Chapter CL: Letter VIII: THE ROCKS, July, 1614

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