ther drugs, so improper and unnecessary for their business, I begin to
suspect that the men who inspire them with such fancies, do it that they
may govern them upon that account; for what other excuse can I contrive?
It is enough that they can, without our instruction, compose the graces
of their eyes to gaiety, severity, sweetness, and season a denial with
asperity, suspense, or favour: they need not another to interpret what
we speak for their service; with this knowledge, they command with a
switch, and rule both the tutors and the schools. But if, nevertheless,
it angers them to give place to us in anything whatever, and will, out of
curiosity, have their share in books, poetry is a diversion proper for
them; 'tis a wanton, subtle, dissembling, and prating art, all pleasure
and all show, like themselves. They may also abstract several
commodities from history. In philosophy, out of the moral part of it,
they may select such instructions as will teach them to judge of our
humours and conditions, to defend themselves from our treacheries, to
regulate the ardour of their own desires, to manage their liberty, to
lengthen the pleasures of life, and gently to bear the inconstancy of a
lover, the rudeness of a husband; and the importunity of years, wrinkles,
and the like. This is the utmost of what I would allow them in the
sciences.

There are some particular natures that are private and retired: my
natural way is proper for communication, and apt to lay me open; I am all
without and in sight, born for society and friendship. The solitude that
I love myself and recommend to others, is chiefly no other than to
withdraw my thoughts and affections into myself; to restrain and check,
not my steps, but my own cares and desires, resigning all foreign
solicitude, and mortally avoiding servitude and obligation, and not so
much the crowd of men as the crowd of business. Local solitude, to say
the truth, rather gives me more room and sets me more at large; I more
readily throw myself upon affairs of state and the world when I am alone.
At the Louvre and in the bustle of the court, I fold myself within my own
skin; the crowd thrusts me upon myself; and I never entertain myself so
wantonly, with so much licence, or so especially, as in places of respect
and ceremonious prudence: our follies do not make me laugh, it is our
wisdom which does. I am naturally no enemy to a court, life; I have
therein passed a part of my own, and a