It happen'd, not long after this, there came to the Town a French Gentleman, who was taken at the Siege of Candia, and was Fellow-Slave with Henault, for seven Years, in Turky, and who had escap'd with Henault, and came as far as Liege with him, where, having some Business and Acquaintance with a Merchant, he stay'd some time; but when he parted with Henault, he ask'd him, Where he should find him in Flanders? Henault gave him a Note, with his Name, and Place of Abode, if his Wife were alive; if not, to enquire at his Sister's, or his Father's. This French Man came at last, to the very House of Isabella, enquiring for this Man, and receiv'd a strange Answer, and was laugh'd at; He found, that was the House, and that the Lady; and enquiring about the Town, and speaking of Henault's Return, describing the Man, it was quickly discover'd, to be the same that was in the Sack: He had his Friend taken up (for he was buried) and found him the same, and, causing a Barber to Trim him, when his bushy Beard was off, a great many People remember'd him; and the French Man affirming, he went to his own Home, all Isabella's Family, and her self, were cited before the Magistrate of Justice, where, as soon as she was accus'd, she confess'd the whole Matter of Fact, and, without any Disorder, deliver'd her self in the Hands of Justice, as the Murderess of two Husbands (both belov'd) in one Night: The whole World stood amaz'd at this; who knew her Life a Holy and Charitable Life, and how dearly and well she had liv'd with her Husbands, and every one bewail'd her Misfortune, and she alone was the only Person, that was not afflicted for her self; she was Try'd, and Condemn'd to lose her Head; which Sentence, she joyfully receiv'd, and said, Heaven, and her Judges, were too Merciful to her, and that her Sins had deserv'd much more.

While she was in Prison, she was always at Prayers, and very Chearful and Easie, distributing all she had amongst, and for the Use of, the Poor of the Town, especially to the Poor Widows; exhorting daily, the Young, and the Fair, that came perpetually to visit her, never to break a Vow: for that was first the Ruine of her, and she never since prosper'd, do whatever other good Deeds she could. When the day of Execution came, she appear'd on the Scaffold all in Mourning, but with a Meen so very Majestick and Charming, and a Face so surprizing Fair, where no Languishment or Fear appear'd, but all Chearful as a Bride, that she set all Hearts a flaming, even in that mortifying Minute of Preparation for Death: She made a Speech of half an Hour long, so Eloquent, so admirable a warning to the Vow-Breakers, that it was as amazing to hear her, as it was to behold her.

After she had done with the help of Maria, she put off her Mourning Vail, and, without any thing over her Face, she kneel'd down, and the Executioner, at one Blow, sever'd her Beautiful Head from her Delicate Body, being then in her Seven and Twentieth Year. She was generally Lamented, and Honourably Bury'd.

FINIS.



NOTES: The History of the Nun.

p. 262 The Dutchess of Mazarine. Hortense Mancini, niece of the great Cardinal, was born at Rome in 1646. Her beauty and wit were such that Charles II (whilst in exile) and other princes of royal blood sought her hand. She married, however, 28 February, 1661, Armand-Charles de la Meilleraye, said to be 'the richest subject in Europe'. The union was unhappy, and in 1666 she demanded a judicial separation. Fearful, however, lest this should be refused, she fled from Paris 13 June, 1668, and, after several years of wandering, in 1675 came to London at the invitation of Charles II, who assigned her a pension. Her gallantries, her friendship with Saint-Evremond, her lavish patronage of the fine arts and literature are well known. She died at her Chelsea house in the summer of 1699. Her end is said to have been hastened by intemperance. Evelyn dubs her 'the famous beauty and errant lady.'

* * * * * * * * *

THE NUN: or, The Perjur'd Beauty.

A TRUE NOVEL.

Don Henrique was a Person of great Birth, of a great Estate, of a Bravery equal to either, of a most generous Education, but of more Passion than Reason: He was besides of an opener and freer Temper than generally his Countrymen are (I mean, the Spaniards) and always engag'd in some Love-Intrigue or other.

One Night as he was retreating from one of those Engagements, Don Sebastian, whose Sister he had abus'd with a Promise of Marriage, set upon him at the Corner of a Street, in Madrid, and by the Help of three of his Friends, design'd to have dispatch'd him on a doubtful Embassy to the Almighty Monarch: But he receiv'd their first Instructions with better Address than they expected, and dismiss'd his Envoy first, killing one of Don Sebastian's Friends. Which so enrag'd the injur'd Brother, that his Strength and Resolution seem'd to be redoubled, and so animated his two surviving Companions, that (doubtless) they had gain'd a dishonourable Victory, had not Don Antonio accidentally come in to the Rescue; who after a short Dispute, kill'd one of the two who attack'd him only; whilst Don Henrique, with the greatest Difficulty, defended his Life, for some Moments, against Sebastian, whose Rage depriv'd him of Strength, and gave his Adversary the unwish'd Advantage of his seeming Death, tho' not without bequeathing some bloody Legacies to Don Henrique. Antonio had receiv'd but one slight Wound in the left Arm, and his surviving Antagonist none; who however thought it not adviseable to begin a fresh Dispute against two, of whose Courage he had but too fatal a Proof, tho' one of 'em was sufficiently disabled. The Conquerors, on the other Side, politickly retreated, and quitting the Field to the Conquer'd, left the Living to bury the Dead, if he could, or thought convenient.

As they were marching off, Don Antonio, who all this while knew not whose Life he had so happily preserv'd, told his Companion in Arms, that he thought it indispensibly necessary that he should quarter with him that Night, for his further Preservation. To which he prudently consented, and went, with no little Uneasiness, to his Lodgings; where he surpriz'd Antonio with the Sight of his dearest Friend. For they had certainly the nearest Sympathy in all their Thoughts, that ever made two brave Men unhappy: And, undoubtedly, nothing but Death, or more fatal Love, could have divided them. However, at present, they were united and secure.

In the mean time, Don Sebastian's Friend was just going to call Help to carry off the Bodies, as the —— came by; who seeing three Men lie dead, seiz'd the fourth; who as he was about to justify himself, by discovering one of the Authors of so much Blood-shed, was interrupted by a Groan from his supposed dead Friend Don Sebastian; whom, after a brief Account of some Part of the Matter, and the Knowledge of his Quality, they took up, and carried to his House; where, within a few Days, he was recovered past the Fear of Death. All this While Henrique and Antonio durst not appear, so much as by Night; nor could be found, tho' diligent and daily Search was made after the first; but upon Don Sebastian's Recovery, the Search ceasing, they took the Advantage of the Night, and, in Disguise, retreated to Seville. 'Twas there they thought themselves most secure, where indeed they were in the greatest Danger; for tho' (haply) they might there have escap'd the murderous Attempt of Don Sebastian, and his Friends, yet they could not there avoid the malicious Influence of their Stars.

This City gave Birth to Antonio, and to the Cause of his greatest Misfortunes, as well as of his Death. Dona Ardelia was born there, a Miracle of Beauty and Falshood. 'Twas more than a Year since Don Antonio had first seen and loved her. For 'twas impossible any Man should do one without the other. He had had the unkind Opportunity of speaking and conveying a Billet to her at Church; and to his greater Misfortune, the next Time he found her there, he met with too Kind a Return both from her Eyes and from her Hand, which privately slipt a Paper into his; in which he found abundantly more than he expected, directing him in that, how he should proceed, in order to carry her off from her Father with the least Danger he could look for in such an Attempt; since it would have been vain and fruitless to have asked her of her Father, because their Families had been at Enmity for several Years; tho' Antonio was as well descended as she, and had as ample a Fortune; nor was his Person, according to his Sex, any way inferior to her's; and certainly, the Beauties of his Mind were more excellent, especially if it be an Excellence to be constant.

He had made several Attempts to take Possession of her; but all prov'd ineffectual; however, he had the good Fortune not to be known, tho' once or twice he narrowly escap'd with Life, bearing off his Wounds with Difficulty.—(Alas, that the Wounds of Love should cause those of Hate!) Upon which she was strictly confin'd to one Room, whose only Window was towards the Garden, and that too was grated with Iron; and, once a Month, when she went to Church, she was constantly and carefully attended by her Father, and a Mother-in-Law, worse than a Duegna. Under this miserable Confinement Antonio understood she still continued, at his Return to Seville, with Don Henrique, whom he acquainted with his invincible Passion for her; lamenting the Severity of her present Circumstances, that admitted of no Prospect of Relief; which caus'd a generous Concern in Don Henrique, both for the Sufferings of his Friend, and of the Lady. He proposed several Ways to Don Antonio, for the Release of the fair Prisoner; but none of them was thought practicable, or at least likely to succeed. But Antonio, who (you may believe) was then more nearly engag'd, bethought himself of an Expedient that would undoubtedly reward their Endeavours. 'Twas, that Don Henrique, who was very well acquainted with Ardelia's Father, should make him a Visit, with Pretence of begging his Consent and Admission to make his Addresses to his Daughter; which, in all Probability, he could not refuse to Don Henrique's Quality and Estate; and then this Freedom of Access to her would give him the Opportunity of delivering the Lady to his Friend. This was thought so reasonable, that the very next Day it was put in Practice; and with so good Success, that Don Henrique was received by the Father of Ardelia with the greatest and most respectful Ceremony imaginable: And when he made the Proposal to him of marrying his Daughter, it was embraced with a visible Satisfaction and Joy in the Air of his Face. This their first Conversation ended with all imaginable Content on both Sides; Don Henrique being invited by the Father to Dinner the next Day, when Dona Ardelia was to be present; who, at that Time, was said to be indispos'd, (as 'tis very probable she was, with so close an Imprisonment.) Henrique returned to Antonio, and made him happy with the Account of his Reception; which could not but have terminated in the perfect Felicity of Antonio, had his Fate been just to the Merits of his Love. The Day and Hour came which brought Henrique, with a private Commission from his Friend, to Ardelia. He saw her;—(ah! would he had only seen her veil'd!) and, with the first Opportunity, gave her the Letter, which held so much Love, and so much Truth, as ought to have preserved him in the Empire of her Heart. It contained, besides, a Discovery of his whole Design upon her Father, for the compleating of their Happiness; which nothing then could obstruct but her self. But Henrique had seen her; he had gaz'd, and swallowed all her Beauties at his Eyes. How greedily his Soul drank the strong Poison in! But yet his Honour and his Friendship were strong as ever, and bravely fought against the Usurper Love, and got a noble Victory; at least he thought and wish'd so. With this, and a short Answer to his Letter, Henrique return'd to the longing Antonio; who, receiving the Paper with the greatest Devotion, and kissing it with the greatest Zeal, open'd and read these Words to himself:

Don Antonio,

You have, at last, made Use of the best and only Expedient for my Enlargement; for which I thank you, since I know it is purely the Effect of your Love. Your Agent has a mighty Influence on my Father: And you may assure yourself, that as you have advis'd and desir'd me, he shall have no less on me, who am

Your's entirely, And only your's, ARDELIA.

Having respectfully and tenderly kiss'd the Name, he could not chuse but shew the Billet to his Friend; who reading that Part of it which concern'd himself, started and blush'd: Which Antonio observing, was curious to know the Cause of it. Henrique told him, That he was surpriz'd to find her express so little Love, after so long an Absence. To which his Friend reply'd for her, That, doubtless, she had not Time enough to attempt so great a Matter as a perfect Account of her Love; and added, that it was Confirmation enough to him of its Continuance, since she subscrib'd her self his entirely, and only his.—How blind is Love! Don Henrique knew how to make it bear another Meaning; which, however, he had the Discretion to conceal. Antonio, who was as real in his Friendship, as constant in his Love, ask'd him what he thought of her Beauty? To which the other answer'd, that he thought it irresistable to any, but to a Soul preposses'd, and nobly fortify'd with a perfect Friendship:—Such as is thine, my Henrique, (added Antonio;) yet as sincere and perfect as that is, I know you must, nay, I know you do love her. As I ought to do, (reply'd Henrique.) Yes, yes, (return'd his Friend) it must be so; otherwise the Sympathy which unites our Souls would be wanting, and consequently our Friendship were in a State of Imperfection. How industriously you would argue me into a Crime, that would tear and destroy the Foundation of the strongest Ties of Truth and Honour! (said Henrique.) But (he continu'd) I hope within a few Days, to put it out of my Power to be guilty of so great a Sacrilege. I can't determine (said Antonio) if I knew that you lov'd one another, whether I could easier part with my Friend, or my Mistress. Tho' what you say, is highly generous, (reply'd Henrique) yet give me Leave to urge, that it looks like a Trial of Friendship, and argues you inclinable to Jealousy: But, pardon me, I know it to be sincerely meant by you; and must therefore own, that 'tis the best, because 'tis the noblest Way of securing both your Friend and Mistress. I need not make use of any Arts to secure me of either, (reply'd Antonio) but expect to enjoy 'em both in a little Time.

Henrique, who was a little uneasy with a Discourse of this Nature, diverted it, by reflecting on what had pass'd at Madrid, between them two and Don Sebastian and his Friends; which caus'd Antonio to bethink himself of the Danger to which he expos'd his Friend, by appearing daily, tho' in Disguise: For, doubtless, Don Sebastian would pursue his Revenge to the utmost Extremity. These Thoughts put him upon desiring his Friend, for his own Sake, to hasten the Performance of his Attempt; and accordingly, each Day Don Henrique brought Antonio nearer the Hopes of Happiness, while he himself was hourly sinking into the lowest State of Misery. The last Night before the Day in which Antonio expected to be bless'd in her Love, Don Henrique had a long and fatal Conference with her about her Liberty. Being then with her alone in an Arbour of the Garden, which Privilege he had had for some Days; after a long Silence, and observing Don Henrique in much Disorder, by the Motion of his Eyes, which were sometimes stedfastly fix'd on the Ground, then lifted up to her or Heaven, (for he could see nothing more beautiful on Earth) she made use of the Privilege of her Sex, and began the Discourse first, to this Effect:—Has any Thing happened, Sir, since our Retreat hither, to occasion that Disorder which is but too visible in your Face, and too dreadful in your continued Silence? Speak, I beseech you, Sir, and let me know if I have any Way unhappily contributed to it! No, Madam, (replyed he) my Friendship is now likely to be the only Cause of my greatest Misery; for To-morrow I must be guilty of an unpardonable Crime, in betraying the generous Confidence which your noble Father has plac'd in me: To-morrow (added he, with a piteous Sigh) I must deliver you into the Hands of one whom your Father hates even to Death, instead of doing myself the Honour of becoming his Son-in-law within a few Days more.—But—I will consider and remind myself, that I give you into the Hands of my Friend; of my Friend, that loves you better than his Life, which he has often expos'd for your Sake; and what is more than all, to my Friend, whom you love more than any Consideration on Earth.—And must this be done? (she ask'd.) Is it inevitable as Fate?—Fix'd as the Laws of Nature, Madam, (reply'd he) don't you find the Necessity of it, Ardelia? (continued he, by Way of Question:) Does not your Love require it? Think, you are going to your dear Antonio, who alone can merit you, and whom only you can love. Were your last Words true (returned she) I should yet be unhappy in the Displeasure of a dear and tender Father, and infinitely more, in being the Cause of your Infidelity to him: No, Don Henrique (continued she) I could with greater Satisfaction return to my miserable Confinement, than by any Means disturb the Peace of your Mind, or occasion one Moment's Interruption of your Quiet.—Would to Heaven you did not, (sigh'd he to himself.) Then addressing his Words more distinctly to her, cry'd he, Ah, cruel! ah, unjust Ardelia! these Words belong to none but Antonio; why then would you endeavour to persuade me, that I do, or even can merit the Tenderness of such an Expression?—Have a Care! (pursued he) have a Care, Ardelia! your outward Beauties are too powerful to be resisted; even your Frowns have such a Sweetness that they attract the very Soul that is not strongly prepossessed with the noblest Friendship, and the highest Principles of Honour: Why then, alas! did you add such sweet and Charming Accents? Why—ah, Don Henrique! (she interrupted) why did you appear to me so charming in your Person, so great in your Friendship, and so illustrious in your Reputation? Why did my Father, ever since your first Visit, continually fill my Ears and Thoughts with noble Characters and glorious Ideas, which yet but imperfectly and faintly represent the inimitable Original!—But—(what is most severe and cruel) why, Don Henrique, why will you defeat my Father in his Ambition of your Alliance, and me of those glorious Hopes with which you had bless'd my Soul, by casting me away from you to Antonio!—Ha! (cry'd he, starting) what said you, Madam? What did Ardelia say? That I had bless'd your Soul with Hopes! That I would cast you away to Antonio!—Can they who safely arrive in their wish'd-for Port, be said to be shipwreck'd? Or, can an abject indigent Wretch make a King?—These are more than Riddles, Madam; and I must not think to expound 'em. No, (said she) let it alone, Don Henrique; I'll ease you of that Trouble, and tell you plainly that I love you. Ah! (cry'd he) now all my Fears are come upon me!—How! (ask'd she) were you afraid I should love you? Is my Love so dreadful then? Yes, when misplac'd (reply'd he;) but 'twas your Falshood that I fear'd: Your Love was what I would have sought with the utmost Hazard of my Life, nay, even of my future Happiness, I fear, had you not been engag'd: strongly oblig'd to love elsewhere, both by your own Choice and Vows, as well as by his dangerous Services, and matchless Constancy. For which (said she) I do not hate him, tho' his Father kill'd my Uncle: Nay, perhaps (continu'd she) I have a Friendship for him, but no more. No more, said you, Madam? (cry'd he;)—but tell me, did you never love him? Indeed, I did, (reply'd she;) but the Sight of you has better instructed me, both in my Duty to my Father, and in causing my Passion for you, without whom I shall be eternally miserable. Ah, then pursue your honourable Proposal, and make my Father happy in my Marriage! It must not be (return'd Don Henrique) my Honour, my Friendship forbids it. No (she return'd) your Honour requires it; and if your Friendship opposes your Honour, it can have no sure and solid Foundation. Female Sophistry! (cry'd Henrique;) but you need no Art nor Artifice, Ardelia, to make me love you: Love you! (pursu'd he:) By that bright Sun, the Light and Heat of all the World, you are my only Light and Heat—Oh, Friendship! Sacred Friendship, now assist me!—[Here for a Time he paus'd, and then afresh proceeded thus,]—You told me, or my Ears deceiv'd me, that you lov'd me, Ardelia. I did, she reply'd; and that I do love you, is as true as that I told you so. 'Tis well;—But would it were not so! Did ever Man receive a Blessing thus?—Why, I could wish I did not love you, Ardelia! But that were impossible—At least unjust, (interrupted she.) Well then (he went on) to shew you that I do sincerely consult your particular Happiness, without any regard to my own, To-morrow I will give you to Don Antonio; and as a Proof of your Love to me, I expect your ready Consent to it. To let you see, Don Henrique, how perfectly and tenderly I love you, I will be sacrificed To-morrow to Don Antonio, and to your Quiet. Oh, strongest, dearest Obligation!—cry'd Henrique: To-morrow then, as I have told your Father, I am to bring you to see the dearest Friend I have on Earth, who dares not appear within this City for some unhappy Reasons, and therefore cannot be present at our Nuptials; for which Cause, I could not but think it my Duty to one so nearly related to my Soul, to make him happy in the Sight of my beautiful Choice, e'er yet she be my Bride. I hope (said she) my loving Obedience may merit your Compassion; and that at last, e'er the Fire is lighted that must consume the Offering, I mean the Marriage-Tapers (alluding to the old Roman Ceremony) that you or some other pitying Angel, will snatch me from the Altar. Ah, no more, Ardelia! say no more (cry'd he) we must be cruel, to be just to our selves. [Here their Discourse ended, and they walked into the House, where they found the good old Gentleman and his Lady, with whom he stay'd till about an Hour after Supper, when he returned to his Friend with joyful News, but a sorrowful Heart.]

Antonio was all Rapture with the Thoughts of the approaching Day; which tho' it brought Don Henrique and his dear Ardelia to him, about five o'Clock in the Evening, yet at the same Time brought his last and greatest Misfortune. He saw her then at a She Relation's of his, above three Miles from Seville, which was the Place assigned for their fatal Interview. He saw her, I say; but ah! how strange! how altered from the dear, kind Ardelia she was when last he left her! 'Tis true, he flew to her with Arms expanded, and with so swift and eager a Motion, that she could not avoid, nor get loose from his Embrace, till he had kissed, and sighed, and dropt some Tears, which all the Strength of his Mind could not restrain; whether they were the Effects of Joy, or whether (which rather may be feared) they were the Heat-drops which preceded and threaten'd the Thunder and Tempest that should fall on his Head, I cannot positively say; yet all this she was then forced to endure, e'er she had Liberty to speak, or indeed to breathe. But as soon as she had freed herself from the loving Circle that should have been the dear and lov'd Confinement or Centre of a Faithful Heart, she began to dart whole Showers of Tortures on him from her Eyes; which that Mouth that he had just before so tenderly and sacredly kiss'd, seconded with whole Volleys of Deaths crammed in every Sentence, pointed with the keenest Affliction that ever pierc'd a Soul. Antonio, (she began) you have treated me now as if you were never like to see me more: and would to Heaven you were not!—Ha! (cry'd he, starting and staring wildly on her;) What said you, Madam? What said you, my Ardelia? If you like the Repetition, take it? (reply'd she, unmoved) Would to Heaven you were never like to see me more! Good! very Good! (cry'd he, with a Sigh that threw him trembling into a Chair behind him, and gave her the Opportunity of proceeding thus:)—Yet, Antonio, I must not have my Wish; I must continue with you, not out of Choice, but by Command, by the strictest and severest Obligation that ever bound Humanity; Don Henrique, your Friend, commands it; Don Henrique, the dearest Object of my Soul, enjoins it; Don Henrique, whose only Aversion I am, will have it so. Oh, do not wrong me, Madam! (cry'd Don Henrique.) Lead me, lead me a little more by the Light of your Discourse, I beseech you (said Don Antonio) that I may see your Meaning! for hitherto 'tis Darkness all to me. Attend therefore with your best Faculties (pursu'd Ardelia) and know, That I do most sincerely and most passionately love Don Henrique; and as a Proof of my Love to him, I have this Day consented to be delivered up to you by him; not for your Sake in the least, Antonio, but purely to sacrifice all the Quiet of my Life to his Satisfaction. And now, Sir (continued she, addressing her self to Don Henrique) now, Sir, if you can be so cruel, execute your own most dreadful Decree, and join our Hands, though our Hearts never can meet. All this to try me! It's too much, Ardelia—(said Antonio:) And then turning to Don Henrique, he went on, Speak thou! if yet thou art not Apostate to our Friendship! Yet speak, however! Speak, though the Devil has been tampering with thee too! Thou art a Man, a Man of Honour once. And when I forfeit my just Title to that (interrupted Don Henrique) may I be made most miserable!—May I lose the Blessings of thy Friendship!—May I lose thee!—Say on then, Henrique! (cry'd Antonio:) And I charge thee, by all the sacred Ties of Friendship, say, Is this a Trial of me? Is't Illusion, Sport, or shameful murderous Truth?—Oh, my Soul burns within me, and I can bear no longer!—Tell! Speak! Say on!—[Here, with folded Arms, and Eyes fixed stedfastly on Henrique, he stood like a Statue, without Motion; unless sometimes, when his swelling Heart raised his over-charged Breast.] After a little Pause, and a hearty Sigh or two, Henrique began;—Oh, Antonio! Oh my Friend! prepare thy self to hear yet more dreadful Accents!—I am (pursu'd he) unhappily the greatest and most innocent Criminal that e'er till now offended:—I love her, Antonio,—I love Ardelia with a Passion strong and violent as thine!—Oh! summon all that us'd to be more than Man about thee, to suffer to the End of my Discourse, which nothing but a Resolution like thine can bear! I know it by myself.—Tho' there be Wounds, Horror, and Death in each Syllable (interrupted Antonio) yet prithee now go on, but with all Haste. I will, (returned Don Henrique) tho' I feel my own Words have the same cruel Effects on me. I say, again, my Soul loves Ardelia: And how can it be otherwise? Have we not both the self-same Appetites, the same Disgusts? How then could I avoid my Destiny, that has decreed that I should love and hate just as you do? Oh, hard Necessity! that obliged you to use me in the Recovery of this Lady! Alas, can you think that any Man of Sense or Passion could have seen, and not have lov'd her! Then how should I, whose Thoughts are Unisons to yours, evade those Charms that had prevail'd on you?—And now, to let you know, 'tis no Illusion, no Sport, but serious and amazing woeful Truth, Ardelia best can tell you whom she loves. What I have already said, is true, by Heaven (cry'd she) 'tis you, Don Henrique, whom I only love, and who alone can give me Happiness: Ah, would you would!—With you, Antonio, I must remain unhappy, wretched, cursed: Thou art my Hell; Don Henrique is my Heaven. And thou art mine, (returned he) which here I part with to my dearest Friend. Then taking her Hand, Pardon me, Antonio, (pursued he) that I thus take my last Farewel of all the Tastes of Bliss from your Ardelia, at this Moment. [At which Words he kiss'd her Hand, and gave it to Don Antonio; who received it, and gently pressed it close to his Heart, as if he would have her feel the Disorders she had caus'd there.] Be happy, Antonio, (cry'd Henrique:) Be very tender of her; To-morrow early I shall hope to see thee.—Ardelia (pursued he) All Happiness and Joy surround thee! May'st thou ne'er want those Blessings thou can'st give Antonio!—Farewel to both! (added he, going out.) Ah (cry'd she) Farewel to all Joys, Blessings, Happiness, if you forsake me.—Yet do not go!—Ah, cruel! (continu'd she, seeing him quit the Room) but you shall take my Soul with you. Here she swooned away in Don Antonio's Arms; who, though he was happy that he had her fast there, yet was obliged to call in his Cousin, and Ardelia's Attendants, e'er she could be perfectly recovered. In the mean while Don Henrique had not the Power to go out of Sight of the House, but wandred to and fro about it, distracted in his Soul; and not being able longer to refrain her Sight, her last Words still resounding in his Ears, he came again into the Room where he left her with Don Antonio, just as she revived, and called him, exclaiming on his Cruelty, in leaving her so soon. But when, turning her Eyes towards the Door, she saw him; Oh! with what eager Haste she flew to him! then clasped him round the Waist, obliging him, with all the tender Expressions that the Soul of a Lover, and a Woman's too, is capable of uttering, not to leave her in the Possession of Don Antonio. This so amaz'd her slighted Lover, that he knew not, at first, how to proceed in this tormenting Scene; but at last, summoning all his wonted Resolution, and Strength of Mind, he told her, He would put her out of his Power, if she would consent to retreat for some few Hours to a Nunnery that was not above half a Mile distant from thence, till he had discoursed his Friend, Don Henrique something more particularly than hitherto, about this Matter: To which she readily agreed, upon the Promise that Don Henrique made her, of seeing her with the first Opportunity. They waited on her then to the Convent, where she was kindly and respectfully received by the Lady Abbess; but it was not long before her Grief renewing with greater Violence, and more afflicting Circumstances, had obliged them to stay with her till it was almost dark, when they once more begged the Liberty of an Hour's Absence; and the better to palliate their Design, Henrique told her, that he would make use of her Father Don Richardo's Coach, in which they came to Don Antonio's, for so small a Time: which they did, leaving only Eleonora her Attendant with her, with out whom she had been at a Loss, among so many fair Strangers; Strangers, I mean, to her unhappy Circumstances: Whilst they were carry'd near a Mile farther, where, just as 'twas dark, they lighted from the Coach, Don Henrique, ordering the Servants not to stir thence till their Return from their private Walk, which was about a Furlong, in a Field that belong'd to the Convent. Here Don Antonio told Don Henrique, That he had not acted honourably; That he had betray'd him, and robb'd him at once both of a Friend and Mistress. To which t'other returned, That he understood his Meaning, when he proposed a particular Discourse about this Affair, which he now perceived must end in Blood: But you may remind your self (continued he) that I have kept my Promise in delivering her to you. Yes, (cry'd Antonio) after you had practis'd foully and basely on her. Not at all! (returned Henrique) It was her Fate that brought this Mischief on her; for I urged the Shame and Scandal of Inconstancy, but all in vain, to her. But don't you love her, Henrique? (the other ask'd.) Too well, and cannot live without her, though I fear I may feel the cursed Effects of the same Inconstancy: However, I had quitted her all to you, but you see how she resents it. And you shall see, Sir, (cry'd Antonio, drawing his Sword in a Rage) how I resent it. Here, without more Words, they fell to Action; to bloody Action. (Ah! how wretched are our Sex, in being the unhappy Occasion of so many fatal Mischiefs, even between the dearest Friends!) They fought on each Side with the greatest Animosity of Rivals, forgetting all the sacred Bonds of their former Friendship; till Don Antonio fell, and said, dying, 'Forgive me, Henrique! I was to blame; I could not live without her:—I fear she will betray thy Life, which haste and preserve, for my sake—Let me not die all at once!—Heaven pardon both of us!—Farewel! Oh, haste! Farewel! (returned Don Henrique) Farewel, thou bravest, truest Friend! Farewel thou noblest Part of me!—And Farewel all the Quiet of my Soul.' Then stooping, he kissed his Cheek; but, rising, he found he must retire in time, or else must perish through Loss of Blood, for he had received two or three dangerous Wounds, besides others of less Consequence: Wherefore he made all the convenient Haste he could to the Coach, into which, by the Help of the Footmen, he got, and order'd 'em to drive him directly to Don Richardo's with all imaginable Speed; where he arriv'd in little more than half an Hour's Time, and was received by Ardelia's Father with the greatest Confusion and Amazement that is expressible, seeing him return'd without his Daughter, and so desperately wounded. Before he thought it convenient to ask him any Question more than to enquire of his Daughter's Safety, to which he receiv'd a short but satisfactory Answer, Don Richardo sent for an eminent and able Surgeon, who probed and dress'd Don Henrique's Wounds, who was immediately put to Bed; not without some Despondency of his Recovery; but (thanks to his kind Stars, and kinder Constitution!) he rested pretty well for some Hours that Night, and early in the Morning, Ardelia's Father, who had scarce taken any Rest all that Night, came to visit him, as soon as he understood from the Servants who watched with him, that he was in a Condition to suffer a short Discourse; which, you may be sure, was to learn the Circumstances of the past Night's Adventure; of which Don Henrique gave him a perfect and pleasant Account, since he heard that Don Antonio, his mortal Enemy, was killed; the Assurance of whose Death was the more delightful to him, since, by this Relation, he found that Antonio was the Man, whom his Care of his Daughter had so often frustrated. Don Henrique had hardly made an End of his Narration, e'er a Servant came hastily to give Richardo Notice, that the Officers were come to search for his Son-in-Law that should have been; whom the Old Gentleman's wise Precaution had secured in a Room so unsuspected, that they might as reasonably have imagined the entire Walls of his House had a Door made of Stones, as that there should have been one to that close Apartment: He went therefore boldly to the Officers, and gave them all the Keys of his House, with free Liberty to examine every Room and Chamber; which they did, but to no Purpose; and Don Henrique lay there undiscover'd, till his Cure was perfected.

In the mean time Ardelia, who that fatal Night but too rightly guess'd that the Death of one or both her Lovers was the Cause that they did not return to their Promise, the next Day fell into a high Fever, in which her Father found her soon after he had clear'd himself of those who come to search for a Lover. The Assurance which her Father gave her of Henrique's Life, seemed a little to revive her; but the Severity of Antonio's Fate was no Way obliging to her, since she could not but retain the Memory of his Love and Constancy; which added to her Afflictions, and heightned her Distemper, insomuch that Richardo was constrain'd to leave her under the Care of the good Lady Abbess, and to the diligent Attendance of Eleonora, not daring to hazard her Life in a Removal to his own House. All their Care and Diligence was however ineffectual; for she languished even to the least Hope of Recovery, till immediately after the first Visit of Don Henrique, which was the first he made in a Month's Time, and that by Night incognito, with her Father, her Distemper visibly retreated each Day: Yet when at last she enjoy'd a perfect Health of Body, her Mind grew sick, and she plunged into a deep Melancholy; which made her entertain a positive Resolution of taking the Veil at the End of her Novitiate; which accordingly she did, notwithstanding all the Intreaties, Prayers, and Tears both of her Father and Lover. But she soon repented her Vow, and often wish'd that she might by any Means see and speak to Don Henrique, by whose Help she promised to her self a Deliverance out of her voluntary Imprisonment: Nor were his Wishes wanting to the same Effect, tho' he was forced to fly into Italy, to avoid the Prosecution of Antonio's Friends. Thither she pursu'd him; nor could he any way shun her, unless he could have left his Heart at a Distance from his Body: Which made him take a fatal Resolution of returning to Seville in Disguise, where he wander'd about the Convent every Night like a Ghost (for indeed his Soul was within, while his inanimate Trunk was without) till at last he found Means to convey a Letter to her, which both surprized and delighted her. The Messenger that brought it her was one of her Mother-in-Law's Maids, whom he had known before, and met accidentally one Night as he was going his Rounds, and she coming out from Ardelia; with her he prevail'd, and with Gold obliged her to Secrecy and Assistance: Which proved so successful, that he understood from Ardelia her strong Desire of Liberty, and the Continuance of her Passion for him, together with the Means and Time most convenient and likely to succeed for her Enlargement. The Time was the fourteenth Night following, at twelve o'Clock, which just compleated a Month since his Return thither; at which Time they both promised themselves the greatest Happiness on Earth. But you may observe the Justice of Heaven, in their Disappointment.

Don Sebastian, who still pursu'd him with a most implacable Hatred, had traced him even to Italy, and there narrowly missing him, posted after him to Toledo; so sure and secret was his Intelligence! As soon as he arriv'd, he went directly to the Convent where his Sister Elvira had been one of the Profess'd, ever since Don Henrique had forsaken her, and where Ardelia had taken her repented Vow. Elvira had all along conceal'd the Occasion of her coming thither from Ardelia; and tho' she was her only Confident, and knew the whole Story of her Misfortunes, and heard the Name of Don Henrique repeated a hundred Times a Day, whom still she lov'd most perfectly, yet never gave her beautiful Rival any Cause of Suspicion that she lov'd him, either by Words or Looks: Nay more, when she understood that Don Henrique came to the Convent with Ardelia and Antonio, and at other Times with her Father; yet she had so great a Command of her self, as to refrain seeing him, or to be seen by him; nor ever intended to have spoken or writ to him, had not her Brother Don Sebastian put her upon the cruel Necessity of doing the last; who coming to visit his Sister (as I have said before) found her with Dona Ardelia, whom he never remembred to have seen, nor who ever had seen him but twice, and that was about six Years before, when she was but ten Years of Age, when she fell passionately in Love with him, and continu'd her Passion till about the fourteenth Year of her Empire, when unfortunate Antonio first began his Court to her. Don Sebastian was really a very desirable Person, being at that time very beautiful, his Age not exceeding six and twenty, of a sweet Conversation, very brave, but revengeful and irreconcilable (like most of his Countrymen) and of an honourable Family. At the Sight of him Ardelia felt her former Passion renew; which proceeded and continued with such Violence, that it utterly defac'd the Ideas of Antonio and Henrique. (No Wonder that she who could resolve to forsake her God for Man, should quit one Lover for another.) In short, she then only wished that he might love her equally, and then she doubted not of contriving the Means of their Happiness betwixt 'em. She had her Wish, and more, if possible; for he lov'd her beyond the Thought of any other present or future Blessing, and fail'd not to let her know it, at the second Interview; when he receiv'd the greatest Pleasure he could have wish'd, next to the Joys of a Bridal Bed: For she confessed her Love to him, and presently put him upon thinking on the Means of her Escape; but not finding his Designs so likely to succeed, as those Measures she had sent to Don Henrique, she communicates the very same to Don Sebastian, and agreed with him to make use of them on that very Night, wherein she had obliged Don Henrique to attempt her Deliverance: The Hour indeed was different, being determined to be at eleven. Elvira, who was present at the Conference, took the Hint; and not being willing to disoblige a Brother who had so hazarded his Life in Vindication of her, either does not, or would not seem to oppose his Inclinations at that Time: However, when he retired with her to talk more particularly of his intended Revenge on Don Henrique, who he told her lay somewhere absconded in Toledo, and whom he had resolved, as he assured her, to sacrifice to her injur'd Honour, and his Resentments; she oppos'd that his vindictive Resolution with all the forcible Arguments in a virtuous and pious Lady's Capacity, but in vain: so that immediately upon his Retreat from the Convent, she took the Opportunity of writing to Don Henrique as follows, the fatal Hour not being then seven Nights distant.

Don Henrique,

My Brother is now in Town, in Pursuit of your Life; nay more, of your Mistress, who has consented to make her Escape from the Convent, at the same Place of it, and by the same Means on which she had agreed to give her self entirely to you, but the Hour is eleven. I know, Henrique, your Ardelia is dearer to you than your Life: But your Life, your dear Life, is more desired than any Thing in this World, by

Your injur'd and forsaken

ELVIRA.

This she delivered to Richardo's Servant, whom Henrique had gained that Night, as soon as she came to visit Ardelia, at her usual Hour, just as she went out of the Cloister.

Don Henrique was not a little surprized with this Billet; however, he could hardly resolve to forbear his accustom'd Visits to Ardelia, at first: But upon more mature Consideration, he only chose to converse with her by Letters, which still press'd her to be mindful of her Promise, and of the Hour, not taking notice of any Caution that he had received of her Treachery. To which she still return'd in Words that might assure him of her Constancy.

The dreadful Hour wanted not a Quarter of being perfect, when Don Henrique came; and having fixed his Rope-Ladder to that Part of the Garden-Wall, where he was expected, Ardelia, who had not stir'd from that very Place for a Quarter of an Hour before, prepar'd to ascend by it; which she did, as soon as his Servant had returned and fixed it on the inner-side of the Wall: On the Top of which, at a little Distance, she found another fasten'd, for her to descend on the out-side, whilst Don Henrique eagerly waited to receive her. She came at last, and flew into his Arms; which made Henrique cry out in a Rapture, Am I at last once more happy in having my Ardelia in my Possession! She, who knew his Voice, and now found she was betray'd, but knew not by whom, shriek'd out, I am ruined! help! help!—Loose me, I charge you, Henrique! Loose me! At that very Moment, and at those very Words, came Sebastian, attended by only one Servant; and hearing Henrique reply, Not all the Powers of Hell shall snatch you from me, drawing his Sword, without one Word, made a furious Pass at him: But his Rage and Haste misguided his Arm, for his Sword went quite through Ardelia's Body, who only said, Ah, wretched Maid! and drop'd from Henrique's Arms, who then was obliged to quit her, to preserve his own Life, if possible: however he had not had so much Time as to draw, had not Sebastian been amazed at this dreadful Mistake of his Sword; but presently recollecting himself, he flew with redoubled Rage to attack Henrique; and his Servant had seconded him, had not Henrique's, who was now descended, otherwise diverted him. They fought with the greatest Animosity on both Sides, and with equal Advantage; for they both fell together: Ah, my Ardelia, I come to thee now! (Sebastian groan'd out,)—'Twas this unlucky Arm, which now embraces thee, that killed thee. Just Heaven! (she sigh'd out,)—Oh, yet have Mercy! [Here they both dy'd.] Amen, (cry'd Henrique, dying) I want it most— Oh, Antonio! Oh, Elvira! Ah, there's the Weight that sinks me down.—And yet I wish Forgiveness.—Once more, sweet Heaven, have Mercy! He could not out-live that last Word; which was echo'd by Elvira, who all this while stood weeping, and calling out for Help, as she stood close to the Wall in the Garden.

This alarmed the Rest of the Sisters, who rising, caus'd the Bell to be rung out, as upon dangerous Occasions it used to be; which rais'd the Neighbourhood, who came time enough to remove the dead Bodies of the two Rivals, and of the late fallen Angel Ardelia. The injur'd and neglected Elvira, whose Piety designed quite contrary Effects, was immediately seiz'd with a violent Fever; which, as it was violent, did not last long: for she dy'd within four and twenty Hours, with all the happy Symptoms of a departing Saint.

* * * * * * * * *

THE LUCKY MISTAKE.



TO GEORGE GREENVIEL, ESQ;

Sir,

At this Critical Juncture, I find the Authors will have need of a Protector, as well as the Nation, we having peculiar Laws and Liberties to be defended as well as that, but of how different a Nature, none but such Judges as you are fit to determine; whatever our Province be, I am sure it should be Wit, and you know what Ellevated Ben says, That none can judge of Wit but Wit. Let the Heroes toyl for Crowns and Kingdoms and with what pretences they please. Let the Slaves of State drudge on for false and empty Glories, troubling the repose of the World and ruining their own to gain uneasy Grandure, whilst you, oh! happyer Sir, great enough by your Birth, yet more Illustrious by your Wit, are capable of enjoying alone that true Felicity of Mind, which belongs to an absolutely Vertuous and Gallant Man, by that, and the lively Notions of Honour Imprinted in your Soul, you are above Ambition, and can Form Kings and Heroes, when 'ere your delicate Fancy shall put you upon the Poetical Creation.

You can make those Heroes Lovers too, and inspire 'em with a Language so Irresistable as may instruct the Fair, how easily you may Conquer when it comes to your turn, to plead for a Heart, nor is your delicate Wit the only Charm; your Person claims an equal share of Graces with those of your Mind, and both together are capable of rendering you Victorious, whereever you shall please to Address 'em, but your Vertue keeps you from those Ravages of Beauty, which so wholly imploy the hours of the Rest of the Gay and Young, whilst you have business more sollid, and more noble for yours.

I would not by this have the World imagine you are therefore exempt from the tenderness of Love, it rather seems you were on purpose form'd for that Soft Entertainment, such an Agreement there is between the Harmony of your Soul and your Person, and sure the Muses who have so divinely inspir'd you with Poetic Fires, have furnisht you with that Necessary Material (Love) to maintain it, and to make it burn with the more Ellevated Flame.

'Tis therefore, Sir, I expect you will the more easily Pardon the Dedicating to your idler hours (if any such you have) this little Amour, all that I shall say for it, is, that 'tis not Translation but an Original, that has more of realty than fiction, if I have not made it fuller of intreague, 'twas because I had a mind to keep close to the Truth.

I must own, Sir, the Obligations I have to you, deserves a greater testimony of my respect, than this little piece, too trivial to bear the honour of your Name, but my increasing Indisposition makes me fear I shall not have many opportunities of this Kind, and shou'd be loath to leave this ungrateful World, without acknowledging my Gratitude more signally than barely by word of Mouth, and without wishing you all the happiness your merit and admirable Vertues deserve and of assuring you how unfeignedly I am (and how Proud of being) Sir,

Your most obliged and most humble servant A. Behn.



THE LUCKY MISTAKE: A NEW NOVEL.

The River Loyre has on its delightful Banks abundance of handsome, beautiful and rich Towns and Villages, to which the noble Stream adds no small Graces and Advantages, blessing their Fields with Plenty, and their Eyes with a thousand Diversions. In one of these happily situated Towns, called Orleans, where abundance of People of the best Quality and Condition reside, there was a rich Nobleman, now retir'd from the busy Court, where in his Youth he had been bred, weary'd with the Toils of Ceremony and Noise, to enjoy that perfect Tranquillity of Life, which is no where to be found but in Retreat, a faithful Friend, and a good Library; and, as the admirable Horace says, in a little House and a large Garden. Count Bellyaurd, for so was this Nobleman call'd, was of this Opinion; and the rather, because he had one only Son, called Rinaldo, now grown to the Age of fifteen, who having all the excellent Qualities and Graces of Youth by Nature, he would bring him up in all Virtues and noble Sciences, which he believ'd the Gaiety and Lustre of the Court might divert: he therefore in his Retirement spar'd no Cost to those that could instruct and accomplish him; and he had the best Tutors and Masters that could be purchased at Court: Bellyaurd making far less Account of Riches than of fine Parts. He found his Son capable of all Impressions, having a Wit suitable to his delicate Person, so that he was the sole Joy of his Life, and the Darling of his Eyes.

In the very next House, which join'd close to that of Bellyaurd's, there lived another Count, who had in his Youth been banished the Court of France for some Misunderstandings in some high Affairs wherein he was concern'd: his Name was De Pais, a Man of great Birth, but of no Fortune; or at least one not suitable to the Grandeur of his Original. And as it is most natural for great Souls to be most proud (if I may call a handsome Disdain by that vulgar Name) when they are most depress'd; so De Pais was more retir'd, more estrang'd from his Neighbours, and kept a greater Distance, than if he had enjoy'd all he had lost at Court; and took more Solemnity and State upon him, because he would not be subject to the Reproaches of the World, by making himself familiar with it: So that he rarely visited; and, contrary to the Custom of those in France, who are easy of Access, and free of Conversation, he kept his Family retir'd so close, that 'twas rare to see any of them; and when they went abroad, which was but seldom, they wanted nothing as to outward Appearance, that was fit for his Quality, and what was much above his Condition.

This old Count had two only Daughters, of exceeding Beauty, who gave the generous Father ten thousand Torments, as often as he beheld them, when he consider'd their extreme Beauty, their fine Wit, their Innocence, Modesty, and above all their Birth; and that he had not a Fortune to marry them according to their Quality; and below it, he had rather see them laid in their silent Graves, than consent to it: for he scorn'd the World should see him forced by his Poverty to commit an Action below his Dignity.

There lived in a neighbouring Town, a certain Nobleman, Friend to De Pais, call'd Count Vernole, a Man of about forty years of Age, of low Stature, Complexion very black and swarthy, lean, lame, extreme proud and haughty; extracted of a Descent from the Blood-Royal; not extremely brave, but very glorious: he had no very great Estate, but was in Election of a greater, and of an Addition of Honour from the King, his Father having done most worthy Services against the Hugonots, and by the high Favour of Cardinal Mazarine, was represented to his Majesty, as a Man related to the Crown, of great Name, but small Estate: so that there were now nothing but great Expectations and Preparations in the Family of Count Vernole to go to the Court, to which he daily hoped an Invitation or Command.

Vernole's Fortune being hitherto something a-kin to that of De Pais, there was a greater Correspondency between these two Gentlemen, than they had with any other Persons; they accounting themselves above the rest of the World, believed none so proper and fit for their Conversation, as that of each other: so that there was a very particular Intimacy between them. Whenever they went abroad, they clubb'd their Train, to make one great Show; and were always together, bemoaning each other's Fortune, and that from so high a Descent, as one from Monarchs by the Mother's side, and the other from Dukes of the Father's Side, they were reduc'd by Fate to the Degree of private Gentlemen. They would often consult how to manage Affairs most to Advantage, and often De Pais would ask Counsel of Vernole, how best he should dispose of his Daughters, which now were about their ninth Year the eldest, and eighth the youngest. Vernole had often seen those two Buds of Beauty, and already saw opening in Atlante's Face and Mind (for that was the Name of the eldest, and Charlot the youngest) a Glory of Wit and Beauty, which could not but one Day display it self, with dazling Lustre, to the wondring World.

Vernole was a great Virtuoso, of a Humour nice, delicate, critical and opinionative: he had nothing of the French Mein in him, but all the Gravity of the Don. His ill-favour'd Person, and his low Estate, put him out of Humour with the World; and because that should not upbraid or reproach his Follies and Defects, he was sure to be beforehand with that, and to be always satirick upon it; and lov'd to live and act contrary to the Custom and Usage of all Mankind besides.

He was infinitely delighted to find a Man of his own Humour in De Pais, or at least a Man that would be persuaded to like his so well, to live up to it; and it was no little Joy and Satisfaction to him to find, that he kept his Daughters in that Severity, which was wholly agreeable to him, and so contrary to the Manner and Fashion of the French Quality; who allow all Freedoms, which to Vernole's rigid Nature, seem'd as so many Steps to Vice, and in his Opinion, the Ruiner of all Virtue and Honour in Womankind. De Pais was extremely glad his Conduct was so well interpreted, which was no other in him than a proud Frugality; who, because they could not appear in so much Gallantry as their Quality required, kept 'em retir'd, and unseen to all, but his particular Friends, of whom Vernole was the chief.

Vernole never appear'd before Atlante (which was seldom) but he assum'd a Gravity and Respect fit to have entertain'd a Maid of Twenty, or rather a Matron of much greater Years and Judgment. His Discourses were always of Matters of State or Philosophy; and sometimes when De Pais would (laughing) say, 'He might as well entertain Atlante with Greek and Hebrew,' he would reply gravely, 'You are mistaken, Sir, I find the Seeds of great and profound Matter in the Soul of this young Maid, which ought to be nourish'd now while she is young, and they will grow up to very great Perfection: I find Atlante capable of the noble Virtues of the Mind, and am infinitely mistaken in my Observations, and Art of Physiognomy, if Atlante be not born for greater Things than her Fortune does now Promise: She will be very considerable in the World, (believe me) and this will arrive to her perfectly from the Force of her Charms.' De Pais was extremely overjoy'd to hear such Good prophesied of Atlante, and from that Time set a sort of an Esteem upon her, which he did not on Charlot his younger; whom, by the Persuasions of Vernole, he resolv'd to put in a Monastery, that what he had might descend to Atlante: not but he confess'd Charlot had Beauty extremely attractive, and a Wit that promised much, when it should be cultivated by Years and Experience; and would shew it self with great Advantage and Lustre in a Monastery. All this pleased De Pais very well, who was easily persuaded, since he had not a Fortune to marry her well in the World.

As yet Vernole had never spoke to Atlante of Love, nor did his Gravity think it Prudence to discover his Heart to so young a Maid; he waited her more sensible Years, when he could hope to have some Return. And all he expected from this her tender Age, was by his daily Converse with her, and the Presents he made her suitable to her Years, to ingratiate himself insensibly into her Friendship and Esteem, since she was not yet capable of Love; but even in that he mistook his Aim, for every day he grew more and more disagreeable to Atlante, and would have been her absolute Aversion, had she known she had every Day entertained a Lover; but as she grew in Years and Sense, he seemed the more despicable in her Eyes as to his Person; yet as she had respect to his Parts and Qualities, she paid him all the Complaisance she could, and which was due to him, and so must be confess'd. Tho' he had a stiff Formality in all he said and did, yet he had Wit and Learning, and was a great Philosopher. As much of his Learning as Atlante was capable of attaining to, he made her Mistress of, and that was no small Portion; for all his Discourse was fine and easily comprehended, his Notions of Philosophy fit for Ladies; and he took greater Pains with Atlante, than any Master would have done with a Scholar: So that it was most certain, he added very great Accomplishment to her natural Wit: and the more, because she took a great Delight in Philosophy; which very often made her impatient of his Coming, especially when she had many Questions to ask him concerning it, and she would often receive him with a Pleasure in her Face, which he did not fail to interpret to his own Advantage, being very apt to flatter himself. Her Sister Charlot would often ask her, 'How she could give whole Afternoons to so disagreeable a Man. What is it (said she) that charms you so? his tawny Leather-Face, his extraordinary high Nose, his wide Mouth and Eye-brows, that hang low'ring over his Eyes, his lean Carcase, and his lame and halting Hips?' But Atlante would discreetly reply, 'If I must grant all you say of Count Vernole to be true, yet he has a Wit and Learning that will atone sufficiently for all those Faults you mention: A fine Soul is infinitely to be preferr'd to a fine Body; this decays, but that's eternal; and Age that ruins one, refines the other.' Tho' possibly Atlante thought as ill of the Count as her Sister, yet in Respect to him, she would not own it.

Atlante was now arriv'd to her thirteenth Year, when her Beauty, which every Day increas'd, became the Discourse of the whole Town, which had already gain'd her as many Lovers as had beheld her; for none saw her without languishing for her, or at least, but what were in very great Admiration of her. Every body talk'd of the young Atlante, and all the Noblemen, who had Sons (knowing the Smallness of her Fortune, and the Lustre of her Beauty) would send them, for fear of their being charm'd with her Beauty, either to some other part of the World, or exhorted them, by way of Precaution, to keep out of her Sight. Old Bellyaurd was one of those wise Parents; and timely Prevention, as he thought, of Rinaldo's falling in Love with Atlante, perhaps was the Occasion of his being so: He had before heard of Atlante, and of her Beauty, yet it had made no Impressions on his Heart; but his Father no sooner forbid him Loving, than he felt a new Desire tormenting him, of seeing this lovely and dangerous young Person: he wonders at his unaccountable Pain, which daily sollicits him within, to go where he may behold this Beauty; of whom he frames a thousand Ideas, all such as were most agreeable to him; but then upbraids his Fancy for not forming her half so delicate as she was; and longs yet more to see her, to know how near she approaches to the Picture he has drawn of her in his Mind: and tho' he knew she liv'd the next House to him, yet he knew also she was kept within like a vow'd Nun, or with the Severity of a Spaniard. And tho' he had a Chamber, which had a jutting Window, that look'd just upon the Door of Monsieur De Pais, and that he would watch many Hours at a time, in hope to see them go out, yet he could never get a Glimpse of her; yet he heard she often frequented the Church of our Lady. Thither then young Rinaldo resolv'd to go, and did so two or three Mornings; in which time, to his unspeakable Grief, he saw no Beauty appear that charm'd him; and yet he fancy'd that Atlante was there, and that he had seen her; that some one of those young Ladies that he saw in the Church was she, tho' he had no body to enquire of, and that she was not so fair as the World reported; for which he would often sigh, as if he had lost some great Expectation. However, he ceased not to frequent this Church, and one day saw a young Beauty, who at first glimpse made his Heart leap to his Mouth, and fall a trembling again into its wonted Place; for it immediately told him, that that young Maid was Atlante: she was with her Sister Charlot, who was very handsome, but not comparable to Atlante. He fix'd his Eyes upon her as she kneel'd at the Altar; he never moved from that charming Face as long as she remain'd there; he forgot all Devotion, but what he paid to her; he ador'd her, he burnt and languished already for her, and found he must possess Atlante or die. Often as he gaz'd upon her, he saw her fair Eyes lifted up towards his, where they often met; which she perceiving, would cast hers down into her Bosom, or on her Book, and blush as if she had done a Fault. Charlot perceiv'd all the Motions of Rinaldo, how he folded his Arms, how he sigh'd and gaz'd on her Sister; she took notice of his Clothes, his Garniture, and every particular of his Dress, as young Girls use to do; and seeing him so very handsome, and so much better dress'd than all the young Cavaliers that were in the Church, she was very much pleas'd with him; and could not forbear saying, in a low Voice, to Atlante, 'Look, look my Sister, what a pretty Monsieur yonder is! see how fine his Face is, how delicate his Hair, how gallant his Dress! and do but look how he gazes on you!' This would make Atlante blush anew, who durst not raise her Eyes for fear she should encounter his. While he had the Pleasure to imagine they were talking of him, and he saw in the pretty Face of Charlot, that what she said was not to his Disadvantage, and by the Blushes of Atlante, that she was not displeas'd with what was spoken to her; he perceiv'd the young one importunate with her; and Atlante jogging her with her Elbow, as much as to say, Hold your Peace: all this he made a kind Interpretation of, and was transported with Joy at the good Omens. He was willing to flatter his new Flame, and to compliment his young Desire with a little Hope; but the divine Ceremony ceasing, Atlante left the Church, and it being very fair Weather, she walk'd home. Rinaldo, who saw her going, felt all the Agonies of a Lover, who parts with all that can make him happy; and seeing only Atlante attended with her Sister, and a Footman following with their Books, he was a thousand times about to speak to 'em; but he no sooner advanc'd a step or two towards 'em to that purpose (for he followed them) but his Heart fail'd, and a certain Awe and Reverence, or rather the Fears and Tremblings of a Lover, prevented him: but when he consider'd, that possibly he might never have so favourable an Opportunity again, he resolv'd a-new, and called up so much Courage to his Heart, as to speak to Atlante; but before he did so, Charlot looking behind her, saw Rinaldo very near to 'em, and cry'd out with a Voice of Joy, 'Oh! Sister, Sister! look where the handsome Monsieur is, just behind us! sure he is some-body of Quality, for see he has two Footmen that follow him, in just such Liveries, and so rich as those of our Neighbour Monsieur Bellyaurd.' At this Atlante could not forbear, but before she was aware of it, turn'd her Head, and look'd on Rinaldo; which encourag'd him to advance, and putting off his Hat, which he clapt under his Arm, with a low Bow, said, 'Ladies, you are slenderly attended, and so many Accidents arrive to the Fair in the rude Streets, that I humbly implore you will permit me, whose Duty it is as a Neighbour, to wait on you to your Door.' 'Sir, (said Atlante blushing) we fear no Insolence, and need no Protector; or if we did, we should not be so rude to take you out of your way, to serve us.' 'Madam, (said he) my way lies yours. I live at the next Door, and am Son to Bellyaurd, your Neighbour. But, Madam, (added he) if I were to go all my Life out of the way, to do you Service, I should take it for the greatest Happiness that could arrive to me; but, Madam, sure a Man can never be out of his Way, who has the Honour of so charming Company.' Atlante made no reply to this, but blush'd and bow'd: But Charlot said, 'Nay, Sir, if you are our Neighbour, we will give you leave to conduct us home; but pray, Sir, how came you to know we are your Neighbours? for we never saw you before, to our knowledge.' 'My pretty Miss, (reply'd Rinaldo) I knew it from that transcendent Beauty that appear'd in your Faces, and fine Shapes; for I have heard, there was no Beauty in the World like that of Atlante's; and I no sooner saw her, but my Heart told me it was she.' 'Heart! (said Charlot laughing) why, do Hearts use to speak?' 'The most intelligible of any thing, (Rinaldo reply'd) when 'tis tenderly touch'd, when 'tis charm'd and transported.' At these Words he sigh'd, and Atlante, to his extreme Satisfaction, blush'd. 'Touch'd, charm'd, and transported, (said Charlot) what's that? And how do you do to have it be all these things? For I would give any thing in the World to have my Heart speak.' 'Oh! (said Rinaldo) your Heart is too young, it is not yet arrived to the Years of Speaking; about thirteen or fourteen, it may possibly be saying a thousand soft things to you; but it must be first inspir'd by some noble Object, whose Idea it must retain.' 'What (reply'd the pretty Prattler) I'll warrant I must be in Love?' 'Yes, (said Rinaldo) most passionately, or you will have but little Conversation with your Heart.' 'Oh! (reply'd she) I am afraid the Pleasure of such a Conversation, will not make me amends for the Pain that Love will give me.' 'That (said Rinaldo) is according as the Object is kind, and as you hope; if he love, and you hope, you will have double Pleasure: And in this, how great an Advantage have fair Ladies above us Men! 'Tis always impossible for you to love in vain, you have your Choice of a thousand Hearts, which you have subdu'd, and may not only chuse your Slaves, but be assur'd of 'em; without speaking, you are belov'd, it needs not cost you a Sigh or a Tear: But unhappy Man is often destin'd to give his Heart, where it is not regarded, to sigh, to weep, and languish, without any hope of Pity.' 'You speak so feelingly, Sir, (said Charlot) that I am afraid this is your Case.' 'Yes, Madam, (reply'd Rinaldo, sighing) I am that unhappy Man.' 'Indeed it is pity (said she.) Pray, how long have you been so?' 'Ever since I heard of the charming Atlante, (reply'd he, sighing again) I ador'd her Character; but now I have seen her, I die for her.' 'For me, Sir! (said Atlante, who had not yet spoke) this is the common Compliment of all the young Men, who pretend to be Lovers; and if one should pity all those Sighers, we should have but very little left for our selves.' 'I believe (said Rinaldo) there are none that tell you so, who do not mean as they say: Yet among all those Adorers, and those who say they will die for you, you will find none will be so good as their Words but Rinaldo.' 'Perhaps (said Atlante) of all those who tell me of Dying, there are none that tell me of it with so little Reason as Rinaldo, if that be your Name, Sir.' 'Madam, it is, (said he) and who am transported with an unspeakable Joy, to hear those last Words from your fair Mouth: and let me, Oh lovely Atlante! assure you, that what I have said, are not Words of course, but proceed from a Heart that has vow'd it self eternally yours, even before I had the Happiness to behold this divine Person; but now that my Eyes have made good all my Heart before imagin'd, and did but hope, I swear, I will die a thousand Deaths, rather than violate what I have said to you; that I adore you; that my Soul and all my Faculties, are charm'd with your Beauty and Innocence, and that my Life and Fortune, not inconsiderable, shall be laid at your Feet.' This he spoke with a Fervency of Passion, that left her no Doubt of what he had said; yet she blush'd for Shame, and was a little angry at her self, for suffering him to say so much to her, the very first time she saw him, and accused her self for giving him any Encouragement: And in this Confusion she replied, 'Sir, you have said too much to be believ'd; and I cannot imagine so short an Acquaintance can make so considerable an Impression; of which Confession I accuse my self much more than you, in that I did not only hearken to what you said, without forbidding you to entertain me at that rate, but for unheedily speaking something, that has encourag'd this Boldness; for so I must call it, in a Man so great a Stranger to me.' 'Madam (said he) if I have offended by the Suddenness of my presumptuous Discovery, I beseech you to consider my Reasons for it, the few Opportunities I am like to have, and the Impossibility of waiting on you, both from the Severity of your Father and mine; who, ere I saw you, warn'd me of my Fate, as if he foresaw I should fall in love, as soon as I should chance to see you; and for that Reason has kept me closer to my Studies, than hitherto I have been. And from that time I began to feel a Flame, which was kindled by Report alone, and the Description my Father gave of your wondrous and dangerous Beauty: Therefore, Madam, I have not suddenly told you of my Passion. I have been long your Lover, and have long languish'd without telling of my Pain; and you ought to pardon it now, since it is done with all the Respect and religious Awe, that 'tis possible for a Heart to deliver and unload it self in; therefore, Madam, if you have by chance uttered any thing, that I have taken Advantage or Hope from, I assure you 'tis so small, that you have no reason to repent it; but rather, if you would have me live, send me not from you, without a Confirmation of that little Hope. See, Madam, (said he, more earnestly and trembling) see we are almost arriv'd at our Homes, send me not to mine in a Despair that I cannot support with Life; but tell me, I shall be bless'd with your Sight, sometimes in your Balcony, which is very near to a jetting Window in our House, from whence I have sent many a longing Look towards yours, in hope to have seen my Soul's Tormentor.' 'I shall be very unwilling (said she) to enter into an Intrigue of Love or Friendship with a Man, whose Parents will be averse to my Happiness, and possibly mine as refractory, tho' they cannot but know such an Alliance would be very considerable, my Fortune not being suitable to yours: I tell you this, that you may withdraw in time from an Engagement, in which I find there will be a great many Obstacles.' 'Oh! Madam, (reply'd Rinaldo, sighing) if my Person be not disagreeable to you, you will have no occasion to fear the rest; 'tis that I dread, and that which is all my Fear.' He, sighing, beheld her with a languishing Look, that told her, he expected her Answer; when she reply'd, 'Sir, if that will be Satisfaction enough for you at this time, I do assure you, I have no Aversion for your Person, in which I find more to be valu'd, than in any I have yet seen; and if what you say be real, and proceed from a Heart truly affected, I find, in spite of me, you will oblige me to give you Hope.'

They were come so near their own Houses, that he had not time to return her any Answer; but with a low Bow he acknowledg'd her Bounty, and express'd the Joy her last Words had given him, by a Look that made her understand he was charm'd and pleas'd; and she bowing to him with an Air of Satisfaction in her Face, he was well assur'd, there was nothing to be seen so lovely as she then appear'd, and left her to go into her own House: but till she was out of sight, he had not power to stir, and then sighing, retired to his own Apartment, to think over all that had past between them. He found nothing but what gave him a thousand Joys, in all she had said; and he blest this happy Day, and wondred how his Stars came so kind, to make him in one hour at once see Atlante, and have the happiness to know from her Mouth, that he was not disagreeable to her: Yet with this Satisfaction, he had a thousand Thoughts mix'd which were tormenting, and those were the Fear of their Parents; he foresaw from what his Father had said to him already, that it would be difficult to draw him to a Consent of his Marriage with Atlante. These Joys and Fears were his Companions all the Night, in which he took but little Rest. Nor was Atlante without her Inquietudes: She found Rinaldo more in her Thoughts than she wish'd, and a sudden Change of Humour, that made her know something was the matter with her more than usual; she calls to mind Rinaldo's speaking of the Conversation with his Heart, and found hers would be tattling to her, if she would give way to it; and yet the more she strove to avoid it, the more it importun'd her, and in spight of all her Resistance, would tell her, that Rinaldo had a thousand Charms: It tells her, that he loves and adores her, and that she would be the most cruel of her Sex, should she not be sensible of his Passion. She finds a thousand Graces in his Person and Conversation, and as many Advantages in his Fortune, which was one of the most considerable in all those Parts; for his Estate exceeded that of the most Noble Men in Orleans, and she imagines she should be the most fortunate of all Womankind in such a Match. With these Thoughts she employ'd all the Hours of the Night; so that she lay so long in Bed the next Day, that Count Vernole, who had invited himself to Dinner, came before she had quitted her Chamber, and she was forc'd to say, she had not been well. He had brought her a very fine Book, newly come out, of delicate Philosophy, fit for the Study of Ladies. But he appear'd so disagreeable to that Heart, wholly taken up with a new and fine Object, that she could now hardly pay him that Civility she was wont to do; while on the other side that little State and Pride Atlante assum'd, made her appear the more charming to him: so that if Atlante had no mind to begin a new Lesson of Philosophy, while she fancied her Thoughts were much better employ'd, the Count every moment expressing his Tenderness and Passion, had as little an Inclination to instruct her, as she had to be instructed: Love had taught her a new Lesson, and he would fain teach her a new Lesson of Love, but fears it will be a diminishing his Gravity and Grandeur, to open the Secrets of his Heart to so young a Maid; he therefore thinks it more agreeable to his Quality and Years, being about Forty, to use her Father's Authority in this Affair, and that it was sufficient for him to declare himself to Monsieur De Pais, who he knew would be proud of the Honour he did him. Some time past, before he could be persuaded even to declare himself to her Father: he fancies the little Coldness and Pride he saw in Atlante's Face, which was not usual, proceeded from some Discovery of Passion, which his Eyes had made, or now and then a Sigh, that unawares broke forth; and accuses himself of a Levity below his Quality, and the Dignity of his Wit and Gravity; and therefore assumes a more rigid and formal Behaviour than he was wont, which rendred him yet more disagreeable than before; and 'twas with greater Pain than ever, she gave him that Respect which was due to his Quality.

Rinaldo, after a restless Night, was up very early in the Morning; and tho' he was not certain of seeing his adorable Atlante, he dress'd himself with all that Care, as if he had been to have waited on her, and got himself into the Window, that overlook'd Monsieur De Pais's Balcony, where he had not remain'd long, before he saw the pretty Charlot come into it, not with any design of seeing Rinaldo, but to look and gaze about her a little. Rinaldo saw her, and made her a very low Reverence, and found some disorder'd Joy on the sight of even Charlot, since she was Sister to Atlante. He call'd to her, (for the Window was so near her, he could easily be heard by her) and told her, 'He was infinitely indebted to her Bounty, for giving him an Opportunity yesterday of falling on that Discourse, which had made him the happiest Man in the World': He said, 'If she had not by her agreeable Conversation encourag'd him, and drawn him from one Word to another, he should never have had the Confidence to have told Atlante, how much he ador'd her.' 'I am very glad, (replyed Charlot) that I was the Occasion of the Beginning of an Amour, which was displeasing to neither one nor the other; for I assure you for your Comfort, my Sister nothing but thinks on you: We lie together, and you have taught her already to sigh so, that I could not sleep for her.' At this his Face was cover'd over with a rising Joy, which his Heart could not contain: And after some Discourse, in which this innocent Girl discovered more than Atlante wish'd she should, he besought her to become his Advocate; and since she had no Brother, to give him leave to assume that Honour, and call her Sister. Thus, by degrees, he flatter'd her into a Consent of carrying a Letter from him to Atlante; which she, who believ'd all as innocent as her self, and being not forbid to do so, immediately consented to; when he took his Pen and Ink, that stood in the Window, with Paper, and wrote Atlante this following Letter:

RINALDO to ATLANTE.

If my Fate be so severe, as to deny me the Happiness of sighing out my Pain and Passion daily at your Feet, if there be any Faith in the Hope you were pleased to give me (as 'twere a Sin to doubt) Oh charming Atlante! suffer me not to languish, both without beholding you, and without the Blessing of now and then a Billet, in answer to those that shall daily assure you of my eternal Faith and Vows; 'tis all I ask, till Fortune, and our Affairs, shall allow me the unspeakable Satisfaction of claiming you: yet if your Charity can sometimes afford me a sight of you, either from your Balcony in the Evening, or at a Church in the Morning, it would save me from that Despair and Torment, which must possess a Heart so unassur'd, as that of

Your Eternal Adorer, Rin. Bellyaurd.

He having writ and seal'd this, toss'd it into the Balcony to Charlot, having first look'd about to see if none perceiv'd them. She put it in her Bosom, and ran in to her Sister, whom by chance she found alone; Vernole having taken De Pais into the Garden, to discourse him concerning the sending Charlot to the Monastery, which Work he desir'd to see perform'd, before he declar'd his Intentions to Atlante: for among all his other good Qualities, he was very avaricious; and as fair as Atlante was, he thought she would be much fairer with the Addition of Charlot's Portion. This Affair of his with Monsieur De Pais, gave Charlot an opportunity of delivering her Letter to her Sister; who no sooner drew it from her Bosom, but Atlante's Face was covered over with Blushes: For she imagin'd from whence it came, and had a secret Joy in that Imagination, tho' she thought she must put on the Severity and Niceness of a Virgin, who would not be thought to have surrendered her Heart with so small an Assault, and the first too. So she demanded from whence Charlot had that Letter? Who replyed with Joy, 'From the fine young Gentleman, our Neighbour.' At which Atlante assum'd all the Gravity she could, to chide her Sister; who replied, 'Well, Sister, had you this day seen him, you would not have been angry to have receiv'd a Letter from him; he look'd so handsome, and was so richly dress'd, ten times finer than he was yesterday; and I promis'd him you should read it: therefore, pray let me keep my Word with him; and not only so, but carry him an Answer.' 'Well (said Atlante) to save your Credit with Monsieur Rinaldo, I will read it': Which she did, and finish'd with a Sigh. While she was reading, Charlot ran into the Garden, to see if they were not likely to be surpriz'd; and finding the Count and her Father set in an Arbour, in deep Discourse, she brought Pen, Ink, and Paper to her Sister, and told her, she might write without the Fear of being disturbed: and urged her so long to what was enough her Inclination, that she at last obtained this Answer:

ATLANTE to RINALDO.

Charlot, your little importunate Advocate, has at last subdued me to a Consent of returning you This. She has put me on an Affair with which I am wholly unacquainted; and you ought to take this very kindly from me, since it is the very first time I ever writ to one of your Sex, tho' perhaps I might with less Danger have done it to any other Man. I tremble while I write, since I dread a Correspondence of this Nature, which may insensibly draw us into an Inconvenience, and engage me beyond the Limits of that Nicety I ought to preserve: For this Way we venture to say a thousand little kind Things, which in Conversation we dare not do: for now none can see us blush. I am sensible I shall this Way put my self too soon into your Power; and tho' you have abundance of Merit, I ought to be asham'd of confessing, I am but too sensible of it:—But hold—I shall discover for your Repose (which I would preserve) too much of the Heart of

Atlante.

She gave this Letter to Charlot; who immediately ran into the Balcony with it, where she still found Rinaldo in a melancholy Posture, leaning his Head on his Hand: She shewed him the Letter, but was afraid to toss it to him, for fear it might fall to the Ground; so he ran and fetched a long Cane, which he cleft at one End, and held it while she put the Letter into the Cleft, and staid not to hear what he said to it. But never was Man so transported with Joy, as he was at the reading of this Letter; it gives him new Wounds; for to the Generous, nothing obliges Love so much as Love: tho' it is now too much the Nature of that inconstant Sex, to cease to love as soon as they are sure of the Conquest. But it was far different with our Cavalier; he was the more inflamed, by imagining he had made some Impressions on the Heart of Atlante, and kindled some Sparks there, that in time might increase to something more; so that he now resolves to die hers: and considering all the Obstacles that may possibly hinder his Happiness, he found none but his Father's Obstinacy, perhaps occasioned by the Meanness of Atlante's Fortune. To this he urged again, that he was his only Son, and a Son whom he loved equal to his own Life; and that certainly, as soon as he should behold him dying for Atlante, which if he were forc'd to quit her he must be, he then believed the Tenderness of so fond a Parent would break forth into Pity, and plead within for his Consent. These were the Thoughts that flatter'd this young Lover all the Day; and whether he were riding the Great Horse, or at his Study of Philosophy, or Mathematicks, Singing, Dancing, or whatsoever other Exercise his Tutors ordered, his Thoughts were continually on Atlante. And now he profited no more, whatever he seem'd to do: every Day he fail'd not to write to her by the Hand of the kind Charlot; who, young as she was, had conceiv'd a great Friendship for Rinaldo, and fail'd not to fetch her Letters, and bring him Answers, such as he wish'd to receive. But all this did not satisfy our impatient Lover; Absence kill'd, and he was no longer able to support himself, without a sight of this adorable Maid; he therefore implores, she will give him that Satisfaction: And she at last grants it, with a better Will than he imagin'd. The next Day was the appointed Time, when she would, under Pretence of going to Church, give him an Assignation: And because all publick Places were dangerous, and might make a great Noise, and they had no private Place to trust to, Rinaldo, under Pretence of going up the River in his Pleasure-Boat, which he often did, sent to have it made ready by the next Day at Ten of the Clock. This was accordingly done, and he gave Atlante Notice of his Design of going an Hour or two on the River in his Boat, which lay near to such a Place, not far from the Church. She and Charlot came thither: and because they durst not come out without a Footman or two, they taking one, sent him with a How-do-ye to some young Ladies, and told him, he should find them at Church: So getting rid of their Spy, they hastened to the River-side, and found a Boat and Rinaldo, waiting to carry them on board his little Vessel, which was richly adorn'd, and a very handsome Collation ready for them, of cold Meats, Sallads and Sweetmeats.