Isaac de, an ingenious French poet of the 17th century, was born at Lyons. He made himself known at court by his verses and his wit, and had the good fortune to please the cardinals de Richelieu and Mazarin. After the death of Richelieu, he got into favour with the duke de Brézé, whom he accompanied in most of his expeditions; and when this nobleman died, he returned to court, where his poetry became highly esteemed. He wrote, 1. A Paraphrase upon Job. 2. Verses for Interludes. 3. Rondeaux upon Ovid. 4. Several Tragedies. A letter which he sent to a young lady with his paraphrase on Job being put in competition with the Urania of Voiture, caused him to be much spoken of; for what an honour was it to be head of a party against this celebrated author? Those who gave the preference to Benferade's performance were styled the Jobistes, and their antagonists the Uranistes; and the dispute long divided the whole court and the wits. Some years before his death, he applied himself to works of piety, and translated almost all the Psalms.
M. l'Abbé Olivet says, that Benferade towards the latter end of his life, withdrew from court, and made Gentilly the place of his retirement. When he was a youth, he says it was the custom to visit the remains of the ornaments with which Benferade had embellished his house and gardens, where everything favoured of his poetical genius. The bark of the trees were full of inscriptions; and, amongst others, he remembers the first which presented itself was as follows:
Adieu fortune, bonheurs adieu, vous et les vôtres, Je viens ici vous oublier; Adieu toi même amour, bien plus que les autres Difficile a congedier.
Fortune and honours, all adieu, And whatsoever belongs to you. I to this retirement run, All your vanities to shun. Thou too adieu, O powerful love; From thee 'tis hardest to remove.
M. Voltaire is of opinion that these inscriptions were the best of his productions, and he regrets that they have not been collected.
Benferade suffered at last so much from the stone, that, notwithstanding his great age, he resolved to submit to the operation of cutting. But his constancy was not put to this last proof; for a surgeon letting him bleed, by way of precaution, pricked an artery, and, instead of endeavouring to stop the effusion of blood, ran away. There was but just time to call F. Commire, his friend and confessor, who came soon enough to see him die. This happened the 19th of October 1691, in the 82nd year of his age.