruit ten moneths, yea that some have been found who have gone great e­ven to the fifteenth and sixteenth. Not­withstanding because it is not ordinary, Sifroy believed easily she was dishonest. Jealousie aided somewhat his belief, for although the vertue of Genevieva might deliver his spirit from this disease, her beauty cast him into some shadows, even when he enjoyed her in the repose of his house. It is a thing worthy of admirati­on, to see that prudence aids sometimes to deceive it self. All that which the Pa­latine could lay hold of for proofs of his wives Innocence, he made conjectures to her confusion; her honesty was no more but subtilty, her wisdome but cunning, her devotion but hypocrisie, her vertues but vices disguised. It is then no marvell [Page 52] if he consented to his own misfortune.

After having well thought on the re­venge of this crime which his sole credu­lity had made, he dispatched the same ser­vant towards Golo w ^th commandment to keep his wife so close shut up, that no bo­dy might make addresse unto her; and for that wretched slave who was in prison, that he should find out in the horror and extremity of his sinne, some punishment proportionable to his attempt. The In­tendant received this commandement w ^th pleasure, to execute it with prudence he made a morsel to be prepared for this poore miserable, which soon took from him the tast of all others. Behold the first Act of our bloody Tragedy, the blood of this innocent victime satisfied not the rage of Golo; on the contrary, mounting to his excesse through the horrible visions of Drogan, whom he believed to have always before his eyes, and through the appre­hension that Sifroy might come to disco­ver the Innocence of Genevieva, he sup­posed that it was time to think upon the means of her entire ruine.

Having understood that the Count was on his journey, and would soon ar­rive, he went before hand as farre as Stras­bourg [Page 53] to meet him. There was near the Town an old sorceresse, sister to Golo's nurse, of whom he believed he might serve himself in his design; he went un­to her house, and guilded her hands, that she might make Sifroy to see what never had been. His plot thus laid, he went fur­ther to meet the Count, who received him with thousand testimonies of good will. When he had drawn him aside, he demanded him the deplorable condition of his house. It was here that the tears and sobbes of Golo rendered themselves Accomplices of his treason; scarce pro­nounced he a word without a sigh: at last after a long and tedious discourse, he declared unto him all that which we have said, and that he had sent Drogan with little noyse to the other world, that his perfidiousnesse might not break forth by his punishment. The Count praised infinitely the conduct of his Intendant: lastly having questioned him very often upon the particularities of his misfor­tune, Golo fearing to be surprised in his answers, said unto him: Sir, I do not be­lieve that you doubt of a fidelity which I would witnesse to you at the cost of my life, but if you will take other proofs of this ill affair than [Page 54] from my mouth, I have the means to make you see how the whole passed. There is not far from this place a very knowing woman, who will make you to see all those evill practises. Sifroy was surprised with a curiosity which will cost him much sorrow; he prayed him to be his conduct to her house, which he promised him. In the Evening the Count, with his Confident, dismissed his train, and slid himself into the sorce­resse house, The Palatine put a good quantity of Crowns into her hand, and conjured her to let him see all what had passed during his absence. The false old Witch, who would encrease his desire by her refuse, feigned to find difficulty there­in, and even to divert him from thence by many reasons, representing to him that he might perhaps see those things, the ignorance whereof might be more profitable to him, than the knowledge could be desirable, and that a misfortune is never full when it is hidden. All this tended but to give more desire to Sifroy to be deceived▪ Seeing him then resolved, she took him by the hand with Golo, and led him into a little vault, which was un­der her cave, where nothing gave light but two grosse candles of green tallow. [Page 55] After having marked out two circles with a rod, and put Sifroy into the one, & Golo into the other, she put a mirrour in­to a vessel full of water, upon which the Sorceresse murmured certain words, whose horrour made the hair stand on end: this done, she made three turns backwards near a bucket, and blowed as many times upon it. The moving of the water being stopped, the Count approch­ed by her command, and as he bowed himself three times, he cast his eyes upon the Glasse. The first time he perceived his wife speaking to the Cook with a smi­ling countenance, and an eye full of sweetnesse: the second time he saw Gene­vieva, who passed her fingers into his hair, flattering him with much dalliance; but the third, he saw those privacies which could no wayes accord with modesty. Imagine you with what fury he came forth from this little hel. Oh what words said he not? what fatall cruelties called he not to the revenge of his grief?

When an Elephant is in fury, it is e­nough to shew him a sheep to appease him: the Intendant who feared that the same might arrive to his Master, indea­vours in keeping of Genevieva, to take a­way [Page 56] an object of sweetnesse from before his eyes. He represented to the Count that it was to be feared his just anger, willing to punish the crime of his wife, might publish it, that he judged it more fit to give the commission thereof to some o­ther, who would dispatch it softly, whilst he rendered himself by little jour­neys at his house. This counsell was re­ceived of the Palatine with much praise, and because he thought no person so trusty as he who was the author thereof, he gave him charge to execute it, though Golo witnessed some displeasure in this obedience.

The Intendant at his return into the house, failed not to reveal the whole my­stery to his nurse, forbidding her to com­municate it to any body. But the provi­dence of God would not that this wo­man should be more secret than others, who know nothing of that which they conceal, and have no silence but for the things they are ignorant of; scarce had she understood this from the mouth of Golo, but she poured it into the ear of her daughter, who though she had a wicked mother, was not without some lauda­ble qualities, and above all, not without [Page 57] a tender cōpassion of Genevieva's miseries. The Countesse perceiving that she wept, asked the cause of her tears? Oh! Madame (answered this Maid) it is concerning your life, Golo hath received command from my Lord to put you to death. Well my Girl (said the Countesse) you and I have occasion to rejoyce, it is long since I petitioned this favour of God: but what shall become of my poore infant? Madame he must dye with you. At these words Genevieva remained without motion, the first word that grief permitted her to utter was this: Oh my God, wilt thou suffer that this little creature, who knows not yet to sinne, be afflicted and that an Infant be culpable, because he is unfor­tunate?

In saying this she washed his little cheeks with her tears, and then having given unto love all the kisses that he de­manded, she addressed her self to that good maid. Sweet heart I know not if I may beseech thee to render a last service to the most miserable of all women; thou canst oblige me with little pain, and without hazard, since all I shall request of thy courtesie is, that thou bring me a little ink and paper; thou shalt find some in that cabinet or closet which is near my chamber, hold, there is the key; take there what [Page 58] thou wilt of my jewells, provided thou do me this pleasure. The maid failed not to do what she had prayed her, sliding after­ward a writing into the same Cabinet from whence she had taken the paper.

So soon as the next day began to break, Golo called two servants, whom he thought the most trusty, and commanded them to conduct the mother & the child into a Wood, which was half a mile from the Castle, to kill them there out of noise, and then to cast their bodies into the ri­ver. To have some mark of their cruel obedience, he willed that they should bring him the tongue of that wicked wo­man (so he called our Innocent Prin­cesse.) What probability of denying a­ny thing to a barbarian who hath the power to make himself obeyed? they went into the prison where they berea­ved the poor Lady of her Habits, they clad her with old garments, and in this piti­full condition, they drew her along to punishment. I hear thee demand Reader, if there be a providence that watcheth o­ver the designes of men? To this I an­swer, that there are not more stars in the Firmament, [...] eys op [...]n upon all their actions; but [...] God seemeth sometimes [Page 59] to sleep in the midst of our miseries, it is to the end to save us with more won­der, and more evident testimonies of his love. Let us return to the poore Genevi­eva, whom I see go guarded between two, carrying in her arms her little Innocent. It is here where all the eloquence of Oratours would be mute, if it should en­terprise to expresse the horrour of this sad spectacle. Our Princesse whom grief had hindered to speak untill then, turn­ing her self towards the house, where she had suffered so many cruelties, said sighing.

Adiew then, sad residence of my sorrows, adiew, since heaven will that I dy, I quit wil­lingly a place where I have endured so many cruel deaths. But since men fail in the testi­mony of my Innocence, I desire that all the in­sensible creatures that are within the compasse of these walls, accuse my wickednesse, if I have been wanting to my duty, and praise my vertue if I be Innocent; adieu for ever. Whilst Genevieva wept thus, a torrent of tears washed her cheeks and her bosome, not that she had regret to leave so miserable a life as hers, but because she esteemed the means of losing it too unjust, not to be lamented. And to speak truly, there must [Page 60] be a vertue beyond-humane to remain in­sensible of such rude strokes. When we lose life, we lose a thing which we can­not always keep; but honour being as the spirit of our soul, if it come once to dye, we cannot but with much difficulty hope the resurrection thereof.

Our two Innocent victimes being arri­ved to the place where their sacrifice was to be made: one of the ministers of this barbarous execution lifted up already the sword, to cut the throat of the little Infant, when the mother demanded to dy first, to the end not to dye twice. O how a miserable beauty hath power upon a heart that is not altogether of marble! could you believe that those whom Golo had chosen to take away the Countesses life should be those that conserved it to her? the last words that proceeded from her mouth, changed so their wil through compassion, that the one of them said to the other: Comrade, why should we stain our hands in so fair a blood as that of our Mystris? let us leave her to live, whom we have not seen to do any thing worthy of so cruel a death: her modesty and sweetnesse are the infallible proofs of her Innocence; may be a day will come that will put her vertue into evidence, and our con­dition [Page 61] into a better fortune. It would be hard to say, who had the most pain to consent to this designe, either those who were to take her life from her, or she that should lose it. Notwith­standing the regret to see an Innocent of five years old murdered made Genevieva consent to be unhappy somtimes, perswa­ding her self that necessity would make her dye w ^th lesse horror than the sword.

This so resolved, the two servants commanded their Mistris to get her self so farre into the Forrest, that Sifroy might never have news of her. It was easie to hide her self in a wood which seemed not to have been made but for a retreat to the beares, and savage beasts, its extent gave horrour to the most hardy, when they were to traverse it, and its obscurity was the abode of silence: but if any thing interrupted it sometimes, it could be but the howlings of the wolves, the cry of owls, and the sighings of the Orfray. The grief of the Countesse bare well its part there when it was permitted her to live amongst the beasts. Go boldly then Gene­vieva, go into a place which you some­times ardently desired, and know that God had not given you an inclination unto solitude, but to sweeten unto you [Page 62] the incōmodities thereof. As the Servants returned towards the Castle, it happened by accident, that they repented them of their pity, remembring that Golo had commanded them to bring the tongue of Genevieva for assurance of their fidelity. Whereupon they returned back again to execute that which their compassion had hindered them to do, But God who con­ducted this affair, ordained that they should meet a little dog, who received the favour to lose his tongue for his Mistris. Being arrived at the house, the Intendant received the news of that which they should have done by his commandment, for which he resented a very sensible joy: presently he gave advertisement thereof to the Palatine, in whose house he acted the Count. Sifroy being arrived, they talked not but of the Chase, of debau­chees and of recreation, to the end to divert all the thoughts that might call back the memory of Genevieva. One day the Count being fallen upon the dis­course of his miseries, against the inten­tion of our Intendant, he related to him that the last night he had dreamed that a great dragon had ravished from him his wife.

[Page 63] Truly (replyed Golo) who made all things serve to his artifices) Behold a dream that tells you too clearly your misfor­tune: this dragon, is the traytor Drogan, who hath so wickedly sinned against his duty. You can doubt no more thereof, seeing the dream hath onely reversed one letter of his a­bominable name, to give you assurance whence your disaster proceeds. And truly besides what I have spoken, we understand from History that many persons have dreamed the same, when the unchastity of their wives made them adulte­resses, or the violence of some one constrained them to that wickednesse. But Sir, you should remove all these black thoughts from your spirit, since they cannot serve but to trouble the peace thereof. Forget the ashes of her, who would burn with so filthy a fire, that it is impossible to remember it without shame; must there be so much force and vertue to raze out of your spi­rit an ingrate who hath so wickedly removed you from her heart? believe a person that makes his repose and his troubles of your interests, and settle your spirits upon better thoughts, than those that hinder the tranquility thereof.

Let us leave the Count to seek diver­tisements for his evil humour, come we to see Genevieva in the thicket of the wood where we left her. Assoon as the [Page 64] two servants had abandoned her, her first steps carryed her upon the bank of the ri­ver, that passed by the Castle. It was there that she took the ring which Sifroy had put on her finger, when he departed for France, and then cast it into the current of the floods, protesting she would not carry the mark of a vertue that had cau­sed her so many misfortunes, and then entring again into the Forrest, she sought some retrait, to defend her self from the rage of the beasts, and to dy in covert. As she was in this search, and that the ve­ry insensible creatures were afraid to suc­cour her, she heard this voice which came out of the midst of the wood: Genevie­va, fear not, I will have care of thee, and of thy son. Upon the assurance of this pro­mise, she penetrated further into the For­rest, without perceiving any thing that might promise her consolation.

Two dayes passed away in these extre­mities without the least comfortto her grief, but the liberty to lament it. If her own sufferings were sensible unto her, those of her child were insupportable: and certainly I know no patience that could undergo so many evils, and be si­lent. The day seemed not to shine, but to [Page 65] shew her the horrour of the place where she was; the night filled her spirit with shadows, as well as her eyes with darknesse. Nothing represented it self to her imagination, that was not full of affright and terrour: the puffe of a Ze­phire, the motion of a leaf, formed to her monsters more terrible than those of Lybia. The care of her Benoni augmented much her fears, considering that he had already lain two nights at the foot of an oak having but the grasse for bed, and a few boughes for defence: All the ac­cidents that might arrive unto her, pre­sented themselves to her thought, to pro­duce the same effects, that grief could make there. That which touched most sensibly her soul, was to hear the third day this little creature, whose sighings demanded the succour of her breasts; but alas! they were dry, all what he could draw from thence was nothing but a lit­tle corrupted blood. It was but then that she permitted thus her grief to speak.

My God, my Saviour, canst thou suffer that this Innocent dye for want of having one drop of water, whilst the authors of his misery sur­fet with blessings? where is that providence which makes thee to take care of the ravens [Page 66] and the worms? If thy word deceive us not, thou owest the same favour unto him, that thou dost to those animals, seeing his birth is no lesse considerable, nor his condition worse than theirs. Look upon pitifull Lord, look upon this Infant, his father hath acknowledged him no more, than the raven his young: be­hold him creeping upon the dust, and take com­passion of his evils, either to finish them, or to allay them; wilt thou permit it to be said, that the generall care of thy providence hath excepted this miserable from the infallible rule of thy mercies? permittest thou that the Inno­cents perish with hunger, whilst thy enemies a­buse thy benefits, and provoke thy Iustice? it is in a manner the doing of evil, to do good to the wicked, and to hate vertue, to see it persecuted without pity. Where is it that my grief carries me? pardon my Saviour, pardon this blasphe­my to my impatience: it is sufficient that thou wilt a thing to render it just; since it plea­seth thee that he dye, I will it also. In saying this, she reposed her son on the earth, retiring her eyes from that subject of so many miseries; but as she had marched some paces into the wood, the sweet murmure of a brook assured her, that there was a spring near enough that place, which obliged her to take again [Page 67] her son to seek it out: having found it, she refreshed the mouth of the Infant, and retained his soul ready to quit his body for want of nourishment. Be­hold one of the effects of Gods pro­vidence; there must be also a retrait to these poore banished creatures; Genevie­vieva found one near enough to the fountain, it was a den whose entrance was covered with a thick bush, where the mother and her sonne marked out their lodging for seven years. Yet it was neces­sary to have some nourishment; O good­nesse of heaven! how sweet art thou, and how amorous are thy cares! whilst our poor Princesse wearied her spirit with this thought, she heard a noise, as if some horseman had brushed behind the bushes, which made her afraid, un­till she saw appear a hind, who without affright approached to her: her astonish­ment encreased much more when she saw that this beast looked upon the Infant with compassion, and coming near to the mother, fawned upon her, as if she would have said that God had sent her there to be her nurse. Whereupon perceiving that her udder was full of milk, she took her [Page 68] son, and cherishing the beast with her hand, put him to suck.

Oh! how necessary it is to have a good heart; you may believe that Genevieva received this benefit with resentments of joy, which wiped away all her passed sor­rows. The contentment of this first fa­vour encreased much, when she knew by experience, that the hind came twice a day, without receiving any other salary for her good offices but some handfulls of grasse, and the caresses of the Coun­tesse. I could say that sometimes she spake unto her, as if she had been endued with reason, and that she gave her testimonies of amity, as if she had been capable thereof.

Some one will be very glad to know why God ordinarily uses the service of hindes to nourish his servants in the de­sart: this curiosity is commendable, and it pleaseth me well to satisfie it; a mean Lecture migh have made this observation; and though we should have no other ex­ample, but that of Saint Giles, our que­stion would have foundation enough. It is certain that God can derive our nou­rishment from whatsoever thing it shall please him, and that he who hath created [Page 69] four elements to this effect, can serve him­self with the least of their pieces to fur­nish us with delicates. It is he that hath made honey to be sucked out of the stones, it is he that nourished all the peo­ple of Israel with dew, it is he that made three children to live in flames. as so ma­ny Salamanders; it is he that sent every day a raven to the great father of the de­sart Saint Paul; it is he that can draw our life out of death it self and our nou­rishment from poyson, which is the most certain ruine thereof.

Notwithstanding his conduct is sweet, and taketh nothing of violence; it is therefore he accommodates himself to the power of second causes, and follows the inclinations thereof. Those who have written the secrets of nature, report that the hind never brings forth, if the hea­ven serve not for Midwife to the birth of her fruit by a puisant clap of thunder: from whence we derive two or three fair knowledges: the first that it is no won­der the Harts & Hinds are fearful beyond all other Animals, since it is fear onely that puts them into the world: the se­cond serves to the question which we propose, as a great personage hath ob­served. [Page 70] The difficulty which the Hind hath to produce her fruit, proceeds not but from its greatnesse, whence it happeneth, that the Fawn having followed his dam very little time, forsakes her to go to pa­sture, leaving the sweetnesse of the dugge for that of liberty. The Hind having a­bundance of milk, seeks to discharge her self thereof, even so farre that they say, she oftentimes suffers her self to be suck­ed by the animals of another kind, to the end to ease her: God who hath given her this inclination for her interest, makes use thereof sometimes for our ne­cessity, thrusting her forward by a secret instinct to be prodigall to us of a good which would be dammageable unto her.

This was the onely assistance which our little Innocent drew from the crea­tures, during the space of seven years: for the Countesse, the earth furnished her with herbs and roots. He that will con­sider that Genevieva was a Princesse brought up among the delights of a Court, shall have no pain to imagine her troubles. Was it not a spectacle worthy of compassion, to see the wife of a Pa­latine in the want even of those things of which the most extream necessities have [Page 71] no need? to see her Palace changed into a frightfull solitude, her chamber into a fearfull den, her Courtiers into wild beasts, her musick into the howling of wolves, her delicate meats into most bit­ter roots, her repose into inquietude, and her joyes into tears; surely he must not be of flesh that can be insensible of so many misfortunes; and if her vertue could have changed a man even to this degree, her countenance would yet have found tears amongst so many evils, seeing the rocks themselves seemed not to sweat, but with her sufferings. Oh, who ever could have heard all the regrets which she made to the ecchoes of this wood, would have said, that all the trees complained thereof, that the winds mur­mured thereat with despight, and that all the birds had forgotten their Genius, to learn to sigh her miserie.

If the evils of the poor Countesse tou­ched sensibly her heart, it cannot be spoke what torments those of her son caused her, particularly when his Tongue came to be untied in the first plaintes of his grief, and that this little innocent began to feele hee was unfortunate. This pittifull mother locked him some­times [Page 72] in her bosome to warm his little members all cold as Ice, and then as she perceived the tremblings of Benoni, pitty pressed her heart so strongly with grief, that she drew from thence a thousand sobs and from her eyes infinite tears. Oh my dear son, (said this lamenting mother) oh my poore son, my dear childe, how soon beginnest thou to be miserable! to see the child, one would have said that it had the use of reason, for at her sorrow­full words, he put forth a cry so piercing, that the heart of Genevieva remained sen­sibly wounded therewith; one cannot say how many times grief and cold made her to sound.

My Reader, I conjure thee before we pursue further the miseries of our deplo­rable Princesse, to cast a little thy eyes through the world, to observe the diver­sitie thereof: Thou shalt see there an in­finite number of women much meaner in innocence and quality, who shine in gold and silk, whilest Genevieva is pierced with cold, covered onely with the shame of her nakednesse: Thou shalt see there vice ho­noured, virtue dispised, impurity in cre­dit, subtlety praised▪ vanity esteemed, whilest a poore Lady suffers in the nook [Page 73] of a Wood, for desiring to be inno­cent, and to keep her faith to a person to whom heaven had engaged her. O God, how true is it that thy providence walk­eth in the depth, which it behoveth not our spirit to sound, and that thy coun­sels are precipices to all those who will search the profundity thereof: Let us go no further to observe this truth then in­to the house of Sifroy, though it be two years since we came thence. Whilest Ge­nevieva weeps, let us withdraw us a little from her misery, and enter into her hus­bands Castle: We shal see that there is not a servant, who is not con [...]ent, not a lac­quey that is not at his ease, not a dog that hath not bread. The Summer hath its pleasures, the Winter hath its pass times. The chase Viscites, play and feasts, ban­nish sorrow from this house. Golo added all the artifices that he could to the me­dicine of time, to cure the spirit of his Master. It is true, that he could not who­ly take away the image of Genevieva's vir­tues, from the soul of Sifroy; her mode­sty, her honesty, her pitty, her constancy, her addresse, her prudence, her love, were so many pleasing phantesmes, which re­proached him night and day for his cre­dulity: [Page 74] This poore man believed to have continually her shadow by his side; and though his evill Intendant knew to re­move subtlely those thoughts full of dis­quiets, notwithstanding they made al­wayes some impression in his spirit.

Behold an accident that ruined almost the whole fortune of Golo, and discover­ed the reflection of his malice; three years after the return of the Count, and three ages of his wives misery; As one day Si­froy looked over some papers in his Ca­binet, he lighted upon the note which the Countesse had conveyed therein: Who can describe the regrets, and sorrows that this bit of paper caused unto him? his mouth uttered a thousand curses against Golo, his tears watered the writing, he beat his brest, he tore his beard and haire; all that which grief could command a man, the Palatine did; and surely he should have had a Tygers heart, to read this Letter without regret: Innocence conceived it, and grief dictated it.

Adiew Sifroy, I am going to die, since you command it. I never found any thing impossible in my obedience, though I finde some injustice in your commandment. I will, notwithstand­ing, believe that you contribute nothing to my [Page 75] ruine, but the consent that you give thereunto. I can also protest to you that all the cause I have given thereof is onely the resistance that I have made to remain wholy unto him, who ought not to divide me with any other. I passe willingly from a miserable life, to a condition that may be worse, upon the confidence I have that my innocence shall be one day out of suspition into which calumny hath cast it. All the regret that I carry with me, is to have brought an In­fant into the world, which must be the victime of cruelty, and the innocent cause of my mis­fortune. Notwithstanding I will not let this resentment hinder me to wish you a perfect fe­licity, and to him who is the authour of my disaster, a better fortune than that which he procureth me. Adiew, it is your unfortunate, but innocent Genevieva.

The Intendant who was upon the watch, judged that it was fit to let this storm break away, and that prudence ought to withdraw him for a time from Sifroy, when he believed that his choller was moderated, he saw the Count again, who failed not to give him sharp re­proaches, upon the evil judgement into which his malice had precipitated him. But Golo wanted no cunning to deceive his master, and to draw the thorn out of his heart.

[Page 76] Whatt Sir, (said this perfidious man to him) do you repent to have taken away life from her, who hath taken away your honour? or do you doubt not to have done it justly? if that be it, your displeasure is reasonable, but what cause have you to believe it? were not your eyes witnesses of your misfortune? your domesticks knew too well how equitable your a­ction is, to find it evil [...] all humane policy al­lows you that which you have done. Will you be wiser than the Laws, & condemn that which reason approves, perhaps this Letter hath per­swaded you of her innocence; truly behold a pleasant justification: and where shall we find crimes, if one be quitted thereof for denying them? who shall be culpable, if it be sufficient to say that one is innocent? how wicked soever a woman be, if one will hear her, she is always without sinne. Had it pleased God, Sir, that she who had the honour to belong unto you, had had lesse malice or more prudence in dissem­bling, whereby to give us some cause to inter­pret well of her fidelity, I had been the first to believe the proofs of her Innocence, as I have been the last to receive the suspitions of her in­famy. But since to the losse of her honor she hath added the contempt not to fear any body, you should remain content in having revenged the publick interests of vertue, in punishing a par­ticular offence.

[Page 77]These discourses accompanied with a feigned affection, conveyed softly an in­sensibility into the spirit of the Palatine, insomuch that all these remorses were not but as birds of passage, who gave a blow with the beak privily, and then re­tired, were it through the reasons of Go­lo, or by the charms, & sorceries of which he was master enough. Whilst I amuse me in the Palace of Sifroy, we leave our inno­cent malefactresse, in the company of the hind, & of her Benoni. Let us return if you please unto her grott. I advertise you not­withstanding that you should no more consider this desart as the retrait of ser­pents, or the repair of bears, but as a school of vertue, a race of penitence, and a temple of sanctity.

After that our Countesse had suffered in this sharp solitude three whole years of Winter (for the Sunne here nevr made a Summer) the evils rendred themselves so familiar, that she was no more afraid of them, and her patience perfected it self, even to this point, to look upon suf­ferings as upon delights. Custome ren­ders all things easie, that which seems in the beginning full of affright, becomes gentle in the end. Poyson kills, and yet [Page 78] there hath been known a great King that nourished himself therewith. Seems it not likely to you that our Genevieva should dye with impatience amongst her regrets, and drown her self in her tears? and yet see that every day gathering them up in her hands, she offers them to God in a sa­crifice, so acceptable to his divine good­nesse, that he recompenses her as much for those Icie sighs, as if she had burned him all the incense of Arabia.

The first favour that she received from heaven, after three years of noviciate, was one a day as she was on her knees in the midst of her little Cottage, her eyes turn­ed unto heaven, the admiration whereof serv'd as the ordinary subject to her thoughts; while her spirit lost it self hap­pily in the immensity of these fair works, she perceived a young man glittering with light, who cleft the air to render himself at her den. If Genevieva had been an Idolatresse, she might have believed that it was the Moon that descended in­to this wood, to be the Diana thereof, or rather the Sun who had taken himself from heaven to visit a place which had never been enlightened. Her spirit had too much light to fall into so grosse an [Page 79] error: she took this beauty rather for one of the intelligences of heaven, than for one of its starres, though he were en­compassed with rayes: in which certain­ly her belief deceived her not, for it was her Guardian Angel, who came, as sent from God into this den. It is no easie thing to depaint a spirit, seeing it hath nothing whereupon our senses can fix themselves; notwitstanding as we may mark out the Sun with a coal, so may we paint the Angels under the exteriour forms which render them visible unto us. He of whom we speak, had a visage where beauty and modesty mingled themselves together with a Majesty so divine, that he might have made himself to be adored of a person that had not known him a ser­vant of God. Besides the rayes that spread themselves round about him, his body was covered with a blew vail, a colour which denoted the place from whence he came. He held in his right hand a preci­ous crosse, in which the Saviour of the world was so naturally represented in a shining Ivorie, as it was easie to see that men had not laboured this work. His hair hung negligently upon his shoul­ders, which certain drops marked as it [Page 80] were with blood; his eyes seemed to swim in death, and his mouth complained with the excesse of his martyrdome. His mem­bers were so delicately polished, that one might see all the veins and nerves of this body raise themselves up to the top of the skinne.

When our Countesse was come again from the admiration of so many won­ders, the Angel presenting her this Crosse said unto her; Genevieva, I am here on the behalf of God to bring you this Crosse, which must serve for object to all your thoughts, and for remedy to all your evils. If the bitternesse of sufferings seems insupportable unto you, min­gle this blood among it, and you shall find sweetnesse in your afflictions. If any thought of despair assault your spirit, retire into these wounds, where all the doves of heaven have their refuge, and I promise you repose. In a word, Genevieva, this here is the buckler which wil make all the blows of adversity fall at your feet: it is the key that will open heaven to your patience, receive this favour with the acknowledgement that it merits. As Genevie­va bowed her self, she received the Crosse to grave therein all her victories, after the example of that great Captain, whose signall victories were not otherwise re­compenced [Page 81] by Iustinian, than with blind­nesse: behold a prodigy most miraculous, this Crucifix followed our penetent eve­ry where: If any necessity called her forth, it accompanied her, if she sought for roots to sustain her, it was in her com­pany, being in her poor retrait, it never departed from her side: This miracle du­red some moneths, untill it fixed it self in a corner of the grot, where there was a little Altar cut in the Rock, and which our Saint adorned with flowers and boughes: as soon as displeasure assai­led her poor heart, the Saviour stretched forth his arms unto her, and opened her his bosome to poure thereinto her re­sentments: It was easie to discover her thoughts unto him, who could not be ig­norant of them, and to lay all her sor­rows at the feet of him, who could be the Physitian thereof.

It is an error to seek for an indoleance in vertue; those that would teach it with words, have destroyed it by their actions; the patience of the Stoicks, was not one­ly unable to support evils without regret, but it came not so far as to this point, to look upon them without changing co­lour: The virtue of Christians goeth further then all the Theology of the Pa­gans; [Page 82] it's sweetnesse notwithstanding imposeth not such Barbarious law as in­sensibility: that great man, whose spirit was nothing but patience, as his body was nought but grief, retained alwayes his affections in an equal resignation; he permitted notwithstanding his tongue to complain of his miseries, and to say that his members were not of brasse: God himself in the cruelties of death, would that his plaints should be a proof of that which he was, for fear the opinion of his insensibility might take away the be­lief of the least of his natures. Let us imi­tate his example in his submission, as well as in his complaints, our tears and our sighes shall not hinder our patience to be a vertue. O how Genevieva conformed her self perfectly to this example; her constancy was a marble inflexible, but this marble yielded tears, and witnessed by her sighes, that it was not a statue that suffered; she accorded all just plaints to her grief, but her grief never gave any thing to impatience; in a word, she ac­cused no lesse sweetly her evils then a Lute, which men touch onely, because her sighes are agreeable unto them: One day as the Image of all her miseries represent­ed it self to her fancy, making of her eyes [Page 83] two fountains of tears, she cast her self at the feet of her Crosse, and said amou­rously unto it.

How long, my God, how long wilt thou suf­fer that virtue be so cruelly treated? Is not five years of miseries sufficient, to be content with my patience? though I should have over­thrown thy altars, and burned thy temples, my tears would have quenched thy choller, if it were not that my sighs would kindle it the more. I made my self believe that my sorrows should last no longer than my joyes, and that the end of afflicting me should be that of not being able to suffer more. I know well now that thou gavest me formerly delights, but to make me taste my bitternesses with more displeasure, and to ren­der them more sharp by the remembrance of my prosperity: Is it not time to make appear, that thou art the protector of innocence, as well as the revenger of crimes? It is five years that I have endured a martyrdome, which ceases not to be extreamly cruell, for being extreamly slow; nothing in the world hath comforted my grief, all the creatures seem to be my engaged enemies, to the end to encreas my afflictions: A good discours can charm a grief, but behold I have almost for­goten the use of speech in being separate from al other conversation then that of the beasts: the night hides with her shadows the half of our e­vils, & sleep dares not approach mine eys, fear­ing [Page 84] to drown it self there, or at least to meet there inquietudes: It seems that my misery is contagious, so much every thing fears to ap­proach it; hunger, cold, nakednesse, make the least part of my evils; the misfortune of this little innocent is more insupportable unto me than all that: Oh, Lord! if thou wouldst afflict the mother for some fault, which to her is un­known, why wouldst thou not take unto thee the protection of the child, since thou knowest that he is as litle culpable of my sin, as capable to bear the punishment thereof? Pardon me my God, if grief snatches these plaints from my mouth, I have believed, since I know not the cause of so many evils, that I might finde the ease thereof from that mercy, which rejecteth no body.

In pronouncing these sorrowfull words, she bathed her Crucifix with the torrent of her tears, which spake much more than her tongue. The little Bono­ni mingling his tears with his mother, they brake forth into groans so pittifull, that the rocks were not hard enough not to be touched therewith: At last the poore Genevieva continuing her regreets, and embracing amourously her crosse, said unto it, My God, alas my God, what have I done unto thee, that thou treatest me with so much rigour? Miracle! Whilest the Countesse spake, she heard the image of [Page 85] our good Saviour, which replyed to her.

And what, my daughter, what cause have you to complain? You demand, what crime hath brought you hither: and tell me, what sin hath nailed me to the crosse? Are you more inno­cent than I, or your evils, are they greater than mine have been? You are without crime, and am I culpable? You never thought of the infamy with which they have sullied your reputation, am I perhaps a seducer, and Magician, as they reproached me? You receive no censolation from the creatures; is it not enough from that of the Creatour? No body hath compassion of your evils, who hath had any of mine? The ve­ry insensible things have horror of your affliction, and the Sun, refused he not so much as to look upon mine? Thy sonne encreases thy sor­rows, believest thou that my mother lessoned my torments? Comfort thee, my daughter, and leave me the care of thy affairs; think some­times that he who hath made all the good things of the world, hath suffered all the evill; if thou comparest thy cup to mine, thou wilt drink it with pleasure, and wilt thank me for the favor that I do thee to make thee live in dolours, to die in the joyes of a life laden with the merits of patience.

It would be a superfluous thing to tell you the confusion that this little re­proach [Page 86] put into the spirit of our St, but I think it will be profitable to tell you, that this discourse gave her so much courage, and resolution, that all the thorns seemed unto her but roses; her bitter­nesse but sweetnesse; her torments but pleasing delights: this also was the de­sign of God to animate her unto pati­ence, and not to thrust her into despair by this reproach. From this time for­ward Genevieva asked not but griefs from God, and God gave not but sweets to Genevieva. To witnesse to her that her vertue was not unknown unto him, and that her Innocence was very near unto that which the first man possessed in the delights of Paradise, God wholly sub­mitted unto her the rage of the savage beasts, and the liberty of the birds. It was an ordinary thing from her first en­trance into the Forrest, that the Hind came to give suck to the child, and to ly every night in the Cave, with the mo­ther and the Son, to the end to warm their leie members: but since this last fa­vour, the Foxes, the Hares, and the Wolves came to play with the little Benoni. The birds strived together which should leave himself to be taken first. The Cave of [Page 87] Genevieva was a place, where the Bears had no rage, nor the Stagges fear: on the contrary one would have said that our holy Princesse had changed their na­ture, through the compassion of her e­vils, and given some sense of reason to the beasts to understand her necessities.

One day putting on an old garment on her son in the presence of a Wolf, this beast departed presently from the den, and went to choak a sheep, whose skinne he brought to Genevieva, as if he had had the judgement to discern what was proper to warm the body of her child. The Saint received this present, but yet after having sharply rebuked him for do­ing evil to another, to do good to her. Would you not say, my dear Reader, that the Court of Sifroy was full of Wolves, and furious beasts, and the Grot of Gene­vieva of well mannered Courtiers: all the difference was, that in his, the men had the cruelty of ravenous Wolves, and in hers the beasts had the courtesies and ci­vilities of men, compare the felicitie of the one to the other, and you shall find therein the same difference that is be­tween the pleasure of angels and that of devils. It is true, that the earth produ­ced [Page 88] not there any of her contentments; but the Heavens had regard enough of it making a thousand blessings to slide into this holy Cave. Nature contributed no­thing to the good fortune of this desert, but Grace rendered even the Animals mi­nisters thereof. I have so many things to say upon this subject, that the fear to of­fend any one hindereth the will I have to speak of them all. I passe in silence those felicities, the image whereof I cannot produce more perfectly, than in that of the Garden where he lost his innocence, whom God had made a little lesse than the angels. Onely I can say that Genevie­va found in the obedience of the beasts all the service which she could have expe­cted in her husbands house. Behold a passage which I cannot omit, being full of instruction. There was near unto this retrait a very fair fountain, which fur­nished to our two solitary creatures more than half of their life: I know not whether the Countesse had ever beheld her self in the chrystall of her floods, as she one time cast down her eyes there, ei­ther of purpose, or by accident, and per­ceived the wrincles of her front, she could scarce know her self, the remembrance [Page 89] of what she had been taking away the belief of being what she appeared.

Is this Genevieva (said she) no without doubt, it is some other? Alas could it be pos­sible that these languishing and dejected eyes, should sometime have caused so many flames? this front cut with a thousand wrinckles, and which resembles a rude bark, tells me that it is not that which made the Ivory ashamed: these decayed cheeks are nothing like unto those, that were made of roses, and of Lillies. Where doth my errour carry me? alas I feel too well that the evils which I suffer have no other sub­ject but the deplorable Genevieva. O cruel do­lours! truly it may well be said that you are barbarous, seeing you have made so strange a Metamorphosis. Answer me unpitifull evills, where have you laid the snow of my complexi­on? perhaps you have melted it, to distill it in­to tears: but having already wept so much, must I have more evils yet to lament? Gene­vieva, poore Genevieva, thou art no more but the Image of that which thou hast been, and a vain shadow of thy self: Oh poore Genevie­va, poore Genevieva!

Whilst the Countesse complained thus, and indeavoured to know her self in the Fountain, she saw there a divinity re­sembling those Nimphs, which accord­ing [Page 90] to the discourse of Poets, inhabit the waters. Her spirit was presently ravished with admiration of so much Majesty: her desire carried her to cast her self at the feet of this Goddesse, as at the Altar of mercy, where her afflictions might be changed into felicities. Respect re­strained her desire. Floating thus be­tween fear and confidence, she heard a voice aside her, though she believed it to proceed from that mouth which appear­ed in the water: she turned her self and saw the Queen of the Angels, her good Advocate, who said unto her.

Truly, my daughter, you have much reason to complain you of a losse which is extremely desirable, as being extremely advantagious. You are no more fair, ha Genevieva! if you had never been so, you would be happy: it is the onely quality that hath rendered you cri­minall; and though that should not be, ought you to lament the losse of a good which you ought not to desire? you have lost a thing which hath lost the half of the world, planting Ido­latry, and thrusting men into the liberty of all vioes. Oh if you knew how acceptable your black­nesse renders you to my son, you would abhor to have been formerly of another colour: come a­gain to your self my daughter, and complain no [Page 91] more of your miseries, since it is of those thorns that you may compose the Crown of your glory, and of your tears, that you may make the tor­rent of your eternal felicities.

Scarce had the Queen of heaven ended her Remonstrance, but a cloud more pure, and more shining than silver took her away from the eyes of the Saint, who remained full of joy and of confusion: of joy, for having seen her, who shall make a part of our senses beatitude in heaven: of confusion, for having made reckon­ing of her passed beauty. Notwithstand­ing this visit filled her spirit with cou­rage, and with a new resolution unto patience saying very often unto God.

And well, my amiable Spouse, thou wilt that Genevieva suffer even to the end, I am content therewith: I pretend to remain as faithfull to thy divine will in the anguishes of my grief, as in the prosperities of my good for­tune: Thou wouldest teach me that there is nothing to be loved in the world but thy good­ness; I cherish nothing then but thee, my God, rendering infinite thanks to thy conduct, for ha­ving steeped me all the creatures in gall, to wean me from their love, and to reduce me into thine, Alas! where shouldest thou be, my poore heart, if God had not hindered thee to obey thine own [Page 92] inclinations? without doubt vanity would pos­sesse thee now. O what just cause have I to thank thee, for doing me so much good, by the losse of so smal a matter: what can I hope for in my husbands house, but a voluntary slavery, an honest servitude, chains, which though of gold, cease not to be grievous and insupportable; and then what contentment should I expect, to see in a palace things in picture, which nature presents me here in their native and naturall beauty? Do I not see heaven discovered with all its Stars, which are so many eyes opened to lighten my patience? doth not every creature serve me for a mirrour, wherein I perceive some image of my God, there being not one that speaks not to me of him? These little silver floods that precipitate themselves even into the bosome of the Sea, say they not unto me with their mur­mure: Genevieva, see how thou shouldest fly into the bosome of God. These Birds, do they not teach me to praise him from the morning e­ven to the evening? Wel, what can I hope more? honours which are vain, greatnesse which is dangerous, acquaintance which is prejudiciall, amities which are feigned, pleasures which are filthy, delights which are fatall. Ha my God! how much I acknowledge now the sweetnesse of thy providence, thy holy name be blessed for sa­ving a poore creature, who had never followed [Page 93] thy attractions, if they had not been charming; thy admonitions, if they had not been necessary; nor thy motions, if they had not been violent. I am infinitely indebted unto thee, for doing me this favour: notwithstanding my obligation ap­pears unto me yet greater, if I consider that thou hast constrained me to be happy against my will, framing to me in my solitude an image of Paradise, where all felicities are necessary.

Whilest our Saint lost her self in the pure and innocent joyes of virtue, Sifroy had neither repose, nor contentment a­mongst the joyes of his house: the night presented him nothing but black shad­dows, and sad phanotsmes▪ The day clea­red not but to make him observe the ab­sence of Genevievia; his spirit rouled con­tinually sullen and melancholly thoughts often times he was seen to wander upon the brink of the river, observing in the inconstancy of the floods the agitation of his spirit; and then as if this humour had rendered him savage, he rid himself of his servants to give more liberty to his sighes in the horrour of a wood, being an­gry with his own shadow, if the obscuri­ty obliged it to follow him: Who can figure to himself the despaire and fury, whereinto he entered, when his memory said unto him: Thou hast killed Genevieva, [Page 94] Thou hast massacred thy sonne, thou hast taken away thy poor servants life, whose pale shadows pursue thee incessantly. Genevieva, where are you, where are you, my dear girle, where are you? It was to be believed, that if he had had Golo in this humour, he had brought back the custom of sacrificing to ghosts: but this perfidious man feigned very fitly a journey, when he perceived the temper of his master changed; if his misfortune had staid him in the Palatines house, there had been an end of his life, principally after the horrible, and fear­full vision of Drogan. I will not say, that it was an illusion of his sick spirit, for I know that God permits sometimes souls to come again for the good of some per­sons: Examples make sufficient proofs of this truth, which is passed even unto hell; since that the rich man in the Go­spel, who was alwayes cloathed with the colour of fire, demanded of the father of the faithfull, to return unto the world, to avert his brother from the punishments of the other life.

One night as the Palatine was laid to sleep, he heard about midnight some one that walked with great paces into his chamber: forthwith he drew the curtains [Page 95] of his bed, and having perceived nothing at the glimmering of a little light that re­mained in the chimney, he indeavoured to sleep; but a quarter of an houre after, the same noise began again, insomuch that he perceived in the mid [...]st of his chamber a great man, pale and gashly, who trained after him a great bundle of chains, with which he seemed to be tyed: this horrible vision, appearing in the ob­scurities of the night, was capable to o­verthrow the spirits of a man, less [...] hardy than Sifroy; but being couragious and assured, he asked him what he would have, without witnessing much fear, thinking it unworthy of him to tremble for shad­dows, who had not apprehended death it self: Yet could he not forbid a cold sweat, which diffused it self through all his body; especially, when he saw that this spirit made him signes to come to him; which he did notwithstanding, following him a thwart a low Court, and from thence into a little garden, where he no sooner was, but it vanished away, leaving the Count more astonished with his flight, than if he had cōtinued him yet a company so little delightful. The Moon aided much his fear, for having shewd him [Page 96] until then where he was, she withdrew all her light, leaving him to seek amidst the darknesse the doore of his chamber. Be­ing laid again in his bed, he began to i­magine that he had this great man all of Ice at his sides, who pressed him between his arms, this made him call his servants, who found him more pale than a dead man, he dissembled notwithstanding his fear untill the morning. Scarce began the day to break, but he commanded his servants to open the Earth at the place where the spirit vanished: they had not digged above two foot deep, but they met with the bones of a dead man loaden with irons, and chains. There was a servant who told the Count, that Mon­sieur the Intendant had caused the body of the unfortunate Drogan to be cast in­to this very place where they had found this carcasse. Sifroy ordained that they should cause him to be interred, and that Messes should be said for his repose. Since this time there was no more noise heard in the Castle; but the spirit of the Pala­tine served him for vision, giving him all the horrible imaginations that men provoked with fury can figure to them­selves.

[Page 97]It was then that he acknowledged his frights and his fears were the effects of his crime. Nothing could divert him from his black and deep imaginations: he had continually before his eyes the i­mages of those three Innocents whom he believed to have destroyed. These words were often heard to proceed from his mouth: O Genevieva thou tormentest me! his friends indeavoured to draw him from this melancholly, but the hand of God pursued him in every place, and the image of his crime never abandoned him. The devils carry their hell wheresoever they go: and a wicked person trains al­wayes his executioner with him. Sifroy had sinned through a sudden precipitati­on, and God clean contrary in his pro­ceedings would punish him with a slow and lingring pain, to the end to make him feel how dangerous it was not to take counsel of reason, upon the acci­dents that arrive unto us.

Whilst we amuse us in the hor­rours of the Count, we lose the good discourse of Genevieva. It was well for­ward in the seventh year of her solitude, that the little Benoni, began to have with the sense of his miseries, the full and per­fect [Page 98] use of reason. His mother forgot nothing of all that which might serve to his instruction, having not the means no more than the desire to leave him the goods of fortune, she would not leave him unprovided of those with which poverty can make it self rich: all her care was to teach him to know God, the love and reverence which we ow unto him, and that he was not like unto those beasts that played with him, for asmuch as he had a soul which should never dye, and that these animalls lived not but for a time. Morning and evening before he reposed himself, she made him kneel down before the Crosse, and she never permitted him to suck his hind before he had prayed to God. This little Infant shewed so much inclination unto good, that his mother was transported with joy thereof. He made her thousand pet­ty questions, which shewed enough the sweetnesse of his nature, and the good­nesse of his wit. This made sometimes the poore mother to weep, considering that her son deserved well to be brought up in another School than amongst the beasts. She never granted Benoni to tell him the cause of her tears; but dissem­bling [Page 99] with prudence, she believed that she ought not to increase his evils in dis­covering the authour thereof.

I cannot forget a discourse which added almost to the plaints of Genevieva, the losse of her life. One day as this child played in his mothers bosome, and flat­tered her amorously with his little hand, he demanded her: my mother, you com­mand me often to say Our father which art in heaven, tell me who is my father? Oh little Innocent, what do you? this demand is capable to kill your poore mother: indeed Genevieva was upon the point to sownd at these words, not­withstanding, hugging this dear child in her bosome, and casting her arms about his neck, she said unto him: My child, your father, is God, have I not told it you al­ready? look upon that fair Palace, behold his house, the heaven is the place where he dwel­leth: but my mother doth he know me well? Oh my son replyed Genevieva he can do no otherwise, he knows you, and he loves you: how comes it then (answered Benoni) that he doth me no good, and that he permits all the evils that we suffer? My son, it is to deceive our selves to believe that goods are the proof of his love, far be it from [Page 100] us to have such a thought; the necessities which we endure denote a fathers heart on our behalf, seeing that riches are no other thing, but the means to destroy us, with which God punisheth sometimes the wicked, reserving his blessing for his friends in the other world. The little Be­noni heard all this discourse w ^th much at­tention, but when he heard her make the difference of the good and the bad, and of another world; he could not chuse but thus interrupt Genevieva. And what hath my father other children besides me? and where is that other world? my son answe­red the holy Countesse, God is a great and rich father, who hath many children, yet is he not lesse powerfull for all that, for asmuch as he hath infinite treasures to give them. Al­though you never were out of this wood, you must know that there are Towns and Provinces, which are full of men and women, whereof some fellow vertue, and others leave themselves to go after vice. Those who respect him as true children, shall go one day to heaven, to enjoy there with him a thousand contentment: on the contrary those that offend him shall be pu­nished in hell, which is a great place under earth full of fire and of torments. Chuse now which you will be; we have reason to be of the first, for those who are miserable as we, provi­ded [Page 101] they be so, willingly, and because that God will have it so are assured to go into Paradise, which is that I called the other world, Benoni could not hold from asking her when they should go into this Paradise. It shall be after our death replyed the mother.

This poore Innocent was very far from comprehending all that which his mo­ther had said unto him, if the goodnesse of God had not serv'd him for Master, enlightning inwardly his little soul, and laying naked to him these fair knowled­ges, which we learn not but with a long study, and much labour. He had never seen any, and yet he comprehended pre­sently what these Towns and Provinces were, as perfectly as if he had travelled all the world: if he had heard some phy­losophie upon the immortality of the soul, he could not better have compre­hended its essence, and its qualities; he had even some knowledges of which his age was not capable. Experience had ne­ver taught him what death was, but it wanted not much, that he had not a sor­rowfull example thereof in the person of his mother some few dayes after: the long troubles, the ordinary griefs, and the want of all things had consumed a [Page 102] body, which could not be but delicate, as having been nourished in the delights of a Court. She had sustained six whole Winters, and as many Summers, inso­much, as scarce could she know her self. To see Genevieva and a sceleton, was as the same thing; the roots whereon she fed, had composed her body all of earth. Judge if a little sicknesse accompanied with all these in commodities could not ruine a body, which having been worn out by extreme dolours, extenuated by insupportable austerities, and gnawn with thousand boyling cares, had need of more than a puffe to overthrow it. And yet behold a violent feaver, which laid hold on that little blood which rest­ed in her veins, and enflamed it with so burning a heat, that the poore Genevieva expected nothing but death. Benoni see­ing the languishing eyes of his mother, her colour extreamly defaced, betook himself so strongly to his cryes that he might well be heard of that soul which was fled already, and besides he shed so many tears, that it was to be feared that so much might well extinguish that little heat which remained to him. At last Ge­nevieva, returned from a long sownd fix­ed [Page 103] for some time her eyes upon the a­miable subject of her griefs, and after having told him that he was the son of a great Lord, and all that she had conceal­ed from him untill then, she added.

My son, behold the happy day that comes to put end to my pains, I have no cause to com­plain of death, having no reason to desire life. I am going to leave the world without regret, as I have lived therein without desire. If I were capable of any displeasure, it would be to leave you without remedy, and without support in the sufferance of those evils which you have not meerited. Not to lye for the matter, this con­sideration would touch sensibly my heart, if I had not one more high, which constrains me to put my interests and yours into the hand of him, who is the good father of orphans, and the pow­erfull support of the innocent. It is to him that I leave the care of your Infancy, it is from him that you ought to expect your assistance; cast your self amorously into his arms, and put all your confidence in his goodnesse. I will not have you retain any thoughts of a poore mother, who hath not brought you into the world, but to suf­fer all the evils thereof; yet if you desire to render something to my cares, behold what I demand of you for an acknowledgement: I conjure you, my dear son, to bury with my body [Page 104] the resentments of my injuries, since there is none but God alone that knows their greatnesse, there is none but he that can ordain them their punishments. The punition of an injustice is never just, when we our selves are the authors of the revenge, and the subject of the offence. And then my dear Benoni, the injury that they have done me is of a strange nature, seeing you cannot be pious without offending piety, nor re­venge your mother, but by the outrage of your own father. In this case it would be to wash your hands with blood, to make them clean, and to make your self wounds to heal your self. I know that it is hard to suffer evil without complaining of it, this also is not that I desire of you; be sensible of your evils, nature wils it, but resent them not seeing that vertue forbids it; have more regard to the good will of God, which permits our afflictions, than to their evil will who procure them us. If nature invite you to the desire of revenge, grace will remove you from it; if humane reason commands it, divine for­bids it; if impatience perswades it, sweetnesse abhorres it: if the example of men carries you thereunto, that of God should draw you from thence. We ought rather to obey the judgement in this than the will, and to hear reason than to hearken to our senses. I hope that the mercy of God will do us justice, and that it will give [Page 105] all the world to understand that you are son of a mother very little guilty to be in so ill esteem, and too innocent to be so unjustly afflicted. More­over my son, after having laid this body in earth, do that which God shall inspire you, if he will that you return to your father, make no diffi­culty thereat; you have those qualities which will make you acknowledged; the resemblance of your visage to his will not permit him to dis­claim you, if he remembers yet what he is: as for me, from whom you cannot expect other good but my desires and benedictions, I give them you as abundantly as heaven can distribute them unto you.

In saying this, she put her Benoni on his knees, moystening his little visage with the rest of her tears. Represent to your selves, the pity of this spectacle: the poore Genevieva attended the end of her miseries, and Benoni the beginning of his dolours. Death seeing them in this posture advanced himself to give the last stroke of his rage. Stay cruell, it is not time yet to cut off so precious a life, at­tend to give her her death, till the justice of God hath rendered her her honour. What spoils canst thou hope from so mi­serable a creature? her body hath no more flesh to nourish thy worms, thou wilt [Page 106] gnaw her bones, grief hath done that al­ready: thou pretend'st perhaps to encrease the number of thy phantosmes and of thy shadows, let her live it is no more any other thing. Whilst that our Coun­tesse expected death, two angels more fair than the sun entred into her Grott, who filled it with odour and light. Being approached to her little bed of boughs, he who was tutelar of the sick, said unto her in touching her; Live Genevieva, God will have it so: then opening her dy­ing liddes, she perceived these Angels, who gave her not time to be considered, leaving her with health, the astonishment of this miraculous cure. God doth no­thing which hath not its last perfection, contrary unto men, who travell by lit­tle and little, and who drive away a dis­ease by remedies, which are sometime vio­lent evils. The great Physician of hea­ven gives a full and perfect health by the sole command which he gives the sick­nesse to retire, his medicines are without disgust, and his cures without weaknes­ses: so soon as the Angels departed from the cave of Genevieva, she departed from her poore bed as strong as she was before this last sicknesse. To see her rise, one [Page 107] would have said it was a resurrection that was made, and not a cure. The child wept for joy to see his mother revive, and Genevieva sighed with sadnesse, to see her self driven back again from the port in­to the tempest.

Afflict you no more, Genevieva, God contents himself with your sufferings, he doubts no more of a fidelity, which he hath known by so long a patience. Your evils are finished, your crown is atchieved, the fire of your glory hath been long enough buried in the bottome of the pit of calumny, it is time that it break forth, and make appear the fair and innocent rayes of its light. It was near upon seven years that Si­froy & Genevieva suffered, the one in the horrours of a crime which he had not committed but through ignorance, & the other in the miseries which she endured not but by injustice. God willing to make appear the innocence of the one, & the error of the other permitted that that wicked Sorceresse, with whom he had seen the imaginary sinne of his wife, was taken, accused [...]nd convicted of hai­nous crimes, which she could not deny, though they were false for the most part. Being upon the point to expiate her of­fences by the flames, and already tyed to [Page 108] the infamous stake of punishment, she d [...]manded permission of the Justice to say some last words, which was granted her. After the confession of some crimes, she declared that of all the evils which she had ever committed, that of rendring an innocent person guilty, pressed her most. The Ministers of Justice laid hold of these words, and commanded her to ex­presse her self on this last point, which she did, avouching that the Palatine Sifroy had put his wife to death upon a suspiti­on which the illusions of her Magick had given him. The Sorceresse dyed up­on this protestation, which was present­ly reported to the Count, who was no lesse sorrowfull for this news, than com­forted to see that though he had lost his wife without recovery, she was at last dead without reproach.

Who con describe the rage that seised his spirit, the menaces of his choller a­gainst Golo, and the sweet plaints that he made unto his wife and his son: oh cru­el Hangman! was it not enough to ru­ine my House without hazarding the Ho­nour thereof? If thou hadst malice to mas­sacre the Innocent; why found'st thou not mean [...] more honest to thy cruelty? if thou hadst not [Page 109] been as impudent as unjust in thy calumny, wouldst thou not think to have done sufficient? Oh that thou hast not a hundred lives to expi­ate the horrour of this crime, perfidious traitor thou shoudst lose one of them in the flames, ano­ther under the sword, a third between the teeth of my dogs, and all in as many kinde of deaths, as thy malice hath had diverse artifices in her calumnies: but you are still dead, deplorable victimes, thou art dead, my deere Genevieva, thou art dead innocent Lamb, which I have as soon made to die as to live: Your blood cries vengeance unto heaven against me, and marks upon my front the shame of villany. O shall I beg your pardon of a fault, which my credulity onely hath committed? And why should I not hope this favour from your mercy, seeing that you are as good as innocent? if an extream sin can revenge it self by an extream punishment; Oh I promise you to expiate mine, and to wash my hands in the barbarous blood of him, who i [...] the cause thereof.

It would be an infinite thing to tell you all those maledictions which his choler made him pronounce against Golo: yet considering that we should not cry after the Birds which we would take, he made his passion to be governed by his judgement, and dissembled his discontent [Page 110] for fear to vent his designe. Golo had re­tired himself to his house these two years, and came to see the Palatine onely when civility constrained him to this duty. What doth Sifroy? he takes good order, that he escape him not, he prayes him by letter to come to aide him at a solemn hunting: The design thereof was true, but he declared not to him that he was the beast which he would there take. Behold him then in the Palatines, house, and from thence in the same Tower, where he had held so long time his innocent mistresse: Say now that God is not just, say that he sleeps, and that his providence leaves vir­tue to suffer, and vice to triumph. Golo sighed with fear, and Genevieva sighed with love, he lost himself in the horrours of his punishment, whilest she lost her self in the sweet extasies of her solitude. This is nothing yet, you shall see presently that God serves himself with the malice of the wicked, as we use Serpents and Vipers, from whom we seek their venome, and after crush their heads. The Palatine ha­ving thus given the conduct of the pu­nishment which he meditated, to his dis­cretion, took up a designe to invite his allyes at the kings festival, and after the [Page 111] feast to put Golo into their hands: to this purpose, he made all the provision that could be for a sumptuous and magnifick banket: All the elements furnished there their delicates: the Count willing to contribute thereunto something of his labour, resolved to go a hunting: the day which he had chosen, had no sooner dissipated the darknes, & waked the birds, but Sifroy departed, to the end to surprise the beasts in their lodges. It would be to engage one's self in a labyrinth to de­scribe all the turns and returns of the Hares, the cunning of the yellow beasts, the flight of the Stags, and the retreat of the Boars: Although this discourse might be pleasing, it would be unprofitable, be­ing from the matter, and then I have so many necessary things, that I leave wil­lingly the superfluous.

Whilest they heated themselves in the Chasse, the providence of God prepared its stroak, but in a fashion all amourous, and full of sweetnesse. Scarce was our Palatine separated from his people, but he perceived a Hinde at the mouth of the wood, (it was the Nurse of his poor son) he presently set spurs to his horse, but she gained the Forrest, brushing a thwart the [Page 112] bushes, so slowly though, that she seemed to desire her taking, or at least to be cha­sed: Sifroy pursued her even to a Cave. Alas it was that of our Innocent Countesse. As he made himself ready to dart a Javeline at this poore beast, he be­held something in the bottome of that den, which resembled much a woman, but that it appeared naked, having no other cloathing but a long and thick dresse of hair, which covered in some fashion all her body. This spectacle made him approach it, till he might discern that it was a woman, in whose bosome the Hind sought Sanctuary. The Count and the Countesse were then seised with two different admirations: Sifroy won­dred at the familiarity of this beast, and at the extreme necessity of the woman, whom he had taken for a Bear: Genevie­va, who had not been visited, but of the Angels these seven years, could not suffi­ciently admire to see her husband, whom she presently knew, though unknown her self. After that the astonishment had made place to other thoughts, the Pala­tine prayed her to approach him; but Genevieva, who was too modest to ap­pear so naked, requested him something [Page 113] to cover her, which he did letting fall his Cassock, with which she cloathed her self. When she was wrapped with this cloak, Sifroy came towards her, and que­stioned her of many things.

O wisdome of God, how admirable art thou! during their discourse, the goodnesse of heaven awaked the remem­brance of Genevieva in the soul of Sifroy, who demanded of her her name, her countrey, and how it came she was reti­red into so fearfull a desart.

Sir, (replyed Genevieva) I am a poore wo­man of Brabant, whom necessity hath con­strained to retire into this little corner of the world, having not any support elsewhere. It is true, I was married to a man, who could do me good, if he had had so much will thereunto as power. The suspition which he too lightly took of my fidelity, made him consent to my ruine, and to that of a child, which was not conceived with the sinne that was imposed upon me: and if the servants, who received the command to make me die, had had so much precipitation to execute my Sentence, as he had imprudence to con­demn me, I had not lived the space of seven years in a solitude, where I have not had any did, but of the air, of the water, & of some roots, which have no lesse served to prolong my mise­series [Page 114] than my life. During this sad Dis­course, love spake in the heart of Sifroy, and his eyes sought upon this exte­nuated visage the marks of his dear wife: his sighs said unto him, without doubt, behold Genevieva, but the extreme mise­rie of our penitent permitted him not to settle himself in this opinion. The malice of Golo seemed unto him too pru­dent, and too full of artifices to let her live, who had been the subject of his hate. Yet she said, that a suspition was the cause of her misfortune, that she was of Bra­bant, that her husband was of quality, that he had a design against her life. O what force hath love! this visage which so many austerities had defaced, gave him certain assurances of that which he sought. But my friend, tell me your name: Sir, I am called Genevieva: at these words, the Count let himself drop from his horse, and skipping unto her neck, he cryed out: Is it thee then, my dear Genevieva, alas is it thee, whom I have so long lamented as dead? and from whence comes this good fortune to me, to embrace her whom I deserve not to see? but what though, may I remain in the presence of her whom I have kil­led at least with desire? O my dear Girl, par­don [Page 115] an offender, who confessing his sin avouch­eth your Innocence. If one life may serve, after having made you die so many times, I put mine into your hands, dispose thereof according to your will; I will live no longer than it shall please you, since that my life and my death de­pend of your Iustice Geneviev!

It is true, that great griefs can neither weep nor complain, and it is no lesse true, that immoderate joyes cannot speak. Af­ter this first sally, the Count and the Countesse remained immoveable like marble Statues, without power to speak a word in a long time. Genevieva thought of the amiable providence of God, which rendered her Honour by those wayes, which were rather miracles, than mira­culous; and Sifroy could not satisfie him­self with seeing a visage, which he had sometimes so much loved, and which he respected then, as the most sacred part of a Saint. The miseries and languishments had not so consumed her body, that there was not yet some remains of that former beautie, which had made him to adore it; this pierced the heart of the Palatine for having persecuted vertue in so fair a body. So soon as the extasie and ravish­ment gave him the liberty to breath, the [Page 116] first word he uttered was this: Where is then my poore Infant Genevieva? where is the miserable son of a father, who hath been more unfortunate than wicked? Then the Prin­cesse who knew the true regret of her Husband, and saw in his tears the image of his soul, willing to render peace to his spirit, used some of these sweet words, with which she was wont to caresse him formerly.

My Lord, blot out of your mind the remem­brance of my miseries, and of your error: seeing we have no other power upon things pass'd but oblivion; let us adde nothing to our evils through our disability to cure them. God hath not re­served us hitherto, but to enjoy the fruits of his mercy, let us not refuse that which he presents unto us. For me, who seem to have the greatest interest in this, I pardon with all my heart those who procured me evil, and much more willingly those, who have not done it me but by surprise. Think not that I retain any resentment against you; if you have hated a malefactresse, I have never been the subject of your hate. You have failed, your fault is so much the more par­donable unto you, as it hath been profitable un­to me: live satisfied then, Genevieva lives, and your son also. Surely Sifroy had need of a great force to moderate so great a joy: [Page 117] but this vertue was yet more necessary when he saw his little Benoni, who brought his two hands full of roots to his mother. I am no more able to repre­sent the contentment of this father, than a great painter who vailed the grief of of him who could not see a sacrifice to be made of his daughter. Fancy to your self all the contentments that a father could have, and say assuredly that Sifroy enjoyed them all; how many sweet tears shed he in his bosome? how many kisses imprinted he upon his mouth, and upon his checks? how many embraces, and ac­colades think you that he gave him? Love loseth nothing; we need not doubt but he rendered him then, all that which he owed him these seven years. But what is become of all our Hunters? Sifroy blew his Horn, and called them, all the wood resounded with his voice: at last three or four of those that knew it, betook themselves instantly to the place, from whence it came.

O God, what astonishment seised not their spirits to find their Master in this conjuncture, to see a little child hanging on his neck, a woman by his side, and a hind amongst his dogs without any quar­rell. [Page 118] What admiration when they knew it was that Lady which they had so much lamented.

The Palm separated from her male wi­thers and languishes, insomuch that one would take it for a dry tree, but so soon as she can embrace with her boughs him whom she seems to love, her branches take a vigour, which visibly makes them grow young again. Genevieva, who amongst the troubles of her sorrow, and the ne­cessities of her poverty, had had time enough to lose her beauty, took again so much grace at the sight of her dear Si­froy, that resembling something that which she had been, the servants had not much labour to know her. They could not chuse but give tears to this first joy: some were readily sent to the Castle to seek a Litter, and cloths, others giving all what they could of theirs to cloath the Countesse followed softly. It was not without displeasure, that Genevieva quit­ted so pleasing an abode, at least he [...] words witnessed some regret.

Adiew (said this good Princesse) adiew sacred Grott, who hast hid so long time my sor­rows: adiew trees who have defended me from the Sunne, adiew amiable Brook, which hast [Page 119] served me often with Nectar: adiew little Birds, who have kept me so good company; a­diew sweet animals, who have been unto me so many servants; mayest thou never serve for a retreat to thieves, my dear grot; Let not the heat of the Sun scorch these boughes; let the venome of the serpents never empoison these wa­ters; let not birdlime nor gins deceive these birds, nor the hunters ever hurt these innocent beasts.

One might say without much fixion, that all the creatures witnessed the dis­pleasure of this departure. The den be­came more dark: the water seemed to murmure more loud, and run more swift­ly then ordinary: The Zephires sighed thereat, and the Birds accompanied her, even at the going forth of the wood, de­noting by the beating of their wings, and the tone of their languishing songs, the displeasure of this separation: there was none but the Hinde, which was without regret, because she followed the Countess, without ever moving from her.

Having gone a mile, those who were sent to the Castle returned, accompanied withall the Domesticks, who could not say one sole word to their good Mistresse, so absolutely had joy possessed them: As [Page 120] they approached the house, two fisher­men advanced towards the Palatine, and presented him a fish of a prodigious great­nesse: but the marvel was, that after ha­ving opened him, they found in his gar­bage a ring which Sifroy knew to be that which Genevieva had cast into the river: This new miracle caused a new admira­tion in all the assistance, and chiefly in the spirit of the Count, who could not praise enough the goodnesse of God, that made the dumb to speak, to declare the inno­cence of his wife. This was not the first time that such like prodigies have hap­pened. A King of the Samians having cast an Emerauld into the sea, six dayes after one brought him a fish, which had it un­der his tongue; no body can be ignorant of that which arrived to St. Morillus af­ter seven years travel: And to come neer unto the age of our Countesse; it is cer­tain that St. Arnoult grandfather to the great Charlemain, recovered in a fish the ring, which he had cast into the Moselle, insomuch that this same river having ren­dred that of our Genevieva, seemeth to have some sence and feeling of justice.

Admire you not the sweet goodness of heaven, which discovers in the end an in­nocence, [Page 121] which hate had laid hold on, ca­lumny sullied, credulity convicted, mise­ries afflicted, and solitude obscured the space of seven years. Observe if you please the changes of fortune, or rather the ef­fects of Gods providence: Behold Gene­vieva in the delights of a Palace, alas! who is happy there? stay, behold her in the ob­scurity of a prison, in the horrour of a desert, and worse than all this, in the ne­cessity of all things, and in the pain of a crime, the onely conceit whereof is a cru­ell martyrdome to a Lady of honor: all is lost, a little patience; I see her comming out of these vapours of calumny, as the Sun out of the cloud, I see her cherished like a wife, served like a Queen, adored like a Saint: what say you now? Is God good? behold if he be just.

All the kindred and friends of Sifroy failed not to visit him in his palace, where they met with a far greater subject of joy than they hoped, when they knew their good kinswoman, and understood the means which God used to declare her in­nocence: there was no body that ren­dered not thanks unto God, for so great a benefit: some saluted the mother, others were alwayes glued on the cheeks of the [Page 122] childe: nothing was forgotten of all that could encrease this rejoycing: The feast dured a whole week entire, the joy where­of was not troubled, but with the dis­pleasure onely to see that the Countesse could not taste, either flesh, or fish: All that which her strength and stomack could endure, was herbs and roots, a little bet­ter accommodated then those she eate in her solitude.

Some dayes being thus passed away in pleasures and delights, the Count com­manded that they should draw Golo out of prison, who had not been then entire, if he had not reserved him to a punish­ment more rigorous; they brought him into the chamber, where the Countesse was withall this Nobility, which was come to visite Sifroy: It was there where all the terrors of an evill conscience sei­sed this wicked man; his artifices served him no more, he could not deny a crime which had men, the beasts, and the fishes for witnesses. The hope of a pardon see­med unto him a new sin, the fear of tor­ments tortured him already, the image of death put him into transies; the goodnes of Genevieva gave him a thought of his safety, but the horror of his offence cros­sed [Page 123] it, and represented to him, that it was as little reasonable to expect mercy, as he was worthy of pardon. Her piety made him to hope it, but his own cruelty took from him all his confidence: The amity of the Count endeavoured to give boldnesse, but his just indignation filled him with fear; he would fain finde in his heart the assurances of pardon, but his eyes, his voice, and all his visage spake not to him, but of Gibbets, and of pu­nishments; at last daring not so much as to fix his sight upon her, whom he had so unworthily treated, he fell down with fear and faintnesse. Sifroy kindling all his countenance with choller, and thunder­ing forth fearfull threatnings, after ha­ving reproached him for his infidelity, condemned him to die. It was here, that goodness came to combat with malice, prudence with artifice, compassion with cruelty, sweetnesse with all the resent­ments of nature, and clemency with equi­ty it self. Genevieva not able to see a wretch without pitty, indeavoured to re­voake the Sentence of death, speaking un­to Sifroy in these tearms.

Sir, (said this good mistresse) although good successes justifie not evill intentions, I have [Page 124] notwithstanding some cause to beg of you the life of Golo, for the great good which he hath procured me. I confesse that all his proceedings being unjust, I cannot finde his pardon but in your goodnesse; but if you look upon the favors that I have derived from thence, I believe that he may have recourse to another vertue than mercy: I disguise not his fault to give it a fair visage, Golo hath offended Genevieva; he would have ravish't from her her honour, with her life: to whom belongs it to pursue the re­venge of this crime but to her self? if you say that her injuries are yours, and that you enter into all her interests, I answer, that you should not take a lesse part in her desires, and as there is nothing in the world that I desire with more passion than the life of Golo, I must expect this contentment from your goodnesse, as he hopes this favour from my benefits. Permit that I adde to that little virtue which I have, the glory to vanquish my self in the thing which is most sensible to me, that is to give life unto him, who used all the means he could to take mine from me: but if you are fixed to the designe of punishing him, I know no means more proporti­onable to his crime, then to leave him under the hands of his own Conscience, which will fur­nish him with a thousand executioners, and a thousand punishments: In a word, my dear Si­froy, [Page 125] I desire that he live, and that he owe his life to these tears, which I give to his misery.

Who would not have yeelded himself to the prayers of so fair a mouth? Golo began to hope, all the company expected the pardon of his crime: This discourse could not contradict the expectation of the company without giving it admira­tion: the poore malefactour was so touched therewith, that he cryed out, fal­ling at the feet of Genevieva.

Madame, it is now that I penetrate better than ever into the goodnesse of your heart, and the malice of mine, alas! who would have dared to hope that she whom so many just rea­sons oblige to my ruine, would desire my pre­servation? miserable Golo, it is at this instant that thou art unworthy of thy life, since thou would'st have ravished that of this holy Prin­cesse. No, no, my good Mistris, suffer me to dye: ordinary regrets and displeasures cannot expiate my offence; it is fit that the rigour of a shamefull death revenge its cruelty. Blood is ne­cessary where tears are unprofitable: since I cannot merit my pardon, permit that I suffer my punishment. I have attempted your honour, the violence of passion might serve me for ex­cuse. Your courage having resisted my pursuits, [Page 126] I have slandered your innocence; this sin is ve­ry black, yet it may be forgotten. I was not content to make your vertue to be doubted, but I endeavoured to take away your life: truly this crime ought not to find pardon, having no pre­tence at all. It is not that your goodnesse is not great enough to grant me this favour, neverthe­lesse, seeing that I am altogether unworthy thereof, I have not the desire. So my dear mi­stris all that I beg of you in dying is, that my crime live no longer in your memory, and that my blood wash away the resentment thereof in your heart.

As he had ended these words, or to speak more properly, the sobbes having interrupted them, his eyes powred forth so many tears, that it was to be believed he would have melted at the feet of the Princesse.

Golo took Genevieva for that which she was, extremely sensible, but if she had much pity, Sifroy had no lesse zeal. God who is as just as mercifull, would give by this stroke an example unto men, and harden the heart of the Count, who be­lieved to have need of all the goodnesse of his wife, for his own pardon. Behold then his condemnation confirmed, they led him unto prison, to attend there the [Page 127] execution of the Sentence. Sifroy who would punish the extraordinary crimes by torments which were not common, found himself troubled about the man­ner of his death: sometimes he would revenge himself of his infidelity, in ex­posing him to the rage of his dogs, which are the simbole of its contrary, and then considering that his sinne had beginning from the infamous fires of love, it seem­ed reasonable unto him to cover them with the ashes of his proper body, or to quench them in the waters of the River. All these punishments were great, but his crime was no lesse. Sifroy thought not to be sufficiently revenged, if the effects of his vengeance had not had something of extraordinary. At last having long wa­vered thereupon, he concluded to make him dye in this manner.

There was in the Palatines Herd four of those salvage oxen, which the black Forrest nourished, which were brought by his Command, and being coupled tail to tail, the miserable Golo was tyed by the arms, and legges, which were pre­sently separated from his body, whose infamous reliques found their Tomb in the stomach of the Crows by a just judge­ment [Page 128] of God, to the end that the body of so wicked a man might be so ill lodged after his death, as his soul had been du­ring his life.

Behold the punishment of a man, who was not unfortunate, but by too much good fortune. See the ordinary fruits that falshood produceth: behold the precipi­ces whereunto a wicked Passion carries us: behold the shipwracks whereinto the winds of prosperity drive us: behold the sports of fortune, which flatters not our hopes, but to seduce them. Deceive not your selves herein, if she shew you a a fair visage, remember that the Sirens do the same: is she allures by her caresses, the Panther doth it also; if her amorous plaints invite you, the sighs of the Cro­codile should serve for your instruction: if she shineth, her brightnesse is no more a­amible then that of the fals meteors; mise­rable Golo, I see thee added to the example of those whom this traitresse hath decei­ved! O how happy had thy condition been, if it had been lesse eminent, and how thy life had been assured, if favor had not exposed it! let us seek, I pray you, the first step of his misfortune, and we shall finde that it was the authority which he [Page 129] had acquired in his Masters house; the second, too great a liberty to behold that which he should not desire; and the last, a love without respect, whence proceeded a demand without honour, a pursuit without successe, a hate without cause, a calumny without judgment, and a pu­nishment without mercy: on the other side, if we look upon the innocent Coun­tesse, we shall see virtue smutted, but for its glory; constancy shaken, but for its setlement; sanctity despised, but for her security: and moreover we shall ac­knowledge that the triumphes of vice are short, and its confusion very long; and that it is not once onely that God hath withdrawn the innocent heads from the sword of the Executioner, to the end to crown them.

Those who were found accomplices to Golo, received punishments proporti­onable to their faults, and those who had shewed themselves favorable to the affli­ction of Genevieva, met with no lesse gra­titude in her, then the others of severity in the spirit of the Palatine: that poor maid who had pity of the Countesse, and had brought her ink, found her benefit written otherwise than upō paper. Death [Page 130] hindered Genevieva to recompense those who had given her life, in not taking it away; for as much as the one of them was deceased, the other received all the acknowledgement of that good action: These recompenses and pains were fol­lowed with the contentments of all those that loved virtue. The little Benoni was he that found more fortune in this change: the very pleasures of a Solitude, made him to tast the delights of his house with more sweetnesse. Never had he been so happy, if he had not been miserable, notwithstanding his spirit stayed not so much on his contentments, that he took not the tincture of all the good qualities with which Nobility might advance his merit. Nothing of low was observed in this little courage, for having been brought up in poverty: nothing of wild­nesse for having been bred with the bears. The father and mother took a singular pleasure in the good inclinations of this son, aiding him w ^th their wholsom instru­ctions. From the accord and correspon­dence, which was in this house, was bred a generall peace, every one of the servants had no lesse than a golden age. I would say, that they were fully satisfied and content▪

[Page 131]There was not any person who thought not himself well recompensed for his passed sorrows; Genevieva had onely more of merit than of recompence: the World having made her suffer all her evils, had not goods enough to render her▪ that which was due unto her; hea­ven therefore took care to think on the price of her patience. You comprehend well, that I would speak of the death of our Countesse.

God who would not honour the World longer with so great a vertue, re­solved to retire her to her originall, but it was after having advertised her thereof.

One day as she was in prayer, it seemed unto her, that she saw a Troop of virgins, and of holy women, amongst which her good Mistris held the chief rank, having all the others for Ladies of honour: their Majesty ravished presently our Saint, but their sweetnesse charmed her much more sensibly: there was not one of them that gave her not Palms and Flowers, and the Virgin holding in her hand a crown embroidered with precious stones, seem­ed thus to speak unto her.

My daughter, it is time to begin an eterni­ty of pleasures; behold the crown of Gold [Page 132] which I have prepared you, after that of thorns, which you have worn, receive it from my hand. Genevieva understood very well what this visit signified, which caused in her an in­credible satisfaction; the subject whereof notwithstanding she would not declare to Sifroy, for fear to cast a cloud on his joy. Her prudence concealed from him the causes thereof, but the disease which had lesse discretion, told it him within a few dayes. It was a little feaver which seised our incomparable Countesse, and gave him a more clear expression of her revelation. To describe unto you the contentment of Genevieva, it would be a thing no lesse superfluous, than it would be impossible to expresse the displeasures of Sifroy. Must I lose (said he) a treasure which I have so little possessed? It is true that I am unworthy thereof▪ my God, and that I cannot complain of injustice, since you take not from me but what I hold of your pure mercy, and not of my merit. But alas! had it not been more desirable not to have it all, than to have it for a moment? soft and fair, Sifroy, soft & fair, it is no time to deplore, keep your tears for anon, if you will give them to the justest grief of na­ture. I deceive my self; boldly, empty all the humour of your eyes, you should be asham'd to [Page 133] give so little of it to the losse you are to make. Small griefs may be lamented, but great evils have no tongue. When one knows well to speak his evill, the sense thereof is not extreme, nor the regret unfeigned.

Alas! Genevieva is already dead; I see her stretched out upon her poore bed, without vigour, and without motion; her eyes are no more but two starres e­clipsed, her mouth hath no more Roses, her cheeks have lost their lillies. Oh that it is not possible for me to call all the beau­ties of the world about this bed, I would say unto them; behold the remains of that which you cherish with so much passion! behold the ashes of that fire which burns the world! behold an example of that which you shall be! behold an image of which you shall soon be the resemblance: make ye, make ye now, Divinities of that which death shall change one day into worms and putrefaction. But I deceive my self, Genevieva is not dead, a violent trance had onely withdrawn her soul for a time, she comes to her self again; this gives belief, that nature is yet strong e­nough to drive away the evil, provided that it be assisted with some remedies. Think not that any thing was spared. [Page 234] She must depart, God will have it so, and her stomach, which could not suffer but Herbs and Roots, nourished her Feaver, and advanced her death. The good Prin­cesse knew it, and desired it, she called her dear son Benoni, whom she blessed, and her Husband, to whom she said this adiew able to make Tigers and Panthers weep.

My dear Sifroy, behold your dear Genevieva, ready to dy, all the displeasure that I have [...] leave this life, comes unto me from your tears, weep no more, & I shal go away content. If death would give me leasure, I would make appear un­to you by the contempt of that you lose, the little cause you have to lament your losse. But sin [...] the time presseth me, & that there rests unto me, but three sighes, I have but this word to s [...] unto you. Weep Sifroy, as much as I merit it, and you shall not weep much: notwithstanding I conjure you yet, that having forgotten that lit­tle dust which I leave, you would remembe [...] that Genevieva goes to heaven to keep yo [...] place there, and that the Husband and Wife making but one, it may be that God calls [...] to draw thither the other part. Adiew ha [...] care of Benoni.

After these languishing words, [...] that her weaknesse permitted her, was [...] [Page 135] receive the sacred body of her good Ma­ster, which was no sooner entred into her mouth, but she fixed her eyes on hea­ven, where her heart was already, thrust­ing her fair soul forth of her fair body, by a last sigh of love. It was the second of April in the very year of her restauration, that she knew perfectly the merit of her patience. Benoni had no sooner seen the dead members of his Mother, but he cast himself upon the bed, breaking forth in­to such sharp cryes, that he pierced the heart of all the assistants. It was impossi­ble to withdraw him from thence, what indeavour soever they used thereunto. On the other side Sifroy was on his knees, holding fast the hands of his dear Wife, which he watered with his tears.

All the domesticks were round about her like so many Statues of Marble, whom grief had transformed; yet must they give to the earth what the soul of Genevieva had left it; they made them­selves ready to bury this holy body, which was found clad in a rude hair­cloth, capable alone to consume mem­bers so delicate as hers. When they carri­ed the Herse out of the House, it was then that the Palatine made his grief break [Page 136] forth more visibly than the torches which lighted the Funerall pomp; nothing was heard but sighs every where, nothing was seen but tears. In the end after that Sifroy and his son had laid their hearts into the same Tomb with Genevieva, the followers endeavored to withdraw them from the Church, where this holy bo­dy remained in depository, the regret of this losse was not so peculiar to men, that it was not common to the beasts: the birds seemed to languish with grief; and if they singed sometimes about the Castle, it was no more now but plaints.

I cannot omit one thing, which seems unto me worthy of admiration, the poor Hind, who had served the Countesse so faithfully in her life, expressed no lesse love unto her at her death. They hold that this kind of beast casts forth but one grosse tear at death, it must be granted then, that this Hind dyed more than once at the decease of her dear Mistris. It was a pitifull thing to see this poore beast fol­low the Bier of Genevieva, more deplo­rable to hear how wofully she brayed, but most strange that they could never bring her back to the house, remaining day and night at the doors of the Church [Page 137] where her Mistris was. The Servants car­ried her Hay and Grasse, which she would not so much as touch, suffering her self thus to dy w ^th hunger. They brought the news thereof to the Palatine, who betook himself to weep so tenderly as if his Wife were dead once again: for recompence of her fidelity, he made her to be cut in white marble, and laid at the feet of Ge­nevieva. All that notwithstanding com­forted not the affliction of Sifroy: it was in vain to tell him that nature being sa­tisfied it was time to hearken unto rea­son. The remedies of his griefs caused him new griefs: if they represented un­to him that it was no more a love of Genevieva, to lament in this manner, but a hate of himself: he answered that the regret to have lost so holy a woman could not be commendable, if it were not extreme. This was not enough, he sought all the means to entertain his pas­sion, having never more pleasing Idea's than those which represented him his Genevieva. If he went unto the Church, it was to make unto her a sacrifice of his eyes, if he returned to his house, he retired himself into his chamber, speaking to every thing that had been hers.

[Page 138] Behold the bed of my Genevieva, (said he) behold her cabinet, behold her mirrour: then looking into her glasse, he sought there the visage of his dear wife, calling continually Ge­nevieva, Genevieva, but Genevieva an­swered not: from the chamber he passed into the garden, which was sometime all her pa­stime, but it was in the greens of eternity that he must seek her to find her. If the soul of the Saint had been capable of any other passion than of joy, it had been of a ten­der compassion to see the deep Melan­cholly of Sifroy: without doubt her love would have been the remedie thereof, as she was the cause thereof: One afternoon as he was in his ordinary indispositions, a page came to tell him, that there was a Hermit, who requested covert. The Count who had not been accustomed to shut the door unto works of mercy, nor to drive away good actions from his house, was very glad to meet the occasion thereof: He commanded then, that they should cause him to come up. O how happy wert thou, Sifroy! at the same time, that thou op'nedst thy gate unto charity, thou openedst thee that of glory: may be that this encounter makes the knot of your predestination.

[Page 139]Whil'st that supper were making rea­dy, the Count kept company with this holy man, who entertained him upon no other subject, but the miseries of the world, and the bitternesses which are mingled amongst it's greatest delights: Though these discourses were sharpe, yet they seemed unto him full of sweetnesse: Supper being ready, the Count made the Hermit fit at the higher end of the table, although his modesty had chosen the lo­west place; he believed that his virtue re­quired the chief; so do all those, who de­spise not virtue for being ill cloathed: Every one having taken place according to his quality, and eaten according to his appetite; our Religious man took no­tice, that Sifroy did nothing but mourn, and complain, without tasting one mor­sell of meat: He believed that he nourish­ed not himself but with sighes, or at least, he made shew to believe it. That not­withstanding hindered him not to ask him the cause of his tears, which obliged much the Count, who took no pleasure but in the remembrance of his dear Gene­vieva: After, having made the recitall of his lamentable History, he concluded thus;

[Page 140] Now my Father, have not I cause to shed e­verlasting tears? can any one finde it strange, that so precious a losse should afflict me?

Sir, replyed the Religious man) It would be to overthrow the first law of nature, to deny tears unto those to whom we ow something more: Patience hinders not to complain, but onely to murmur: you have reason to resent your affliction, but how long is it since my Lady deceased? It is six moneths (answered the Palatine▪ Pardon me then, if I say, that your grief is too long, or that your courage is too weak, there is somewhat of excesse when tears reach so far: Oh father, that would be true, if I had made a common losse, but having lost in Genevieva a wife & a Saint, & even by my fault, I cannot sufficiently com­plain my misfortune. That very thing said the Hermit) should comfort you, and wipe a­way entirely your tears: Permit me (if you please) to discourse with your grief, and to ex­amine its justice: you have lost a wife, ought you alwayes to possesse her? They have ravisht from you a Saint, what right gives you the en­joyment thereof? have you so little profited in the consideration of the worlds changes, to be ignorant that man, being not made to last al­wayes, must end once: your judgment is too good, to exact from death a priviledge, which [Page 141] is impossible: on every side, where we cast our eys, we see nothing but tombs and ashes: Soveraign Princes have indeed some power upon life, but none at all upon death, yea her greatest pleasure is to overthrow a Thron, to break a scepter, and to pull down a crown, to the end to render her puis­sance remarkable by the greatnes of those whom she hath ruined: Be we born in the purple, or in the spiders webs, inhabit we palaces, or dwell we in cottages, death will finde us out every where: the great may be distinguished in the condition of living, but they shall never have a diffe­rence in the obligation of dying. I say not, but that there are many things which may make us look upon death as a good to be desired, and life as the subject of all our fears; I stop at the rea­sons which are particular to you, for fear that my considerations may be too generall. What cause have you to take it ill, that a mortall thing should dye? you find nothing here to object, but that it is too soon, as if you would that death should have the discretion not to displease you, but when you pleased. And know you not that death being born to the ruine of nature, we should not expect favour from her cruelty, if not to make us dye quickly for fear of languishing. If this knowledge be pass'd unto your spirit, whence comes it that you take it ill that a wo­man hath not lived beyond what she should live, [Page 142] and that she hath lived but a little, to the end not to dye longer? it is not the death of a wo­man that afflicts you, but a Saint who might acquire her self a greater crown in heaven, and do many good actions in the world. Are you as­sured that what had been well begun, should finish well. My Lady, was loaden with merit, might she not fall under the burthen? her trea­sures of vertue were great, might she not fear thieves? she was firm in grace, but feeble in her nature: her piety was well supported, but not immoveable: her will was constant, but it was capable of inconstancy: what know you, if God who hath no other thoughts, but for the good of his creatures, hath not taken from her the leasure to sully the glory of her former acti­ons. Believe me Sir, vice and vertue follow one another like the day and the night: the night may precede the day, but this terminates again in the darknes. I wil believe that the merit of her whom you lament could not be changed but by a great prodigy, but it could not also be conserved, but by a great miracle; I see no cause at all to murmure against God, if he takes pain to keep for you a thing which you might lose. Consider now the weaknesse of your tears, and I assure my self that you will resolve ra­ther to follow her, than to hope that she should come again where you are. Her example in [Page 143] conforming it self to the will of God, leaves you a straight obligation to imitate it, her con­stancy will not that you should weep longer; it is that which she her self would say unto you, if you could hear her, it is that which a person councells you, who hath no other interest in your repose, but that which charity gives him. Seek it in the honest divertisements of hunting, of visits and of recreations, which can­not hurt you, if you take them with moderation, which is to be expected from a person, to whom vertue ought to be as naturall as it is necessary.

The Palatine left not escape one sole word of this Discourse, which gave him a medicine that time it self had denyed him. The Table being taken away, after some communication every one retired himself. The next day Sifroy having de­manded where the Father was, the ser­vants answered that he walked in the gar­den, but being come thither, he found him not. The Count would not believe that he was gone, thinking him too ho­nest to commit an incivility, and ac­knowledging enough not to be ungrate­full. When the day was pass'd and no news of him, he knew not where to fix his belief; that which filled his spirit with admiration was to find his habit in [Page 144] the chamber. The profit which he drew from his good words, sweetned much the sowernesse of his resentments. All the contentments which were full of gall before, seemed unto him afterward more sweet, and lesse in supportable: the flight and the Chase furnished him a good half of his divertisements, thinking that if he laid traps for the beasts, he might take there his grief. O admirable goodnesse of heaven, who so wisely makes use of our inclinations, that he turneth them all to our profit.

One day the Count having resolved to run a great Stag, which they had known by his head, assembled a good number of his neighbors, to have the pleasure of him This design being undertaken, behold all the Gentry in Campania, who had no sooner sought that which they desired, but they found it. The Palatine was the first that perceived the Stagge, who by his flight drew him so farre into the wood, that he conducted him into the Grott where Genevieva had lived seven years. But he was much astonished to see the Stagge in the midst of of the den, and the dogs about him without power to approach him, as if they had been of [Page 145] stone, or that the beast had been in an in­chanted circle. He endeavoured to en­courage them with his cry, but when they raised themselves upon it; one would say that some invisible hand kept them back. The Palatine lighted from his horse, and entered freely into this sacred place; he considered it, and knew there yet the traces of his holy wife, which drew presently the tears from his eyes: Oh, said he, behold where my poor Genevieva did penance so long for a sinne which she never committed! behold, the place where innocence sighed so much! behold the corner where her poore members reposed! Alas! am I yet to de­liberate upon a counsell which I should have ex­ecuted long since?

As the Count was in this admira­tion, the greatest part of the Gentery arrived, who were no lesse seised with this spectacle then he, avouching that this accident was not without miracle: Si­froy would not that this sanctuary should be damageable to the poor beast that was retired thither, having then caused the dogs to be put into lease, he drave out the Stag into the wood, where he found pre­sently his safety in his flight. Although our hunters brought nothing home unto [Page 146] the Castle, they never made notwithstan­ding a better prise. The Count who had a design in his mind, of which no body had any knowledge, departed some few dayes after for Treves, where he met with St. Hidulph, much inclined to the designe which he meditated; it being to build a Chappel where the much blessed Genevie­va had so long lived, to serve for a monu­ment of the mercies with which the good­nesse of God had rendered this place re­commendable: The whole was done with a magnificence, which witnessed e­nough the affection of a husband, who was passionate, and the liberality of a Prince, who was not coveteous: The Church bare the name of our Lady of Mer­sen, by the imposition which the Arch­bishop made thereof in his Consecration: And the reason of this name (which sig­nifies in the language of the Countrey, mercy) seems to be received from the gra­ces which the Virgin Protectresse of Ge­nevieva caused to flow into this holy grot. The Palatine who judged that this soli­tude might serve for a pleasing aboad to those who would quit the creatures, to find God, caused to be erected about the Chappel two or three little Hermi­tages, [Page 147] which received likewise the bene­diction of St. Hidulphus, who parted not from our Lady of Mersen, before he had placed upon the great Altar the miracu­lous Crosse, which Genevieva received from the hand of Angels: A while af­ter the reliques of the Countesse were transported to the place which had made them holy: this action received appro­bation from heaven, which permitted that the service of five or six pair of Oxen, necessary to this convoy, should be sup­plied without pain by a couple of Horses. That which rendered this transport mi­raculous, was the veneration that it re­ceived from the creatures, which one would esteem incapable thereof: the highest trees bowed their branches to ho­nour this body, which came to conse­crate them with its presence: the birds indeavoured themselves to sing, clapping their wings with so visible a testimony of joy, that one could not be ignorant of it.

As this sacred pledge was laid in the place, which had been marked out for it, and that every body had left the Palatine alone in the Chappel, our Saviour loos­ing his right hand from the Crosse, blessed him; Who sees not now unto what pro­sperities [Page 148] afflictions conduct a man? the ceremonies of the dedication being ac­complished, every one returned unto his house: but the Count having his trea­sure in this holy retrait, we should not find it strange, if he had there his heart also. All his thoughts were fixed there, and his desires had no other object: if he could escape at any time all his visits ter­minated themselves at this holy Chappel. At last knowing by the experience of some moneths, that a man can have no repose where there is no pleasure, nor a body live separated from his heart, he called his brother into his Cabinet with the little Benoni, and spake unto him thus.

My dear brother, it is some moneths since, that you might have known in the change of my im­ployments that of my affection: notwithstand­ing, since I must open it more clearly unto some one, I have no body to whom I may do it better than to you, both by devoir and by inclination. You should not be now to know my design, if I had not judged it more fit to have you execute my last will, than to be author of this counsel. You have seen and sighed a part of my evils with all the affection that I could expect from a [Page 149] brother; I imagne that you will not take a lesse part in my joyes than in my sorrows, and that I may expect your utmost power in whatsoever shall tend to my honest contentment. This hath made me resolve to leave unto you the Tutou­rage of my son, who ought to hope no lesse from your affection, than from that of a good father, he ought also henceforth to acknowledge & respect you in that quality, since my resolution is to give what remains of my life to the service of my God in this very place, where all our house hath re­ceived so many favours; represent not to me that my complexion is delicate, because my answer is ready in the example of my dear Genevie­va: tell me not that Benoni hath need of my assistance, seeing he hath an Ʋncle from whom he may expect all kind of support. Besides, this will is so fixed, that I will not have one sole day retard the execution thereof: behold my dear brother, the papers which will give you the knowledge of my affairs.

It was here that nature gave tears, yet without daring to contradict so holy a resolution. There was onely present Be­noni, who spake to his father in these terms.

Sir I am too young to blame your counsells, but I am old enough to follow your example. You leave me a little earth, to possesse heaven: should [Page 150] I not be ignorant, if I should accept that which you offer me, being able to make the same choice that you do? No, no, Sir, I will never live any where but with you; the Noviciate which I have made in the solitude which you desire hath gi­ven me too sweet an experience of its pleasures to withdraw me from your imitation: if your design be to live here, mine is never to dye else­where. Ʋncle, enjoy freely the fortunes of our house, I leave you them with as good a will, as I cordially thank you for the care which you were ready to take for me.

This resolution of Benoni was contra­ry to the expectation of his father, but not contrary to his desire. Behold then, the Palatine, who caused a little Hermits habit to be prepared for him, as he had one already himself, leaving all that which he had in the world to imitate his dear wife, accompanied with his dear son. They came into the holy Grott, where all the Animals, which were for­merly acquainted with Benoni came to acknowledge him.

Glorious Soul, holy and incompara­ble Genevieva! if you can yet remember the things of the earth, cast your eyes in­to this sacred Cave, where you have some­time [Page 151] tasted so many delights, you shall see there your Sifroy, and the dear child of your griefs; without doubt, the change of their Habits shall not have changed your affection; on the contray, having more of your likenesse in this estate, I believe they shall have more of your love; but what? they have already felt the ef­fects thereof, and you have not permitted that so much as one of those thunders, w ^ch rattle beneath you, nor one of those tempests, which you tread under foot, should offend their heads; it is our part now, to make up our confidence of your protection, seeing you are full of good­nesse; and our example of your vertues, seeing you are full of merit.

Behold us (my dear Reader) at the end of a History which puts the providence of God into its fairest day, Innocence out of the fear to be oppressed, and perhaps into the desire to be exercised with ca­lumny, since her persecutions are fol­lowed with so much merit, and her me­rit acknowledged with so much glory: If there be any thing good in this Dis­course, I pretend no other recompence thereof, than the favour of our great [Page 152] Saint: if there be nothing commenda­ble, I will receive contentedly for pu­nishment of my faults, the censure of all those that shall do me the honour to read this little work.