>
THE NOVELS OF
MRS APHRA BEHN
LIBRARY OF EARLY NOVELISTS.
Edited by E. A. BAKER, M.A., LittD.
Each with an Introduction by the Editor, or other Specialist.
Large cr. 8vo. Buckram. Gilt top.
Amory: Life and Opinions of
John Buncle, Esquire. Intro-
duction by E. A. Baker, M.A.
Behn, Mrs. Aphra : Novels and
Novelettes. Introduction by
E. A. Baker, M.A.
Boccaccio : The Decameron.
Translated by J. M. Rigg.
With J. A, Symonds 1 Essay on
Boccaccio.
Brooke: The Fool of Quality.
With a new life of the author
bj E. A. Baker, M.A.
Chrysal ; or, The Adventures of
a Guinea. Introduction by
E. A. Baker, M.A.
Defoe : Moll Flanders, and
Roxana. Edited by E. A.
Baker. M.A.
Gesta Romanorum ; Entertaining
Moral Stories Invented by the
Monks. Translated, with In-
troduction and Notes, by Rev.
Charles Swan. Introduction
by E. A. Baker.
Lewis : The Monk. Edited by
E. A. Baker.
Queen of Navarre : The Hepta-
meron. Translated by Arthur
Machen.
Sidney (Sir Philip) : Arcadia.
Introduction by E. A. Baker,
M.A.
Swift : Gulliver's Travels, and
other Writings. From the First
Editions. With a note on the
name ' Gulliver ' by J. P. Gilson.
Thorns, W. J. : Early English
Prose Romances. Introduction
by E. A. Baker, M.A.
Wieland : Don Silvio de Rosalva.
Introduction by E. A. Baker,
M.A.
Picaresque Section.
Edited by H. WARNER ALLEN, M.A. (Oxon.).
Celestina, also Callisto and Meliboea, with Introduction on the Pica-
resque Novel, by the Editor.
Adventures of Gil Bias, with an Introduction by William M. Fullerton.
Otkert in f reparation.
THE NOVELS OF
MRS APHRA BEHN
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
ERNEST A. BAKER, M.A.
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LIMITED
NEW YORK: E. P. BUTTON & CO.
1913
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION . ^ , ; # . . vii
THE ROYAL SLAVE . . . . i
THE FAIR JILT , . -'-. ", . 83
THE NUN . . ' * . 137
AGNES DE CASTRO j ... 159
THE LOVER'S WATCH , T:> . 203
THE CASE FOR THE WATCH . . '.; . 271
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS TO DRESS HERSELF BY 285
THE LUCKY MISTAKE * *:* . * . 303
THE COURT OF THE KING OF BANTAM : v . 351
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK LADY _, . . 373
INTRODUCTION
To most people nowadays the name of Aphra Behn conveys
nothing more intelligible than certain vague associations
of license and impropriety. She is dimly remembered as
the author of plays and novels, now unread, that embodied
the immorality of Restoration times, and were all the more
scandalous in that they were written by a woman. Her
works are to be found in few libraries, and are rarely met
with at the booksellers'. Although they were republished
in an expensive form and in a limited edition in 1871, they
have now been many years out of print. Nor is this much
to be regretted. Her novels are worth reprinting now and
again, not because they are more clever, but because they
are less offensive to modern taste than her comedies ;
and in addition to their intrinsic merits, they have an
interest for the student of literature. But a general reprint
of the plays would hardly be justified, at least, in anything
like a cheap and popular form. This is a case where, for
many reasons, it is best to have one's reading done by proxy.
The obstacles which she herself has set to our apprecia-
tion have done her an injustice. In dismissing her merely
as a purveyor of scandalous amusement in a profligate age,
we are apt to give her none of the credit due to a long
career of arduous work and of persevering struggle against
adverse circumstances. Mrs. Behn was not only the first
Englishwoman who became a novelist and a playwright,
but the first of all those numerous women who have earned
their livelihood by their pens.
We can form a better idea of the once popular Astrea
from her works than from the scanty memorials that have
come down to us ; more is known of her personal character
vitf NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BERN
than about the events of her life. The so-called History
of the Life and Memoirs of Mrs. Aphra Behn, written by one
of the Fair Sex, and prefixed to the collection of her
histories and novels published in 1735, is rather of the
nature of a eulogium and of a vindication from certain
aspersions on her conduct and originality than of any
biographical value. The admiring writer, although she
describes herself as an intimate friend, seems to have
known less about her subject than the average journalist
who is called upon to produce an obituary notice in a
hurry, and to have pressed into her service a great deal
of gossip, with letters, presumably written by Mrs. Behn,
but undated, recounting tender episodes from Astrea's own
history and that of her acquaintances, which read more like
studies for her novels than authentic epistles. Astrea,
probably, whilst she affected to pour out the secrets of her
heart into the bosom of her friend, preferred to wrap the
actual incidents of her life in romantic obscurity. Thus we
are told that "She was a gentlewoman by birth, of a good
family in the city of Canterbury in Kent; her father's
name was Johnson, whose relation to the Lord Willoughby
drew him for the advantageous post of Lieutenant-General
of many isles, besides the continent of Surinam, from his
quiet retreat at Canterbury, to run the hazardous voyage
of the West-Indies. With him he took his chief riches, his
wife and children, and in that number, Afra, his promising
darling, our future heroine, and admired Astrea, who even
in the first bud of infancy discovered such early hopes
of her riper years, that she was equally her parents' joy and
fears." But the recent discovery of Aphra's baptismal
register has shown that she was born at Wye, and that her
father was a barber ; and, furthermore, whoever the friend
or relative was with whom she went to Surinam, there is
little reason to believe that he was her father. However
that may be, this protector died on the voyage out ; whilst
the family did not return forthwith, but settled at St. John's
Hill, the best house in Surinam a house described very
seductively in the pages of Oroonoko. Here befell the
chapter of tragic events afterwards related, with a certain
amount of idealisation, in the story of that famous negro
prince. "One of the fair sex" makes it her business to
defend Astrea from the scandalous gossip that arose about
INTRODUCTION ix
her friendship for Oroonoko quite an unnecessary task.
When the colony was ceded to the Dutch, Aphra, an
attractive girl of eighteen, returned to England. As a
matter of fact, this was before the Restoration, but her fair
biographer states that she gave Charles II. "so pleasant
and rational an account of his affairs there, and particularly
of the misfortunes of Oroonoko, that he desired her to
deliver them publicly to the world, and was satisfied of her
abilities in the management of business, and the fidelity
of our heroine to his interest." It was most likely through
her marriage, later on, to Mr. Behn, a Dutchman who had
become a wealthy merchant of the city of London, that
she gained admittance to the Court. By the year 1666 he
was dead, and Astrea was sent by the Government as a
secret agent to the Low Countries, which were then at war
with England.
Her memoirist gives a flowery account of her love adven-
tures in Antwerp, with the letters of one of her suitors,
Van Bruin who was about twice the age and bulk of a
more favoured lover, Van der Albert and Astrea's replies.
The episode and the letters, as they are given us, are
like the burlesque of some tale of high-flown sentiment.
" Most Transcendent Charmer," writes that elephantine
euphuist, Van Bruin, " I have strove often to tell you the
tempests of my heart, and with my own mouth scale the
walls of your affections; but terrified with the strength
of your fortifications, I concluded to make more regular
approaches, and first attack you at a farther distance, and
try first what a bombardment of letters would do ; whether
these carcasses of love, thrown into the sconces of your
eyes, would break into the midst of your breast, beat down
the court of guard of your aversion, and blow up the
magazine of your cruelty, that you might be brought to
a capitulation, and yield upon reasonable terms." This
warlike language, perhaps, derives some appropriateness
from the fact that the bulky Dutchman was addressing one
of his country's foes. But Van Bruin was at no loss for
metaphors, and he goes on to compare his inamorata, some-
what indelicately, with a ship, in a style that reminds one
of a facetious dialogue in Sam Slick, clinching the simile
with a rhetorical appeal : " Is it not a pity that so spruce
a ship should be unmanned, should lie in the harbour for
x NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN
want of her crew?" Though she had the cruelty to
encourage this " Most Magnificent Hero," as she addresses
him in her reply, by answering him in the same rhapsodical
vein, Mrs. Behn eventually dismissed him, and turned her
attention to Albert. What follows is too like an incident
repeatedly utilised in her comedies, and taxes credulity to
the utmost. Albert, as wicked a young man as any of her
favourite heroes, Willmore, Wilding, or the Rover, is already
married, but has deserted his bride on the wedding day.
To punish him Mrs. Behn contrives, like Isabella in
Measure for Measure, to put the forsaken wife in her place,
but, unfortunately, without succeeding in re-tying the mar-
riage knot Albert's subsequent stratagem for retaliating
the affront in kind upon Astrea, is discomfited in a farcical
manner by the substitution of a young gallant for the
heroine.
The end of it was that Mrs. Behn promised to marry
Albert, but before the union could be consummated he
died ; and soon after she returned to England, all but losing
her life by shipwreck on the way. Her services as a spy
had met with a severe snub from the Government. Through
Van der Albert she had obtained early information of
De Witt's intended raid upon the Thames. Though she
sent instant intelligence of this to London, her warning was
treated with ridicule ; the Dutch fleet sailed, and she had
the painful satisfaction of seeing her accuracy verified by
the misfortunes of her country. She seems to have received
no reward from the Government, and having been left by
her husband without means, she now found herself obliged
to write for a living. Henceforward tragedies, comedies,
novels, and poems came in rapid succession from her pen.
No literary task came amiss to her : she translated Van
Dale's Latin History of Oracles, La Rochefoucauld's Maxims,
and Fontenelle's Plurality of Worlds, prefixing to the last an
able essay on translated prose. She collaborated in an
English translation of Ovid's Heroical Epistles in 1683 ; and
few occasions of public rejoicing passed uncelebrated by an
ode from Astrea. The brief memoir already quoted con-
tains a series of perfervid letters, signed Astrea, to one
Lycidas, who appears to have treated her advances with
indifference. Doubtless, her life was as free and uncon-
ventional for the seventeenth century as that of certain
INTRODUCTION xi
emancipated women of letters was for the nineteenth ; but
we must not suppose her own conduct was as irregular as
the life depicted in her comedies. Let the warm affection
of her friend speak once more as to her personal character:
She was of a generous and open temper, something passion-
ate, very serviceable to her friends in all that was in her power ;
and could sooner forgive an injury than do one. She was mistress
of all the pleasing arts of conversation, but used 'em not to
any but those who love plain-dealing. She was a woman of
sense, and by consequence a lover of pleasure, as indeed all,
both men and women, are ; but only some would be thought to
be above the conditions of humanity, and place their chief
pleasure in a proud vain hypocrisy. For my part, I knew her
intimately, and never saw aught unbecoming the just modesty
of our sex, tho' more gay and free than the folly of the precise
will allow. She was, I'm satisfied, a greater honour to our sex
than all the canting tribe of dissemblers that die with the false
reputation of saints.
She died on the i6th of April, 1689, and was buried in
Westminster Abbey, the marble slab that covered her being
inscribed with " two wretched verses," made, so her friend
relates, " by a very ingenious gentleman, tho' no poet
the very person whom the envious of our sex, and the
malicious of the other, would needs have the author of
most of hers." The person referred to is the playwright,
Edward Ravenscroft, with whom she was on very intimate
terms. There is no reason to believe that he was the author
or part-author of any of her works, although he wrote a
number of her epilogues.
It is usual to add a piquancy to reminiscences of ladies
who write by giving particulars as to their earnings. All
that we may be sure of in the case of Mrs. Aphra Behn is
that she must have obtained a good deal more by her plays
than by her novels. In her collected works, the latter are
scarcely able to fill out two volumes of large print ; whereas
the former occupy four thick and closely printed volumes,
even with the omission of one or two inferior productions.
Then, as now, there was a huge disproportion between the
profits of fiction and of writing for the stage. Astrea's first
attempt was a tragedy, written partly in rhyme and partly in
prose, and entitled The Young King ; or, the Mistake. It
was adapted from a romance by La Calprenede. The scene
xii NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN
is Dacia ; the Dacians and the Scythians are at war ; and the
dramatis personce consist of the hostile princes and their
soldiers, with a crowd of shepherds and shepherdesses.
No further description is necessary. The play failed to
obtain either a manager or a publisher. Her next effort
was more fortunate. This was The Forced Marriage ; or,
the Jealous Bridegroom, a tragi-comedy in blank verse,
which was produced at the Duke's Theatre in 1671. Better-
ton and his wife took the part of the two lovers, and young
Otway, a boy from college, appeared on the boards for the
first and only time as the king. I need say no more about
this work than that the scene is laid " within the Court of
France," and the characters bear such names as Alcippus,
Orgulius, Cleontius, Galatea. A very gross and immoral
comedy, The Amorous Prince^ was brought out the same
year at the Duke's Theatre, and afterwards published.
An equally objectionable play, The Dutch Lover, was
published in 1673. Here, though she drew upon her Dutch
experiences in depicting the boorish Haunce van Ezel, a
sort of gasconading Van Bruin, there is not much advance
in realism. The plot is a series of errors of identity, blunders
in the dark, mistaken relationships, with the ensuing compli-
cations. We have a man in love with his supposed sister,
and engaged in mortal combat with his alleged brother ;
a gallant colonel impersonating the Dutch fop, in order to
secure a bride with whom he falls in love by accident; stage
tears, and conventional passion to excess. But if the incidents
are far-fetched, they are brought about with exemplary skill.
In spite of its intricacy, the plot is clearly developed ; the
dialogue is smooth and tripping, always lively, and some-
times witty. The play has, at all events, one excellence
that of workmanship. The blank verse, however, and the
serious passages generally, are the most arrant bombast.
The next play was all in blank verse. Abdelazar ; or, the
Moor's Revenge, which was played at the Duke's Theatre in
1676, is an adaptation of the old tragedy, Lusfs Dominion,
erroneously ascribed to Marlowe ; it reads like a travesty of
Macbeth, ambition, however, playing in the long run a
secondary part to sexual passion, as might be expected in
a drama by Mrs. Behn. The usurper who murders his
trusting sovereign, and puts to death all who oppose his
way to the throne, is the Moorish chieftain, Abdelazar ; and
INTRODUCTION xiii
the woman who assists at his career of crime, and hopes to
reign by his side, is the wife of the betrayed king. She
helps on the death of her husband to pave the way for her
paramour, and then by coquetting with another lover
paralyses the opposition to Abdelazar. He meanwhile
makes a handle of the new king's passion for his own wife,
whom he loves, but sacrifices without a scruple to ambition.
His rivals are overthrown, the crown of Spain is in his
grasp, the infamous queen is no longer of use as an instru-
ment of his villainy. He murders her. But, according to
the ideas of Mrs. Behn and her public, what swayed most
potently the greatest saint and the greatest sinner was sexual
passion. The ferocious Abdelazar, who has slaughtered
friend and foe without a qualm, now gives way to a fatal
madness for the daughter of the royal house, throws the
crown into her lap, and becomes the prey of his enemies.
This is a theme worthy of the early unchastened Eliza-
bethans, Marlowe, Nash, and Kyd, who preceded Shake-
speare, or of the school of Dryden, who succeeded him;
it is what the age considered a pre-eminently tragic theme.
As Mrs. Behn treated it, Abdelazar is merely rant and
melodrama, masquerading as tragedy. Yet there are
echoes of Elizabethan poetry in the distichs at the end of
the scenes; and some of the lyrics are pure in feeling.
Let me quote two, the second of them a favourite of Mr.
Swinburne's, who justly styles it "that melodious and
magnificent song."
I
Make haste, Amyntas, come away,
The sun is up and will not stay ;
And oh ! how very short's a lover's day !
Make haste, Amyntas, to this grove,
Beneath whose shade so oft I've sat,
And heard my dear lov'd swain repeat
How much he Galatea lov'd ;
Whilst all the list'ning birds around,
Sung to the music of the blessed sound.
Make haste, Amyntas, come away,
The sun is up and will not stay ;
And oh ! how very short's a lover's day !
xiv NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN
II
Love in fantastic triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding hearts around him flow'd,
For whom fresh pains he did create,
And strange tyrannic power he showed ;
From thy bright eyes he took his fires,
Which round about in sport he hurl'd ;
But 'twas from mine he took desires,
Enough t' undo the amorous world.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty ;
From me his languishments and fears,
And every killing dart from thee ;
Thus thou and I the god have arm'd,
And set him up a deity ;
But my poor heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the victor is, and free.
'Often in reading Abdelazar one seems to recognise a
suggestion from Shakespeare used or misused, travestied,
yet not deprived entirely of dramatic force. Edmund, in
King Lear, is brought to mind when we read :
Abd. So I thank thee, Nature, that in making me
Thou did'st design me villain,
Hitting each faculty for active mischief:
Thou skilful artist, thank thee for my face,
It will discover nought that's hid within.
Thus arm'd for ills,
Darkness and Horror, I invoke your aid ;
And thou dread Night, shade all your busy stars
In blackest clouds,
And let my dagger's brightness only serve
To guide me to the mark, and guide it so,
It may undo a kingdom at one blow.
Abdelazar's speech before the king's murder, on the other
hand, is a crude parody of the famous prelude to Duncan's
murder.
'Tis now dead time of night, when rapes, and murders
Are hid beneath the horrid veil of darkness
I'll ring through all the court, with doleful sound,
The sad alarms of murder Murder Zarrack
Take up thy standing yonder Osmin, thou
At the queen's apartment cry out Murder
Whilst I, like his ill genius, do awake the king ;
Perhaps in this disorder I may kill him.
INTRODUCTION xv
But we get bombast surpassing this as we approach the
climax.
Prince Philip and the Cardinal now ride
Like Jove in thunder ; we in storms must meet them.
To arms ! to arms ! and then to victory,
Resolv'd to conquer, or resolv'd to die.
This grandiloquence subsides into the most astounding
bathos.
Sebast. Advance, advance, my lord, with all your force,
Or else the prince and victory is lost,
Which now depends upon his single valour ;
Who, like some ancient hero, or some god,
Thunders amongst the thickest of his enemies,
Destroying all before him in such numbers,
That piles of dead obstruct his passage to the living
Relieve him straight, my lord, with our last cavalry and hopes.
Perhaps in this case, the faulty scansion and doubtful
grammar are evidence of a corrupt text. Here is a senti-
mental passage, a description of night, intended to be
poetical.
Queen. Let all the chambers too be filled with lights :
There's a solemnity, methinks, in night,
That does insinuate love into the soul,
And makes the bashful lover more assured.
Elvira. Madam,
You speak as if this were your first enjoyment.
Queen. My first ! Oh, Elvira, his powers, like his charms,
His wit, or bravery, every hour renews ;
Love gathers sweets like flowers, which grow more fragrant
The nearer they approach maturity. [Knock.
Hark ! 'tis my Moor, give him admittance straight.
The thought comes o'er me like a gentle gale,
Raising my blood into a thousand curls.
There are ranting passages, too long to quote, that merit
the ridicule cast upon the Drydenian drama in Chrononho-
tonthologos, with its inimitable
Bom. A blow ! Shall Bombardinian take a blow ?
Blush blush, thou sun ! start back, thou rapid ocean !
Hills ! vales ! seas ! mountains ! all commixing, crumble,
And into chaos pulverise the world !
For Bombardinian has received a blow,
And Chrononhotonthoiogos shall die !
xvi NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BERN
In her next play, The Rover, Mrs. Behn left these crude
heroics for what was to be her most prolific comedy vein.
It appeared anonymously, and was so successful that she
followed it up immediately with another anonymous play,
The Debauchee, which has been described as the worst and
least original of all her dramatic works. The Rover was
produced in 1677, and held the stage the longest of any of
her plays. In 1681 she brought out a second part, changing
the scene from Naples to Madrid ; otherwise the sequel is
almost a replica of the first.
What helped to make The Rover so popular was the sub-
ject. As she said in the Epilogue
The banished Cavaliers ! a roving blade !
A Popish carnival ! a masquerade !
The devil's in't if this will please the nation,
In these our blessed times of reformation,
When conventicling is so much in fashion,
And yet
Her argument is in the aposiopesis. This was the year
before Titus Gates denounced the alleged Popish Plot;
Shaftesbury was in opposition, the champion of Noncon-
formity, the idol of the populace, and the bugbear of the
Court party, who believed him to be fomenting heresy and
sedition. A year or two later, Mrs. Behn was to caricature
him at full length in The City Heiress; or, Sir Timothy Treat-
all. In The Rover, she was making the same political
appeal to the party prejudices of the Tories. Almighty
rabble, says the Prologue to the second part, " 'tis to you
this day our humble author dedicates the play."
A band of exiled Royalists are engaged in the chase
of pleasure in a foreign capital. The most reckless and
dissipated of the merry crew is Willmore, the Rover, one
of those swaggering inconstants whom, according to Mrs.
Behn, no woman can resist. A certain lady, nevertheless,
observes, " I should as soon be enamoured on the north
wind, a tempest, or a clap of thunder. Bless me from such
a blast." The most prominent female character in each of
the two plays bearing the name of " The Rover " is set
down in the bill as " a famous curtezan ' ; so the indescrib-
able nature of the incidents may be imagined. Willmore
was born to dash the matrimonial schemes of soberer men ;
INTRODUCTION xvii
he cuts the knot of all the intrigues, licit or illicit ; he is
the impersonation of Astrea's code of sexual morality, of
which the two most salient definitions are summed up as
follows :
" Conscience : a cheap pretence to cozen fools withal "
" Constancy, that current coin for fools."
The dialogue is always full of life and vigour, often spark-
ling with wit, never quotable ; and it is the same with the
highly diverting scenes of both these plays. One marvels
at the state of society when such impudent things could be
put on the stage, and an audience applaud them.
In Sir Patient fancy ; Mrs. Behn borrowed her plot from
Moliere's Malade Imaginaire. It is one of the most viva-
cious of her plays, and the most completely devoid of moral
feeling. The valetudinarian is a rich old alderman, married
to a beautiful young wife, who has a gallant. His sus-
picions being awakened, the jealous old man is persuaded,
on what must be confessed very inadequate evidence, that
VVittmore, the gallant, is really a suitor for his daughter.
But the daughter has a lover already whom he dislikes, and
so we have two intrigues going on with divers others, be
it understood the lover and the gallant both in seeming
rivalry courting the daughter of the house, whilst VVittmore
and Lady Fancy are scheming to outwit the doubly deluded
husband. The usual complications are provided in the
usual way. There is a double assignation in the dark ; the
gallant is mistaken for the lover, and the lover for the
gallant ; and at the critical moment Sir Patient appears on
the scene. Lady Fancy is one of the shameless and abso-
lutely unscrupulous women Astrea loved to portray. She
carries off the situation with unabashed address, continues
to hoodwink her spouse, until, by a combination of acci-
dents, her perfidy is revealed. But all the characters are
so entirely absorbed in self that there is no bias in the
reader's mind in favour either of the hypochondriacal knight
the clever unfaithful wife, or the honest lovers; and the con
fusion of the intriguers gives real satisfaction to nobody.
Betterton took the part of Wittmore, and Mrs. Gwyn
that of the affected learned woman Lady Knowell, who
must have been a very comic figure on the stage, well acted.
She is one of those who think there is no learning but what
xviii NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN
is comprised in the tongues of antiquity : she is a Mrs.
Malaprop in Latin.
O faugh ! Mr. Fancy, what have you said, mother tongue !
Can anything that's great or moving be expressed in filthy
English ? I'll give you an energetic proof, Mr. Fancy ; observe
but divine Homer in the Grecian language Ton apamibomenos
prosiphe podas ochus Achilles! ah, how it sounds! which
English 'd dwindles into the most grating stuff Then the
swift-foot Achilles made reply ; oh faugh !
Her niece has very different views, and expresses the com-
moner opinion of her sex in the remark, "Sure he's too
much a gentleman to be a scholar."
Lady Knowell's excessive conversation bores Sir Patient
dreadfully, though he is no less a bore with his anxious
absorption in the progress of his imaginary ailments. Says
one of the characters, " He has been on the point of going
off this twenty years." He is continually setting his affairs
in order. His favourite reading is furnished by prescrip-
tions and apothecaries' bills, which provide him with a sort
of diary. " By this rule, good Mr. Doctor," says he, " I am
sicker this month than I was the last."
Broader farce comes in with the daughter's clownish
suitor, Sir Credulous Easy, " a foolish Devonshire squire."
Sir Cred. Come, undo my portmantle, and equip me, that
I may look like some body before I see the ladies Curry, thou
shall e'en remove now from groom to footman ; for I'll ne'ei
keep horse more, no, nor mare neither, since my poor Gillian's
departed this life.
Cur. Nay, to say truth, sir, 'twas a good-natured civil beast,
and so she remained to her last gasp, for she cou'd never have
left this world in a better time, as the saying is, so near her
journey's end.
Sir Cred. A civil beast ! Why was it civilly done of her,
thinkest thou, to die at Brentford, when had she liv'd till
to-morrow, she had been converted into money and have been
in my pocket ? for now I am to marry and live in town, I'll sell
off all my pads ; poor fool, I think she e'en died of grief I
wou'd have sold her.
Cur. Well, well, sir, her time was come you must think, and
we are all mortal as the saying is.
Sir Cred. Well, 'twas the loving'st tit but grass and hay,
she's gone where be her shoes, Curry ?
INTRODUCTION xix
Cur. Here, sir, her skin went for good ale at Brentford.
[Gives htm the shoes.
Sir Cred. Ah, how often has she carried me upon these
shoes to Mother Jumbles. What pure ale she brewed !
At a later stage Sir Credulous enacts the part of Falstaff,
taking refuge in a basket, in which he has to submit to
various indignities without daring to move a muscle lest he
betray himself. Mrs. Behn must have had indulgent
audiences, who were satisfied with a very cheap kind of
humour. In one scene, which has no more affectation
of probability than a harlequinade, Sir Credulous is per-
suaded to feign dumbness, and to court his mistress by
signs, whilst his pretended interpreter relieves him of his
diamond ring, his cambric handkerchief, and his purse, as
presents to the lady.
The enfant terrible is already a figure in low comedy.
Sir Patient's seven-year-old daughter admonishes her father,
when he tries to escape the loquacious Lady Knowell, in
these terms:
Fan. Shou'd I tell a lie, Sir Father, and to a lady of her
quality ?
Sir Pat. Her quality and she are a couple of impertinent
things, which are very troublesome, and not to be endur'd I
take it.
Fan. Sir, we shou'd bear with things we dp not love some-
times, 'tis a sort of trial, sir, a kind of mortification fit for a
good Christian.
Sir Pat. Why, what a notable talking baggage is this?
How came you by this doctrine?
Fan. I remember, sir, you preached it once to my sister,
when the old alderman was the text, whom you exhorted her to
marry, but the wicked creature made ill use on't.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Behn's sense of propriety is so defec-
tive that she makes this precocious child the confidante of
her elder sister's highly improper love affairs. ' For I have
heard you say,' this budding coquette remarks, ' women
were born to no other end than to love ; and 'tis fit I should
learn to live and die in my calling.' Such is the cynicism
of one who has no faith in the virtue of her own sex, and
less in that of men. Yet she could say, in her epilogue,
xx NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BERN
to the coxcomb who cried 'Ah rot it 'tis a woman's
comedy,'
' What has poor woman done, that she must be
Debar'd from sense, and sacred poetry?'
Sacred poetry indeed !
In 1682, her most successful year, she brought out,
besides The False Count, two political comedies, or at
least, comedies that owed much of their popularity to their
direct appeal to party feeling. The Roundheads; or, the
Good Old Cause is a scurrilous lampoon on the Common-
wealth. It represents the Parliamentarian generals, Fleet-
wood, Lambert, and Desborough, as sanctimonious hypo-
crites, each scheming to betray his comrades and raise him-
self to supreme office in the state, largely by the efforts of his
wife. A traitor in the camp, Corporal Right, is described in
the playbill as, { An Oliverian commander, but honest and a
cavalier in his heart.' This is an index to the character
of the piece, which, if a man had written it, we should
speak of as a cowardly attack on the fallen a shameless
appeal to the basest instincts of the mob. For the most
part the abuse is too offensive to quote, but the following
scene representing a meeting of the council of ladies will
illustrate the spirit of Mrs. Behn's satire :
Enter page with women, and Loveless dressed as a woman.
Lady Lambert. Gentlewomen, what's your business with us ?
Lov. Gentlewomen ! some of us are ladies.
L. Lam. Ladies, in good time ; by what authority, and from
whom do you derive your title of ladies ?
Lov. From our husbands.
Gill. Husbands, who are they, and of what standing ?
2 Lady. Of no long standing, I confess.
Gill. That's a common grievance indeed.
L. Desborough. And ought to be redressed.
L. Lam. And that shall be taken into consideration ; write it
down, Gilliflower, who made your husband a knight, woman ?
Lov. Oliver the first, an't please ye.
L. Lam. Of horrid memory ; write that down who yours ?
2 Lady. Richard the fourth, an't like your honour.
Gill. Of sottish memory ; shall I write that down too ?
L. Des. Most remarkably.
L. Cromwell. Heav'ns ! can I hear this profanation of our
Royal Family.
INTRODUCTION xxi
Lov. I petition for a pension ; my husband, deceas'd, was a
constant active man, in all the late rebellion, against the Man ;
he plundered my Lord Capel, he betray'd his dearest friend,
Brown Bushel, who trusted his life in his hands, and several
others ; plundering their wives and children even to their
smocks.
L. Lam. Most considerable service, and ought to be con-
sidered.
2 Lady. And most remarkably, at the trial of the late Man,
I spit in's face, and betrayed the Earl of Holland to the
Parliament.
L. Crotn. In the king's face, you mean it showed your zeal
for the good cause.
3 Lady. And 'twas my husband that headed the rabble, to
pull down Gog and Magog, the bishops, broke the idols in the
windows, and turned the churches into stables and dens of
thieves ; robb'd the altar of the cathedral of the twelve pieces
of plate called the twelve Apostles, turn'd eleven of 'em into
money, and kept Judas for his own use at home.
L. Fleetivood. On my word, most wisely perform'd, note it
down
3 Lady. And my husband made libels on the Man from the
first troubles to this day, defam'd and profaned the Woman and
her children, printed all the Man's letters to the Woman with
burlesque marginal notes, pull'd down the sumptuous shrines in
churches, and with the golden and popish spoils adorn'd his
house and chimney-pieces.
L. Lam. We shall consider these great services.
We must stop here ; the rest of the scene is a more ribald
kind of invective even than the foregoing.
In The City Heiress (1682), based on Middleton's
A Mad World, My Masters, the satire is not so heavy, and
has far more wit. There is no need to describe the plot,
which has a family resemblance to most of the others.
The hero is a certain Tom Wilding, the very counterpart of
Wittmore and Willmore the Rover. He is the scapegrace
nephew of Sir Timothy Treat-all, who is undisguisedly
intended for Shaftesbury, Dryden's ' false Achitophel.'
Sir Timothy is, of course, the general butt of the satire,
being cozened of his property, tricked by his nephew into
receiving him as an emissary from the Polish electors, and,
to cap the whole, married to a supposed heiress, who turns
out to be an impostor. In the scene where Wilding carries
out his trickery the political meaning is very obvious.
b^
xxii NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN
Enter Wilding in disguise, Dresswell, footmen and pages.
Wild. Sir, by your reverend aspect, you shou'd be the
renown'd Maitre de Hotel.
Sir Tim. Mater de Otell ! I have not the honour to know
any of that name, I am called Sir Timothy Treat-all. [Bowing.
Wild. The same, sir ; I have been bred abroad, and thought
all persons of quality had spoke French.
Sir Tim. Not City persons of quality, my lord.
Wild. I'm glad on't, sir ; for 'tis a nation I hate, as indeed
I do all monarchies.
Sir Tim. Hum! Hate monarchy! Your lordship is most
welcome. [Bows.
Wild. Unless elective monarchies, which so resemble a
commonwealth.
Sir Tim. Right, my lord ; where every man may hope to
take his turn Your lordship is most singularly welcome.
[Bows low.
Wild. And though I am a stranger to your person, I am not
to your fame, amongst the sober party of the Amsterdamians,
all the French Hugonots throughout Geneva ; even to Hungary
and Poland, fame's trumpet sounds your praise, making the
Pope to fear, the rest to admire you.
Sir Tim. I'm much obliged to the renowned mobile.
Wild. So you will say, when you shall hear my embassy.
The Polanders by me salute you, sir, and have in the next new
election pricked ye down for their succeeding king.
Sir Tim. How, my lord, pricked me down for their king !
Why this is wonderful ! pricked me, unworthy me down for a
king ! How cou'd I merit this amazing glory !
Wild. They know, he that can be so great a patriot to his
native country, when but a private person, what must he be
when power is on his side ?
Sir Tim. Ay, my lord, my country, my bleeding country !
there's the stop to all my rising greatness. Shall I be so un-
grateful to disappoint this big expecting nation? defeat the
sober party, and my neighbours, for any Polish crown? But
yet, my lord, I will consider on't : meantime my house is yours.
Wild. I've brought you, sir, the measure of the crown : ha,
it fits you to a hair. [Pulls out a riband, measures his head.]
You were by heaven and nature fram'd that monarch.
When Sir Timothy finds out the trick that has been played
upon him, he cries, ' Undone, undone ! I shall never make
Guildhall speech more : but he shall hang for't, if there be
e'er a witness between this and Salamanca for money.'
There are many more hits against false witnesses and
INTRODUCTION xxiii
credulous juries. When hard pressed, Sir Timothy is quite
ready to protest himself a good friend even to the Pope.
Sir Tim. Nay, gentlemen, not but I love and honour his
Holiness with all my soul ; and if his Grace did but know what
I've done for him, d'ye see
Fop. You done for the Pope, sirrah ! Why what have you
done for the Pope ?
Sir Tim. Why, sir, an't like ye, I have done you very great
service, very great service ; for I have been, d'ye see, in a small
trial I had, the cause and occasion of invalidating the evidence
to that degree, that I suppose no jury in Christendom will ever
have the impudence to believe 'em hereafter, shou'd they swear
against his Holiness and all the conclave of cardinals.
And when his house is found to be full of ' knavery, sedi-
tion, libels, rights and privileges, with a new fashion'd oath
of abjuration, call'd the Association/ he shouts,
'Why I'll deny it, sir ; for what jury will believe so wise a
magistrate as I cou'd communicate such secrets to such as
you ? I'll say you forged 'em, and put 'em in or print every
one of 'em, and own 'em, as long as they were writ and pub-
lished in Lbndon, sir. Come, come, the world is not so bad
yet, but a man may speak treason within the walls of London,
thanks be to God, and honest conscientious jurymen. 3
Two later plays, The Lucky Chance, a comedy, and
The Emperor of the Moon, a farce, were both failures.
In The Widow Ranter Astrea tells the story of Bacon's
rebellion in Virginia, and makes use of her own experiences
of life in the American colonies.
It was the truth and power with which she recounted what
she had herself witnessed in Surinam that has singled out
for permanence the best of her novels, the story of the
royal slave, Oroonoko. We need not give ear to the
whispers of a liaison with the heroic black. A very differ-
ent emotion inspires the tale, the same feeling of out-
raged humanity that in after days inflamed Mrs. Stowe.
Oroonoko is the first emancipation novel. It is also the
first glorification of the Natural Man. Mrs. Behn was, in a
manner, the precursor of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre ; and in
her attempts to depict the splendour of tropical scenery she
foreshadows, though feebly, the prose-epics of Chateau-
briand. There is fierce satire in Oroonoko. Who would
think that Astrea, who entertained the depraved pit at the
xxiv NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN
Duke's Theatre, could have drawn those idyllic pictures of
Oroonoko in his native Coromantien, of the truth and
purity of the savage uncontaminated with the vices of
Christian Europe, or have written such vehement invectives
against the baseness and utter falsehood of the whites ?
'These people represented to me,' she said, 'an absolute idea
of the first state of innocence, before man knew how to sin :
and 'tis most evident and plain that simple nature is the most
harmless, inoffensive and virtuous mistress. 'Tis she alone, if
she were permitted, that better instructs the world than all the
inventions of man : religion would here but destroy that tran-
quillity they possess by ignorance ; and laws would teach 'em to
know offences of which now they have no notion. They once
made mourning and fasting for the death of the English
governor, who had given his hand to come on such a day to
'em, and neither came nor sent ; believing when a man's word
was past, nothing but death could or should prevent his keeping
it : and when they saw he was not dead, they ask'd him what
name they had for a man who promis'd a thing he did not do ?
The governor told them such a man was a lyar, which was
a word of infamy to a gentleman. Then one of 'em replied,
' Governor, you are a lyar, and guilty of that infamy.'
It is said further on, 'Such ill morals are only practis'd
in Christian countries, where they prefer the bare name
of religion; and, without virtue and morality, think that
sufficient.'
Oroonoko is no savage, but the ideal man, as conceived
by Mrs. Behn, the man out of Eden ; and in him she has
an absolute criterion by which to judge and condemn the
object of her satire European civilisation. His bravery,
wisdom, chastity, his high sense of honour, are the idealisa-
tions of a sentimental young lady, carried away by her
admiration for a truly heroic figure, and disgusted by the
vicious manners of the colonists, whom she describes as
'rogues and runagades, that have abandoned their own
countries for rapine, murder, theft and villainies.' ' Do
you not hear,' says Oroonoko, ' how they upbraid each
other with infamy of life, below the wildest savages ? And
shall we render obedience to such a degenerate race, who
have no one human virtue left, to distinguish them from
the vilest creatures ? '
The story has the natural elements of drama. Southern
wrote a very bad tragedy on the theme of Mrs. Behn's
INTRODUCTION xxv
narrative, altering it slightly, and adding a great deal of
foulness that is, happily, not in the original. Oroonoko
loves the beautiful Imoinda, a maiden of his own race, not
the child of a European who has adopted a savage life, as
in Southern's play. But when they are on the brink of
happiness, the old king, Oroonoko's grandfather, demands
her for his harem. Imoinda acts the part of Abishag the
Shunamite, and her lover that of Adonijah. The vengeful
monarch discovers their attachment, and sells her into
slavery. Oroonoko, soon afterwards, is kidnapped, and finds
himself in Surinam, where Imoinda is already famous as the
beautiful slave, as chaste as she is beautiful. They recog-
nise each other in a touching scene, and are suffered to be
re-united. Oroonoko distinguishes himself by his virtue
and prowess. But he quickly finds that his tyrants promise
freedom to himself and Imoinda merely to delude them
into good behaviour. He flies into the wilderness at the
head of a body of slaves. The planters follow, the blacks
fling down their arms, and Oroonoko surrenders on the
assurance that they shall not be chastised. The white
governor is a scoundrel. The magnanimous negro is put in
irons and tortured. Imoinda is set apart for a worse fate.
But she prefers to die at his beloved hands, rather than
bear dishonour. Oroonoko, with Roman fortitude, slays
his wife, and with the stoicism of the Indian smokes a pipe
of tobacco while his captors execute him piecemeal.
The. Fair Jilt ; or, the Amours of Prince Tarquin and
Miranda, also purports to be a recital of incidents Astrea
herself had witnessed. 'As Love,' it begins, 'is the most
noble and divine passion of the soul, so it is that to which
we may justly attribute all the real satisfactions of life ; and
without it man is unfinished and unhappy." She hardly
succeeds in proving the divinity of the passion she portrays.
Miranda is only a false name for a Beguine at Antwerp, who
had many lovers ; Tarquin is the real name of a German
prince, the most illustrious of her votaries. It is the story
of a fair hypocrite, whose beauty drives men mad. Miranda,
whose raging fever of desire reminds one of Phaedra, being
repulsed by a handsome young friar, falls back on the device
of Potiphar's wife, to secure revenge. This episode is full
of force and vigour; but Tarquin's subjugation to the
enchantress, his complaisant obedience to her criminal
xxvi NOVELS OF MRS APHRA BEHN
schemes, which is offered for our admiration as an ex-
ample of the illimitable power of love, does not strike us so.
Passion, Mrs. Behn maintains, condones everything. There
is nothing too heinous, too flagitious, to attain a sort of
dignity if done in the cause of love. Tarquin attempts to
assassinate the Fair Jilt's sister, and is deservedly condemned
to death. The novelist depicts him as a martyr, and has
a tear to spare even for the more culpable Miranda.
At last the bell toll'd, and he was to take leave of the princess,
as his last work of life, and the most hard he had to accomplish.
He threw himself at her feet, and gazing on her as she sat more
dead than alive, overwhelm'd with silent grief, they both re-
mained some moments speechless ; and then, as if one rising
tide of tears had supplied both their eyes, it burst out in tears
at the same instant : and when his sighs gave way, he utter'd
a thousand farewells, so soft, so passionate, and moving, that
all who were by were extremely touch'd with it, and said, ' That
nothing could be seen more deplorable and melancholy.'
All that can be said in comment is, that there have been
novelists since Mrs. Behn who have written stuff that is
quite as false, lurid, and depraved, and readers who have
gushed over it. Only the sinners begotten of later romancers
do not sin with such abandon. Astrea has never lacked
successors, though the cut of her mantle has been altered
to suit the changes of the mode.
The omnipotence of love is again the theme in another
' true novel,' The Nun ; or, the Perjured Beauty, in which
a similar heroine is also the villain of the plot. Astrea
frankly accepted Charles the Second's well-known opinion
as to the frailty of woman. ' Virtue,' she makes one of her
characters say, ' is but a name kept from scandal, which the
most base of women best preserve.' But Ardelia does not
even trouble about appearances. She is one of those
passionate, insatiable, capricious women who play a leading
role in every one of Astrea's comedies, and are always
drawn with energy and truth because their author's heart
was in them. The plot is worked out with great ingenuity
in this story, and also in a later one, The Lucky Mistake, in
*?vhich the reader is kept in the titillations of suspense to the
final page. In the last-named, also, there is some attempt
at character-drawing.
Oroonoko was not the only novel in which Mrs. Behn
INTRODUCTION xxvii
tried to portray ideal feelings and elevated morality. Agnes
de Castro is a sweet, sentimental tragedy, which at least has
the merit of being free from errors of taste. Agnes is maid-
of-honour to Donna Constantia, wife of the Prince of
Portugal, and has the misfortune to be loved by her
mistress's husband. But there is no foul intrigue in the
story. Don Pedro struggles honourably against his passion :
' his fault was not voluntary ':...' a commanding power,
a fatal star, had forc'd him to love in spite of himself.' The
Princess is so high-minded after the seventeenth-century
pattern of high-mindedness that she admits his innocence.
' I have no reproaches to make against you, knowing that
'tis inclination that disposes hearts, and not reason." Her
complaisance goes so far that she even conjures Agnes not
to deprive him of her society, since it is necessary to his
happiness. But the truce is brought to a fatal ending by the
malice of an envious woman, who persuades Constantia
that the lovers are guilty, and so breaks her heart. The
novel is painfully stilted, and reads like the discarded sketch
for a tragedy, which had been worked up to suit another
style.
It must be confessed that, apart from Oroonoko, Mrs.
Behn's fiction is of very little importance in the history of
our literature. Her best work was put into her comedies,
which contain, not only much diversion, but also strong, and
perhaps too highly coloured, pictures of the manners and
morals of the pleasure-seekers of her time, in all classes.
Unfortunately, it would be difficult indeed to compile even
a book of elegant extracts that would give the modern
reader any adequate idea of their merits, without either
emasculating them altogether or nauseating him with their
coarseness.
ERNEST A. BAKER
February ; 1905.
THE HISTORY OF
THE ROYAL SLAVE
I DO not pretend, in giving you the history of this
ROYAL SLA VE, to entertain my Reader with the
adventures of a feigned hero, whose life and fortunes
fancy may manage at the poet's pleasure ; nor, in
relating the truth, design to adorn it with any acci-
dents, but such as arrived in earnest to him : and it
shall come simply into the world, recommended by
its own proper merits, and natural intrigues; there
being enough of reality to support it, and to render
it diverting, without the addition of invention.
I was myself an eye-witness to a great part of
what you will find here set down ; and what I could
not be witness of, I received from the mouth of the
chief actor in this history, the hero himself, who gave
us the whole transactions of his youth : and I shall
omit, for brevity's sake, a thousand little accidents
of his life, which, however pleasant to us, where his-
tory was scarce, and adventures very rare, yet might
prove tedious and heavy to my reader, in a world
where he finds diversions for every minute, new and
strange. But we who were perfectly charmed with
the character of this great man, were curious to
gather every circumstance of his life.
The scene of the last part of his adventures lies
in a colony in America, called Surinam, in the West
Indies.
But before I give you the story of this gallant slave,
2 OROONOKO
it is fit I tell you the manner of bringing them to
these new colonies ; those they make use of there,
not being natives of the place : for those we live with
in perfect amity, without daring to command them ;
but, on the contrary, caress them with all the brotherly
and friendly affection in the world ; trading with
them for their fish, venison, buffaloes' skins, and little
rarities ; as marmosets, a sort of monkey, as big as
a rat or weasel, but of a marvellous and delicate
shape, having face and hands like a human creature ;
and cousheries, a little beast in the form and fashion
of a lion, as big as a kitten, but so exactly made in
all parts like that noble beast, that it is it in
miniature : then for little parrakeets, great parrots,
mackaws and a thousand other birds and beasts of
wonderful and surprising forms, shapes, and colours :
for skins of prodigious snakes, of which there are
some three-score yards in length ; as is the skin of
one that may be seen at his Majesty's Antiquary's ;
where are also some rare flies, of amazing forms and
colours, presented to them by myself: some as big
as my fist, some less ; and all of various excellences,
such as art cannot imitate. Then we trade for
feathers, which they order into all shapes, make
themselves little short habits of them, and glorious
wreaths for their heads, necks, arms and legs, whose
tinctures are inconceivable. I had a set of these
presented to me, and I gave them to the King's
Theatre ; it was the dress of the Indian Queen,
infinitely admired by persons of quality; and was
inimitable. Besides these, a thousand little knacks,
and rarities in nature; and some of art, as their
baskets, weapons, aprons, etc. We dealt with them
with beads of all colours, knives, axes, pins, and
needles, which they used only as tools to drill holes
with in their ears, noses, and lips, where they hang
a great many little things ; as long beads, bits of tin,
brass or silver beat thin, and any shining trinket.
The beads they weave into aprons about a quarter
THE ROYAL SLAVE 3
of an ell long, and of the same breadth ; working
them very prettily in flowers of several colours;
which apron they wear just before them, as Adam
and Eve did the fig-leaves ; the men wearing a long
strip of linen, which they deal with us for. They
thread these beads also on long cotton-threads, and
make girdles to tie their aprons to, which come
twenty times, or more, about the waist, and then
cross, like a shoulder-belt, both ways, and round
their necks, arms and legs. This adornment, with
their long black hair, and the face painted in little
specks or flowers here and there, makes them a
wonderful figure to behold. Some of the beauties,
which indeed are finely shaped, as almost all are, and
who have pretty features, are charming and novel;
for they have all that is called beauty, except the
colour, which is a reddish yellow ; or after a new
oiling, which they often use to themselves, they are
of the colour of a new brick, but smooth, soft and
sleek. They are extreme modest and bashful, very
shy, and nice of being touched. And though they
are all thus naked, if one lives for ever among them,
there is not to be seen an indecent action, or glance :
and being continually used to see one another so
unadorned, so like our first parents before the fall, it
seems as if they had no wishes, there being nothing
to heighten curiosity : but all you can see, you see at
once, and every moment see ; and where there is no
novelty, there can be no curiosity. Not but I have
seen a handsome young Indian, dying for love of a
very beautiful young Indian maid ; but all his court-
ship was, to fold his arms, pursue her with his eyes, and
sighs were all his language : whilst she, as if no such
lover were present, or rather as if she desired none
such, carefully guarded her eyes from beholding him ;
and never approached him, but she looked down with
all the blushing modesty I have seen in the most
severe and cautious of our world. And these people
represented to me an absolute idea of the first state
4 OROONOKO
of innocence, before man knew how to sin : And 'tis
most evident and plain, that simple Nature is the
most harmless, inoffensive and virtuous mistress. It
is she alone, if she were permitted, that better in-
structs the world, than all the inventions of man :
religion would here but destroy that tranquillity they
possess by ignorance ; and laws would but teach
them to know offences, of which now they have
no notion. They once made mourning and fasting
for the death of the English Governor, who had given
his hand to come on such a day to them, and neither
came nor sent ; believing when, a man's word was
past, nothing but death could or should prevent his
keeping it : and when they saw he was not dead,
they asked him what name they had for a man who
promised a thing he did not do? The Governor
told them such a man was a liar, which was a word
of infamy to a gentleman. Then one of them
replied, ' Governor, you are a liar, and guilty of that
infamy.' They have a native justice, which knows
no fraud ; and they understand no vice, or cunning,
but when they are taught by the white men. They
have plurality of wives ; which when they grow old,
serve those that succeed them, who are young, but
with a servitude easy and respected ; and unless they
take slaves in war, they have no other attendants.
Those on that continent where I was, had no King;
but the oldest War-Captain was obeyed with great
resignation.
A War-Captain is a man who has led them on to
battle with conduct and success ; of whom I shall
have occasion to speak more hereafter, and of some
other of their customs and manners, as they fall in
my way.
With these people, as I said, we live in perfect
tranquillity, and good understanding, as it behoves us
to do ; they knowing all the places where to seek the
best food of the country, and the means of getting it ;
and for very small and invaluable trifles, supplying
THE ROYAL SLAVE 5
us with what it is almost impossible for us to get : for
they do not only in the woods, and over the Sevana's,
in hunting, supply the parts of hounds, by swiftly
scouring through those almost impassable places, and
by .the mere activity of their feet, run down the
nimblest deer, and other eatable beasts ; but in the
water, one would think they were gods of the rivers,
or fellow-citizens of the deep ; so rare an art they
have in swimming, diving, and almost living in water;
by which they command the less swift inhabitants of
the floods. And then for shooting, what they cannot
take, or reach with their hands, they do with arrows ;
and have so admirable an aim, that they will split
almost a hair, and at any distance that an arrow can
reach : they will shoot down oranges, and other
fruit, and only touch the stalk with the dart's point,
that they may not hurt the fruit. So that they being
on all occasions very useful to us, we find it absolutely
necessary to caress them as friends, and not to treat
them as slaves ; nor dare we do otherwise, their
numbers so far surpassing ours in that continent.
Those then whom we make use of to work in our
plantations of sugar, are Negroes, black-slaves alto-
gether, who are transported thither in this manner.
Those who want slaves, make a bargain with a
master, or a captain of a ship, and contract to pay
him so much apiece, a matter of twenty pound a head,
for as many as he agrees for, and to pay for them
when they shall be delivered on such a plantation : so
that when there arrives a ship laden with slaves, they
who have so contracted, go aboard, and receive their
number by lot ; and perhaps in one lot that may be
for ten, there may happen to be three or four men,
the rest women and children. Or be there more or
less of either sex, you are obliged to be contented
with your lot.
Coramantien, a country of blacks so called, was one
of those places in which they found the most advan-
tageous trading for these slaves, and thither most of
6 OROONOKO
our great traders in that merchandise traffic ; for
that nation is very warlike and brave : and having a
continual campaign, being always in hostility with
one neighbouring Prince or other, they had the
fortune to take a great many captives : for all they
took in battle were sold as slaves ; at least those
common men who could not ransom themselves. Of
these slaves so taken, the General only has all the
profit ; and of these Generals our captains and mas-
ters of ships buy all their freights.
The King of Coramantien was of himself a man of
an hundred and odd years old, and had no son,
though he had many beautiful black wives : for most
certainly there are beauties that can charm of that
colour. In his younger years he had had many
gallant men to his sons, thirteen of whom died in
battle, conquering when they fell ; and he had only
left him for his successor, one grandchild, son to one
of these dead victors, who, as soon as he could bear
a bow in his hand, and a quiver at his back, was sent
into the field, to be trained up by one of the oldest
Generals to war ; where, from his natural inclination
to arms, and the occasions given him, with the good
conduct of the old General, he became, at the age of
seventeen, one of the most expert Captains, and
bravest soldiers that ever saw the field of Mars : so
that he was adored as the wonder of all that world,
and the darling of the soldiers. Besides, he was
adorned with a native beauty, so transcending all
those of his gloomy race, that he struck an awe and
reverence, even into those that knew not his quality ;
as he did into me, who beheld him with surprise and
wonder, when afterwards he arrived in our world.
He had scarce arrived at his seventeenth year,
when, fighting by his side, the General was killed with
an arrow in his eye, which the Prince Oroonoko (for
so was this gallant Moor called) very narrowly
avoided ; nor had he, if the General who saw the
arrow shot, and perceiving it aimed at the Prince,
THE ROYAL SLAVE 7
had not bowed his head between, on purpose to
receive it in his own body, rather than it should touch
that of the Prince, and so saved him.
It was then, afflicted as Oroonoko was, that he was
proclaimed General in the old man's place : and then
it was, at the finishing of that war, which had con-
tinued for two years, that the Prince came to Court,
where he had hardly been a month together, from
the time of his fifth year to that of seventeen : and it
was amazing to imagine where it was he learned
so much humanity ; or to give his accomplishments a
juster name, where it was he got that real greatness
of soul, those refined notions of true honour, that
absolute generosity, and that softness that was capable
of the highest passions of love and gallantry, whose
objects were almost continually fighting men, or those
mangled or dead, who heard no sounds but those of
war and groans. Some part of it we may attribute to
the care of a Frenchman of wit and learning, who
finding it turn to a very good account to be a sort of
royal tutor to this young black, and perceiving him
very ready, apt, and quick of apprehension, took a
great pleasure to teach him morals, language and
science ; and was for it extremely beloved and valued
by him. Another reason was, he loved when he came
from war, to see all the English gentlemen that
traded thither ; and did not only learn their language,
but that of the Spaniard also, with whom he traded
afterwards for slaves.
I have often seen and conversed with this great
man, and been a witness to many of his mighty
actions, and do assure my reader, the most illustrious
Courts could not have produced a braver both for
greatness of courage and mind, a judgment more solid,
a wit more quick, and a conversation more sweet and
diverting. He knew almost as much as if he had read
much : he had heard of and admired the Romans :
he had heard of the late Civil Wars in England,
and the deplorable death of our great Monarch ; and
8 OROONOKO
would discourse of it with all the sense and abhorrence
of the injustice imaginable. He had an extreme
good and graceful mien, and all the civility of a well-
bred great man. He had nothing of barbarity in
his nature, but in all points addressed himself as if his
education had been in some European Court.
This great and just character of Oroonoko gave me
an extreme curiosity to see him, especially when
I knew he spoke French and English, and that I
could talk with him. But though I had heard so
much of him, I was as greatly surprised when I saw
him, as if I had heard nothing of him ; so beyond all
report I found him. He came into the room, and
addressed himself to me, and some other women,
with the best grace in the world. He was pretty tall,
but of a shape the most exact that can be fancied :
the most famous statuary could not form the figure of
a man more admirably turned from head to foot. His
face was not of that brown rusty black which most of
that nation are, but a perfect ebony, or polished jet.
His eyes were the most awful that could be seen, and
very piercing ; the white of them being like snow, as
were his teeth. His nose was rising and Roman,
instead of African and flat : his mouth the finest
shaped that could be seen ; far from those great
turned lips, which are so natural to the rest of the
Negroes. The whole proportion and air of his face
was so nobly and exactly formed, that, bating his
colour, there could be nothing in nature more beauti-
ful, agreeable and handsome. There was no one
grace wanting, that bears the standard of true beauty.
His hair came down to his shoulders, by the aids
of art, which was by pulling it out with a quill, and
keeping it combed ; of which he took particular care.
Nor did the perfections of his mind come short
of those of his person ; for his discourse was admir-
able upon almost any subject : and whoever had
heard him speak, would have been convinced of their
errors, that all fine wit is confined to the white men,
THE ROYAL SLAVE 9
especially to those of Christendom ; and would have
confessed that Oroonoko was as capable even of
reigning well, and of governing as wisely, had as great
a soul, as politic maxims, and was as sensible of
power, as any Prince civilised in the most refined
schools of humanity and learning, or the most illus-
trious courts.
This Prince, such as I have described him, whose
soul and body were so admirably adorned, was (while
yet he was in the Court of his grandfather, as I said)
as capable of love, as it was possible for a brave and
gallant man to be ; and in saying that, I have named
the highest degree of love : for sure great souls are
most capable of that passion.
I have already said, the old General was killed by
the shot of an arrow, by the side of this Prince, in
battle; and that Oroonoko was made General. This
old dead hero had one only daughter left of his
race, a beauty, that to describe her truly, one need
say only, she was female to the noble male ; the beau-
tiful black Venus to our young Mars ; as charming in
her person as he, and of delicate virtues. I have seen
a hundred white men sighing after her, and making a
thousand vows at her feet, all in vain and unsuccess-
ful. And she was indeed too great for any but a
prince of her own nation to adore.
Oroonoko coming from the wars (which were now
ended) after he had made his Court to his grand-
father, he thought in honour he ought to make a visit
to Imoinda, the daughter of his foster-father, the dead
General; and to make some excuses to her, because
his preservation was the occasion of her father's
death ; and to present her with those slaves that had
been taken in this last battle, as the trophies of her
father's victories. When he came, attended by all the
young soldiers of any merit, he was infinitely sur-
prised at the beauty of this fair Queen of Night,
whose face and person were so exceeding all he had
ever beheld, that lovely modesty with which she
io OROONOKO
received him, that softness in her look and sighs,
upon the melancholy occasion of this honour that
was done by so great a man as Oroonoko, and a
Prince of whom she had heard such admirable things;
the awfulness wherewith she received him, and the
sweetness of her words and behaviour while he stayed,
gained a perfect conquest over his fierce heart, and
made him feel, the victor could be subdued. So that
having made his first compliments, and presented her
an hundred and fifty slaves in fetters, he told her
with his eyes, that he was not insensible of her
charms ; while Imoinda, who wished for nothing
more than so glorious a conquest, was pleased to
believe, she understood that silent language of new-
born love; and, from that moment, put on all her
additions to beauty.
The Prince returned to Court with quite another
humour than before; and though he did not speak
much of the fair Imoinda, he had the pleasure to
hear all his followers speak of nothing but the charms
of that maid, insomuch, that, even in the presence of
the old King, they were extolling her, and heighten-
ing, if possible, the beauties they had found in her :
so that nothing else was talked of, no other sound
was heard in every corner where there were whis-
perers, but Imoinda! Imoinda!
It will be imagined Oroonoko stayed not long
before he made his second visit ; nor, considering his
quality, not much longer before he told her, he adored
her. I have often heard him say, that he admired by
what strange inspiration he came to talk things so
soft, and so passionate, who never knew love, nor was
used to the conversation of women ; but (to use his
own words) he said, ' Most happily, some new, and,
till then, unknown power instructed his heart and
tongue in the language of love ; and at the same
time, in favour of him, inspired Imoinda with a sense
of his passion.' She was touched with what he
said, and returned it all in such answers as went to
THE ROYAL SLAVE n
his very heart, with a pleasure unknown before. Nor
did he use those obligations ill, that love had done
him, but turned all his happy moments to the best
advantage ; and as he knew no vice, his flame aimed
at nothing but honour, if such a distinction may be
made in love; and especially in that country, where
men take to themselves as many as they can main-
tain; and where the only crime and sin against a
woman, is, to turn her off, to abandon her to want,
shame and misery; such ill morals are only prac-
tised in Christian countries, where they prefer the bare
name of religion; and, without religion or morality,
think that sufficient. But Oroonoko was none of
these professors ; but as he had right notions of
honour, so he made her such propositions as were not
only and barely such; but, contrary to the custom of
his country, he made her, vows she should be the only
woman he would possess while he lived ; that no age
or wrinkles should incline him to change: for her soul
would be always fine, and always young; and he
should have an eternal idea in his mind of the charms
she now bore; and should look into his heart for that
idea, when he could find it no longer in her face.
After a thousand assurances of his lasting flame,
and her eternal empire over him, she condescended to
receive him for her husband ; or rather, receive him, as
the greatest honour the gods could do her.
There is a certain ceremony in these cases to be
observed, which I forgot to ask how it was per-
formed ; but it was concluded on both sides, that in
obedience to him, the grandfather was to be first
made acquainted with the design : for they pay a
most absolute resignation to the monarch, especially
when he is a parent also.
On the other side, the old King, who had many
wives, and many concubines, wanted not court-flat-
terers to insinuate into his heart a thousand tender
thoughts for this young beauty; and who represented
her to his fancy, as the most charming he had ever
12 OROONOKO
possessed in all the long race of his numerous years.
At this character, his old heart, like an extinguished
brand, most apt to take fire, felt new sparks of love,
and began to kindle ; and now grown to his second
childhood, longed with impatience to behold this gay
thing, with whom, alas ! he could but innocently play.
But how he should be confirmed she was this wonder,
before he used his power to call her to Court, (where
maidens never came, unless for the King's private
use) he was next to consider ; and while he was so
doing, he had intelligence brought him, that Imoinda
was most certainly mistress to the Prince Oroonoko.
This gave him some chagrin : however, it gave him
also an opportunity, one day, when the Prince was
a hunting, to wait on a man of quality, as his slave
and attendant, who should go and make a present to
Imoinda, as from the Prince ; he should then, un-
known, see this fair maid, and have an opportunity to
hear what message she would return the Prince for
his present, and from thence gather the state of her
heart, and degree of her inclination. This was put in
execution, and the old monarch saw, and burned:
he found her all he had heard, and would not delay
his happiness, but found he should have some obstacle
to overcome her heart ; for she expressed her sense
of the present the Prince had sent her, in terms so
sweet, so soft and pretty, with an air of love and joy
that could not be dissembled, insomuch that it was
past doubt whether she loved Oroonoko entirely.
This gave the old King some affliction ; but he salved
it with this, that the obedience the people pay their
King, was not at all inferior to what they paid their
gods; and what love would not oblige Imoinda to do,
duty would compel her to.
He was therefore no sooner got into his apartment,
but he sent the Royal Veil to Imoinda ; that is the
ceremony of invitation : he sends the lady he has a
mind to honour with his bed, a veil, with which she is
covered, and secured for the King's use ; and it is
THE ROYAL SLAVE 13
death to disobey ; besides, held a most impious dis-
obedience.
It is not to be imagined the surprise and grief that
seized the lovely maid at this news and sight. How-
ever, as delays in these cases are dangerous, and
pleading worse than treason ; trembling, and almost
fainting, she was obliged to suffer herself to be
covered, and led away.
They brought her thus to Court; and the King,
who had caused a very rich bath to be prepared, was
led into it, where he sat under a canopy, in state, to
receive this longed-for virgin ; whom he having com-
manded to be brought to him, they (after disrobing
her) led her to the bath, and making fast the doors,
left her to descend. The King, without more court-
ship, bade her throw off her mantle, and come to his
arms. But Imoinda, all in tears, threw herself on the
marble, on the brink of the bath, and besought him to
hear her. She told him, as she was a maid, how
proud of the divine glory she should have been of
having it in her power to oblige her King : but as by
the laws he could not, and from his Royal goodness
would not take from any man his wedded wife ; so she
believed she should be the occasion of making him
commit a great sin, if she did not reveal her state and
condition ; and tell him she was another's, and could
not be so happy to be his.
The King, enraged at this delay, hastily demanded
the name of the bold man, that had married a woman
of her degree, without his consent. Imoinda seeing
his eyes fierce, and his hands tremble (whether with
age or anger, I know not, but she fancied the last)
almost repented she had said so much, for now she
feared the storm would fall on the Prince ; she there-
fore said a thousand things to appease the raging of
his flame, and to prepare him to hear who it was with
calmness: but before she spoke, he imagined who she
meant, but would not seem to do so, but commanded
her to lay aside her mantle, and suffer herself to receive
14 OROONOKO
his caresses, or, by his gods he swore, that happy man
whom she was going to name should die, though
it were even Oroonoko himself. ' Therefore,' said he,
'deny this marriage, and swear thyself a maid.'
'That,' replied Imoinda, 'by all our powers I do;
for I am not yet known to my husband.' ' It is
enough,' said the King, ' it is enough both to satisfy
my conscience and my heart.' And rising from his
seat, he went and led her into the bath ; it being in
vain for her to resist.
In this time, the Prince, who was returned from
hunting, went to visit his Imoinda, but found her
gone ; and not only so, but heard she had received
the Royal Veil. This raised him to a storm ; and in
his madness, they had much ado to save him from
laying violent hands on himself. Force first pre-
vailed, and then reason : they urged all to him, that
might oppose his rage ; but nothing weighed so
greatly with him as the King's old age, incapable of
injuring him with Imoinda. He would give way to
that hope, because it pleased him most, and flattered
best his heart. Yet this served not altogether to make
him cease his different passions, which sometimes
raged within him, and softened into showers. It was
not enough to appease him, to tell him, his grand-
father was old, and could not that way injure him,
while he retained that awful duty which the young
men are used there to pay to their grave relations.
He could not be convinced he had no cause to sigh
and mourn for the loss of a mistress, he could not
with all his strength and courage retrieve, and he
would often cry, ' Oh, my friends ! were she in walled
cities, or confined from me in fortifications of the
greatest strength ; did enchantments or monsters
detain her from me ; I would venture any hazard to
free her : but here, in the arms of a feeble old man,
my youth, my violent love, my trade in arms, and all
my vast desire of glory, avail me nothing. Imoinda
is as irrecoverably lost to me, as if she were snatched
THE ROYAL SLAVE 15
by the cold arms of death. Oh ! she is never to be
retrieved. If I would wait tedious years ; till fate
should bow the old King to his grave, even that
would not leave me Imoinda free; but still that
custom that makes it so vile a crime for a son to
marry his father's wives or mistresses, would hinder
my happiness ; unless I would either ignobly set an
ill precedent to my successors, or abandon my country,
and fly with her to some unknown world who never
heard our story.'
But it was objected to him, that his case was not
the same : for Imoinda being his lawful wife by
solemn contract, it was he was the injured man, and
might, if he so pleased, take Imoinda back, the breach
of the law being on his grandfather's side ; and that
if he could circumvent him, and redeem her from the
Otan, which is the Palace of the King's Women, a
fort of Seraglio, it was both just and lawful for him so
to do.
This reasoning had some force upon him, and he
should have been entirely comforted, but for the
thought that she was possessed by his grandfather.
However, he loved her so well, that he was resolved to
believe what most favoured his hope, and to endeavour
to learn from Imoinda's own mouth, what only she
could satisfy him in, whether she was robbed of that
blessing which was only due to his faith and love.
But as it was very hard to get a sight of the women
(for no men ever entered into the Otan, but when the
King went to entertain himself with some one of his
wives or mistresses ; and it was death, at any other
time, for any other to go in) so he knew not how to
contrive to get a sight of her.
While Oroonoko felt all the agonies of love, and
suffered under a torment the most painful in the
world, the old King was not exempted from his share
of affliction. He was troubled, for having been forced,
by an irresistible passion, to rob his son of a treasure,
he knew, could not but be extremely dear to him ;
16 OROONOKO
since she was the most beautiful that ever had been
seen, and had besides, all the sweetness and innocence
of youth and modesty, with a charm of wit surpassing
all. He found, that however she was forced to expose
her lovely person to his withered arms, she could only
sigh and weep there, and think of Oroonoko ; and
oftentimes could not forbear speaking of him, though
her life were, by custom, forfeited by owning her
passion. But she spoke not of a lover only, but of a
Prince dear to him to whom she spoke ; and of the
praises of a man, who, till now, filled the old man's
soul with joy at every recital of his bravery, or even
his name. And it was this dotage on our young
hero, that gave Imoinda a thousand privileges to
speak of him without offending, and this condescen-
sion in the old King, that made her take the satisfac-
tion of speaking of him so very often.
Besides, he many times inquired how the Prince
bore himself: and those of whom he asked, being
entirely slaves to the merits and virtues of the Prince,
still answered what they thought conduced best to
his service ; which was, to make the old King fancy
that the Prince had no more interest in Imoinda, and
had resigned her willingly to the pleasure of the
King; that he diverted himself with his mathe-
maticians, his fortifications, his officers, and his
hunting.
This pleased the old lover, who failed not to report
these things again to Imoinda, that she might, by the
example of her young lover, withdraw her heart, and
rest better contented in his arms. But, however she
was forced to receive this unwelcome news, in all
appearance, with unconcern and content ; her heart
was bursting within, and she was only happy when
she could get alone, to vent her griefs and moans
with sighs and tears.
What reports of the Prince's conduct were made
to the King, he thought good to justify, as far as
possibly he could by his actions ; and when he ap-
THE ROYAL SLAVE 17
peared in the presence of the King, he showed a face
not at all betraying his heart : so that in a little time,
the old man, being entirely convinced that he was no
longer a lover of Imoinda, he carried him with him,
in his train, to the Otan, often to banquet with his
mistresses. But as soon as he entered, one day, into
the apartment of Imoinda, with the King, at the first
glance from her eyes, notwithstanding all his deter-
mined resolution, he was ready to sink in the place
where he stood ; and had certainly done so, but for
the support of Aboan, a young man who was next
to him ; which, with his change of countenance, had
betrayed him, had the King chanced to look that
way. And I have observed, it is a very great error
in those who laugh when one says, ' A Negro can
change colour ' : for I have seen them as frequently
blush, and look pale, and that as visibly as ever I saw
in the most beautiful white. And it is certain, that
both these changes were evident, this day, in both
these lovers. And Imoinda, who saw with some joy
the change in the Prince's face, and found it in her
own, strove to divert the King from beholding either,
by a forced caress, with which she met him ; which
was a new wound in the heart of the poor dying
Prince. But as soon as the King was busied in look-
ing on some fine thing of Imoinda's making, she had
time to tell the Prince, with her angry, but love-
darting eyes, that she resented his coldness, and be-
moaned her own miserable captivity. Nor were his
eyes silent, but answered hers again, as much as eyes
could do, instructed by the most tender and most
passionate heart that ever loved : and they spoke so
well, and so effectually, as Imoinda no longer doubted
but she was the only delight and darling of that soul
she found pleading in them its right of love, which
none was more willing to resign than she. And it
was this powerful language alone that in an instant
conveyed all the thoughts of their souls to each
other ; that they both found there wanted but oppor-
i8 OROONOKO
tunity to make them both entirely^happy. But when
he saw another door opened by Onahal (a former old
wife of the King's, who now had charge of Imoinda)
and saw the prospect of a bed of state made ready,
with sweets and flowers for the dalliance of the King,
who immediately led the trembling victim from his
sight, into that prepared repose ; what rage ! what
wild frenzies seized his heart ! which forcing to keep
within bounds, and to suffer without noise, it became
the more insupportable, and rent his soul with ten
thousand pains. He was forced to retire to vent his
groans, where he fell down on a carpet, and lay
struggling a long time, and only breathing now and
then Oh Imoinda ! When Onahal had finished her
necessary affair within, shutting the door, she came
forth, to wait till the King called ; and hearing some
one sighing in the other room, she passed on, and
found the Prince in that deplorable condition, which
she thought needed her aid. She gave him cordials,
but all in vain ; till finding the nature of his disease,
by his sighs, and naming Imoinda, she told him he
had not so much cause as he imagined to afflict him-
self: for if he knew the King so well as she did, he
would not lose a moment in jealousy ; and that she
was confident that Imoinda bore, at this minute, part
in his affliction. Aboan was of the same opinion,
and both together persuaded him to re-assume his
courage ; and all sitting down on the carpet, the
Prince said so many obliging things to Onahal, that
he half persuaded her to be of his party : and she
promised him, she would thus far comply with his
just desires, that she would let Imoinda know how
faithful he was, what he suffered, and what he said.
This discourse lasted till the King called, which
gave Oroonoko a certain satisfaction ; and with the
hope Onahal had made him conceive, he assumed
a look as gay as it was possible a man in his circum-
stances could do : and presently after, he was called
in with the rest who waited without. The King com-
THE ROYAL SLAVE 19
manded music to be brought, and several of his
young wives and mistresses came all together by his
command, to dance before him ; where Imoinda per-
formed her part with an air and grace so surpassing
all the rest, as her beauty was above them, and re-
ceived the present ordained as a prize. The Prince
was every moment more charmed with the new
beauties and graces he beheld in this fair one ; and
while he gazed, and she danced, Onahal was retired
to a window with Aboan.
This Onahal, as I said, was one of the Cast-
Mistresses of the old King ; and it was these (now
past their beauty) that were made guardians or
governantes to the new and the young ones, and
whose business it was to teach them all those wanton
arts of love, with which they prevailed and charmed
heretofore in their turn ; and who now treated the
triumphing happy-ones with all the severity, as to
liberty and freedom, that was possible, in revenge of
the honours they rob them of; envying them those
satisfactions, those gallantries and presents, that were
once made to themselves, while youth and beauty
lasted, and which they now saw pass, as it were regard-
less by, and paid only to the bloomings. And certainly,
nothing is more afflicting to a decayed beauty, than
to behold in itself declining charms, that were once
adored ; and to find those caresses paid to new
beauties, to which once she laid claim ; to hear them
whisper, as she passes by, that once was a delicate
woman. Those abandoned ladies therefore endeavour
to revenge all the despites and decays of time, on
these flourishing happy-ones. And it was this
severity that gave Oroonoko a thousand fears he
should never prevail with Onahal to see Imoinda.
But, as I said, she was now retired to a window with
Aboan.
This young man was not only one of the best
quality, but a man extremely well made, and beauti-
ful ; and coming often to attend the King to the Otan,
20 OROONOKO
he had subdued the heart of the antiquated Onahal,
which had not forgot how pleasant it was to be in
love. And though she had some decays in her face,
she had none in her sense and wit; she was there
agreeable still, even to Aboan's youth : so that he
took pleasure in entertaining her with discourses of
love. He knew also, that to make his court to these
she-favourites, was the way to be great ; these being
the persons that do all affairs and business at Court.
He had also observed that she had given him glances
more tender and inviting than she had done to others
of his quality. And now, when he saw that her
favour could so absolutely oblige the Prince, he failed
not to sigh in her ear, and look with eyes all soft
upon her, and gave her hope that she had made some
impressions on his heart. He found her pleased at
this, and making a thousand advances to him : but
the ceremony ending, and the King departing, broke
up the company for that day, and his conversation.
Aboan failed not that night to tell the Prince of his
success, and how advantageous the service of Onahal
might be to his amour with Imoinda. The Prince
was overjoyed with this good news, and besought
him, if it were possible, to caress her so, as to engage
her entirely, which he could not fail to do, if he com-
plied with her desires : ' For then,' said the Prince,
' her life lying at your mercy, she must grant you the
request you make in my behalf.' Aboan understood
him, and assured him he would make love so effec-
tually, that he would defy the most expert mistress of
the art to find out whether he dissembled it, or had it
really. And it was with impatience they waited the
next opportunity of going to the Otan.
The wars came on, the time of taking the field
approached ; and it was impossible for the Prince to
delay his going at the head of his Army to encounter
the enemy ; so that every day seemed a tedious year,
till he saw his Imoinda : for he believed he could not
live, if he were forced away without being so happy.
THE ROYAL SLAVE 21
It was with impatience therefore that he expected the
next visit the King would make ; and, according to
his wish, it was not long.
The parley of the eyes of these two lovers had not
passed so secretly, but an old jealous lover could spy
it ; or rather, he wanted not flatterers who told him
they observed it : so that the Prince was hastened to
the camp, and this was the last visit he found he
should make to the Otan ; he therefore urged Aboan
to make the best of this last effort, and to explain him-
self so to Onahal, that she deferring her enjoyment of
her young lover no longer, might make way for the
Prince to speak to Imoinda.
The whole affair being agreed on between the
Prince and Aboan, they attended the King, as the
custom was, to the Otan ; where, while the whole
company was taken up in beholding the dancing and
antic postures the Women-Royal made to divert the
King, Onahal singled out Aboan, whom she found
most pliable to her wish. When she had him where
she believed she could not be heard, she sighed to him,
and softly cried, ' Ah, Aboan ! when will you be
sensible of my passion ? I confess it with my mouth,
because I would not give my eyes the lie ; and you
have but too much already perceived they have con-
fessed my flame : nor would I have you believe that
because I am the abandoned mistress of a King, I
esteem myself altogether divested of charms : No,
Aboan ; I have still a rest of beauty enough engaging,
and have learned to please too well, not to be de-
sirable. I can have lovers still, but will have none
but Aboan.' ' Madam,' replied the half-feigning
youth, ' you have already, by my eyes, found you can
still conquer ; and I believe it is in pity of me you
condescend to this kind confession. But, Madam,
words are used to be so small a part of our country-
courtship, that it is rare one can get so happy an
opportunity as to tell one's heart; and those few
minutes we have, are forced to be snatched for more
22 OROONOKO
certain proofs of love than speaking and sighing ,
and such I languish for.'
He spoke this with such a tone, that she hoped it
true, and could not forbear believing it ; and being
wholly transported with joy for having subdued the
finest of all the King's subjects to her desires, she
took from her ears two large pearls, and commanded
him to wear them in his. He would have refused
them crying, 'Madam, these are not the proofs of
your love that I expect ; it is opportunity, it is a lone
hour only that can make me happy." But forcing
the pearls into his hand, she whispered softly to him,
' Oh ! do not fear a woman's invention, when love
sets her a thinking.' And pressing his hand, she
cried, ' This night you shall be happy. Come to the
gate of the orange-grove, behind the Otan, and I will
be ready about midnight to receive you.' It was thus
agreed, and she left him that no notice might be taken
of their speaking together.
The ladies were still dancing, and the King, laid on
a carpet, with a great deal of pleasure was beholding
them, especially Imoinda, who that day appeared
more lovely than ever, being enlivened with the good
tidings Onahal had brought her, of the constant
passion the Prince had for her. The Prince was
laid on another carpet at the other end of the room,
with his eyes fixed on the object of his soul ; and as
she turned or moved, so did they; and she alone
gave his eyes and soul their motions. Nor did
Imoinda employ her eyes to any other use, than in
beholding with infinite pleasure the joy she produced
in those of the Prince. But while she was more
regarding him than the steps she took, she chanced
to fall, and so near him, as that leaping with extreme
force from the carpet, he caught her in his arms as
she fell ; and it was visible to the whole presence, the
joy wherewith he received her. He clasped her close
to his bosom, and quite forgot that reverence that was
due to the mistress of a King, and that punishment
THE ROYAL SLAVE 23
that is the reward of a boldness of this nature. And
had not the presence of mind of Imoinda (fonder of
his safety than her own) befriended him, in making
her spring from his arms, and fall into her dance
again, he had at that instant met his death ; for the
old King, jealous to the last degree, rose up in rage,
broke all the diversion, and led Imoinda to her apart-
ment, and sent out word to the Prince, to go imme-
diately to the camp ; and that if he were found
another night in Court, he should suffer the death
ordained for disobedience to offenders.
You may imagine how welcome this news was to
Oroonoko, whose unseasonable transport and caress
of Imoinda was blamed by all men that loved him :
and now he perceived his fault, yet cried, ' That for
such another moment he would be content to die.'
All the Otan was in disorder about this accident ;
and Onahal was particularly concerned because on the
Prince's stay depended her happiness ; for she could
no longer expect that of Aboan : so that ere they
departed, they contrived it so that the Prince and he
should both come that night to the grove of the Otan,
which was all of oranges and citrons, and that there
they would wait her orders.
They parted thus with grief enough till night,
leaving the King in possession of the lovely maid.
But nothing could appease the jealousy of the old
lover ; he would not be imposed on, but would have
it that Imoinda made a false step on purpose to
fall into Oroonoko's bosom, and that all things looked
like a design on both sides ; and it was in vain she
protested her innocence; he was old and obstinate,
and left her, more than half assured that his fear was
true.
The King going to his apartment, sent to know
where the Prince was, and if he intended to obey his
command. The messenger returned, and told him,
he found the Prince pensive, and altogether unpre-
pared for the campaign ; that he lay negligently on
24 OROONORO
the ground, and answered very little. This confirmed
the jealousy of the King, and he commanded that
they should very narrowly and privately watch his
motions ; and that he should not stir from his apart-
ment, but one spy or other should be employed to
watch him : so that the hour approaching, wherein
he was to go to the citron-grove ; and taking only
Aboan along with him, he leaves his apartment, and
was watched to the very gate of the Otan ; where he
was seen to enter, and where they left him, to carry
back the tidings to the King.
Oroonoko and Aboan were no sooner entered, but
Onahal led the Prince to the apartment of Imoinda;
who, not knowing any thing of her happiness, was
laid in bed. But Onahal only left him in her
chamber, to make the best of his opportunity, and
took her dear Aboan to her own ; where he showed
the height of complaisance for his Prince, when, to
give him an opportunity, he suffered himself to be
caressed in bed by Onahal.
The Prince softly wakened Imoinda, who was not
a little surprised with joy to find him there ; and yet
she trembled with a thousand fears. I believe he
omitted saying nothing to this young maid, that
might persuade her to suffer him to seize his own,
and take the rights of love. And I believe she was
not long resisting those arms where she so longed to
be ; and having opportunity, night, and silence, youth,
love, and desire, he soon prevailed, and ravished in a
moment what his old grandfather had been endeavour-
ing for so many months.
It is not to be imagined the satisfaction of these
two young lovers ; nor the vows she made him, that
she remained a spotless maid till that night, and that
what she did with his grandfather had robbed him
of no part of her virgin honour ; the gods, in mercy
and justice, having reserved that for her plighted
lord, to whom of right it belonged. And it is im-
possible to express the transports he suffered, while
THE ROYAL SLAVE 25
he listened to a discourse so charming from her loved
lips ; and clasped that body in his arms, for whom he
had so long languished ; and nothing now afflicted
him, but his sudden departure from her ; for he told
her the necessity, and his commands, but should
depart satisfied in this, that since the old King had
hitherto not been able to deprive him of those enjoy-
ments which only belonged to him, he believed for the
future he would be less able to injure him ; so that,
abating the scandal of the veil, which was no other-
wise so, than that she was wife to another, he believed
her safe, even in the arms of the King, and innocent;
yet would he have ventured at the conquest of the
world, and have given it all to have had her avoided
that honour of receiving the Royal Veil. It was thus,
between a thousand caresses, that both bemoaned the
hard fate of youth and beauty, so liable to that cruel
promotion : it was a glory that could well have been
spared here, though desired and aimed at by all the
young females of that kingdom.
But while they were thus fondly employed, for-
getting how time ran on, and that the dawn must
conduct him far away from his only happiness, they
heard a great noise in the Otan, and unusual voices
of men ; at which the Prince, starting from the arms
of the frighted Imoinda, ran to a little battle-axe he
used to wear by his side ; and having not so much
leisure as to put on his habit, he opposed himself
against some who were already opening the door :
which they did with so much violence, that Oroonoko
was not able to defend it ; but was forced to cry out
with a commanding voice, ' Whoever ye are that have
the boldness to attempt to approach this apartment
thus rudely ; know, that I, the Prince Oroonoko, will
revenge it with the certain death of him that first
enters ; therefore stand back, and know, this place
is sacred to love and me this night ; to-morrow 'tis
the King's.'
This he spoke with a voice so resolved and assured,
26 OROONOKO
that they soon retired from the door; but cried, *'Tis
by the King's command we are come ; and being
satisfied by thy voice, O Prince, as much as if we
had entered, we can report to the King the truth of
all his fears, and leave thee to provide for thy own
safety, as thou art advised by thy friends.'
At these words they departed, and left the Prince
to take a short and sad leave of his Imoinda ; who,
trusting in the strength of her charms, believed she
should appease the fury of a jealous King, by saying,
she was surprised, and that it was by force of arms
he got into her apartment. All her concern now was
for his life, and therefore she hastened him to the
camp, and with much ado prevailed on him to go.
Nor was it she alone that prevailed ; Aboan and
Onahal both pleaded, and both assured him of a lie
that should be well enough contrived to secure
Imoinda. So that at last, with a heart sad as death,
dying eyes, and sighing soul, Oroonoko departed, and
took his way to the camp.
It was not long after, the King in person came to
the Otan; where beholding Imoinda, with rage in his
eyes, he upbraided her wickedness, and perfidy ; and
threatening her royal lover, she fell on her face at his
feet, bedewing the floor with her tears, and imploring
his pardon for a fault which she had not with her will
committed ; as Onahal, who was also prostrate with
her, could testify : that, unknown to her, he had
broken into her apartment, and ravished her. She
spoke this much against her conscience ; but to save
her own life, it was absolutely necessary she should
feign this falsity. She knew it could not injure the
Prince, he being fled to an army that would stand by
him, against any injuries that should assault him.
However, this last thought of Imoinda's being
ravished, changed the measures of his revenge ; and
whereas before he designed to be himself her execu-
tioner, he now resolved she should not die. But as it
is the greatest crime in nature amongst them, to touch
THE ROYAL SLAVE 27
a woman after having been possessed by a son, a
father, or a brother, so now he looked on Imoinda as
a polluted thing wholly unfit for his embrace; nor
would he resign her to his grandson, because she had
received the Royal Veil : he therefore removes her
from the Otan, with Onahal ; whom he put into safe
hands, with the order they should be both sold off as
slaves to another country, either Christian or heathen,
it was no matter where.
This cruel sentence, worse than death, they im-
plored might be reversed ; but their prayers were
vain, and it was put in execution accordingly, and
that with so much secrecy, that none, either without
or within the Otan, knew anything of their absence,
or their destiny.
The old King nevertheless executed this with a
great deal of reluctancy ; but he believed he had
made a very great conquest over himself, when he
had once resolved, and had performed what he
resolved. He believed now, that his love had been
unjust ; and that he could not expect the gods, or
Captain of the Clouds (as they call the unknown
power) would suffer a better consequence from so ill
a cause. He now begins to hold Oroonoko excused ;
and to say, he had reason for what he did. And now
every body could assure the King how passionately
Imoinda was beloved by the Prince ; even those con-
fessed it now, who said the contrary before his flame
was not abated. So that the King being old, and
not able to defend himself in war, and having no
sons of all his race remaining alive, but only this to
maintain him on his throne ; and looking on this as
a man disobliged, first by the rape of his mistress, or
rather wife, and now by depriving him wholly of her,
he feared, might make him desperate, and do some
cruel thing, either to himself or his old grandfather
the offender, he began to repent him extremely of
the contempt he had, in his rage, put on Imoinda.
Besides, he considered he ought in honour to have
28 OROONOKO
killed her for this offence, if it had been one. He
ought to have had so much value and consideration
for a maid of her quality, as to have nobly put her to
death, and not to have sold her like a common slave ;
the greatest revenge, and the most disgraceful of any,
and to which they a thousand times prefer death, and
implore it ; as Imoinda did, but could not obtain that
honour. Seeing therefore it was certain that Oroo-
noko would highly resent this affront, he thought
good to make some excuse for his rashness to him ;
and to that end, he sent a messenger to the camp,
with orders to treat with him about the matter, to
gain his pardon, and endeavour to mitigate his grief:
but that by no means he should tell him she was sold,
but secretly put to death ; for he knew he should
never obtain his pardon for the other.
When the messenger came, he found the Prince
upon the point of engaging with the enemy; but as soon
as he heard of the arrival of the messenger, he com-
manded him to his tent, where he embraced him, and
received him with joy ; which was soon abated by the
downcast looks of the messenger, who was instantly
demanded the cause by Oroonoko ; who, impatient of
delay, asked a thousand questions in a breath, and all
concerning Imoinda. But there needed little return ;
for he could almost answer himself of all he de-
manded, from his sight and eyes. At last the messen-
ger casting himself at the Prince's feet, and kissing
them with all the submission of a man that had some-
thing to implore which he dreaded to utter, besought
him to hear with calmness what he had to deliver to
him, and to call up all his noble and heroic courage,
to encounter with his words, and defend himself
against the ungrateful things he had to relate. Oroo-
noko replied, with a deep sigh, and a languishing
voice, ' I am armed against their worst efforts, for I
know they will tell me, Imoinda is no more And
after that, you may spare the rest.' Then, command-
ing him to rise, he laid himself on a carpet, under a
THE ROYAL SLAVE 29
rich pavilion, and remained a good while silent, and
was hardly heard to sigh. When he was come a
little to himself, the messenger asked him leave to
deliver that part of his embassy which the Prince had
not yet divined : and the Prince cried, ' I permit
thee.' Then he told him the affliction the old King
was in, for the rashness he had committed in his
cruelty to Imoinda ; and how he deigned to ask
pardon for his offence, and to implore the Prince would
not suffer that loss to touch his heart too sensibly,
which now all the gods could not restore him, but
might recompense him in glory, which he begged he
would pursue ; and that death, that common revenger
of all injuries, would soon even the account between
him and a feeble old man.
Oroonoko bad him return his duty to his lord and
master ; and to assure him, there was no account of
revenge to be adjudged between them : if there was, he
was the aggressor, and that death would be just, and,
maugre his age, would see him righted ; and he was
contented to leave his share of glory to youths more
fortunate and worthy of that favour from the gods :
that henceforth he would never lift a weapon, or draw
a bow, but abandon the small remains of his life to
sighs and tears, and the continual thoughts of what
his lord and grandfather had thought good to send
out of the world, with all that youth, that innocence
and beauty.
After having spoken this, whatever his greatest
officers and men of the best rank could do, they could
not raise him from the carpet, or persuade him to
action, and resolutions of life ; but commanding all
to retire, he shut himself into his pavilion all that
day, while the enemy was ready to engage : and won-
dering at the delay, the whole body of the chief of
the army then addressed themselves to him, and to
whom they had much ado to get admittance. They
fell on their faces at the foot of his carpet, where they
lay, and besought him with earnest prayers and tears
30 OROONOKO
to lead them forth to battle, and not let the enemy
take advantages of them ; and implored him to
have regard to his glory, and to the world, that de-
pended on his courage and conduct. But he made no
other reply to all their supplications than this, that he
had now no more business for glory ; and for the world,
it was a trifle not worth his care : ' Go,' continued he,
sighing, 'and divide it amongst you, and reap with
joy what you so vainly prize, and leave me to my
more welcome destiny.'
They then demanded what they should do, and
whom he would constitute in his room, that the con-
fusion of ambitious youth and power might not ruin
their order, and make them a prey to the enemy. He
replied, he would not give himself that trouble, but
wished them to choose the bravest man amongst
them, let his quality or birth be what it would : 'For,
oh my friends ! ' says he, ' it is not titles make men
brave or good ; or birth that bestows courage and
generosity, or makes the owner happy. Believe this,
when you behold Oroonoko the most wretched, and
abandoned by fortune, of all the creation of the
gods.' So turning himself about, he would make no
more reply to all they could urge or implore.
The army beholding their officers return unsuccess-
ful, with sad faces and ominous looks, that presaged
no good luck, suffered a thousand fears to take pos-
session of their hearts, and the enemy to come even
upon them before they could provide for their safety
by any defence : and though they were assured by
some who had a mind to animate them, that they
should be immediately headed by the Prince: and
that in the mean time Aboan had orders to command
as General ; yet they were so dismayed for want of
that great example of bravery, that they could make
but a very feeble resistance ; and, at last, downright
fled before the enemy, who pursued them to the very
tents, killing them : nor could all Aboan's courage,
which that day gained him immortal glory, shame
THE ROYAL SLAVE 31
them into a manly defence of themselves. The
guards that were left behind about the Prince's tent,
seeing the soldiers flee before the enemy, and scatter
themselves over the plain, in great disorder, made
such outcries, as roused the Prince from his amorous
slumber, in which he had remained buried for two
days, without permitting any sustenance to approach
him. But, in spite of all his resolutions, he had not
the constancy of grief to that degree, as to make
him insensible of the danger of his army; and in
that instant he leaped from his couch, and cried
' Come, if we must die, let us meet death the noblest
way ; and it will be more like Oroonoko to encounter
him at an army's head, opposing the torrent of a
conquering foe, than lazily on a couch, to wait his
lingering pleasure, and die every moment by a thou-
sand racking thoughts ; or be tamely taken by an
enemy, and led a whining, love-sick slave to adorn
the triumphs of Jamoan, that young victor, who al-
ready is entered beyond the limits I have prescribed
him.'
While he was speaking, he suffered his people to
dress him for the field ; and sallying out of his
pavilion, with more life and vigour in his countenance
than ever he showed, he appeared like some Divine
Power descended to save his country from destruction :
and his people had purposely put him on all things
that might make him shine with most splendour, to
strike a reverend awe into the beholders. He flew
into the thickest of those that were pursuing his men;
and being animated with despair, he fought as if he
came on purpose to die, and did such good things as
will not be believed that human strength could per-
form ; and such, as soon inspired all the rest with
new courage, and new ardour. And now it was that
they began to fight indeed ; and so, as if they would
not be outdone even by their adored hero ; who
turning the tide of the victory, changing absolutely
the fate of the day, gained an entire conquest : and
32 OROONOKO
Oroonoko having the good fortune to single out
Jamoan, he took him prisoner with his own hand,
having wounded him almost to death.
This Jamoan afterwards became very dear to him,
being a man very gallant, and of excellent graces,
and fine parts ; so that he never put him amongst
the rank of captives as they used to do, without dis-
tinction, for the common sale, or market, but kept
him in his own court, where he retained nothing of
the prisoner but the name, and returned no more
into his own country ; so great an affection he took
for Oroonoko, and by a thousand tales and adven-
tures of love and gallantry, flattered his disease of
melancholy and languishment ; which I have often
heard him say had certainly killed him, but for the
conversation of this prince and Aboan, and the
French Governor he had from his childhood, of
whom I have spoken before, and who was a man of
admirable wit, great ingenuity and learning ; all which
he had infused into his young pupil. This French-
man was banished out of his own country for some
heretical notions he held ; and though he was a man
of very little religion, yet he had admirable morals,
and a brave soul.
After the total defeat of Jamoan's army, which all
fled, or were left dead upon the place, they spent
some time in the camp; Oroonoko choosing rather
to remain awhile there in his tents, than to enter
into a Palace, or live in a Court where he had so
lately suffered so great a loss ; the officers therefore,
who saw and knew his cause of discontent, in-
vented all sorts of diversions and sports to entertain
their Prince : so that what with those amusements
abroad, and others at home, that is, within their
tents, with the persuasions, arguments, and care of
his friends and servants that he more peculiarly
prized, he wore off in time a great part of that
chagrin, and torture of despair, which the first efforts
of Imoinda's death had given him ; insomuch, as
THE ROYAL SLAVE 33
having received a thousand kind embassies from the
King, and invitation to return to Court, he obeyed,
though with no little reluctancy ; and when he did
so, there was a visible change in him, and for a long
time he was much more melancholy than before.
But time lessens all extremes, and reduces them to
mediums, and unconcern ; but no motives of beau-
ties, though all endeavoured it, could engage him in
any sort of amour, though he had all the invitations
to it, both from his own youth, and other ambitions
and designs.
Oroonoko was no sooner returned from this last
conquest, and received at Court with all the joy and
magnificence that could be expressed to a young
victor, who was not only returned triumphant, but
beloved like a deity, than there arrived in the port an
English ship.
The master of it had often before been in these
countries, and was very well known to Oroonoko,
with whom he had trafficked for slaves, and had used
to do the same with his predecessors.
This commander was a man of a finer sort of
address and conversation, better bred, and more
engaging, than most of that sort of men are ; so that
he seemed rather never to have been bred out of
a Court, than almost all his life at sea. This captain
therefore was always better received at Court, than
most of the traders to those countries were ; and
especially by Oroonoko, who was more civilised,
according to the European mode, than any other
had been, and took more delight in the white nations;
and, above all, men of parts and wit. To this
captain he sold abundance of his slaves; and for
the favour and esteem he had for him, made him
many presents, and obliged him to stay at Court
as long as possibly he could. Which the captain
seemed to take as a very great honour done him,
entertaining the Prince every day with globes and
maps, and mathematical discourses and instruments ;
D
34 OROONOKO
eating, drinking, hunting, and living with him with
so much familiarity, that it was not to be doubted
but he had gained very greatly upon the heart of
this gallant young man. And the captain, in return
of all these mighty favours, besought the Prince
to honour his vessel with his presence some day or
other at dinner, before he should set sail ; which
he condescended to accept, and appointed his day.
The captain, on his part, failed not to have all things
in a readiness, in the most magnificent order he
could possibly ; and the day being come, the captain,
in his boat, richly adorned with carpets and velvet
cushions, rowed to the shore to receive the Prince ;
with another long-boat, where was placed all his
music and trumpets, with which Oroonoko was ex-
tremely delighted ; who met him on the shore,
attended by his French Governor, Jamoan, Aboan,
and about a hundred of the noblest of the youths
of the Court ; and after they had first carried the
Prince on board, the boats fetched the rest off;
where they found a very splendid treat, with all sorts
of fine wines ; and were as well entertained, as it was
possible in such a place to be.
The Prince having drunk hard of punch, and
several sorts of wine, as did all the rest, (for great
care was taken they should want nothing of that
part of the entertainment) was very merry, and in
great admiration of the ship, for he had never been
in one before ; so that he was curious of beholding
every place where he decently might descend. The
rest, no less curious, who were not quite overcome
with drinking, rambled at their pleasure fore and aft,
as their fancies guided them ; so that the captain,
who had well laid his design before, gave the word,
and seized on all his guests ; then, clapping great
irons suddenly on the Prince, when he was leaped
down into the hold, to view that part of the vessel,
and locking him fast down, secured him. The same
treachery was used to all the rest; and all in one
THE ROYAL SLAVE 35
instant, in several places of the ship, were lashed
fast in irons, and betrayed to slavery. That great
design over, they set all hands at work to hoist sail ;
and with as treacherous as fair a wind they made
from the shore with this innocent and glorious
prize, who thought of nothing less than such an
entertainment.
Some have commended this act, as brave in the
captain ; but I will spare my sense of it, and leave
it to my reader to judge as he pleases. It may
be easily guessed, in what manner the Prince resented
this indignity, who may be best resembled to a lion
taken in a toil; so he raged, so he struggled for
liberty, but all in vain; and they had so wisely
managed his fetters, that he could not use a hand
in his defence, to quit himself of a life that would by
no means endure slavery ; nor could he move from
the place where he was tied, to any solid part of the
ship, against which he might have beat his head, and
have finished his disgrace that way. So that being
deprived of all other means, he resolved to perish for
want of food ; and pleased at last with that thought,
and toiled and tired by rage and indignation, he laid
himself down, and sullenly resolved upon dying, and
refused all things that were brought him.
This did not a little vex the captain, and the more
so, because he found almost all of them of the same
humour; so that the loss of so many brave slaves,
so tall and goodly to behold, would have been very
considerable; he therefore ordered one to go from
him (for he would not be seen himself) to Oroonoko,
and to assure him, he was afflicted for having rashly
done so inhospitable a deed, and which could not be
now remedied, since they were far from shore ; but
since he resented it in so high a nature, he assured
him he would revoke his resolution, and set both him
and his friends ashore on the next land they should
touch at; and of this the messenger gave him his
oath, provided he would resolve to live. And
36 OROONOKO
Oroonoko, whose honour was such, as he never had
violated a word in his life himself, much less a solemn
asseveration, believed in an instant what this man
said ; but replied, he expected, for a confirmation
of this, to have his shameful fetters dismissed. This
demand was carried to the captain ; who returned
him answer, that the offence had been so great which
he had put upon the Prince, that he durst not trust
him with liberty while he remained in the ship,
for fear, lest by a valour natural to him, and a
revenge that would animate that valour, he might
commit some outrage fatal to himself, and the King
his master, to whom the vessel did belong. To this
Oroonoko replied, He would engage his honour to
behave himself in all friendly order and manner,
and obey the command of the captain, as he was
lord of the King's vessel, and General of those men
under his command.
This was delivered to the still doubting captain,
who could not resolve to trust a heathen, he said,
upon his parole, a man that had no sense or notion
of the god that he worshipped. Oroonoko then
replied, He was very sorry to hear that the captain
pretended to the knowledge and worship of any gods,
who had taught him no better principles, than not
to credit as he would be credited. But they told
him, the difference of their faith occasioned that
distrust ; for the captain had protested to him upon
the word of a Christian, and sworn in the name
of a great God ; which if he should violate, he must
expect eternal torments in the world to come. ' Is
that all the obligations he has to be just to his oath ? '
replied Oroonoko. ' Let him know, I swear by my
honour; which to violate, would not only render
me contemptible and despised by all brave and
honest men, and so give myself perpetual pain, but
it would be eternally offending and displeasing to
all mankind ; harming, betraying, circumventing, and
outraging all men. But punishments hereafter are
THE ROYAL SLAVE 37
suffered by one's self; and the world takes no
cognizance whether this God has revenged them
or not, it is done so secretly, and deferred so long ;
while the man of no honour suffers every moment
the scorn and contempt of the honester world, and
dies every day ignominiously in his fame, which is
more valuable than life. I speak not this to move
belief, but to show you how you mistake, when you
imagine, that he who will violate his honour, will
keep his word with his gods.' So, turning from him
with a disdainful smile, he refused to answer him,
when he urged him to know what answer he should
carry back to his captain ; so that he departed with-
out saying any more.
The captain pondering and consulting what to do,
it was concluded, that nothing but Oroonoko's liberty
would encourage any of the rest to eat, except the
Frenchman, whom the captain could not pretend
to keep prisoner, but only told him, he was secured,
because he might act something in favour of the
Prince ; but that he should be freed as soon as they
came to land. So that they concluded it wholly
necessary to free the Prince from his irons, that he
might show himself to the rest ; that they might
have an eye upon him, and that they could not fear
a single man.
This being resolved, to make the obligation the
greater, the captain himself went to Oroonoko ;
where, after many compliments, and assurances of
what he had already promised, he receiving from
the Prince his parole, and his hand, for his good
behaviour, dismissed his irons, and brought him
to his own cabin ; where, after having treated and
reposed him a while, (for he had neither eaten nor
slept in four days before) he besought him to visit
those obstinate people in chains, who refused all
manner of sustenance ; and entreated him to oblige
them to eat, and assure them of their liberty the first
opportunity.
38 OROONOKO
Oroonoko, who was too generous not to give credit
to his words, showed himself to his people, who were
transported with excess of joy at the sight of their
darling Prince; falling at his feet, and kissing and
embracing them ; believing, as some divine oracle, all
he assured them. But he besought them to bear their
chains with that bravery that became those whom he
had seen act so nobly in arms ; and that they could
not give him greater proofs of their love and friend-
ship, since it was all the security the captain (his
friend) could have against the revenge, he said, they
might possibly justly take for the injuries sustained
by him. And they all, with one accord, assured
him, that they could not suffer enough, when it was
for his repose and safety.
After this, they no longer refused to eat, but took
what was brought them, and were pleased with their
captivity, since by it they hoped to redeem the Prince,
who, all the rest of the voyage, was treated with all
the respect due to his birth, though nothing could
divert his melancholy ; and he would often sigh for
Imoinda, and think this a punishment due to his
misfortune, in having left that noble maid behind
him, that fatal night, in the Otan, when he fled to the
camp.
Possessed with a thousand thoughts of past joys
with this fair young person, and a thousand griefs for
her eternal loss, he endured a tedious voyage, and at
last arrived at the mouth of the River of Surinam, a
colony belonging to the King of England, and where
they were to deliver some part of their slaves. There
the merchants and gentlemen of the country going on
board, to demand those lots of slaves they had already
agreed on ; and amongst those, the overseers of those
plantations where I then chanced to be. The captain,
who had given the word, ordered his men to bring up
those noble slaves in fetters, whom I have spoken of ;
and having put them, some in one, and some in other
lots, with women and children (which they call pick-
THE ROYAL SLAVE 39
aninnies) they sold them off, as slaves to several
merchants and gentlemen ; not putting any two in
one lot, because they would separate them far from
each other ; nor daring to trust them together, lest
rage and courage should put them upon contriving
some great action, to the ruin of the colony.
Oroonoko was first seized on, and sold to our over-
seer, who had the first lot, with seventeen more of all
sorts and sizes, but not one of quality with him.
When he saw this, he found what they meant ; for,
as I said, he understood English pretty well ; and
being wholly unarmed and defenceless, so as it was
in vain to make any resistance, he only beheld the
captain with a look all fierce and disdainful, upbraid-
ing him with eyes that forced blushes on his guilty
cheeks, he only cried in passing over the side of the
ship : ' Farewell, sir, 'tis worth my sufferings to gain
so true a knowledge, both of you, and of your gods,
by whom you swear.' And desiring those that held
him to forbear their pains, and telling them he would
make no resistance, he cried, 'Come, my fellow-slaves,
let us descend, and see if we can meet with more
honour and honesty in the next world we shall touch
upon.' So he nimbly leapt into the boat, and show-
ing no more concern, suffered himself to be rowed up
the river, with his seventeen companions.
The gentleman that bought him was a young
Cornish gentleman, whose name was Trefry ; a man
of great wit, and fine learning, and was carried into
those parts by the Lord , Governor, to manage
all his affairs. He reflecting on the last words of
Oroonoko to the captain, and beholding the richness
of his vest, no sooner came into the boat, but he fixed
his eyes on him ; and finding something so extra-
ordinary in his face, his shape and mien, a greatness
of look, and haughtiness in his air, and finding he
spoke English, had a great mind to be inquiring into
his quality and fortune ; which, though Oroonoko
endeavoured to hide, by only confessing he was above
40 OROONOKO
the rank of common slaves, Trefry soon found he was
yet something greater than he confessed ; and from
that moment began to conceive so vast an esteem for
him, that he ever after loved him as his dearest
brother, and showed him all the civilities due to so
great a man.
Trefry was a very good mathematician, and a
linguist; could speak French and Spanish; and in
the three days they remained in the boat, (for so long
were they going from the ship to the plantation) he
entertained Oroonoko so agreeably with his art and
discourse, that he was no less pleased with Trefry,
than he was with the Prince ; and he thought himself,
at least, fortunate in this, that since he was a slave, as
long as he would suffer himself to remain so, he had
a man of so excellent wit and parts for a master. So
that before they had finished their voyage up the
river, he made no scruple of declaring to Trefry all
his fortunes, and most part of what I have here re-
lated, and put himself wholly into the hands of his
new friend, who he found resented all the injuries
were done him, and was charmed with all the great-
nesses of his actions ; which were recited with that
modesty, and delicate sense, as wholly vanquished
him, and subdued him to his interest. And he
promised him, on his word and honour, he would find
the means to reconduct him to his own country
again ; assuring him, he had a perfect abhorrence of
so dishonourable an action ; and that he would sooner
have died, than have been the author of such a perfidy.
He found the Prince was very much concerned to
know what became of his friends, and how they took
their slavery; and Trefry promised to take care about
the inquiring after their condition, and that he should
have an account of them.
Though, as Oroonoko afterwards said, he had little
reason to credit the words of a Backearary ; yet he
knew not why, but he saw a kind of sincerity, and
awful truth in the face of Trefry ; he saw honesty in
THE ROYAL SLAVE 41
his eyes, and he found him wise and witty enough to
understand honour : for it was one of his maxims, A
man of wit could not be a knave or villain.
In their passage up the river, they put in at several
houses for refreshment ; and ever when they landed,
numbers of people would flock to behold this man :
not but their eyes were daily entertained with the
sight of slaves ; but the fame of Oroonoko was gone
before him, and all people were in admiration of his
beauty. Besides, he had a rich habit on, in which he
was taken, so different from the rest, and which the
captain could not strip him of, because he was forced
to surprise his person in the minute he sold him.
When he found his habit made him liable, as he
thought, to be gazed at the more, he begged Trefry
to give him something more befitting a slave, which
he did, and took off his robes : nevertheless, he shone
through all, and his osenbrigs (a sort of brown
Holland suit he had on) could not conceal the graces
of his looks and mien ; and he had no less admirers
than when he had his dazzling habit on. The Royal
Youth appeared in spite of the slave, and people
could not help treating him after a different manner,
without designing it. As soon as they approached
him, they venerated and esteemed him ; his eyes in-
sensibly commanded respect, and his behaviour insinu-
ated it into every soul. So that there was nothing
talked of but this young and gallant slave, even by
those who yet knew not that he was a prince.
I ought to tell you that the Christians never buy
any slaves but they give them some name of their
own, their native ones being likely very barbarous,
and hard to pronounce ; so that Mr. Trefry gave
Oroonoko that of Caesar; which name will live in
that country as long as that (scarce more) glorious
one of the great Roman : for it is most evident he
wanted no part of the personal courage of that
Caesar, and acted things as memorable, had they been
done in some part of the world replenished with
42 OROONOKO
people and historians, that might have given him his
due. But his misfortune was, to fall in an obscure
world, that afforded only a female pen to celebrate
his fame ; though I doubt not but it had lived from
others' endeavours, if the Dutch, who immediately
after his time took that country, had not killed,
banished and dispersed all those that were capable
of giving the world this great man's life, much better
than I have done. And Mr. Trefry, who designed it,
died before he began it, and bemoaned himself for
not having undertaken it in time.
For the future therefore I must call Oroonoko
Caesar ; since by that name only he was known in
our western world, and by that name he was received
on shore at Parham House, where he was destined a
slave. But if the king himself (God bless him) had
come ashore there could not have been greater ex-
pectation by all the whole plantation, and those
neighbouring ones, than was on ours at that time :
and he was received more like a governor than a
slave : notwithstanding, as the custom was, they
assigned him his portion of land, his house and his
business up in the plantation. But as it was more
for form, than any design to put him to his task, he
endured no more of the slave but the name, and
remained some days in the house, receiving all visits
that were made him, without stirring towards that
part of the plantation where the negroes were.
At last, he would needs go view his land, his house,
and the business assigned him. But he no sooner
came to the houses of the slaves, which are like a
little town by itself, the negroes all having left work,
but they all came forth to behold him, and found he
was that Prince who had, at several times, sold most
of them to these parts ; and from a veneration they
pay to great men, especially if they know them, and
from the surprise and awe they had at the sight of
him, they all cast themselves at his feet, crying out,
in their language, ' Live, O King ! Long live, O
THE ROYAL SLAVE 43
King!' and kissing his feet, paid him even divine
homage.
Several English gentlemen were with him, and
what Mr. Trefry had told them was here confirmed ;
of which he himself before had no other witness than
Caesar himself. But he was infinitely glad to find his
grandeur confirmed by the adoration of all the slaves.
Caesar, troubled with their over-joy, and over-
ceremony, besought them to rise, and to receive him
as their fellow-slave; assuring them he was no better.
At which they set up with one accord a most terrible
and hideous mourning and condoling, which he and
the English had much ado to appease : but at last
they prevailed with them, and they prepared all their
barbarous music, and every one killed and dressed
something of his own stock (for every family has
their land apart, on which, at their leisure times, they
breed all eatable things) and clubbing it together,
made a most magnificent supper, inviting their
Grandee Captain, their Prince, to honour it with his
presence ; which he did, and several English with
him, where they all waited on him, some playing,
others dancing before him all the time, according to
the manners of their several nations, and with un-
wearied industry endeavouring to please and delight
him.
While they sat at meat, Mr. Trefry told Caesar,
that most of these young slaves were undone in love
with a fine she-slave, whom they had had about six
months on their land ; the Prince, who never heard
the name of love without a sigh, nor any mention of
it without the curiosity of examining further into
that tale, which of all discourses was most agreeable
to him, asked, how they came to be so unhappy, as
to be all undone for one fair slave ? Trefry, who was
naturally amorous, and delighted to talk of love as
well as anybody, proceeded to tell him, they had the
most charming black that ever was beheld on their
plantation, about fifteen or sixteen years old, as he
44 OROONOKO
guessed ; that for his part he had done nothing but
sigh for her ever since she came ; and that all the
white beauties he had seen, never charmed him so
absolutely as this fine creature had done ; and that
no man, of any nation, ever beheld her, that did not
fall in love with her ; and that she had all the slaves
perpetually at her feet ; and the whole country re-
sounded with the fame of Clemene, for so (said he)
we have christened her: but she denies us all with
such a noble disdain, that 'tis a miracle to see, that
she who can give such eternal desires, should herself
be all ice and unconcern. She is adorned with the
most graceful modesty that ever beautified youth ;
the softest sigher that, if she were capable of
love, one would swear she languished for some absent
happy man ; and so retired, as if she feared a rape
even from the God of Day, or that the breezes would
steal kisses from her delicate mouth. Her task of
work, some sighing lover every day makes it his
petition to perform for her ; which she accepts blush-
ing, and with reluctancy, for fear he will ask her a
look for a recompense, which he dares not presume to
hope : so great an awe she strikes into the hearts of
her admirers. ' I do not wonder,' replied the Prince,
4 that Clemene should refuse slaves, being, as you say,
so beautiful ; but wonder how she escapes those that
can entertain her as you can do ; or why, being your
slave, you do not oblige her to yield ? ' 'I confess,'
said Trefry, 'when I have, against her will, entertained
her with love so long, as to be transported with my
passion even above decency, I have been ready to
make use of those advantages of strength and force
nature has given me. But, oh ! she disarms me with
that modesty and weeping, so tender and so moving,
that I retire, and thank my stars she overcame me.'
The company laughed at his civility to a slave, and
Caesar only applauded the nobleness of his passion
and nature, since that slave might be noble, or, what
was better, have true notions of honour and virtue in
THE ROYAL SLAVE 45
her. Thus passed they this night, after having re-
ceived from the slaves all imaginable respect and
obedience.
The next day, Trefry asked Caesar to walk when
the heat was allayed, and designedly carried him by
the cottage of the fair slave ; and told him she whom
he spoke of last night lived there retired : ' But,'
says he, ' I would not wish you to approach ; for I
am sure you will be in love as soon as you behold
her.' Caesar assured him, he was proof against all
the charms of that sex ; and that if he imagined his
heart could be so perfidious to love again after
Imoinda, he believed he should tear it from his
bosom. They had no sooner spoken, but a little
shock-dog, that Clemene had presented her, which
she took great delight in, ran out ; and she, not
knowing anybody was there, ran to get it in again,
and bolted out on those who were just speaking of
her : when seeing them, she would have run in again,
but Trefry caught her by the hand, and cried,
' Clemene, however you fly a lover, you ought to pay
some respect to this stranger,' pointing to Caesar.
But she, as if she had resolved never to raise her
eyes to the face of a man again, bent them the more
to the earth, when he spoke, and gave the Prince the
leisure to look the more at her. There needed no
long gazing, or consideration, to examine who this
fair creature was ; he soon saw Imoinda all over her ;
in a minute he saw her face, her shape, her air, her
modesty, and all that called forth his soul with joy
at his eyes, and left his body destitute of almost life :
it stood without motion, and for a minute knew not
that it had a being ; and, I believe, he had never
come to himself, so oppressed he was with over-joy,
if he had not met with this allay, that he perceived
Imoinda fall dead in the hands of Trefry. This
awakened him, and he ran to her aid, and caught her
in his arms, where by degrees she came to herself;
and it is needless to, tell with what transports, what
46 OROONOKO
ecstasies of joy, they both a while beheld each other,
without speaking ; then snatched each other to their
arms; then gazed again, as if they still doubted
whether they possessed the blessing they grasped :
but when they recovered their speech, it is not to be
imagined what tender things they expressed to each
other ; wondering what strange fate had brought
them again together. They soon informed each
other of their fortunes, and equally bewailed their
fate ; but at the same time they mutually protested,
that even fetters and slavery were soft and easy, and
would be supported with joy and pleasure, while they
could be so happy to possess each other, and to be
able to make good their vows. Caesar swore he dis-
dained the empire of the world, while he could
behold his Imoinda ; and she despised grandeur and
pomp, those vanities of her sex, when she could gaze
on Oroonoko. He adored the very cottage where
she resided, and said, That little inch of the world
would give him more happiness than all the universe
could do; and she vowed it was a palace, while
adorned with the presence of Oroonoko.
Trefry was infinitely pleased with this novel, and
found this Clemene was the fair mistress of whom
Caesar had before spoke ; and was not a little satisfied,
that heaven was so kind to the Prince as to sweeten
his misfortunes by so lucky an accident ; and leaving
the lovers to themselves, was impatient to come down
to Parham House (which was on the same plantation)
to give me an account of what had happened. I was
as impatient to make these lovers a visit, having
already made a friendship with Caesar, and from his
own mouth learned what I have related ; which was
confirmed by his Frenchman, who was set on shore
to seek his fortune, and of whom they could not
make a slave, because a Christian ; and he came daily
to Parham Hill to see and pay his respects to his
pupil Prince. So that concerning and interesting
myself in all that related to Caesar, whom I had
THE ROYAL SLAVE 47
assured of liberty as soon as the Governor arrived,
I hasted presently to the place where these lovers
were, and was infinitely glad to find this beautiful
young slave (who had already gained all our esteems,
for her modesty and extraordinary prettiness) to be
the same I had heard Caesar speak so much of. One
may imagine then we paid her a treble respect ; and
though from her being carved in fine flowers and birds
all over her body, we took her to be of quality before,
yet when we knew Clemene was Imoinda, we could
not enough admire her.
I had forgot to tell you, that those who are nobly
born of that country, are so delicately cut and raised
all over the fore-part of the trunk of their bodies,
that it looks as if it were japanned, the works being
raised like high point round the edges of the flowers.
Some are only carved with a little flower, or bird, at
the sides of the temples, as was Caesar ; and those
who are so carved over the body, resemble our ancient
Picts that are figured in the chronicles, but these
carvings are more delicate.
From that happy day Caesar took Clemene for his
wife, to the general joy of all people ; and there was
as much magnificence as the country could afford at
the celebration of this wedding : and in a very short
time after she conceived with child, which made
Caesar even adore her, knowing he was the last of his
great race. This new accident made him more im-
patient of liberty, and he was every day treating with
Trefry for his and Clemene's liberty, and offered
either gold, or a vast quantity of slaves, which should
be paid before they let him go, provided he could
have any security that he should go when his ransom
was paid. They fed him from day to day with
promises, and delayed him till the Lord- Governor
should come ; so that he began to suspect them of
falsehood, and that they would delay him till the
time of his wife's delivery, and make a slave of the
child too; for all the breed is theirs to whom the
48 OROONOKO
parents belong. This thought made him very un-
easy, and his sullenness gave them some jealousies
of him ; so that I was obliged, by some persons who
feared a mutiny (which is very fatal sometimes in
those colonies that abound so with slaves, that they
exceed the whites in vast numbers), to discourse with
Caesar, and to give him all the satisfaction I possibly
could. They knew he and Clemene were scarce an
hour in a day from my lodgings ; that they ate with
me, and that I obliged them in all things I was
capable. I entertained them with the lives of the
Romans, and great men, which charmed him to my
company ; and her, with teaching her all the pretty
works that I was mistress of, and telling her stories
of nuns, and endeavouring to bring her to the know-
ledge of the true God. But of all discourses, Csesar
liked that the worst, and would never be reconciled
to our notions of the trinity, of which he ever made
a jest ; it was a riddle he said would turn his brain
to conceive, and one could not make him understand
what faith was. However, these conversations failed
not altogether so well to divert him, that he liked the
company of us women much above the men, for he
could not drink, and he is but an ill companion in
that country that cannot. So that obliging him to
love us very well, we had all the liberty of speech
with him, especially myself, whom he called his Great
Mistress ; and indeed my word would go a great way
with him. For these reasons I had opportunity to
take notice of him, that he was not well pleased of
late, as he used to be; was more retired and thought-
ful ; and told him, I took it ill he should suspect we
would break our words with him, and not permit both
him and Clemene to return to his own kingdom,
which was not so long a way, but when he was once
on his voyage he would quickly arrive there. He
made me some answers that showed a doubt in him,
which made me ask, what advantage it would be to
doubt? It would but give us a fear of him, and
THE ROYAL SLAVE 49
possibly compel us to treat him so as I should be
very loth to behold ; that is, it might occasion his
confinement. Perhaps this was not so luckily spoke
of me, for I perceived he resented that word, which
I strove to soften again in vain : however, he assured
me, that whatsoever resolutions he should take, he
would act nothing upon the white people ; and as for
myself, and those upon that plantation where he was,
he would sooner forfeit his eternal liberty, and life
itself, than lift his hand against his greatest enemy
on that place. He besought me to suffer no fears
upon his account, for he could do nothing that
honour should not dictate; but he accused himself
for having suffered slavery so long ; yet he charged
that weakness on love alone, who was capable of
making him neglect even glory itself; and, for
which, now he reproaches himself every moment of
the day. Much more to this effect he spoke, with an
air impatient enough to make me know he would not
be long in bondage ; and though he suffered only the
name of a slave, and had nothing of the toil and
labour of one, yet that was sufficient to render him
uneasy ; and he had been too long idle, who used to
be always in action, and in arms. He had a spirit all
rough and fierce, and that could not be tamed to lazy
rest : and though all endeavours were used to
exercise himself in such actions and sports as this
world afforded, as running, wrestling, pitching the
bar, hunting and fishing, chasing and killing tigers
of a monstrous size, which this continent affords in
abundance ; and wonderful snakes, such as Alexander
is reported to have encountered at the river of
Amazons, and which Caesar took great delight to
overcome ; yet these were not actions great enough
for his large soul, which was still panting after more
renowned actions.
Before I parted that day with him, I got, with
mu % ch ado, a promise from him to rest yet a little
longer with patience, and wait the coming of the
50 OROONOKO
Lord-Governor, who was every day expected on our
shore. He assured me he would, and this promise he
desired me to know was given perfectly in com-
plaisance to me, in whom he had an entire confidence.
After this, I neither thought it convenient to trust
him much out of our view, nor did the country, who
feared him ; but with one accord it was advised to
treat him fairly, and oblige him to remain within such
a compass, and that he should be permitted, as seldom
as could be, to go up to the plantations of the
negroes ; or, if he did, to be accompanied by some
that should be rather, in appearance, attendants than
spies. This care was for some time taken, and Caesar
looked upon it as a mark of extraordinary respect,
and was glad his discontent had obliged them to be
more observant to him ; he received new assurance
from the overseer, which was confirmed to him by the
opinion of all the gentlemen of the country, who
made their court to him. During this time that we
had his company more frequently than hitherto we
had had, it may not be unpleasant to relate to you
the diversions we entertained him with, or rather
he us.
My stay was to be short in that country ; because
my father died at sea, and never arrived to possess
the honour designed him, (which was Lieutenant-
General of six-and-thirty islands, besides the con-
tinent of Surinam) nor the advantages he hoped to
reap by them : so that, though we were obliged to
continue on our voyage, we did not intend to stay
upon the place. Though, in a word, I must say thus
much of it ; that certainly had his late Majesty, of
sacred memory, but seen and known what a vast and
charming world he had been master of in that
continent, he would never have parted so easily with
it to the Dutch. It is a continent, whose vast extent
was never yet known, and may contain more noble
earth than all the universe beside ; for, they say, it
reaches from east to west one way as far as China,
THE ROYAL SLAVE 51
and another to Peru. It affords all things both for
beauty and use ; it is there eternal spring, always the
very months of April, May, and June ; the shades are
perpetual, the trees bearing at once all degrees of
leaves, and fruit, from blooming buds to ripe autumn :
groves of oranges, lemons, citrons, figs, nutmegs, and
noble aromatics, continually bearing their fragrances:
the trees appearing all like nosegays, adorned with
flowers of different kinds ; some are all white, some
purple, some scarlet, some blue, some yellow; bearing
at the same time ripe fruit, and blooming young, or
producing every day new. The very wood of all
these trees has an intrinsic value, above common
timber ; for they are, when cut, of different colours,
glorious to behold, and bear a price considerable, to
inlay withal. Besides this, they yield rich balm, and
gums ; so that we make our candles of such an
aromatic substance, as does not only give a sufficient
light, but as they burn, they cast their perfumes all
about. Cedar is the common firing, and all the houses
are built with it. The very meat we eat, when set on
the table, if it be native, I mean of the country, per-
fumes the whole room ; especially a little beast called
an Armadillo, a thing which I can liken to nothing
so well as a rhinoceros ; it is all in white armour,
so jointed, that it moves as well in it, as if it had
nothing on. This beast is about the bigness of a pig
of six weeks old. But it were endless to give an
account of all the divers wonderful and strange things
that country affords, and which he took a great
delight to. go in search of; though those adventures
are oftentimes fatal, and at least dangerous. But
while we had Cassar in our company on these designs,
we feared no harm, nor suffered any.
As soon as I came into the country, the best house
in it was presented me, called St. John's Hill. It
stood on a vast rock of white marble, at the foot of
which the river ran a vast depth down, and not to be
descended on that side ; the little waves still dashing
52 OROONOKO
and washing the foot of this rock, made the softest
murmurs and purlings in the world ; and the opposite
bank was adorned with such vast quantities of differ-
ent flowers eternally blowing, and every day and
hour new, fenced behind them with lofty trees of a
thousand rare forms and colours, that the prospect was
the most ravishing that fancy can create. On the
edge of this white rock, towards the river, was a walk,
or grove, of orange and lemon trees, about half the
length of the Mall here, whose flowery and fruit-
bearing branches met at the top, and hindered the
sun, whose rays are very fierce there, from entering
a beam into the grove ; and the cool air that came
from the river made it not only fit to entertain people
in, at all the hottest hours of the day, but refresh the
sweet blossoms, and made it always sweet and charm-
ing ; and sure, the whole globe of the world cannot
show so delightful a place as this grove was : not all
the gardens of boasted Italy can produce a shade to
outvie this, which nature has joined with art to
render so exceeding fine ; and it is a marvel to see
how such vast trees, as big as English oaks, could
take footing on so solid a rock, and in so little earth
as covered that rock. But all things by nature there
are rare, delightful, and wonderful. But to our sports.
Sometimes we would go surprising, and in search
of young tigers in their dens, watching when the old
ones went forth to forage for prey : and oftentimes we
have been in great danger, and have fled apace for
our lives, when surprised by the dams. But once,
above all other times, we went on this design, and
Caesar was with us; who had no sooner stolen a young
tiger from her nest, but going off, we encountered the
dam, bearing a buttock of a cow, which she had torn
off with her mighty paw, and going with it towards
her den. We had only four women, Caesar, and an
English gentleman, brother to Harry Martin the
great Oliverian ; we found there was no escaping this
enraged and ravenous beast. However, we women
THE ROYAL SLAVE 53
fled as fast as we could from it ; but our heels had
not saved our lives, if Cresar had not laid down her
cub, when he found the tiger quit her prey to make
the more speed towards him ; and taking Mr. Martin's
sword, desired him to stand aside, or follow the ladies.
He obeyed him ; and Caesar met this monstrous beast
of mighty size, and vast limbs, who came with open
jaws upon him ; and fixing his awful stern eyes full
upon those of the beast, and putting himself into
a very steady and good aiming posture of defence,
ran his sword quite through his breast, down to his
very heart, home to the hilt of the sword. The dying
beast stretched forth her paw, and going to grasp his
thigh, surprised with death in that very moment, did
him no other harm than fixing her long nails in his
flesh very deep, feebly wounded him, but could not
grasp the flesh to tear off any. When he had done
this, he halloaed us to return ; which, after some
assurance of his victory, we did, and found him
lugging out the sword from the bosom of the tiger,
who was laid in her blood on the ground. He took
up the cub, and with an unconcern that had nothing
of the joy or gladness of victory, he came and laid
the whelp at my feet. We all extremely wondered
at his daring, and at the bigness of the beast, which
was about the height of a heifer, but of mighty
great and strong limbs.
Another time, being in the woods, he killed a tiger,
that had long infested that part, and borne away
abundance of sheep and oxen, and other things, that
were for the support of those to whom they belonged.
Abundance of people assailed this beast, some affirm-
ing they had shot her with several bullets quite
through the body at several times ; and some swear-
ing they shot her through the very heart ; and they
believed she was a devil, rather than a mortal thing.
Csesar had often said, he had a mind to encounter
this monster, and spoke with several gentlemen who
had attempted her ; one crying, I shot her with so
54 OROONOKO
many poisoned arrows, another with his gun in this
part of her, and another in that ; so that he remark-
ing all the places where she was shot, fancied still he
should overcome her, by giving her another sort of
a wound than any had yet done ; and one day said
(at the table) 'What trophies and garlands, ladies,
will you make me, if I bring you home the heart of
this ravenous beast that eats up all your lambs and
pigs ? ' We all promised he should be rewarded at
our hands. So taking a bow, which he chose out
of a great many, he went up into the wood, with two
gentlemen, where he imagined this devourer to be.
They had not passed very far into it when they heard
her voice, growling and grumbling, as if she were
pleased with something she was doing. When they
came in view, they found her nuzzling in the belly
of a new ravished sheep, which she had torn open;
and seeing herself approached, she took fast hold
of her prey with her fore-paws, and set a very fierce
raging look on Caesar, without offering to approach
him, for fear at the same time of losing what she
had in possession. So that Caesar remained a good
while, only taking aim, and getting an opportunity
to shoot her where he designed. It was some time
before he could accomplish it; and to wound her,
and not kill her, would but have enraged her the
more, and endangered him. He had a quiver of
arrows at his side, so that if one failed, he could be
supplied. At last, retiring a little, he gave her
opportunity to eat, for he found she was ravenous,
and fell to as soon as she saw him retire, being
more eager of her prey, than of doing new mis-
chiefs ; when he going softly to one side of her, and
hiding his person behind certain herbage, that grew
high and thick, he took so good aim that, as he
intended he shot her just into the eye, and the
arrow was sent with so good a will, and so sure
a hand, that it stuck in her brain, and made her
caper, and become mad for a moment or two ; but
THE ROYAL SLAVE 55
being seconded by another arrow, she fell dead upon
the prey. Caesar cut her open with a knife, to
see where those wounds were that had been reported
to him, and why she did not die of them. But I
shall now relate a thing that, possibly, will find no
credit among men ; because it is a notion commonly
received with us, that nothing can receive a wound
in the heart, and live. But when the heart of this
courageous animal was taken out, there were seven
bullets of lead in it, the wound seamed up with
great scars, and she lived with the bullets a great
while, for it was long since they were shot. This
heart the conqueror brought up to us, and it was
a very great curiosity, which all the country came
to see ; and which gave Caesar occasion of many
fine discourses of accidents in war, and strange
escapes.
At other times he would go a-fishing; and dis-
coursing on that diversion, he found we had in that
country a very strange fish, called a Numb-Eel,
(an eel of which I have eaten) that while it is alive,
it has a quality so cold, that those who are angling,
though with a line of ever so great a length, with
a rod at the end of it, it shall in the same minute
the bait is touched by this eel, seize him or her
that holds the rod with a numbness, that shall
deprive them of sense for a while ; and some have
fallen into the water, and others dropped, as dead,
on the banks of the rivers where they stood, as
soon as this fish touches the bait. Caesar used to
laugh at this, and believed it impossible a man
could lose his force at the touch of a fish ; and could
not understand that philosophy, that a cold quality
should be of that nature ; however, he had a great
curiosity to try whether it would have the same
effect on him it had on others, and often tried,
but in vain. At last, the sought-for fish came to
the bait, as he stood angling on the bank ; and
instead of throwing away the rod, or giving it
56 OROONOKO
a sudden twitch out of the water, whereby he might
have caught both the eel, and have dismissed the rod,
before it could have too much power over him ; for
experiment-sake, he grasped it but the harder, and
fainting, fell into the river ; and being still possessed
of the rod, the tide carried him, senseless as he was, a
great way, till an Indian boat took him up ; and per-
ceived when they touched him, a numbness seize them,
and by that knew the rod was in his hand ; which
with a paddle, (that is a short oar) they struck away,
and snatched it into the boat, eel and all. If Caesar
was almost dead, with the effect of this fish, he was
more so with that of the water, where he had re-
mained the space of going a league, and they found
they had much ado to bring him back to life ; but
at last they did, and brought him home, where he
was in a few hours well recovered and refreshed, and
not a little ashamed to find he should be overcome
by an eel, and that all the people, who heard his
defiance, would laugh at him. But we cheered him
up ; and he being convinced, we had the eel at
supper, which was a quarter of an ell about, and
most delicate meat ; and was of the more value,
since it cost so dear as almost the life of so gallant
a man.
About this time we were in many mortal fears,
about some disputes the English had with the
Indians ; so that we could scarce trust ourselves,
without great numbers, to go to any Indian towns,
or place where they abode, for fear they should fall
upon us, as they did immediately after my coming
away ; and the place being in the possession of the
Dutch, they used them not so civilly as the English ;
so that they cut in pieces all they could take, getting
into houses, and hanging up the mother, and all her
children about her ; and cut a footman I left behind
me, all in joints, and nailed him to trees.
This feud began while I was there : so that I lost
half the satisfaction I proposed, in not seeing and
THE ROYAL SLAVE 57
visiting the Indian towns. But one day, bemoaning
of our misfortunes on this account, Caesar told us, we
need not fear, for if we had a mind to go, he would
undertake to be our guard. Some would, but most
would not venture. About eighteen of us resolved,
and took barge, and after eight days, arrived near
an Indian town. But approaching it, the hearts of
some of our company failed ; and they would not
venture on shore ; so we polled, who would, and who
would not. For my part, I said, if Caesar would,
I would go. He resolved ; so did my brother, and
my woman, a maid of good courage. Now none of us
speaking the language of the people, and imagining
we should have a half diversion in gazing only ; and
not knowing what they said, we took a fisherman
that lived at the mouth of the river, who had been a
long inhabitant there, and obliged him to go with us.
But because he was known to the Indians as trading
among them, and being, by long living there, become
a perfect Indian in colour, we, who had a mind to
surprise them, by making them see something they
never had seen (that is, white people), resolved only
myself, my brother and woman should go. So
Caesar, the fisherman, and the rest, hiding behind
some thick reeds and flowers that grew in the banks,
let us pass on towards the town, which was on the
bank of the river all along. A little distant from
the houses, or huts, we saw some dancing, others
busied in fetching and carrying of water from the
river. They had no sooner spied us, but they set up
a loud cry, that frighted us at first ; we thought
it had been for those that should kill us, but it seems
it was of wonder and amazement. They were all
naked ; and we were dressed, so as is most com-
mode for the hot countries, very glittering and rich ;
so that we appeared extremely fine ; my own hair
was cut short, and I had a taffety cap, with black
feathers on my head ; my brother was in a stuff-suit,
with silver loops and buttons, and abundance of green
58 OROONOKO
ribbon. This was all infinitely surprising to them :
and because we saw them stand still till we approached
them, we took heart and advanced, came up to them,
and offered them our hands ; which they took, and
looked on us round about, calling still for more com-
pany ; who came swarming out, all wondering, and
crying out Tepeeme ; taking their hair up in their
hands, and spreading it wide to those they called out
to ; as if they would say (as indeed it signified)
Numberless Wonders, or not to be recounted, no more
than to number the hair of their heads. By degrees
they grew more bold, and from gazing upon us round,
they touched us, laying their hands upon all the
features of our faces, feeling our breasts and arms,
taking up one petticoat, then wondering to see
another ; admiring our shoes and stockings, but more
our garters, which we gave them, and they tied about
their legs, being laced with silver lace at the ends ;
for they much esteem any shining things. In fine,
we suffered them to survey us as they pleased, and we
thought they never would have done admiring us.
When Caesar, and the rest, saw we were received
with such wonder, they came up to us ; and finding
the Indian trader whom they knew, (for it is by these
fishermen, called Indian traders, we hold a commerce
with them ; for they love not to go far from home,
and we never go to them) when they saw him there-
fore, they set up a new joy, and cried in their
language, ' Oh, here's our Tiguamy, and we shall know
whether these things can speak.' So advancing to
him, some of them gave him their hands, and cried,
' Amora Tiguamy ' ; which is as much as, How do you
do? or, Welcome, friend ; and all, with one din, began
to gabble to him, and asked, if we had sense and wit ?
If we could talk of affairs of life and war, as they
could do ? If we could hunt, swim, and do a thousand
things they use? He answered them, We could.
Then they invited us into their houses, and dressed
venison and buffalo for us ; and going out, gathered
THE ROYAL SLAVE 59
a leaf of a tree, called a Sarumbo leaf, of six yards
long, and spread it on the ground for a table-cloth ;
and cutting another in pieces instead of plates, set us
on little low Indian stools, which they cut out of one
entire piece of wood, and paint in a sort of Japan-
work. They serve every one their mess on these pieces
of leaves ; and it was very good, but too high-seasoned
with pepper. When we had eaten, my brother and I
took out our flutes, and played to them, which gave
them new wonder ; and I soon perceived, by an
admiration that is natural to these people, and by the
extreme ignorance and simplicity of them, it were not
difficult to establish any unknown or extravagant
religion among them, and to impose any notions
or fictions upon them. For seeing a kinsman of mine
set some paper on fire with a burning-glass, a trick
they had never before seen, they were like to have
adored him for a god, and begged he would give
them the characters or figures of his name, that they
might oppose it against winds and storms : which he
did, and they held it up in those seasons, and fancied
it had a charm to conquer them, and kept it like a
holy relic. They are very superstitious, and called
him the Great Peeie, that is, Prophet. They showed
us their Indian Peeie, a youth of about sixteen years
old, as handsome as nature could make a man.
They consecrate a beautiful youth from his infancy,
and all arts are used to complete him in the finest
manner, both in beauty and shape. He is bred to all
the little arts and cunning they are capable of; to all
the legerdemain tricks and sleight of hand whereby
he imposes on the rabble, and is both a doctor in
physic and divinity : and by these tricks makes the
sick believe he sometimes eases their pains, by draw-
ing from the afflicted part little serpents, or odd flies,
or worms, or any strange thing : and though they
have besides undoubted good remedies for almost all
their diseases, they cure the patient more by fancy
than by medicines, and make themselves feared,
60 OROONOKO
loved, and reverenced. This young Peeie had a very
young wife, who seeing my brother kiss her, came
running and kissed me. After this they kissed one
another, and made it a great jest, it being so novel ;
and new admiration and laughing went round the
multitude, that they never will forget that ceremony,
never before used or known. Caesar had a mind to
see and talk with their war-captains, and we were
conducted to one of their houses, where we beheld
several of the great captains, who had been at council.
But so frightful a vision it was to see them, no fancy
can create ; no sad dreams can represent so dreadful
a spectacle. For my part, I took them for hobgob-
lins, or fiends, rather than men. But however their
shapes appeared, their souls were very humane and
noble ; but some wanted their noses, some their lips,
some both noses and lips, some their ears, and others
cut through each cheek, with long slashes, through
which their teeth appeared. They had several other
formidable wounds and scars, or rather dismember-
ings. They had Comitias, or little aprons before
them, and girdles of cotton, with their knives naked
stuck in it ; a bow at their back, and a quiver of
arrows on their thighs ; and most had feathers on
their heads of divers colours. They cried ' Amora
Tiguamy ' to us at our entrance, and were pleased we
said as much to them. They seated us, and gave us
drink of the best sort, and wondered as much as the
others had done before to see us. Caesar was mar-
velling as much at their faces, wondering how they
should be all so wounded in war ; he was impatient
to know how they all came by those frightful marks
of rage or malice, rather than wounds got in noble
battle. They told us by our interpreter, that when
any war was waging, two men, chosen out by some
old captain whose righting was past, and who could
only teach the theory of war, were to stand in com-
petition for the generalship, or great war-captain ;
and being brought before the old judges, now past
THE ROYAL SLAVE 61
labour, they are asked, what they dare do to show
they are worthy to lead an army ? When he who is
first asked, making no reply, cuts off his nose, and
throws it contemptibly on the ground ; and the other
does something to himself that he thinks surpasses
him, and perhaps deprives himself of lips and an eye.
So they slash on till one gives out, and many have
died in this debate. And it is by a passive valour
they show and prove their activity; a sort of courage
too brutal to be applauded by our black hero ; never-
theless, he expressed his esteem of them.
In this voyage Caesar begat so good an understand-
ing between the Indians and the English, that there
were no more fears or heart-burnings during our stay,
but we had a perfect, open, and free trade with them.
Many things remarkable, and worthy reciting, we
met with in this short voyage ; because Caesar made
it his business to search out and provide for our enter-
tainment, especially to please his dearly adored
Imoinda, who was a sharer in all our adventures ; we
being resolved to make her chains as easy as we
could, and to compliment the Prince in that manner
that most obliged him.
As we were coming up again, we met with some
Indians of strange aspects ; that is, of a larger size, and
other sort of features than those of our country.
Our Indian slaves, that rowed us, asked them some
questions ; but they could not understand us, but
showed us a long cotton string, with several knots on
it, and told us, they had been coming from the
mountains so many moons as there were knots : they
were habited in skins of a strange beast, and brought
along with them bags of gold-dust ; which, as well
as they could give us to understand, came streaming
in little small channels down the high mountains,
when the rains fell ; and offered to be the convoy to
anybody, or persons, that would go to the mountains.
We carried these men up to Parham, where they were
kept till the Lord-Governor came. And because all
62 OROONOKO
the country was mad to be going on this golden
adventure, the Governor, by his letters, commanded
(for they sent some of the gold to him) that a guard
should be set at the mouth of the river of Amazons
(a river so called, almost as broad as the river of
Thames) and prohibited all people from going up that
river, it conducting to those mountains of gold. But
we going off for England before the project was
further prosecuted, and the Governor being drowned
in a hurricane, either the design died, or the Dutch
have the advantage of it. And it is to be bemoaned
what his Majesty lost, by losing that part of America.
Though this digression is a little from my story,
however, since it contains some proofs of the curiosity
and daring of this great man, I was content to omit
nothing of his character.
It was thus for some time we diverted him ; but
now Imoinda began to show she was with child, and
did nothing but sigh and weep for the captivity of
her lord, herself, and the infant yet unborn ; and
believed, if it were so hard to gain the liberty of two,
it would be more difficult to get that for three. Her
griefs were so many darts in the great heart of Caesar,
and taking his opportunity, one Sunday, when all
the whites were overtaken in drink, as there were
abundance of several trades, and slaves for four
years, that inhabited among the negro houses ; and
Sunday being their day of debauch, (otherwise they
were a sort of spies upon Caesar) he went, pretending
out of goodness to them, to feast among them, and
sent all his music, and ordered a great treat for the
whole gang, about three hundred negroes, and about
a hundred and fifty were able to bear arms, such
as they had, which were sufficient to do execution,
with spirits accordingly. For the English had none
but rusty swords, that no strength could draw from
a scabbard ; except the people of particular quality,
who took care to oil them, and keep them in good
order. The guns also, unless here and there one,
THE ROYAL SLAVE 63
or those newly carried from England, would do no
good or harm ; for it is the nature of that country to
rust and eat up iron, or any metals but gold and
silver. And they are very expert at the bow, which
the negroes and Indians are perfect masters of.
Caesar, having singled out these men from the
women and children, made a harangue to them
of the miseries and ignominies of slavery; counting
up all their toils and sufferings, under such loads,
burdens and drudgeries, as were fitter for beasts than
men ; senseless brutes, than human souls. He told
them, it was not for days, months or years, but for
eternity ; there was no end to be of their misfortunes.
They suffered not like men, who might find a glory
and fortitude in oppression ; but like dogs, that loved
the whip and bell, and fawned the more they were
beaten ; that they had lost the divine quality of men,
and were become insensible asses, fit only to bear :
nay, worse ; an ass, or dog, or horse, having done
his duty, could lie down in retreat, and rise to work
again, and while he did his duty, endured no stripes ;
but men, villainous, senseless men, such as they, toiled
on all the tedious week till Black Friday ; and then,
whether they worked or not, whether they were faulty
or meriting, they, promiscuously, the innocent with
the guilty, suffered the infamous whip, the sordid
stripes, from their fellow-slaves, till their blood
trickled from all parts of their body ; blood, whose
every drop ought to be revenged with a life of some
of those tyrants that impose it. 'And why,' said he,
' my dear friends and fellow-sufferers, should we be
slaves to an unknown people? Have they vanquished
us nobly in fight ? Have they won us in honourable
battle ? And are we by the chance of war become
their slaves ? This would not anger a noble heart ;
this would not animate a soldier's soul. No, but we
are bought and sold like apes or monkeys, to be
the sport of women, fools and cowards ; and the
support of rogues and runagates, that have aban-
64 OROONOKO
doned their own countries for rapine, murders, theft
and villainies. Do you not hear every day how they
upbraid each other with infamy of life, below the
wildest savages? And shall we render obedience
to such a degenerate race, who have no one human
virtue left, to distingush them from the vilest
creatures? Will you, I say, suffer the lash from
such hands?' They all replied with one accord,
' No, no, no ; Caesar has spoke like a great captain,
like a great king.'
After this he would have proceeded, but was
interrupted by a tall negro, of some more quality
than the rest, his name was Tuscan ; who bowing
at the feet of Caesar, cried, ' My lord, we have listened
with joy and attention to what you have said ; and,
were we only men, would follow so great a leader
through the world. But O ! consider we are husbands
and parents too, and have things more dear to us
than life ; our wives and children, unfit for travel
in those unpassable woods, mountains and bogs.
We have not only difficult lands to overcome, but
rivers to wade, and mountains to encounter; ravenous
beasts of prey.'
To this Caesar replied, that honour was the first
principle in nature, that was to be obeyed ; but as no
man would pretend to that, without all the acts of
virtue, compassion, charity, love, justice and reason,
he found it not inconsistent with that, to take equal
care of their wives and children as they would of
themselves ; and that he did not design, when he led
them to freedom, and glorious liberty, that they
should leave that better part of themselves to perish
by the hand of the tyrant's whip. But if there were
a woman among them so degenerate from love and
virtue, to choose slavery before the pursuit of her
husband, and with the hazard of her life, to share
with him in his fortunes ; that such a one ought to
be abandoned, and left as a prey to the common
enemy.
THE ROYAL SLAVE 65
To which they all agreed and bowed. After
this, he spoke of the impassable woods and rivers ;
and convinced them, the more danger the more glory.
He told them, that he had heard of one Hannibal,
a great captain, had cut his way through mountains
of solid rocks ; and should a few shrubs oppose them,
which they could fire before them ? No, it was a
trifling excuse to men resolved to die, or overcome.
As for bogs, they are with a little labour filled and
hardened ; and the rivers could be no obstacle, since
they swam by nature, at least by custom, from the
first hour of their birth. That when the children
were weary, they must carry them by turns, and the
woods and their own industry would afford them
food. To this they all assented with joy.
Tuscan then demanded, what he would do. He
said he would travel towards the sea, plant a new
colony, and defend it by their valour ; and when they
could find a ship, either driven by stress of weather,
or guided by providence that way, they would seize
it, and make it a prize, till it had transported them to
their own countries : at least they should be made
free in his kingdom, and be esteemed as his fellow-
sufferers, and men that had the courage and the
bravery to attempt, at least, for liberty ; and if they
died in the attempt, it would be more brave, than to
live in perpetual slavery.
They bowed and kissed his feet at this resolution,
and with one accord vowed to follow him to death ;
and that night was appointed to begin their march.
They made it known to their wives, and directed
them to tie their hammocks about their shoulders, and
under their arms, like a scarf, and to lead their
children that could go, and carry those that could
not. The wives, who pay an entire obedience to
their husbands, obeyed, and stayed for them where
they were appointed. The men stayed but to fur-
nish themselves with what defensive arms they could
get ; and all met at the rendezvous, where Caesar
66 OROONOKO
made a new encouraging speech to them and led
them out.
But as they could not march far that night, on
Monday early, when the overseers went to call them
all together, to go to work, they were extremely sur-
prised, to find not one upon the place, but all fled
with what baggage they had. You may imagine this
news was not only suddenly spread all over the
plantation, but soon reached the neighbouring ones ;
and we had by noon about six hundred men, they
call the Militia of the country, that came to assist us
in the pursuit of the fugitives. But never did one
see so comical an army march forth to war. The
men of any fashion would not concern themselves,
though it were almost the common cause ; for such
revoltings are very ill examples, and have very fatal
consequences oftentimes, in many colonies. But
they had a respect for Caesar, and all hands were
against the Parhamites (as they called those of Par-
ham Plantation) because they did not in the first
place love the Lord-Governor ; and secondly, they
would have it, that Caesar was ill-used, and baffled
with : and it is not impossible but some of the best
in the country was of his council in this flight, and
depriving us of all the slaves ; so that they of the
better sort would not meddle in the matter. The
Deputy-Governor, of whom I have had no great
occasion to speak, and who was the most fawning
fair-tongued fellow in the world, and one that pre-
tended the most friendship to Caesar, was now the
only violent man against him ; and though he
had nothing, and so need fear nothing, yet talked
and looked bigger than any man. He was a fellow,
whose character is not fit to be mentioned with the
worst of the slaves. This fellow would lead his
army forth to meet Caesar, or rather to pursue him.
Most of their arms were of those sort of cruel whips
they call Cat with nine tails ; some had rusty useless
guns for show ; others old basket-hilts, whose blades
THE ROYAL SLAVE 67
had never seen the light in this age ; and others had
long staffs and clubs. Mr. Trefry went along, rather
to be a mediator than a conqueror in such a battle ;
for he foresaw and knew, if by fighting they put the
negroes into despair, they were a sort of sullen fel-
lows, that would drown or kill themselves before they
would yield ; and he advised that fair means was
best. But Byam was one that abounded in his own
wit, and would take his own measures.
It was not hard to find these fugitives ; for as they
fled, they were forced to fire and cut the woods before
them ; so that night or day they pursued them by the
light the}' made, and by the path they had cleared.
But as soon as Caesar found he was pursued, he put
himself in a posture of defence, placing all the women
and children in the rear ; and himself, with Tuscan
by his side, or next to him, all promising to die or
conquer. Encouraged thus, they never stood to par-
ley, but fell on pell-mell upon the English, and killed
some, and wounded a great many ; they having re-
course to their whips, as the best of their weapons.
And as they observed no order, they perplexed the
enemy so sorely, with lashing them in the eyes ; and
the women and children seeing their husbands so
treated, being of fearful and cowardly dispositions, and
hearing the English cry out, ' Yield, and live ! Yield,
and be pardoned ! ' they all ran in amongst their
husbands and fathers, and hung about them, crying
out, ' Yield ! Yield ! and leave Caesar to their revenge,'
that by degrees the slaves abandoned Caesar, and
left him only Tuscan and his heroic Imoinda, who
grown as big as she was, did nevertheless press near
her lord, having a bow and a quiver full of poisoned
arrows, which she managed with such dexterity, that
she wounded several, and shot the Governor into the
shoulder ; of which wound he had liked to have died,
but that an Indian woman, his mistress, sucked the
wound, and cleansed it from the venom. But how-
ever, he stirred not from the place till he had parleyed
68 OROONOKO
with Caesar, who he found was resolved to die fighting,
and would not be taken ; no more would Tuscan or
Imoinda. But he, more thirsting after revenge of
another sort, than that of depriving him of life, now
made use of all his art of talking and dissembling, and
besought Caesar to yield himself upon terms which
he himself should propose, and should be sacredly
assented to, and kept by him. He told him, it was
not that he any longer feared him, or could believe
the force of two men, and a young heroine, could
overthrow all them, and with all the slaves now on
their side also ; but it was the vast esteem he had for
his person, the desire he had to serve so gallant a man,
and to hinder himself from the reproach hereafter, of
having been the occasion of the death of a Prince,
whose valour and magnanimity deserved the empire
of the world. He protested to him, he looked upon
his action as gallant and brave, however tending to
the prejudice of his lord and master, who would by it
have lost so considerable a number of slaves ; that this
flight of his should be looked on as a heat of youth,
and a rashness of a too forward courage, and an
unconsidered impatience of liberty, and no more;
and that he laboured in vain to accomplish that
which they would effectually perform as soon as
any ship arrived that would touch on his coast : ' So
that if you will be pleased,' continued he, ' to sur-
render yourself, all imaginable respect shall be paid
you ; and yourself, your wife and child, if it be born
here, shall depart free out of our land.' But Caesar
would hear of no composition ; though Byam urged,
if he pursued and went on in his design, he would
inevitably perish, either by great snakes, wild beasts
or hunger ; and he ought to have regard to his wife,
whose condition required ease, and not the fatigues of
tedious travel, where she could not be secured from
being devoured. But Caesar told him there was no
faith in the white men, or the gods they adored ; who
instructed them in principles so false, that honest men
THE ROYAL SLAVE 69
could not live amongst them ; though no people pro-
fessed so much, none performed so little : that he knew
what he had to do when he dealt with men of honour ;
but with them a man ought to be eternally on his
guard, and never to eat and drink with Christians,
without his weapon of defence in his hand ; and, for
his own security, never to credit one word they spoke.
As for the rashness and inconsiderateness of his
action, he would confess the Governor is in the right ;
and that he was ashamed of what he had done, in
endeavouring to make those free, who were by
nature slaves, poor wretched rogues, fit to be used as
Christians' tools ; dogs, treacherous and cowardly, fit
for such masters ; and they wanted only but to be
whipped into the knowledge of the Christian gods, to
be the vilest of all creeping things ; to learn to wor-
ship such deities as had not power to make them just,
brave, or honest. In fine, after a thousand things of
this nature, not fit here to be recited, he told Byam
he had rather die than live upon the same earth with
such dogs. But Trefry and Byam pleaded and pro-
tested together so much, that Trefry believing the
Governor to mean what he said, and speaking very
cordially himself, generously put himself into Caesar's
hands, and took him aside, and persuaded him, even
with tears, to live, by surrendering himself, and to
name his conditions. Caesar was overcome by his wit
and reasons, and in consideration of Imoinda ; and
demanding what he desired, and that it should be
ratified by their hands in writing, because he had
perceived that was the common way of contract
between man and man amongst the whites ; all this
was performed, and Tuscan's pardon was put in, and
they surrendered to the Governor, who walked peace-
ably down into the plantation with them, after giving
order to bury their dead. Caesar was very much
toiled with the bustle of the day, for he had fought
like a fury; and what mischief was done, he and
Tuscan performed alone; and gave their enemies a
70 OROONOKO
fatal proof, that they durst do anything, and feared
no mortal force.
But they were no sooner arrived at the place where
all the slaves receive their punishments of whipping,
but they laid hands on Caesar and Tuscan, faint with
heat and toil; and surprising them, bound them to two
several stakes, and whipped them in a most deplor-
able and inhuman manner, rending the very flesh
from their bones, especially Caesar, who was not per-
ceived to make any moan or to alter his face, only
to roll his eyes on the faithless Governor, and those
he believed guilty, with fierceness and indignation ;
and to complete his rage, he saw every one of those
slaves who but a few days before adored him as some-
thing more than mortal, now had a whip to give him
some lashes, while he strove not to break his fetters ;
though if he had, it were impossible: but he pronounced
a woe and revenge from his eyes, that darted fire, which
was at once both awful and terrible to behold.
When they thought they were sufficiently revenged
on him, they untied him, almost fainting with loss of
blood from a thousand wounds all over his body,
from which they had rent his clothes, and led him
bleeding and naked as he was, and loaded him all
over with irons; and then rubbed his wounds, to com-
plete their cruelty, with Indian pepper, which had
like to have made him raving mad ; and, in this condi-
tion made him so fast to the ground, that he could not
stir, if his pains and wounds would have given him
leave. They spared Imoinda, and did not let her see
this barbarity committed towards her lord, but carried
her down to Parham, and shut her up; which was not
in kindness to her, but for fear she should die with
the sight, or miscarry, and then they should lose a
young slave, and perhaps the mother.
You must know, that when the news was brought
on Monday morning, that Caesar had betaken himself
to the woods, and carried with him all the negroes,
we were possessed with extreme fear, which no per-
THE ROYAL SLAVE 71
suasions could dissipate, that he would secure himself
till night, and then would come down and cut all our
throats. This apprehension made all the females of
us fly down the river, to be secured ; and while we
were away, they acted this cruelty ; for I suppose I
had authority and interest enough there, had I sus-
pected any such thing, to have prevented it : but we
had not gone many leagues, but the news overtook
us, that Caesar was taken and whipped like a common
slave. We met on the river with Colonel Martin, a
man of great gallantry, wit, and goodness, and whom
I have celebrated in a character of my new comedy,
by his own name, in memory of so brave a man. He
was wise and eloquent, and, from the fineness of his
parts, bore a great sway over the hearts of all the
colony. He was a friend to Caesar, and resented this
false dealing with him very much. We carried him
back to Parham, thinking to have made an accom-
modation ; when he came, the first news we heard,
was, that the Governor was dead of a wound Imoinda
had given him ; but it was not so well. But it seems,
he would have the pleasure of beholding the revenge
he took on Caesar; and before the cruel ceremony
was finished, he dropped down ; and then they per-
ceived the wound he had on his shoulder was by a
venomed arrow, which, as I said, his Indian mistress
healed, by sucking the wound.
We were no sooner arrived, but we went up to the
plantation to see Caesar ; whom we found in a very
miserable and inexpressible condition ; and I have a
thousand times admired how he lived in so much
tormenting pain. We said all things to him, that
trouble, pity and good-nature could suggest, protest-
ing our innocency of the fact, and our abhorrence of
such cruelties ; making a thousand professions and
services to him, and begging as many pardons for the
offenders, till we said so much, that he believed we
had no hand in his ill-treatment; but told us, he
could never pardon Byam ; as for Trefry, he con-
72 OROONOKO
fessed he saw his grief and sorrow for his suffering,
which he could not hinder, but was like to have
been beaten down by the very slaves, for speaking in
his defence. But for Byam, who was their leader,
their head and should, by his justice and honour,
have been an example to them for him, he wished
to live to take a dire revenge of him ; and said, ' It
had been well for him, if he had sacrificed me, instead
of giving me the contemptible whip.' He refused to
talk much ; but begging us to give him our hands, he
took them, and protested never to lift up his to do us
any harm. He had a great respect for Colonel
Martin, and always took his counsel like that of a
parent ; and assured him, he would obey him in any-
thing, but his revenge on Byam : ' Therefore,' said he,
' for his own safety, let him speedily despatch me; for
if I could despatch myself, I would not, till that
justice were done to my injured person, and the con-
tempt of a soldier. No, I would not kill myself, even
after a whipping, but will be content to live with that
infamy, and be pointed at by every grinning slave,
till I have completed my revenge; and then you shall
see, that Oroonoko scorns to live with the indignity
that was put on Caesar.' All we could do, could get
no more words from him ; and we took care to have
him put immediately into a healing bath, to rid him
of his pepper, and ordered a chirurgeon to anoint him
with healing balm, which he suffered, and in some
time he began to be able to walk and eat. We
failed not to visit him every day, and to that end
had him brought to an apartment at Parham.
The Governor had no sooner recovered, and had
heard of the menaces of Caesar, but he called his
Council, who (not to disgrace them, or burlesque the
Government there) consisted of such notorious
villains as Newgate never transported ; and, possibly,
originally were such who understood neither the laws
of God or man, and had no sort of principles to make
them worthy the name of men ; but at the very
THE ROYAL SLAVE 73
council-table would contradict and fight with one
another, and swear so bloodily, that it was terrible to
hear and see them. (Some of them were afterwards
hanged, when the Dutch took possession of the place,
others sent off in chains.) But calling these special
rulers of the nation together, and requiring their
counsel in this weighty affair, they all concluded, that
(damn them) it might be their own cases ; and that
Caesar ought to be made an example to all the
negroes, to fright them from daring to threaten their
betters, their lords and masters ; and at this rate no
man was safe from his own slaves ; and concluded,
nemine contradicente, that Caesar should be hanged.
Trefry then thought it time to use his authority,
and told Byam, his command did not extend to his
lord's plantation ; and that Parham was as much
exempt from the law as White Hall ; and that they
ought no more to touch the servants of the Lord
(who there represented the King's person) than they
could those about the King himself; and that Par-
ham was a sanctuary; and though his lord were
absent in person, his power was still in being there,
which he had entrusted with him, as far as the do-
minions of his particular plantations reached, and all
that belonged to it ; the rest of the country, as Byam
was lieutenant to his lord, he might exercise his
tyranny upon. Trefry had others as powerful, or
more, that interested themselves in Caesar's life, and
absolutely said, he should be defended. So turning
the Governor, and his wise Council, out of doors, (for
they sat at Parham House) we set a guard upon our
lodging-place, and would admit none but those we
called friends to us and Caesar.
The Governor having remained wounded at Par-
ham, till his recovery was completed, Caesar did not
know but he was still there, and indeed for the most
part, his time was spent there: for he was one that
loved to live at other people's expense, and if he were
a day absent, he was ten present there ; and used to
74 OROONOKO
play, and walk, and hunt, and fish with Caesar. So
that Caesar did not at all doubt, if he once recovered
strength, but he should find an opportunity of being
revenged on him; though, after such a revenge, he
could not hope to live : for if he escaped the fury of
the English mobile, who perhaps would have been
glad of the occasion to have killed him, he was re-
solved not to survive his whipping ; yet he had some
tender hours, a repenting softness, which he called his
fits of cowardice, wherein he struggled with love for
the victory of his heart, which took part with his
charming Imoinda there ; but for the most part, his
time was passed in melancholy thoughts, and black
designs. He considered, if he should do this deed,
and die either in the attempt, or after it, he left his
lovely Imoinda a prey, or at best a slave to the en-
raged multitude; his great heart could not endure
that thought: 'Perhaps,' said he, 'she may be first
ravished by every brute ; exposed first to their nasty
lusts, and then a shameful death.' No, he could not
live a moment under that apprehension, too insup-
portable to be borne. These were his thoughts, and
his silent arguments with his heart, as he told us
afterwards. So that now resolving not only to kill
Byam, but all those he thought had enraged him ;
pleasing his great heart with the fancied slaughter he
should make over the whole face of the plantation ;
he first resolved on a deed (that however horrid it
first appeared to us all) when we had heard his
reasons, we thought it brave and just. Being able to
walk, and, as he believed, fit for the execution of his
great design, he begged Trefry to trust him into the
air, believing a walk would do him good ; which was
granted him ; and taking Imoinda with him, as he
used to do in his more happy and calmer days, he led
her up into a wood, where (after with a thousand
sighs, and long gazing silently on her face, while tears
gushed, in spite of him, from his eyes) he told her his
design, first of killing her, and then his enemies, and
THE ROYAL SLAVE 75
next himself, and the impossibility of escaping, and
therefore he told her the necessity of dying. He
found the heroic wife faster pleading for death, than he
was to propose it, when she found his fixed resolution ;
and, on her knees, besought him not to leave her a
prey to his enemies. He (grieved to death) yet
pleased at her noble resolution, took her up, and em-
bracing of her with all the passion and languishment
of a dying lover, drew his knife to kill this treasure of
his soul, this pleasure of his eyes ; while tears trickled
down his cheeks, hers were smiling with joy she
should die by so noble a hand, and be sent into her
own country (for that is their notion of the next
world) by him she so tenderly loved, and so truly
adored in this. For wives have a respect for their
husbands equal to what any other people pay a deity;
and when a man finds any occasion to quit his wife,
if he love her, she dies by his hand ; if not, he sells
her, or suffers some other to kill her. It being thus,
you may believe the deed was soon resolved on ; and
it is not to be doubted, but the parting, the eternal
leave-taking of two such lovers, so greatly born, so
sensible, so beautiful, so young, and so fond, must be
very moving, as the relation of it was to me after-
wards.
All that love could say in such cases, being ended,
and all the intermitting irresolutions being adjusted,
the lovely, young and adored victim lays herself down
before the sacrificer ; while he, with a hand resolved,
and a heart-breaking within, gave the fatal stroke,
first cutting her throat, and then severing her yet
smiling face from that delicate body, pregnant as it
was with the fruits of tenderest love. As soon as he
had done, he laid the body decently on leaves and
flowers, of which he made a bed, and concealed it
under the same cover-lid of nature ; only her face he
left yet bare to look on. But when he found she was
dead, and past all retrieve, never more to bless him
with her eyes, and soft language, his grief swelled up
76 OROONOKO
to rage ; he tore, he raved, he roared like some mon-
ster of the wood, calling on the loved name of
Imoinda. A thousand times he turned the fatal
knife that did the deed toward his own heart, with a
resolution to go immediately after her ; but dire
revenge, which was now a thousand times more fierce
in his soul than before, prevents him ; and he would
cry out, ' No, since I have sacrificed Imoinda to my
revenge, shall I lose that glory which I have pur-
chased so dear, as at the price of the fairest, dearest,
softest creature that ever nature made ? No, no ! '
Then at her name grief would get the ascendant of
rage, and he would lie down by her side, and water
her face with showers of tears, which never were wont
to fall from those eyes ; and however bent he was on
his intended slaughter, he had not power to stir from
the sight of this dear object, now more beloved, and
more adored than ever.
He remained in this deplorable condition for two
days, and never rose from the ground where he had
made her sad sacrifice ; at last rousing from her side,
and accusing himself with living too long, now
Imoinda was dead, and that the deaths of those
barbarous enemies were deferred too long, he resolved
now to finish the great work : but offering to rise, he
found his strength so decayed, that he reeled to and
fro, like boughs assailed by contrary winds ; so that
he was forced to lie down again, and try to summon
all his courage to his aid. He found his brains turned
round, and his eyes were dizzy, and objects appeared
not the same to him they were wont to do; his
breath was short, and all his limbs surprised with
a faintness he had never felt before. He had not
eaten in two days, which was one occasion of his
feebleness, but excess of grief was the greatest ; yet
still he hoped he should recover vigour to act his
design, and lay expecting it yet six days longer;
still mourning over the dead idol of his heart, and
striving every day to rise, but could not.
THE ROYAL SLAVE 77
In all this time you may believe we were in no
little affliction for Caesar and his wife ; some were
of opinion he was escaped, never to return ; others
thought some accident had happened to him. But
however, we failed not to send out a hundred people
several ways, to search for him. A party of about
forty went that way he took, among whom was
Tuscan, who was perfectly reconciled to Byam. They
had not gone very far into the wood, but they smelt
an unusual smell, as of a dead body ; for stinks must
be very noisome, that can be distinguished among
such a quantity of natural sweets, as every inch of
that land produces : so that they concluded they
should find him dead, or somebody that was so ; they
passed on towards it, as loathsome as it was, and
made such rustling among the leaves that lie thick
on the ground, by continual falling, that Caesar heard
he was approached ; and though he had, during
the space of these eight days, endeavoured to rise,
but found he wanted strength, yet, looking up, and
seeing his pursuers, he rose, and reeled to a neighbour-
ing tree, against which he fixed his back ; and being
within a dozen yards of those that advanced and saw
him, he called out to them, and bid them approach
no nearer, if they would be safe. So that they stood
still, and hardly believing their eyes, that would
persuade them that it was Caesar that spoke to them,
so much he was altered ; they asked him what he had
done with his wife, for they smelt a stink that almost
struck them dead ? He, pointing to the dead body,
sighing, cried, ' Behold her there.' They put off the
flowers that covered her, with their sticks, and found
she was killed, and cried out, ' Oh, monster ! thou
hast murdered thy wife.' Then asking him, why
he did so cruel a deed ? He replied, he had no leisure
to answer impertinent questions: ' You may go back,"
continued he, 'and tell the faithless Governor, he may
thank fortune that I am breathing my last ; and that
my arm is too feeble to obey my heart, in what it
78 OROONOKO
had designed him.' But ,his tongue faltering, and
trembling, he could scarce end what he was saying.
The English taking advantage by his weakness, cried,
' Let us take him alive by all means. 1 He heard
them ; and, as if he had revived from a fainting, or
a dream, he cried out, ' No, gentlemen, you are
deceived ; you will find no more Caesars to be
whipped ; no more find a faith in me. Feeble as you
think me, I have strength yet left to secure me from
a second indignity.' They swore all anew; and he
only shook his head, and beheld them with scorn.
Then they cried out, 'Who will venture on this single
man ? Will nobody ? ' They stood all silent, while
Caesar replied, ' Fatal will be the attempt of the first
adventurer, let him assure himself,' and, at that word,
held up his knife in a menacing posture. ' Look ye,
ye faithless crew,' said he, ' 'tis not life I seek, nor am
I afraid of dying,' and at that word, cut a piece of
flesh from his own throat, and threw it at them, ' yet
still I would live if I could, till I had perfected my
revenge. But, oh ! it cannot be ; I feel life gliding
from my eyes and heart; and if I make not haste,
I shall fall a victim to the shameful whip.' At that,
he ripped up his own belly, and took his bowels and
pulled them out, with what strength he could ; while
some, on their knees imploring, besought him to hold
his hand. But when they saw him tottering, they
cried out, ' Will none venture on him ? ' A bold
Englishman cried, ' Yes, if he were the Devil,' (taking
courage when he saw him almost dead) and swearing
a horrid oath for his farewell to the world, he rushed
on him. Caesar with his armed hand, met him so
fairly, as stuck him to the heart, and he fell dead
at his feet. Tuscan seeing that, cried out, ' I love
thee, O Caesar ! and therefore will not let thee die, if
possible ' ; and running to him, took him in his arms ;
but, at the same time, warding a blow that Caesar
made at his bosom, he received it quite through his
arm; and Caesar having not strength to pluck the knife
THE ROYAL SLAVE 79
forth, though he attempted it, Tuscan neither pulled
it out himself nor suffered it to be pulled out, but
came down with it sticking in his arm ; and the
reason he gave for it, was, because the air should not
get into the wound. They put their hands across,
and carried Caesar between six of them, fainting as he
was, and they thought dead, or just dying ; and they
brought him to Parham, and laid him on a couch,
and had the chirurgeon immediately to him, who
dressed his wounds, and sewed up his belly, and used
means to bring him to life, which they effected. We
ran all to see him ! and, if before we thought him
so beautiful a sight, he was now so altered, that
his face was like a death's-head blacked over, nothing
but teeth and eye-holes. For some days we suffered
nobody to speak to him, but caused cordials to be
poured down his throat ; which sustained his life, and
in six or seven days he recovered his senses. For,
you must know, that wounds are almost to a miracle
cured in the Indies ; unless wounds in the legs, which
they rarely ever cure.
When he was well enough to speak, we talked
to him, and asked him some questions about his wife,
and the reasons why he killed her ; and he then told
us what I have related of that resolution, and of his
parting, and he besought us we would let him die,
and was extremely afflicted to think it was possible
he might live. He assured us, if we did not despatch
him, he would prove very fatal to a great many. We
said all we could to make him live, and gave him new
assurances ; but he begged we would not think so
poorly of him, or of his love to Imoinda, to imagine
we could flatter him to life again. But the chirurgeon
assured him he could not live, and therefore he need
not fear. We were all (but Caesar) afflicted at this
news, and the sight was ghastly. His discourse was
sad ; and the earthy smell about him so strong, that
I was persuaded to leave the place for some time,
(being myself but sickly, and very apt to fall into fits
8o OROONOKO
of dangerous illness upon any extraordinary melan-
choly). The servants, and Trefry, and the chirurgeons,
promised all to take what possible care they could
of the life of Caesar ; and I, taking boat, went with
other company to Colonel Martin's, about three days'
journey down the river. But I was no sooner gone,
than the Governor taking Trefry, about some pre-
tended earnest business, a day's journey up the river,
having communicated his design to one Banister,
a wild Irishman, one of the Council, a fellow of
absolute barbarity, and fit to execute any villainy,
but rich ; he came up to Parham, and forcibly took
Caesar, and had him carried to the same post where
he was whipped ; and causing him to be tied to it,
and a great fire made before him, he told him he
should die like a dog, as he was. Caesar replied, This
was the first piece of bravery that ever Banister did,
and he never spoke sense till he pronounced that
word ; and if he would keep it, he would declare,
in the other world, that he was the only man, of all
the whites, that ever he heard speak truth. And
turning to the men that had bound him, he said, ' My
friends, am I to die, or to be whipt?' And they
cried, ' Whipt ! no, you shall not escape so well.'
And then he replied, smiling, 4 A blessing on thee ' ;
and assured them they need not tie him, for he would
stand fixed like a rock, and endure death so as should
encourage them to die : ' But if you whip me,' said
he, ' be sure you tie me fast'
He had learned to take tobacco ; and when he was
assured he should die, he desired they would give
him a pipe in his mouth, ready lighted ; which they
did. And the executioner came, and first cut off his
members, and threw them into the fire ; after that,
with an ill-favoured knife, they cut off his ears and
his nose, and burned them ; he still smoked on, as if
nothing had touched him ; then they hacked off one
of his arms, and still he bore up and held his pipe ;
but at the cutting off the other arm, his head sunk,
THE ROYAL SLAVE 81
and his pipe dropped, and he gave up the ghost,
without a groan, or a reproach. My mother and
sister were by him all the while, but not suffered to
save him ; so rude and wild were the rabble, and so
inhuman were the justices who stood by to see the
execution, who after paid dear enough for their inso-
lence. They cut Caesar into quarters, and sent them
to several of the chief plantations : one quarter was
sent to Colonel Martin ; who refused it, and swore,
he had rather see the quarters of Banister, and the
Governor himself, than those of Caesar, on his planta-
tions ; and that he could govern his negroes, without
terrifying and grieving them with frightful spectacles
of a mangled king.
Thus died this great man, worthy of a better fate,
and a more sublime wit than mine to write his praise.
Yet, I hope, the reputation of my pen is consider-
able enough to make his glorious name to survive to
all ages, with that of the brave, the beautiful and the
constant Imoinda.
THE FAIR JILT
OR THE AMOURS OF PRINCE TARQUIN
AND MIRANDA
As love is the most noble and divine passion of the
soul, so it is that to which we may justly attribute
all the real satisfactions of life ; and without it man
is unfinished and unhappy.
There are a thousand things to be said of the
advantages this generous passion brings to those,
whose hearts are capable of receiving its soft impres-
sions ; for it is not every one that can be sensible of
its tender touches. How many examples, from his-
tory and observation, could I give of its wondrous
power; nay, even to a degree of transmigration!
How many idiots has it made wise ! How many
fools eloquent! How many home-bred squires
accomplished! How many cowards brave! And
there is no sort of species of mankind on whom it
cannot work some change and miracle, if it be a
noble well-grounded passion, except on the fop in
fashion, the hardened incorrigible fop ; so often
wounded, but never reclaimed. For still, by a dire
mistake, conducted by vast opiniatrety, and a greater
portion of self-love, than the rest of the race of man,
he believes that affectation in his mien and dress,
that mathematical movement, that formality in every
action, that a face managed with care, and softened
into ridicule, the languishing turn, the toss, and the
back-shake of the periwig, is the direct way to the
83
84 THE FAIR JILT
heart of the fine person he adores ; and instead of
curing love in his soul, serves only to advance his
folly; and the more he is enamoured, the more
industriously he assumes (every hour) the coxcomb.
These are love's playthings, a sort of animals with
whom he sports ; and whom he never wounds, but
when he is in good humour, and always shoots
laughing. It is the diversion of the little god, to see
what a fluttering and bustle one of these sparks, new-
wounded, makes ; to what fantastic fooleries he has
recourse. The glass is every moment called to
counsel, the valet consulted and plagued for new
invention of dress, the footman and scrutore per-
petually employed ; billet-doux and madrigals take
up all his mornings, till playtime in dressing, till
night in gazing; still, like a sun-flower, turned to-
wards the beams of the fair eyes of his Caelia, ad-
justing himself in the most amorous posture he can
assume, his hat under his arm, while the other hand
is put carelessly into his bosom, as if laid upon his
panting heart ; his head a little bent to one side, sup-
ported with a world of cravat-string, which he takes
mighty care not to put into disorder ; as one may
guess by a never-failing and horrid stiffness in his
neck ; and if he had any occasion to look aside, his
whole body turns at the same time, for fear the
motion of the head alone should incommode the
cravat or periwig. And sometimes the glove is well
managed, and the white hand displayed. Thus, with
a thousand other little motions and formalities, all in
the common place or road of foppery, he takes
infinite pains to show himself to the pit and boxes,
a most accomplished ass. This is he, of all human
kind, on whom love can do no miracles, and who can
nowhere, and upon no occasion, quit one grain of his
refined foppery, unless in a duel, or a battle, if ever
his stars should be so severe and ill-mannered, to
reduce him to the necessity of either. Fear then
would ruffle that fine form he had so long preserved
THE FAIR JILT 85
in nicest order, with grief considering, that an un-
lucky chance-wound in his face, if such a dire mis-
fortune should befall him, would spoil the sale of it
for ever.
Perhaps it will be urged, that since no metamor-
phosis can be made in a fop by love, you must con-
sider him one of those that only talks of love, and
thinks himself that happy thing, a lover ; and want-
ing fine sense enough for the real passion, believes
what he feels to be it. There are in the quiver of the
god a great many different darts ; some that wound
for a day, and others for a year ; they are all fine,
painted, glittering darts, and show as well as those
made of the noblest metal ; but the wounds they
make reach the desire only, and are cured by possess-
ing, while the short-lived passion betrays the cheat.
But it is that refined and illustrious passion of the
soul whose aim is virtue, and whose end is honour,
that has the power of changing nature, and is capable
of performing all those heroic things, of which his-
tory is full.
How far distant passions may be from one another,
I shall be able to make appear in these following
rules. I'll prove to you the strong effects of love in
some unguarded and ungoverned hearts; where it
rages beyond the inspirations of ' a God all soft and
gentle,' and reigns more like ' a Fury from Hell.'
I do not pretend here to entertain you with a
feigned story, or anything pieced together with ro-
mantic accidents ; but every circumstance, to a tittle,
is truth. To a great part of the main I myself was
an eye-witness ; and what I did not see, I was con-
firmed of by actors in the intrigue, holy men, of the
order of St. Francis. But for the sake of some of her
relations, I shall give my Fair Jilt a feigned name,
that of Miranda ; but my hero must retain his own, it
being too illustrious to be concealed.
You are to understand, that in all the Catholic
countries, where Holy Orders are established, there
86 THE FAIR JILT
are abundance of differing kinds of religious, both of
men and women. Amongst the women, there are
those we call Nuns, that make solemn vows of per-
petual chastity ; there are others who make but a
simple vow, as for five or ten years, or more or less ;
and that time expired, they may contract anew for
longer time, or marry, or dispose of themselves as
they shall see good ; and these are ordinarily called
Galloping Nuns. Of these there are several Orders ;
as Canonesses, Begines, Quests, Swart-Sisters, and
Jesuitesses, with several others I have forgot. Of
those of the Begines was our fair votress.
These Orders are taken up by the best persons of
the town, young maids of fortune, who live together,
not inclosed, but in palaces that will hold about fifteen
hundred or two thousand of these Jit/es devotes ; where
they have a regulated government, under a sort of
Abbess, or Prioress, or rather a Governante. They
are obliged to a method of devotion, and are under a
sort of obedience. They wear a habit much like our
widows of quality in England, only without a bando ;
and their veil is of a thicker crape than what we have
here, through which one cannot see the face ; for
when they go abroad, they cover themselves all over
with it ; but they put them up in the churches, and
lay them by in the houses. Every one of these has a
confessor, who is to them a sort of steward. For, you
must know, they that go into these places, have the
management of their own fortunes, and what their
parents design them. Without the advice of this
confessor, they act nothing, nor admit of a lover that
he shall not approve ; at least, this method ought to
be taken, and is by almost all of them ; though
Miranda thought her wit above it, as her spirit was.
But as these women are, as I said, of the best
quality, and live with the reputation of being retired
from the world a little more than ordinary, and
because there is a sort of difficulty to approach them,
they are the people the most courted, and liable to
THE FAIR JILT 87
the greatest temptations ; for as difficult as it seems
to be, they receive visits from all the men of the best
quality, especially strangers. All the men of wit and
conversation meet at the apartments of these fair
filles devotes, where all manner of gallantries are
performed, while all the study of these maids is
to accomplish themselves for these noble conversa-
tions. They receive presents, balls, serenades, and
billets. All the news, wit, verses, songs, novels, music,
gaming, and all fine diversion, is in their apartments,
they themselves being of the best quality and fortune.
So that to manage these gallantries, there is no sort
of female arts they are not practised in, no intrigue
they are ignorant of, and no management of which
they are not capable.
Of this happy number was the fair Miranda, whose
parents being dead, and a vast estate divided between
herself and a young sister, (who lived with an un-
married old uncle, whose estate afterwards was all
divided between them) she put herself into this unin-
closed religious house ; but her beauty, which had all
the charms that ever nature gave, became the envy of
the whole sisterhood. She was tall, and admirably
shaped ; she had a bright hair, and hazel eyes, all full
of love and sweetness. No art could make a face so
fair as hers by nature, which every feature adorned
with a grace that imagination cannot reach. Every
look, every motion charmed, and her black dress
showed the lustre of her face and neck. She had an
air, though gay as so much youth could inspire, yet
so modest, so nobly reserved, without formality, or
stiffness, that one who looked on her would have
imagined her soul the twin-angel of her body ; and
both together made her appear something divine. To
this she had a great deal of wit, read much, and
retained all that served her purpose. She sang
delicately, and danced well, and played on the lute to
a miracle. She spoke several languages naturally; for,
being co-heiress to so great a fortune, she was bred
88 THE FAIR JILT
with the nicest care, in all the finest manners of edu-
cation ; and was now arrived to her eighteenth year.
It were needless to tell you how great a noise the
fame of this young beauty, with so considerable a
fortune, made in the world. I may say, the world,
rather than confine her fame to the scanty limits of a
town ; it reached to many others. And there was
not a man of any quality that came to Antwerp, or
passed through the city, but made it his business to
see the lovely Miranda, who was universally adored.
Her youth and beauty, her shape, and majesty of
mien, and air of greatness, charmed all her beholders ;
and thousands of people were dying by her eyes,
while she was vain enough to glory in her conquests,
and make it her business to wound. She loved
nothing so much as to behold sighing slaves at her
feet, of the greatest quality ; and treated them all with
an affability that gave them hope. Continual music,
as soon as it was dark, and songs of dying lovers,
were sung under her windows; and she might well
have made herself a great fortune (if she had not been
so already) by the rich presents that were hourly
made her ; and everybody daily expected when she
would make some one happy, by suffering herself to
be conquered by love and honour, by the assiduities
and vows of some one of her adorers. But Miranda
accepted their presents, heard their vows with plea-
sure, and willingly admitted all their soft addresses ;
but would not yield her heart, or give away that
lovely person to the possession of one, who could
please itself with so many. She was naturally amor-
ous, but extremely inconstant. She loved one for his
wit, another for his face, and a third for his mien ;
but above all, she admired quality. Quality alone
had the power to attach her entirely ; yet not to one
man, but that virtue was still admired by her in all.
Wherever she found that, she loved, or at least acted
the lover with such art, that (deceiving well) she failed
not to complete her conquest; and yet she never
THE FAIR JILT 89
durst trust her fickle humour with marriage. She
knew the strength of her own heart, and that it could
not suffer itself to be confined to one man, and wisely
avoided those inquietudes, and that uneasiness of life
she was sure to find in that married state, which
would, against her nature, oblige her to the embraces
of one, whose humour was, to love all the young and
the gay. But Love, who had hitherto only played with
her heart, and given it nought but pleasing wanton
wounds, such as afforded only soft joys, and not pains,
resolved, either out of revenge to those numbers she
had abandoned, and who had sighed so long in vain, or
to try what power he had upon so fickle a heart, to send
an arrow dipped in the most tormenting flames that
rage in hearts most sensible. He struck it home and
deep, with all the malice of an angry god.
There was a church belonging to the Cordeliers,
whither Miranda often repaired to her devotion ; and
being there one day, accompanied with a young sister
of the Order, after the Mass was ended, as it is the
custom, some one of the Fathers goes about the
church with a box for contribution, or charity-money.
It happened that day, that a young Father, newly
initiated, carried the box about, which, in his turn, he
brought to Miranda. She had no sooner cast her
eyes on this young friar but her face was overspread
with blushes of surprise. She beheld him steadfastly,
and saw in his face all the charms of youth, wit, and
beauty ; he wanted no one grace that could form him
for love, he appeared all that is adorable to the fair
sex, nor could the misshapen habit hide from her the
lovely shape it endeavoured to cover, nor those
delicate hands that approached her too near with the
box. Besides the beauty of his face and shape, he
had an air altogether great, in spite of his professed
poverty, it betrayed the man of quality ; and that
thought weighed greatly with Miranda. But love,
who did not design she should now feel any sort of
those easy flames, with which she had heretofore
90 THE FAIR JILT
burnt, made her soon lay all those considerations
aside, which used to invite her to love, and now loved
she knew not why.
She gazed upon him, while he bowed before her, and
waited for her charity, till she perceived the lovely
friar to blush, and cast his eyes to the ground. This
awakened her shame, and she put her hand into her
pocket, and was a good while in searching for her
purse, as if she thought of nothing less than what she
was about ; at last she drew it out, and gave him a
pistole ; but with so much deliberation and leisure, as
easily betrayed the satisfaction she took in looking on
him ; while the good man, having received her bounty,
after a very low obeisance, proceeded to the rest ; and
Miranda casting after him a look all languishing, as
long as he remained in the church, departed with a
sigh as soon as she saw him go out, and returned to
her apartment without speaking one word all the way
to the young fille devote who attended her ; so abso-
lutely was her soul employed with this young holy
man. Cornelia (so was this maid called who was with
her) perceiving she was so silent, who used to be all
wit and good humour, and observing her little dis-
order at the sight of the young father, though she
was far from imagining it to be love, took an occasion,
when she was come home, to speak of him. ' Madam,'
said she, ' did you not observe that fine young
Cordelier, who brought the box?' At a question
that named that object of her thoughts, Miranda
blushed ; and she finding she did so, redoubled her
confusion, and she had scarce courage enough to say,
'Yes, I did observe him.' And then, forcing herself
to smile a little, continued, ' And I wondered to see
so jolly a young friar of an Order so severe and
mortified.' ' Madam", replied Cornelia, ' when you
know his story, you will not wonder.' Miranda, who
was impatient to know all that concerned her new
conqueror, obliged her to tell his story ; and Cornelia
obeyed, and proceeded.
THE FAIR JILT 91
THE STORY OF PRINCE HENRICK
'You must know, Madam, that this young holy man
is a Prince of Germany, of the House of , whose
fate it was to fall most passionately in love with a fair
young lady, who loved him with an ardour equal to
what he vowed her. Sure of her heart, and wanting
only the approbation of her parents, and his own,
which her quality did not suffer him to despair of, he
boasted of his happiness to a young Prince, his elder
brother, a youth amorous and fierce, impatient of joys,
and sensible of beauty, taking fire with all fair eyes.
He was his father's darling, and delight of his fond
mother ; and, by an ascendant over both their hearts,
ruled their wills.
' This young Prince no sooner saw, but loved the
fair mistress of his brother ; and with an authority of
a sovereign, rather than the advice of a friend, warned
his brother Henrick (this now young friar) to approach
no more this lady, whom he had seen ; and, seeing,
loved.
' In vain the poor surprised Prince pleads his right
of love, his exchange of vows, and assurance of a
heart that could never be but for himself. In vain he
urges his nearness of blood, his friendship, his passion,
or his life, which so entirely depended on the posses-
sion of the charming maid. All his pleading served
but to blow his brother's flame ; and the more he im-
plores, the more the other burns ; and while Henrick
follows him, on his knees, with humble submissions, the
other flies from him in rages of transported love ; nor
could his tears, that pursued his brother's steps, move
him to pity. Hot-headed, vain-conceited of his beauty,
and greater quality, as elder brother, he doubts not of
success, and resolved to sacrifice all to the violence of
his new-born passion.
1 In short, he speaks of his design to his mother,
who promised him her assistance; and accordingly
92 THE FAIR JILT
proposing it first to the Prince her husband, urging
the languishment of her son, she soon wrought so on
him, that a match being concluded between the
parents of this young beauty and Henrick's brother,
the hour was appointed before she knew of the sacri-
fice she was to be made. And while this was in
agitation, Henrick was sent on some great affairs, up
into Germany, far out of the way ; not but his boding
heart, with perpetual sighs and throbs, eternally fore-
told him his fate.
' All the letters he wrote were intercepted, as well
as those she wrote to him. She finds herself every
day perplexed with the addresses of the Prince she
hated ; he was ever sighing at her feet. In vain
were all her reproaches, and all her coldness, he was
on the surer side ; for what he found love would not
do, force of parents would.
' She complains, in her heart, of young Henrick, from
whom she could never receive one letter ; and at last
could not forbear bursting into tears, in spite of all her
force, and feigned courage, when, on a day, the Prince
told her, that Henrick was withdrawn to give him
time to court her ; to whom he said, he confessed he
had made some vows, but did repent of them, knowing
himself too young to make them good : that it was for
that reason he brought him first to see her ; and for
that reason, that after that he never saw her more, nor
so much as took leave of her ; when, indeed, his
death lay upon the next visit, his brother having
sworn to murder him ; and to that end, put a guard
upon him, till he was sent into Germany.
'All this he uttered with so many passionate as-
severations, vows, and seeming pity for her being so
inhumanly abandoned, that she almost gave credit to
all he had said, and had much ado to keep herself
within the bounds of moderation and silent grief. Her
heart was breaking, her eyes languished, and her
cheeks grew pale, and she had like to have fallen dead
into the treacherous arms of him that had reduced
THE FAIR JILT 93
her to this discovery ; but she did what she could to
assume her courage, and to show as little resentment
as possible for a heart, like hers, oppressed with love,
and now abandoned by the dear subject of its joys and
pains.
' But, Madam, not to tire you with this adventure,
the day arrived wherein our still weeping fair un-
fortunate was to be sacrificed to the capriciousness
of love ; and she was carried to Court by her parents,
without knowing to what end, where she was even
compelled to marry the Prince.
' Henrick, who all this while knew no more of his
unhappiness, than what his fears suggested, returns,
and passes even to the presence of his father, before
he knew anything of his fortune ; where he beheld
his mistress and his brother, with his father, in such
a familiarity, as he no longer doubted his destiny.
It is hard to judge, whether the lady, or himself, was
most surprised ; she was all pale and unmovable in
her chair, and Henrick fixed like a statue ; at last
grief and rage took place of amazement, and he
could not forbear crying out, 'Ah, traitor! Is it
thus you have treated a friend and brother? And
you, O perjured charmer ! Is it thus you have
rewarded all my vows ? ' He could say no more ;
but reeling against the door, had fallen in a swoon
upon the floor, had not his page caught him in his
arms, who was entering with him. The good old
Prince, the father, who knew not what all this meant,
was soon informed by the young weeping Princess ;
who, in relating the story of her amour with Henrick,
told her tale in so moving a manner, as brought tears
to the old man's eyes, and rage to those of her
husband ; he immediately grew jealous to the last
degree. He finds himself in possession ('tis true)
of the beauty he adored, but the beauty adoring
another ; a Prince young and charming as the light,
soft, witty, and raging with an equal passion. He
finds this dreaded rival in the same house with him,
94 THE FAIR JILT
with an authority equal to his own ; and fancies,
where two hearts are so entirely agreed, and have
so good an understanding, it would not be impossible
to find opportunities to satisfy and ease that mutual
flame, that burned so equally in both ; he therefore
resolved to send him out of the world, and to
establish his own repose by a deed, wicked, cruel, and
unnatural, to have him assassinated the first oppor-
tunity he could find. This resolution set him a little
at ease, and he strove to dissemble kindness to Hen-
rick, with all the art he was capable of, suffering him
to come often to the apartment of the Princess, and
to entertain her oftentimes with discourse, when he
was not near enough to hear what he spoke ; but still
watching their eyes, he found those of Henrick full
of tears, ready to flow, but restrained, looking all
dying, and yet reproaching, while those of the Princess
were ever bent to the earth, and she as much as
possible, shunning his conversation. Yet this did
not satisfy the jealous husband ; it was not her com-
plaisance that could appease him ; he found her heart
was panting within, whenever Henrick approached
her, and every visit more and more confirmed his
death.
' The father often found the disorders of the sons ;
the softness and address of the one gave him as much
fear, as the angry blushings, the fierce looks, and
broken replies of the other, whenever he beheld
Henrick approach his wife; so that the father, fearing
some ill consequence of this, besought Henrick to
withdraw to some other country, or travel into Italy,
he being now of an age that required a view of
the world. He told his father that he would obey
his commands, though he was certain, that moment
he was to be separated from the sight of the fair
Princess, his sister, would be the last of his life ; and,
in fine, made so pitiful a story of his suffering love, as
almost moved the old Prince to compassionate him
so far, as to permit him to stay ; but he saw inevitable
THE FAIR JILT 95
danger in that, and therefore bid him prepare for his
journey.
' That which passed between the father and Hen-
rick, being a secret, none talked of his departing
from Court ; so that the design the brother had went
on ; and making a hunting-match one day, where
most young people of quality were, he ordered some
whom he had hired to follow his brother, so as if he
chanced to go out of the way, to despatch him ; and
accordingly, fortune gave them an opportunity ; for
he lagged behind the company, and turned aside into
a pleasant thicket of hazels, where alighting, he walked
on foot in the most pleasant part of it, full of thought,
how to divide his soul between love and obedience.
He was sensible that he ought not to stay ; that he
was but an affliction to the young Princess, whose
honour could never permit her to ease any part of
his flame; nor was he so vicious to entertain a thought
that should stain her virtue. He beheld her now as
his brother's wife, and that secured his flame from all
loose desires, if her native modesty had not been
sufficient of itself to have done it, as well as that
profound respect he paid her; and he considered,
in obeying his father, he left her at ease, and his
brother freed of a thousand fears ; he went to seek
a cure, which if he could not find, at last he could
but die ; and so he must, even at her feet. However,
that it was more noble to seek a remedy for his
disease, than expect a certain death by staying.
After a thousand reflections on his hard fate, and
bemoaning himself, and blaming his cruel stars, that
had doomed him to die so young, after an infinity
of sighs and tears, resolvings and unresolvings, he,
on the sudden, was interrupted by the trampling of
some horses he heard, and their rushing through the
boughs, and saw four men make towards him. He
had not time to mount, being walked some paces
from his horse. One of the men advanced, and cried,
' Prince, you must die.' ' I do believe thee, 1 replied
96 THE FAIR JILT
Henrick, ' but not by a hand so base as thine,' and
at the same time drawing his sword, ran him into the
groin. When the fellow found himself so wounded,
he wheeled off and cried, ' Thou art a prophet, and
hast rewarded my treachery with death.' The rest
came up, and one shot at the Prince, and shot him in
the shoulder ; the other two hastily laying hold (but
too late) on the hand of the murderer, cried, ' Hold,
traitor ; we relent, and he shall not die.' He replied,
' 'Tis too late, he is shot ; and see, he lies dead. Let
us provide for ourselves, and tell the Prince, we have
done the work ; for you are as guilty as I am.' At
that they all fled, and left the Prince lying under
a tree, weltering in his blood.
'About the evening, the forester going his walks,
saw the horse richly caparisoned, without a rider, at
the entrance of the wood ; and going farther, to see
if he could find its owner, found there the Prince
almost dead; he immediately mounts him on the
horse, and himself behind, bore him up, and carried
him to the lodge; where he had only one old man, his
father, well skilled in surgery, and a boy. They put
him to bed ; and the old forester, with what art he
had, dressed his wound, and in the morning sent for
an abler surgeon, to whom the Prince enjoined
secrecy, because he knew him. The man was faith-
ful, and the Prince in time was recovered of his
wound ; and as soon as he was well, he came for
Flanders, in the habit of a pilgrim, and after some
time took the Order of St. Francis, none knowing
what became of him, till he was professed ; and then
he wrote his own story to the Prince his father, to
his mistress, and his ungrateful brother. The young
Princess did not long survive his loss, she languished
from the moment of 'his depart Jre; and he had this
to confirm his devout life, to know she died for him.
'My brother, Madam, was an officer under the
Prince his father, and knew his story perfect y well ;
from whose mouth I had it.
THE FAIR JILT 97
1 What ! ' replied Miranda then, ' is Father Henrick
a man of quality?' 'Yes, Madam,' said Cornelia,
' and has changed his name to Francisco.' But
Miranda, fearing to betray the sentiments of her
heart, by asking any more questions about him, turned
the discourse ; and some persons of quality came in
to visit her (for her apartment was about six o'clock,
like the presence-chamber of a queen, always filled
with the greatest people). There meet all the beaux
esprits, and all the beauties. But it was visible
Miranda was not so gay as she used to be ; but pen-
sive, and answering mal a propos to all that was said
to her. She was a thousand times going to speak,
against her will, something of the charming friar, who
was never from her thoughts ; and she imagined, if
he could inspire love in a coarse, grey, ill-made habit,
a shorn crown, a hair-cord about his waist, bare-legged,
in sandals instead of shoes ; what must he do, when
looking back on time, she beholds him in a prospect
of glory, with all that youth, and illustrious beauty,
set off by the advantage of dress and equipage ? She
frames an idea of him all gay and splendid, and looks
on his present habit as some disguise proper for the
stealths of love ; some feigned put-on shape, with the
more security to approach a mistress, and make him-
self happy ; and that the robe laid by, she has the
lover in his proper beauty, the same he would have
been, if any other habit (though ever so rich) were
put off. In the bed, the silent gloomy night, and the
soft embraces of her arms, he loses all the friar, and
assumes all the prince ; and that awful reverence, due
alone to his holy habit, he exchanges for a thousand
dalliances, for which his youth was made : for love,
for tender embraces, and all the happiness of life.
Some moments she fancies him a lover, and that the
fair object that takes up all his heart, has left no room
for her there ; but that was a thought that did not
long perplex her, and which, almost as soon as born,
she turned to her advantage. She beholds him a
98 THE FAIR JILT
lover, and therefore finds he has a heart sensible and
tender; he had youth to be fired, as well as to inspire;
he was far from the loved object, and totally without
hope ; and she reasonably considered, that flame
would of itself soon die, that had only despair to feed
on. She beheld her own charms ; and experience, as
well as her glass, told her, they never failed of con-
quest, especially where they designed it. And she
believed Henrick would be glad, at least, to quench
that flame in himself, by an amour with her, which
was kindled by the young Princess of his sister.
These, and a thousand other self-flatteries, all vain
and indiscreet, took up her waking nights, and now
more retired days; while love, to make her truly
wretched, suffered her to soothe herself with fond
imaginations ; not so much as permitting her reason
to plead one moment to save her from undoing. She
would not suffer it to tell her, he had taken Holy
Orders, made sacred and solemn vows of everlasting
chastity, that it was impossible he could marry her, or
lay before her any argument that might prevent her
ruin ; but love, mad malicious love, was always called
to counsel, and like easy monarchs, she had no ears,
but for flatterers.
Well then, she is resolved to love, without consider-
ing to what end, and what must be the consequence of
such an amour. She now missed no day of being at
that little church, where she had the happiness, or
rather the misfortune (so love ordained) to see this
ravisher of her heart and soul ; and every day she
took new fire from his lovely eyes. Unawares, un-
known, and unwillingly, he gave her wounds, and the
difficulty of her cure made her rage the more. She
burned, she languished, and died for the young inno-
cent, who knew not he was the author of so much
mischief.
Now she resolves a thousand ways in her tortured
mind, to let him know her anguish, and at last pitched
upon that of writing to him soft billets, which she had
THE FAIR JILT 99
learned the art of doing ; or if she had not, she had
now fire enough to inspire her with all that could
charm and move. These she delivered to a young
wench, who waited on her, and whom she had entirely
subdued to her interest, to give to a certain lay-
brother of the Order, who was a very simple harmless
wretch, and who served in the kitchen, in the nature
of a cook, in the monastery of Cordeliers. She gave
him gold to secure his faith and service ; and not
knowing from whence they came (with so good
credentials) he undertook to deliver the letters to
Father Francisco ; which letters were all afterwards,
as you shall hear, produced in open court. These
letters failed not to come every day ; and the sense of
the first was, to tell him, that a very beautiful young
lady, of a great fortune, was in love with him, without
naming her; but it came as from a third person, to
let him know the secret, that she desired he would
let her know whether she might hope any return from
him ; assuring him, he needed but only see the fair
languisher, to confess himself her slave.
This letter being delivered him, he read by himself,
and was surprised to receive words of this nature,
being so great a stranger in that place ; and could
not imagine, or would not give himself the trouble of
guessing who this should be, because he never de-
signed to make returns.
The next day, Miranda, finding no advantage from
her messenger of love, in the evening sends another
(impatient of delay) confessing that she who suffered
the shame of writing and imploring, was the person
herself who adored him. It was there her raging
love made her say all things that discovered the
nature of its flame, and propose to flee with him to
any part of the world, if he would quit the convent ;
that she had a fortune considerable enough to make
him happy ; and that his youth and quality were not
given him to so unprofitable an end as to lose them-
selves in a convent, where poverty and ease was all
ioo THE FAIR JILT
the business. In fine, she leaves nothing unurged
that might debauch and invite him ; not forgetting to
send him her own character of beauty, and left him
to judge of her wit and spirit by her writing, and her
love by the extremity of passion she professed. To
all which the lovely friar made no return, as believing
a gentle capitulation or exhortation to her would
but inflame her the more, and give new occasions for
her continuing to write. All her reasonings, false
and vicious, he despised, pitied the error of her love,
and was proof against all she could plead. Yet not-
withstanding his silence, which left her in doubt, and
more tormented her, she ceased not to pursue him
with her letters, varying her style ; sometimes all
wanton, loose and raving; sometimes feigning a
virgin-modesty all over, accusing herself, blaming
her conduct, and sighing her destiny, as one compelled
to the shameful discovery by the austerity of his vow
and habit, asking his pity and forgiveness ; urging
him in charity to use his fatherly care to persuade
and reason with her wild desires, and by his counsel
drive the god from her heart, whose tyranny was worse
than that of a fiend ; and he did not know what his
pious advice might do. But still she writes in vain,
in vain she varies her style, by a cunning, peculiar to
a maid possessed with such a sort of passion.
This cold neglect was still oil to the burning lamp,
and she tries yet more arts, which for want of right
thinking were as fruitless. She has recourse to
presents ; her letters came loaded with rings of great
price, and jewels, which fops of quality had given her.
Many of this sort he received, before he knew where
to return them, or how ; and on this occasion alone
he sent her a letter, and restored her trifles, as he
called them. But his habit having not made him
forget his quality and education, he wrote to her with
all the profound respect imaginable; believing by her
presents, and the liberality with which she parted
with them, that she was of quality. But the whole
THE FAIR JILT 101
letter, as he told me afterwards, was to persuade her
from the honour she did him, by loving him ; urging
a thousand reasons, solid and pious, and assuring her,
he had wholly devoted the rest of his days to heaven,
and had no need of those gay trifles she had sent
him, which were only fit to adorn ladies so fair as
herself, and who had business with this glittering
world, which he disdained, and had for ever aban-
doned. He sent her a thousand blessings, and told
her, she should be ever in his prayers, though not in
his heart, as she desired. And abundance of good-
ness more he expressed, and counsel he gave her,
which had the same effect with his silence ; it made
her love but the more, and the more impatient she
grew. She now had a new occasion to write, she now
is charmed with his wit; this was the new subject.
She rallies his resolution, and endeavours to recall
him to the world, by all the arguments that human
invention is capable of.
But when she had above four months languished
thus in vain, not missing one day, wherein she went
not to see him, without discovering herself to him ;
she resolved, as her last effort, to show her person,
and see what that, assisted by her tears, and soft
words from her mouth, could do, to prevail upon him.
It happened to be on the eve of that day when she
was to receive the Sacrament, that she, covering her-
self with her veil, came to vespers, purposing to make
choice of the conquering friar for her confessor.
She approached him ; and as she did so, she
trembled with love. At last she cried, ' Father, my
confessor is gone for some time from the town, and
I am obliged to-morrow to receive, and beg you will
be pleased to take my confession.'
He could not refuse her; and led her into the
sacristy, where there is a confession-chair, in which
he seated himself; and on one side of him she
kneeled down, over against a little altar, where the
priests' robes lie, on which were placed some lighted
102 THE FAIR JILT
wax-candles, that made the little place very light and
splendid, which shone full upon Miranda.
After the little preparation usual in confession, she
turned up her veil, and discovered to his view the
most wondrous object of beauty he had ever seen,
dressed in all the glory of a young bride ; her hair
and stomacher full of diamonds, that gave a lustre all
dazzling to her brighter face and eyes. He was
surprised at her amazing beauty, and questioned
whether he saw a woman, or an angel at his feet. Her
hands, which were elevated, as if in prayer, seemed to
be formed of polished alabaster ; and he confessed,
he had never seen anything in nature so perfect, and
so admirable.
He had some pain to compose himself to hear her
confession, and was obliged to turn away his eyes,
that his mind might not be perplexed with an object
so diverting ; when Miranda, opening the finest mouth
in the world, and discovering new charms, began her
confession.
' Holy father,' said she, ' amongst the number of
my vile offences, that which afflicts me to the greatest
degree, is, that I am in love. Not/ continued she,
' that I believe simple and virtuous love a sin, when it
is placed on an object proper and suitable ; but, my
dear father,' said she, and wept, ' I love with a
violence which cannot be contained within the bounds
of reason, moderation, or virtue. I love a man whom
I cannot possess without a crime, and a man who
cannot make me happy without being perjured.'
' Is he married ? ' replied the father. ' No,' answered
Miranda. 'Are you so?' continued he. 'Neither,'
said she. 'Is he too near allied to you?' said
Francisco, ' a brother, or relation ? ' ' Neither of
these,' said she. ' He is unenjoyed, unpromised ;
and so am I. Nothing opposes our happiness, or
makes my love a vice, but you 'Tis you deny me
life : 'tis you that forbid my flame : 'tis you will have
me die, and seek my remedy in my grave, when I
THE FAIR JILT 103
complain of tortures, wounds, and flames. O cruel
charmer ! 'tis for you I languish ; and here, at your
feet, implore that pity, which all my addresses have
failed of procuring me.'
With that, perceiving he was about to rise from his
seat, she held him by his habit, and vowed she would
in that posture follow him, wherever he flew from her.
She elevated her voice so loud, he was afraid she
might be heard, and therefore suffered her to force
him into his chair again; where being seated, he
began, in the most passionate terms imaginable, to
dissuade her; but finding she the more persisted in
eagerness of passion, he used all the tender assurances
that he could force from himself, that he would have
for her all the respect, esteem, and friendship that he
was capable of paying ; that he had a real compassion
for her : and at last she prevailed so far with him, by
her sighs and tears, as to own he had a tenderness for
her, and that he could not behold so many charms,
without being sensibly touched by them, and finding
all those effects, that a maid so fair and young causes
in the souls of men of youth and sense. But that, as
he was assured, he could never be so happy to marry
her, and as certain he could not grant anything but
honourable passion, he humbly besought her not to
expect more from him than such. And then began
to tell her how short life was, and transitory its joys ;
how soon she would grow weary of vice, and how
often change to find real repose in it, but never arrive
to it. He made an end, by new assurance of his
eternal friendship, but utterly forbad her to hope.
Behold her now denied, refused and defeated, with
all her pleading youth, beauty, tears, and knees,
imploring, as she lay, holding fast his scapular, and
embracing his feet. What shall she do ? She swells
with pride, love, indignation and desire ; her burning
heart is bursting with despair, her eyes grow fierce,
and from grief she rises to a storm ; and in her agony
of passion, with looks all disdainful, haughty, and full
104 THE FAIR JILT
of rage, she began to revile him, as the poorest of
animals; tells him his soul was dwindled to the
meanness of his habit, and his vows of poverty, were
suited to his degenerate mind. ' And,' said she,
' since all my nobler ways have failed me ; and that,
for a little hypocritical devotion, you resolve to lose
the greatest blessings of life, and to sacrifice me to
your religious pride and vanity, I will either force you
to abandon that dull dissimulation, or you shall die,
to prove your sanctity real. Therefore answer me
immediately, answer my flame, my raging fire, which
your eyes have kindled ; or here, in this very moment,
I will ruin thee ; and make no scruple of revenging
the pains I suffer, by that which shall take away your
life and honour.'
The trembling young man, who, all this while, with
extreme anguish of mind, and fear of the dire result,
had listened to her ravings, full of dread, demanded
what she would have him do ? When she replied,
' Do what thy youth and beauty were ordained to do:
this place is private, a sacred silence reigns here, and
no one dares to pry into the secrets of this holy place.
We are as secure from fears of interruption, as in
deserts uninhabited, or caves forsaken by wild beasts.
The tapers too shall veil their lights, and only that
glimmering lamp shall be witness of our dear stealths
of love. Come to my arms, my trembling, longing
arms : and curse the folly of thy bigotry, that has
made thee so long lose a blessing, for which so many
princes sigh in vain.'
At these words she rose from his feet, and snatch-
ing him in her arms, he could not defend himself
from receiving a thousand kisses from the lovely
mouth of the charming wanton ; after which, she ran
herself, and in an instant put out the candles. But he
cried to her, ' In vain, O too indiscreet fair one, in
vain you put out the light ! for Heaven still has eyes,
and will look down upon my broken vows. I own
your power, I own I have all the sense in the world of
THE FAIR JILT 105
your charming touches ; I am frail flesh and blood,
but yet yet I can resist; and I prefer my
vows to all your powerful temptations. I will be deaf
and blind, and guard my heart with walls of ice, and
make you know, that when the flames of true devo-
tion are kindled in a heart, it puts out all other fires ;
which are as ineffectual, as candles lighted in the face
of the sun. Go, vain wanton, and repent, and mortify
that blood which has so shamefully betrayed thee,
and which will one day ruin both thy soul and body.'
At these words, Miranda, more enraged, the nearer
she imagined herself to happiness, made no reply; but
throwing herself, in that instant, into the confessing-
chair, and violently pulling the young friar into her
lap, she elevated her voice to such a degree, in crying
out, ' Help, help ! A rape ! Help, help ! ' that she
was heard all over the church, which was full of
people at the evening's devotion ; who flocked about
the door of the sacristy, which was shut with a spring-
lock on the inside, but they durst not open the door.
It is easily to be imagined in what condition our
young friar was, at this last devilish stratagem of his
wicked mistress. He strove to break from those
arms that held him so fast ; and his bustling to get
away, and hers to retain him, disordered her hair and
habit to such a degree, as gave the more credit to her
false accusation.
The fathers had a door on the other side, by which
they usually entered, to dress in this little room ; and
at the report that was in an instant made them, they
hasted thither, and found Miranda and the good
Father very indecently struggling ; which they mis-
interpreted, as Miranda desired ; who, all in tears,
immediately threw herself at the feet of the Pro-
vincial, who was one of those that entered ; and
cried, ' O holy father ! revenge an innocent maid,
undone and lost to fame and honour, by that vile
monster, born of goats, nursed by tigers, and bred up
on savage mountains, where humanity and religion
io6 THE FAIR JILT
are strangers. For, O holy father, could it have
entered into the heart of man, to have done so bar-
barous and horrid a deed, as to attempt the virgin-
honour of an unspotted maid, and one of my degree,
even in the moment of my confession, in that holy
time, when I was prostrate before him and heaven,
confessing those sins that pressed my tender con-
science, even then to load my soul with the blackest
of infamies, to add to my number a weight that must
sink me to hell ? Alas ! under the security of his
innocent looks, his holy habit, and his awful function,
I was led into this room to make my confession ;
where, he locking the door, I had no sooner began,
but he gazing on me, took fire at my fatal beauty ;
and starting up, put out the candles and caught me
in his arms ; and raising me from the pavement, set
me in the confession-chair ; and then Oh, spare
me the rest.'
With that a shower of tears burst from her fair
dissembling eyes, and sobs so naturally acted, and so
well managed, as left no doubt upon the good men,
but all she had spoken was truth.
' At first,' proceeded she, ' I was unwilling to bring
so great a scandal on his Order, as to cry out ; but
struggled as long as I had breath ; pleaded the
heinousness of the crime, urging my quality, and the
danger of the attempt. But he, deaf as the winds,
and ruffling as a storm, pursued his wild design with
so much force and insolence, as I at last, unable to
resist, was wholly vanquished, robbed of my native
purity. With what life and breath I had, I called for
assistance, both from men and heaven ; but oh, alas !
your succours came too late. You find me here a
wretched, undone, and ravished maid. Revenge me,
fathers ; revenge me on the perfidious hypocrite, or
else give me a death that may secure your cruelty
and injustice from ever being proclaimed over the
world ; or my tongue will be eternally reproaching
you, and cursing the wicked author of my infamy.'
THE FAIR JILT 107
She ended as she began, with a thousand sighs and
tears ; and received from the Provincial all assurances
of revenge.
The innocent betrayed victim, all the while she was
speaking, heard her with an astonishment that may
easily be imagined ; yet showed no extravagant
signs of it, as those would do, who feign it, to be
thought innocent ; but being really so, he bore with
a humble, modest, and blushing countenance, all her
accusations; which silent shame they mistook for
evident signs of his guilt.
When the Provincial demanded, with an unwonted
severity in his eyes and voice, what he could answer
for himself? calling him profaner of his sacred vows,
and infamy to the Holy Order ; the injured, but
innocently accused, only replied : ' May Heaven for-
give that bad woman, and bring her to repentance ! '
For his part, he was not so much in love with life, as
to use many arguments to justify his innocence;
unless it were to free that Order from a scandal, of
which he had the honour to be professed. But as for
himself, life or death were things indifferent to him,
who heartily despised the world.
He said no more, and suffered himself to be led
before the magistrate ; who committed him to prison,
upon the accusation of this implacable beauty ; who,
with so much feigned sorrow, prosecuted the matter,
even to his trial and condemnation ; where he refused
to make any great defence for himself. But being
daily visited by all the religious, both of his own and
other Orders, they obliged him (some of them know-
ing the austerity of his life, others his cause of griefs
that first brought him into Orders, and others pre-
tending a nearer knowledge, even of his soul itself)
to stand upon his justification, and discover what he
knew of that wicked woman; whose life had not
been so exemplary for virtue, not to have given the
world a thousand suspicions of her lewdness and
prostitutions.
io8 THE FAIR JILT
The daily importunities of these fathers made
him produce her letters. But as he had all the gown-
men on his side, she had all the hats and feathers on
hers ; all the men of quality taking her part, and all
the church-men his. They heard his daily protesta-
tions and vows, but not a word of what passed at
confession was yet discovered. He held that as a
secret sacred on his part ; and what was said in
nature of a confession, was not to be revealed, though
his life depended on the discovery. But as to the
letters, they were forced from him, and exposed ;
however, matters were carried with so high a hand
against him, that they served for no proof at all of
his innocence, and he was at last condemned to be
burned at the market-place.
After his sentence was passed, the whole body of
priests made their addresses to the Marquis Castel
Roderigo, the then Governor of Flanders, for a re-
prieve ; which, after much ado, was granted him for
some weeks, but with an absolute denial of pardon.
So prevailing were the young cavaliers of his Court,
who were all adorers of this fair jilt.
About this time, while the poor innocent young
Henrick was thus languishing in prison, in a dark
and dismal dungeon, and Miranda, cured of her love,
was triumphing in her revenge, expecting and daily
giving new conquests : and who, by this time, had re-
assumed all her wonted gaiety ; there was a great
noise about the town, that a Prince of mighty name,
and famed for all the excellences of his sex, was
arrived ; a Prince young, and gloriously attended,
called Prince Tarquin.
We had often heard of this great man, and that
he was making his travels in France and Germany.
And we had also heard, that some years before, he
being about eighteen years of age, in the time when
our King Charles, of blessed memory, was in Brussels,
in the last year of his banishment, that all on a-sudden,
this young man rose up upon them like the sun all
THE FAIR JILT 109
glorious and dazzling, demanding place of all the
princes in that Court. And when his pretence was
demanded, he owned himself Prince Tarquin, of the
race of the last Kings of Rome, made good his title,
and took his place accordingly. After that he
travelled for about six years up and down the world,
and then arrived at Antwerp, about the time of my
being sent thither by King Charles.
Perhaps there could be nothing seen so magnificent
as this Prince. He was, as I said, extremely hand-
some, from head to foot exactly formed, and he
wanted nothing that might adorn that native beauty
to the best advantage. His parts were suitable to
the rest He had an accomplishment fit for a Prince,
an air haughty, but a carriage affable, easy in con-
versation, and very entertaining, liberal and good-
natured, brave and inoffensive. I have seen him pass
the streets with twelve footmen, and four pages ; the
pages all in green velvet coats laced with gold, and
white velvet tunics ; the men in cloth, richly laced
with gold ; his coaches, and all other officers suitable
to a great man.
He was all the discourse of the town ; some laugh-
ing at his title, others reverencing it. Some cried
that he was an impostor ; others, that he had made
his title as plain, as if Tarquin had reigned but a
year ago. Some made friendships with him, others
would have nothing to say to him. But all wondered
where his revenue was, that supported this grandeur ;
and believed, though he could make his descent from
the Roman kings very well out, that he could not
lay so good a claim to the Roman land. Thus every-
body meddled with what they had nothing to do ;
and, as in other places, thought themselves on the
surer side, if, in these doubtful cases, they imagined
the worst.
But the men might be of what opinion they pleased
concerning him ; the ladies were all agreed that he
was a prince, and a young handsome prince, and a
no THE FAIR JILT
prince not to be resisted. He had all their wishes, all
their eyes, and all their hearts. They now dressed
only for him ; and what church he graced, was sure,
that day, to have the beauties, and all that thought
themselves so.
You may believe, our amorous Miranda was not
the least conquest he made. She no sooner heard of
him, which was as soon as he arrived, but she fell
in love with his very name. ' Jesu ! A young King
of Rome ! ' Oh, it was so novel, that she doted on
the title ; and had not cared whether the rest had
been man or monkey almost. She was resolved
to be the Lucretia that this young Tarquin should
ravish.
To this end, she was no sooner up the next day,
but she sent him a billet doux, assuring him how
much she admired his fame ; and that being a
stranger in the town, she begged the honour of intro-
ducing him to all the belle conversations, etc., which
he took for the invitation of some coquette, who had
interest in fair ladies ; and civilly returned her an
answer, that he would wait on her. She had him
that day watched to church ; and impatient to see
what she heard so many people flock to see, she went
also to the same church ; those sanctified abodes
being too often profaned by such devotees, whose busi-
ness is to ogle and ensnare.
But what a noise and humming was heard all over
the church, when Tarquin entered ! His grace, his
mien, his fashion, his beauty, his dress, and his equip-
age, surprised all that were present. And by the
good management and care of Miranda, she got to
kneel at the side of the altar, just over against the
Prince, so that, if he would, he could not avoid look-
ing full upon her. She had turned up her veil, and all
her face and shape appeared such, and so enchanting,
as I have described ; and her beauty heightened with
blushes, and her eyes full of spirit and fire, with joy,
to find the young Roman monarch so charming, she
THE FAIR JILT in
appeared like something more than mortal, and com-
pelled his eyes to a fixed gazing on her face ; she
never glanced his way, but she met them ; and then
would feign so modest a shame, and cast her eyes
downwards with such inviting art, that he was wholly
ravished and charmed, and she overjoyed to find he
was so.
The ceremony being ended, he sent a page to
follow that lady home, himself pursuing her to the
door of the church, where he took some holy water,
and threw upon her, and made her a profound rever-
ence. She forced an innocent look, and a modest
gratitude in her face, and bowed, and passed forward,
half assured of her conquest ; leaving her, to go
home to his lodging, and impatiently wait the return
of his page. And all the ladies who saw this first
beginning between the Prince and Miranda, began to
curse and envy her charms, who had deprived them
of half their hopes.
After this, I need not tell you, he made Miranda a
visit ; and from that day never left her apartment, but
when he went home at nights, or unless he had
business; so entirely was he conquered by this fair
one. But the Bishop, and several men of quality, in
Orders, that professed friendship to him, advised him
from her company ; and spoke several things to him,
that might (if love had not made him blind) have
reclaimed him from the pursuit of his ruin. But
whatever they trusted him with, she had the art to
wind herself about his heart, and make him unravel
all his secrets ; and then knew as well, by feigned
sighs and tears, to make him disbelieve all ; so that
he had no faith but for her ; and was wholly en-
chanted and bewitched by her. At last, in spite of
all that would have opposed it, he married this
famous woman, possessed by so many great men and
strangers before, while all the world was pitying his
shame and misfortunes.
Being married, they took a great house; and as
ii2 THE FAIR JILT
she was indeed a great fortune, and now a great
princess, there was nothing wanting that was agree-
able to their quality; all was splendid and magni-
ficent. But all this would not acquire them the
world's esteem ; they had an abhorrence for her
former life, and despised her ; and for his espousing
a woman so infamous, they despised him. So that
though they admired, and gazed upon their equipage,
and glorious dress, they foresaw the ruin that attended
it, and paid her quality little respect.
She was no sooner married, but her uncle died ;
and dividing his fortune between Miranda and her
sister, leaves the young heiress, and all her fortune,
entirely in the hands of the Princess.
We will call this sister Alcidiana ; she was about
fourteen years of age, and now had chosen her
brother, the Prince, for her guardian. If Alcidiana
were not altogether so great a beauty as her sister,
she had charms sufficient to procure her a great many
lovers, though her fortune had not been so consider-
able as it was ; but with that addition, you may
believe, she wanted no courtships from those of the
best quality ; though everybody deplored her being
under the tutorage of a lady so expert in all the vices
of her sex, and so cunning a manager of sin, as was
the Princess ; who, on her part, failed not, by all the
caresses, and obliging endearments, to engage the
mind of this young maid, and to subdue her wholly
to her government. All her senses were eternally
regaled with the most bewitching pleasures they were
capable of. She saw nothing but glory and magni-
ficence, heard nothing but music of the sweetest
sounds ; the richest perfumes employed her smelling ;
and all she ate and touched was delicate and inviting ;
and being too young to consider how this state and
grandeur was to be continued, little imagined her
vast fortune was every day diminishing, towards its
needless support.
When the Princess went to church, she had her
THE FAIR JILT 113
gentleman bare before her, carrying a great velvet
cushion, with great golden tassels, for her to kneel
on, and her train borne up a most prodigious length,
led by a gentleman usher, bare; followed by in-
numerable footmen, pages, and women. And in this
state she would walk in the streets, as in those
countries it is the fashion for the great ladies to do,
who are well ; and in her train two or three coaches,
and perhaps a rich velvet chair embroidered, would
follow in state.
It was thus for some time they lived, and the
Princess was daily pressed by young sighing lovers,
for her consent to marry Alcidiana ; but she had still
one art or other to put them off, and so continually
broke all the great matches that were proposed to
her, notwithstanding their kindred and other friends
had industriously endeavoured to make several great
matches for her ; but the Princess was still positive
in her denial, and one way or other broke all. At
last it happened, there was one proposed, yet more
advantageous, a young count, with whom the young
maid grew passionately in love, and besought her
sister to consent that she might have him, and got
the Prince to speak in her behalf; but he had no
sooner heard the secret reasons Miranda gave him,
but (entirely her slave) he changed his mind, and
suited it to hers, and she, as before, broke off that
amour : which so extremely incensed Alcidiana, that
she, taking an opportunity, got from her guard, and
ran away, putting herself into the hands of a wealthy
merchant, her kinsman, and one who bore the greatest
authority in the city ; him she chose for her guardian,
resolving to be no longer a slave to the tyranny of
her sister. And so well she ordered matters, that she
writ to this young cavalier, her last lover, and re-
trieved him ; who came back to Antwerp again, to
renew his courtship.
Both parties being agreed, it was no hard matter
to persuade all but the Princess. But though she
i
ii4 THE FAIR JILT
opposed it, it was resolved on, and the day appointed
for marriage, and the portion demanded ; demanded
only, but never to be paid, the best part of it being
spent However, she put them off from day to day,
by a thousand frivolous delays; and when she saw
they would have recourse to force, and that all her
magnificence would be at an end, if the law should
prevail against her; and that without this sister's
fortune, she could not long support her grandeur ;
she bethought herself of a means to make it all her
own, by getting her sister made away ; but she being
out of her tuition, she was not able to accomplish so
great a deed of darkness. But since it was resolved
it must be done, she contrives a thousand stratagems ;
and at last pitches upon an effectual one.
She had a page called Van Brune, a youth of great
address and wit, and one she had long managed for
her purpose. This youth was about seventeen years
of age, and extremely beautiful ; and in the time
when Alcidiana lived with the Princess, she was a
little in love with this handsome boy; but it was
checked in its infancy, and never grew up to a flame.
Nevertheless, Alcidiana retained still a sort of tender-
ness for him, while he burned in good earnest with
love for the Princess.
The Princess one day ordering this page to wait
on her in her closet, she shut the door ; and after a
thousand questions of what he would undertake to
serve her, the amorous boy finding himself alone,
and caressed by the fair person he adored, with joy-
ful blushes that beautified his face, told her ' There
was nothing upon earth he would not do, to obey
her least commands.' She grew more familiar with
him, to oblige him ; and seeing love dance in his
eyes, of which she was so good a judge, she treated
him more like a lover, than a servant ; till at last the
ravished youth, wholly transported out of himself,
fell at her feet, and impatiently implored to receive
her commands quickly, that he might fly to execute
THE FAIR JILT 115
them; for he was not able to bear her charming
words, looks, and touches, and retain his duty. At
this she smiled, and told him, the work was of such
a nature, as would mortify all flames about him ; and
he would have more need of rage, envy, and malice,
than the aids of a passion so soft as what she now
found him capable of. He assured her, he would
stick at nothing, though even against his nature,
to recompense for the boldness he now, through his
indiscretion, had discovered. She smiling, told him,
he had committed no fault ; and that possibly, the
pay he should receive for the service she required at
his hands, should be what he most wished for in the
world. At this he bowed to the earth ; and kissing
her feet, bade her command. And then she boldly
told him, it was to kill her sister Alcidiana. The
youth, without so much as starting or pausing upon
the matter, told her, it should be done ; and bowing
low, immediately went out of the closet. She called
him back, and would have given him some instruc-
tion ; but he refused it, and said, ' The action and the
contrivance should be all his own.' And offering to
go again, she again recalled him ; putting into his
hand a purse of a hundred pistoles, which he took,
and with a low bow departed.
He no sooner left her presence, but he goes directly,
and buys a dose of poison, and went immediately to
the house where Alcidiana lived ; where desiring to
be brought to her presence, he fell a-weeping ; and
told her, his lady had fallen out with him, and dis-
missed him her service ; and since from a child he
had been brought up in the family, he humbly
besought Alcidiana to receive him into hers, she
being in a few days to be married. There needed not
much entreaty to a thing that pleased her so well,
and she immediately received him to pension. And
he waited some days on her, before he could get an
opportunity to administer his devilish potion. But
one night, when she drank wine with roasted apples,
ii6 THE FAIR JILT
which was usual with her ; instead of sugar, or with
the sugar, the baneful drug was mixed, and she drank
it down.
About this time, there was a great talk of this
page's coming from one sister, to go to the other.
And Prince Tarquin, who was ignorant of the de-
sign from the beginning to the end, hearing some
men of quality at his table speaking of Van Brune's
change of place (the Princess then keeping her
chamber upon some trifling indisposition), he
answered, ' That surely they were mistaken, that
he was not dismissed from the Princess's service ' :
and calling some of his servants, he asked for Van
Brune; and whether anything had happened be-
tween her Highness and him, that had occasioned
his being turned off. They all seemed ignorant of
this matter ; and those who had spoken of it, began
to fancy there was some juggle in the case, which
time would bring to light.
The ensuing day it was all about the town, that
Alcidiana was poisoned ; and though not dead, yet
very near it ; and that the doctors said, she had taken
mercury. So that there was never so formidable a
sight as this fair young creature ; her head and body
swollen, her eyes starting out, her face black, and all
deformed. So that diligent search was made, who it
should be that did this ; who gave her drink and
meat. The cook and butler were examined, the foot-
men called to account; but all concluded, she re-
ceived nothing but from the hand of her new page,
since he came into her service. He was examined,
and showed a thousand guilty looks. And the
apothecary, then attending among the doctors, proved
he had bought mercury of him three or four days be-
fore ; which he could not deny ; and making many
excuses for his buying it, betrayed him the more ; so
ill he chanced to dissemble. He was immediately
sent to be examined by the Margrave or Justice, who
made his Mittimus, and sent him to prison.
THE FAIR JILT 117
It is easy to imagine, in what fears and confusion
the Princess was at this news. She took her chamber
upon it, more to hide her guilty face, than for any
indisposition. And the doctors applied such remedies
to Alcidiana, such antidotes against the poison, that
in a short time she recovered ; but lost the finest hair
in the world, and the complexion of her face ever
after.
It was not long before the trials for criminals came
on ; and the day being arrived, Van Brune was tried
the first of all ; everybody having already read his
destiny, according as they wished it; and none would
believe, but just indeed as it was. So that for the
revenge they hoped to see fall upon the Princess,
every one wished he might find no mercy, that she
might share of his shame and misery.
The sessions -house was filled that day with all
the ladies, and chief of the town, to hear the result
of his trial ; and the sad youth was brought, loaded
with chains, and pale as death ; where every circum-
stance being sufficiently proved against him, and he
making but a weak defence for himself, he was
convicted, and sent back to prison, to receive his
sentence of death on the morrow ; where he owned
all, and who set him on to do it. He owned it was
not reward of gain he did it for, but hope he should
command at his pleasure the possession of his
mistress, the Princess, who should deny him nothing,
after having entrusted him with so great a secret ;
and that besides, she had elevated him with the
promise of that glorious reward, and had dazzled his
young heart with so charming a prospect, that blind
and mad with joy, he rushed forward to gain the
desired prize, and thought on nothing but his coming
happiness. That he saw too late the follies of his
presumptuous flame, and cursed the deluding flatteries
of the fair hypocrite, who had soothed him to his
undoing. That he was a miserable victim to her
wickedness; and hoped he should warn all young
Ii8 THE FAIR JILT
men, by his fall, to avoid the dissimulation of the
deceiving fair. That he hoped they would have pity
on his youth, and attribute his crime to the subtle
persuasions alone of his mistress the Princess : and
that since Alcidiana was not dead, they would grant
him mercy, and permit him to live to repent of his
grievous crime, in some part of the world, whither
they might banish him.
He ended with tears, that fell in abundance from
his eyes; and immediately the Princess was appre-
hended, and brought to prison, to the same prison
where yet the poor young Father Francisco was
languishing, he having been from week to week re-
prieved, by the intercession of the fathers; and
possibly she there had time to make some reflections.
You may imagine Tarquin left no means un-
essayed, to prevent the imprisonment of the Princess,
and the public shame and infamy she was likely to
undergo in this affair. But the whole city being
overjoyed that she should be punished, as an author
of all this mischief, were generally bent against her,
both priests, magistrates and people ; the whole force
of the stream running that way, she found no more
favour than the meanest criminal. The Prince there-
fore, when he saw it was impossible to rescue her
from the hands of justice, suffered with grief un-
speakable, what he could not prevent, and led her
himself to the prison, followed by all his people,
in as much state as if he had been going to his
marriage ; where, when she came, she was as well-
attended and served as before, he never stirring one
moment from her.
The next day she was tried in open and common
court ; where she, appeared in glory, led by Tarquin,
and attended according to her quality. And she
could not deny all the page had alleged against her,
who was brought thither also in chains ; and after a
great many circumstances, she was found guilty, and
both received sentence ; the page to be hanged till he
THE FAIR JILT 119
was dead, on a gibbet in the market-place; and the
Princess to stand under the gibbet, with a rope about
her neck, the other end of which was to be fastened
to the gibbet where the page was hanging ; and to
have an inscription, in large characters, upon her back
and breast, of the cause why ; where she was to stand
from ten in the morning to twelve.
This sentence, the people with one accord, believed
too favourable for so ill a woman, whose crimes
deserved death, equal to that of Van Brune. Never-
theless, there were some who said, it was infinitely
more severe than death itself.
The following Friday was the day of execution,
and one need not tell of the abundance of people,
who were flocked together in the market-place. And
all the windows were taken down, and filled with
spectators, and the tops of houses ; when at the hour
appointed, the fatal beauty appeared. She was
dressed in a black velvet gown, with a rich row of
diamonds all down the fore-part of her breast, and a
great knot of diamonds at the peak behind ; and a
petticoat of flowered gold, very rich, and laced ; with
all things else suitable. A gentleman carried her great
velvet cushion before her, on which her prayer-book,
embroidered, was laid ; her train was borne up by
a page, and the Prince led her, bare; followed by
his footmen, pages, and other officers of his house.
When they arrived at the place of execution, the
cushion was laid on the ground, upon a Portugal mat,
spread there for that purpose; and the Princess stood
on the cushion, with her prayer-book in her hand,
and a priest by her side ; and was accordingly tied
up to the gibbet.
She had not stood there ten minutes, but she had
the mortification (at least one would think it so to her)
to see her sad page, Van Brune, approach, fair as an
angel, but languishing and pale. That sight moved
all the beholders with as much pity, as that of the
Princess did with disdain and pleasure,
120 THE FAIR JILT
He was dressed all in mourning, and very fine
linen, bare-headed, with his own hair, the fairest that
could be seen, hanging all in curls on his back and
shoulders, very long. He had a prayer-book of black
velvet in his hand, and behaved himself with much
penitence and devotion.
When he came under the gibbet, he seeing his
mistress in that condition, showed an infinite concern,
and his fair face was covered over with blushes ; and
falling at her feet, he humbly asked her pardon for
having been the occasion of so great an infamy to
her, by a weak confession, which the fears of youth,
and hopes of life, had obliged him to make, so greatly
to her dishonour ; for indeed he wanted that manly
strength, to bear the efforts of dying, as he ought, in
silence, rather than of committing so great a crime
against his duty, and honour itself; and that he could
not die in peace, unless she would forgive him. The
Princess only nodded her head, and cried, ' I do.'
And after having spoken a little to his father-
confessor, who was with him, he cheerfully mounted
the ladder, and in sight of the Princess he was turned
off, while a loud cry was heard through all the market-
place, especially from the fair sex ; he hanged there
till the time the Princess was to depart; and then she
was put into a rich embroidered chair, and carried
away, Tarquin going into his, for he had all that time
stood supporting the Princess under the gallows, and
was very weary. She was sent back, till her release-
ment came, which was that night about seven o'clock ;
and then she was conducted to her own house in
great state, with a dozen white wax flambeaux about
her chain
If the guardian of Alcidiana, and her friends, before
were impatient of having the portion out of the hands
of these extravagants, it is not to be imagined but
they were now much more so ; and the next day they
sent an officer, according to law, to demand it, or to
summon the Prince to give reasons why he would not
THE FAIR JILT 121
pay it. The officer received for answer, that the
money should be called in, and paid in such a time,
setting a certain time, which I have not been so
curious as to retain, or put in my journal-observations ;
but I am sure it was not long, as may be easily
imagined, for they every moment suspected the Prince
would pack up, and be gone, some time or other, on
the sudden ; and for that reason they would not trust
him without bail, or two officers to remain in his
house, to watch that nothing should be removed or
touched. As for bail, or security, he could give none ;
every one slunk their heads out of the collar, when it
came to that. So that he was obliged, at his own
expense, to maintain officers in his house.
The Princess finding herself reduced to the last
extremity, and that she must either produce the value
of a hundred thousand crowns, or see the Prince her
husband lodged for ever in a prison, and all their
glory vanish ; and that it was impossible to fly, since
guarded ; she had recourse to an extremity, worse
than the affair of Van Brune. And in order to this,
she first puts on a world of sorrow and concern, for
what she feared might arrive to the Prince. And
indeed, if ever she shed tears which she did not dis-
semble, it was upon this occasion. But here she
almost over-acted. She stirred not from her bed, and
refused to eat, or sleep, or see the light ; so that the
day being shut out of her chamber, she lived by wax-
lights, and refused all comfort and consolation.
The Prince, all raving with love, tender compassion
and grief, never stirred from her bedside, nor ceased
to implore, that she would suffer herself to live. But
she, who was not now so passionately in love with
Tarquin, as she was with the Prince ; nor so fond of
the man as his titles, and of glory, foresaw the total
ruin of the last, if not prevented by avoiding the pay-
ment of this great sum ; which could not otherwise
be, than by the death of Alcidiana. And therefore,
without ceasing, she wept, and cried out, ' She could
122 THE FAIR JILT
not live, unless Alcidiana died. This Alcidiana,'
continued she, 'who has been the author of my
shame ; who has exposed me under a gibbet, in the
public market-place ! Oh ! I am deaf to all reason,
blind to natural affection. I renounce her, I hate her
as my mortal foe, my stop to glory, and the finisher
of my days, ere half my race of life be run.'
Then throwing her false, but snowy charming arms
about the neck of her heart-breaking lord and lover,
who lay sighing, and listening by her side, he was
charmed and bewitched into saying all things that
appeased her ; and lastly, told her, ' Alcidiana should
be no longer any obstacle to her repose ; but that, if
she would look up, and cast her eyes of sweetness
and love upon him, as heretofore ; forget her sorrow,
and redeem her lost health ; he would take what
measures she should propose to despatch this fatal
stop to her happiness, out of the way.'
These words failed not to make her caress him in
the most endearing manner that love and flattery
could invent ; and she kissed him to an oath, a solemn
oath, to perform what he had promised ; and he
vowed liberally. And she assumed in an instant her
good-humour, and suffered a supper to be prepared,
and did eat ; which in many days before she had not
done. So obstinate and powerful was she in dis-
sembling well.
The next thing to be considered was, which way
this deed was to be done ; for they doubted not, but
when it was done all the world would lay it upon the
Princess, as done by her command. But she urged,
suspicion was no proof ; and that they never put to
death any one, but when they had great and certain
evidence who were the offenders. She was sure of
her own constancy, that racks and tortures should
never get the secret from her breast ; and if he were
as confident on his part, there was no danger. Yet
this preparation she made towards laying the fact on
others, that she caused several letters to be wrote
THE FAIR JILT 123
from Germany, as from the relations of Van Brune,
who threatened Alcidiana with death, for depriving
their kinsman (who was a gentleman) of his life,
though he had not taken away hers. And it was
the report of the town, how this young maid was
threatened. And indeed, the death of the page had
so afflicted a great many, that Alcidiana had procured
herself abundance of enemies upon that account,
because she might have saved him if she had pleased ;
but, on the contrary, she was a spectator, and in full
health and vigour, at his execution. And people were
not so much concerned for her at this report, as they
would have been.
The Prince, who now had, by reasoning the matter
soberly with Miranda, found it absolutely necessary
to despatch Alcidiana, resolved himself, and with
his own hand, to execute it ; not daring to trust any
of his most favourite servants, though he had many,
who possibly would have obeyed him ; for they loved
him as he deserved, and so would all the world, had
he not been so purely deluded by this fair enchantress.
He therefore, as I said, resolved to keep this great
secret to himself ; and taking a pistol, charged well
with two bullets, he watched an opportunity to shoot
her as she should go out or into her house, or coach,
some evening.
To this end he waited several nights near her
lodgings, but still, either she went not out, or when
she returned, she was so guarded with friends, her
lover, and flambeaux, that he could not aim at her
without endangering the life of some other. But one
night above the rest, upon a Sunday, when he knew
she would be at the theatre, for she never missed that
day seeing the play, he waited at the corner of the
Stadt House, near the theatre, with his cloak cast
over his face, and a black periwig, all alone, with his
pistol ready cocked ; and remained not very long but
he saw her kinsman's coach come along ; it was almost
dark, day was just shutting up her beauties, and left
I2 4 THE FAIR JILT
such a light to govern the world, as served only just
to distinguish one object from another, and a con-
venient help to mischief. He saw alight out of the
coach only one young lady, the lover, and then the
destined victim ; which he (drawing near) knew rather
by her tongue than shape. The lady ran into the
play-house, and left Alcidiana to be conducted by
her lover into it, who led her to the door, and went to
give some order to the coachman ; so that the lover
was about twenty yards from Alcidiana ; when she
stood the fairest mark in the world, on the threshold
of the entrance of the theatre, there being many
coaches about the door, so that hers could not come
so near. Tarquin was resolved not to lose so fair an
opportunity, and advanced, but went behind the
coaches ; and when he came over against the door,
through a great booted velvet coach, that stood
between him and her, he shot ; and she having the
train of her gown and petticoat on her arm, in great
quantity, he missed her body, and shot through her
clothes, between her arm and her body. She, fright-
ened to find something hit her, and to see the smoke,
and hear the report of the pistol ; running in, cried, ' I
am shot, I am dead.'
This noise quickly alarmed her lover ; and all the
coachmen and footmen immediately ran, some one
way, and some another. One of them seeing a man
haste away in a cloak ; he being a lusty bold German,
stopped him ; and drawing upon him, bid him stand,
and deliver his pistol, or he would run him through.
Tarquin being surprised at the boldness of this
fellow to demand his pistol, as if he positively knew
him to be the murderer (for so he thought himself,
since he believed Alcidiana dead), had so much
presence of mind as to consider, if he suffered himself
to be taken, he should poorly die a public death ; and
therefore resolved upon one mischief more, to secure
himself from the first. And in the moment that the
German bade him deliver his pistol, he cried, ' Though
THE FAIR JILT 125
I have no pistol to deliver, I have a sword to chastise
thy insolence.' And throwing off his cloak, and
flinging his pistol from him, he drew, and wounded,
and disarmed the fellow.
This noise of swords brought everybody to the
place; and immediately the bruit ran, 'The murderer
was taken, the murderer was taken.' Yet none knew
which was he, nor as yet so much as the cause of the
quarrel between the two fighting men ; for it was now
darker than before. But at the noise of the murderer
being taken, the lover of Alcidiana, who by this time
found his lady unhurt, all but the trains of her gown
and petticoat, came running to the place, just as
Tarquin had disarmed the German, and was ready to
kill him ; when laying hold of his arm, they arrested
the stroke, and redeemed the footman.
They then demanded who this stranger was, at
whose mercy the fellow lay ; but the Prince, who now
found himself venturing for his last stake, made no
reply ; but with two swords in his hands went to fight
his way through the rabble. And though there were
above a hundred persons, some with swords, others
with long whips (as coachmen), so invincible was the
courage of this poor unfortunate gentleman at that
time, that all these were not able to seize him ; but he
made his way through the ring that encompassed him,
and ran away ; but was, however, so closely pursued,
the company still gathering as they ran, that toiled
with fighting, oppressed with guilt, and fear of being
taken, he grew fainter and fainter, and suffered him-
self, at last, to yield to his pursuers, who soon found
him to be Prince Tarquin in disguise. And they
carried him directly to prison, being Sunday, to wait
the coming day, to go before a magistrate.
In an hour's time the whole fatal adventure was
carried all over the city, and every one knew that
Tarquin was the intended murderer of Alcidiana ;
and not one but had a real sorrow and compassion
for him. They heard how bravely he had defended
126 THE FAIR JILT
himself, how many he had wounded before he could
be taken, and what numbers he had fought through.
And even those that saw his valour and bravery, and
who had assisted at his being seized, now repented
from the bottom of their hearts their having any
hand in the ruin of so gallant a man ; especially since
they knew the lady was not hurt. A thousand ad-
dresses were made to her not to prosecute him ; but
her lover, a hot-headed fellow, more fierce than brave,
would by no means be pacified, but vowed to pursue
him to the scaffold.
The Monday came, and the Prince being examined,
confessed the matter of fact, since there was no harm
done ; believing a generous confession the best of his
game. But he was sent back to closer imprisonment,
loaded with irons, to expect the next sessions. All
his household goods were seized, and all they could
find, for the use of Alcidiana. And the Princess, all
in rage, tearing her hair, was carried to the same
prison, to behold the cruel effects of her hellish
designs.
One need not tell here how sad and horrid this
meeting appeared between her lord and her. Let it
suffice, it was the most melancholy and mortifying
object that ever eyes beheld. On Miranda's part, it
was sometimes all rage and fire, and sometimes all
tears and groans ; but still it was sad love, and
mournful tenderness on his. Nor could all his suffer-
ings, and the prospect of death itself, drive from his
soul one spark of that fire the obstinate god had
fatally kindled there. And in the midst of all his
sighs, he would recall himself, and cry, 'I have
Miranda still.'
He was eternally visited by his friends and ac-
quaintance ; and this last action of bravery had got
him more than all his former conduct had lost. The
fathers were perpetually with him ; and all joined
with one common voice in this, that he ought to
abandon a woman so wicked as the Princess ; and
THE FAIR JILT 127
that however fate dealt with him, he could not show
himself a true penitent, while he laid the author of
so much evil in his bosom : that heaven would never
bless him, till he had renounced her : and on such
conditions he would find those that would employ
their utmost interest to save his life, who else would
not stir in this affair. But he was so deaf to all, that
he could not so much as dissemble a repentance of
having married her.
He lay a long time in prison, and all that time the
poor Father Francisco remained there also. And
the good fathers who daily visited these two amorous
prisoners, the Prince and Princess ; and who found,
by the management of matters, it would go very hard
with Tarquin, entertained them often with holy
matters relating to the life to come ; from which,
before his trial, he gathered what his stars had ap-
pointed, and that he was destined to die.
This gave an unspeakable torment to the now re-
penting beauty, who had reduced him to it ; and she
began to appear with a more solid grief: which being
perceived by the good fathers, they resolved to
attack her on the yielding side ; and after some dis-
course upon the judgment for sin, they came to
reflect on the business of Father Francisco ; and told
her, she had never thriven since her accusing of that
father, and laid it very home to her conscience ;
assuring her that they would do their utmost in her
service, if she would confess that secret sin to all the
world, so that she might atone for the crime, by the
saving that good man. At first she seemed inclined
to yield ; but shame of being her own detector, in so
vile a matter, recalled her goodness, and she faintly
persisted in it.
At the end of six months, Prince Tarquin was
called to his trial ; where I will pass over the circum-
stances, which are only what is usual in such criminal
cases, and tell you, that he being found guilty of the
intent of killing Alcidiana, was condemned to lose his
128 THE FAIR JILT
head in the market-place, and the Princess to be
banished her country.
After sentence pronounced, to the real grief of all
the spectators, he was carried back to prison. And
now the fathers attack her anew ; and she, whose
griefs daily increased, with a languishment that
brought her very near her grave, at last confessed all
her life, all the lewdness of her practices with several
princes and great men, besides her lusts with people
that served her, and others in mean capacity : and
lastly, the whole truth of the young friar ; and how
she had drawn the page, and the Prince her husband,
to this designed murder of her sister. This she
signed with her hand, in the presence of the Prince,
her husband, and several holy men who were present.
Which being signified to the magistrates, the friar
was immediately delivered from his irons (where he
had languished more than two whole years) in great
triumph, with much honour, and lives a most exem-
plary pious life, as he did before ; for he is now living
in Antwerp.
After the condemnation of these two unfortunate
persons, who begot such different sentiments in the
minds of the people (the Prince, all the compassion
and pity imaginable ; and the Princess, all the con-
tempt and despite); they languished almost six
months longer in prison : so great an interest there
was made, in order to the saving his life, by all the
men of the robe. On the other side, the Princes, and
great men of all nations, who were at the Court of
Brussels, who bore a secret revenge in their hearts
against a man who had, as they pretended, set up a
false title, only to take place of them ; who indeed
was but a merchant's son of Holland, as they said ;
so incensed them against him, that they were too
hard at Court for the church-men. However, this
dispute gave the Prince his life some months longer
than was expected ; which gave him also some hope,
that a reprieve for ninety years would have been
THE FAIR JILT 129
granted, as was desired. Nay, Father Francisco so
interested himself in this concern, that he writ to his
father, and several princes of Germany, with whom
the Marquis Castel Roderigo was well acquainted, to
intercede with him for the saving of Tarquin ; since it
was more by his persuasions, than those of all who
attacked her, that made Miranda confess the truth of
her affair with him. But at the end of six months,
when all applications were found fruitless and vain,
the Prince received news, that in two days he was to
die, as his sentence had been before pronounced, and
for which he prepared himself with all cheerfulness.
On the following Friday, as soon as it was light,
all people of any condition came to take their leaves
of him ; and none departed with dry eyes, or hearts
unconcerned to the last degree. For Tarquin, when
he found his fate inevitable bore it with a fortitude
that showed no signs of regret ; but addressed him-
self to all about him with the same cheerful, modest,
and great air, he was wont to do in his most flourish-
ing fortune. His valet was dressing him all the
morning, so many interruptions they had by visitors ;
and he was all in mourning, and so were all his
followers ; for even to the last he kept up his gran-
deur, to the amazement of all people. And indeed,
he was so passionately beloved by them, that those he
had dismissed, served him voluntarily, and would not
be persuaded to abandon him while he lived.
The Princess was also dressed in mourning, and
her two women ; and notwithstanding the unheard-of
lewdness and villainies she had confessed of herself,
the Prince still adored her ; for she had still those
charms that made him first do so; nor, to his last
moment, could he be brought to wish, that he had
never seen her ; but on the contrary, as a man yet
vainly proud of his fetters, he said, ' All the satisfac-
tion this short moment of life could afford him, was,
that he died in endeavouring to serve Miranda, his
adorable Princess.'
130 THE FAIR JILT
After he had taken leave of all, who thought it
necessary to leave him to himself for some time, he
retired with his confessor ; where they were about an
hour in prayer, all the ceremonies of devotion that
were fit to be done, being already passed. At last the
bell tolled, and he was to take leave of the Princess,
as his last work of life, and the most hard he had to
accomplish. He threw himself at her feet, and gazing
on her as she sat more dead than alive, overwhelmed
with silent grief, they both remained some moments
speechless ; and then, as if one rising tide of tears
had supplied both their eyes, it burst out in streams
at the same instant : and when his sighs gave way,
he uttered a thousand farewells, so soft, so passionate,
and moving, that all who were by were extremely
touched with it, and said, that nothing could be seen
more deplorable and melancholy. A thousand times
they bade farewell, and still some tender look, or
word, would prevent his going ; then embrace, and
bid farewell again. A thousand times she asked his
pardon for being the occasion of that fatal separation ;
a thousand times assuring him, she would follow him,
for she could not live without him. And Heaven
knows when their soft and sad caresses would have
ended, had not the officers assured him it was time to
mount the scaffold. At which words the Princess fell
fainting in the arms of her women, and they led
Tarquin out of prison.
When he came to the market-place, whither he
walked on foot, followed by his own domestics, and
some bearing a black velvet coffin with silver hinges ;
the headsman before him with his fatal scimitar
drawn, his confessor by his side, and many gentlemen
and church-men, with Father Francisco attending
him, the people showering millions of blessings on
him, and beholding him with weeping eyes, he
mounted the scaffold ; which was strown with some
sawdust, about the place where he was to kneel, to
receive the blood. For they behead people kneeling,
THE FAIR JILT 131
and with the back-stroke of a scimitar ; and not lying
on a block, and with an axe, as we in England. The
scaffold had a low rail about it, that everybody might
more conveniently see. This was hung with black,
and all that state that such a death could have, was
here in most decent order.
He did not say much upon the scaffold. The sum
of what he said to his friends was, to be kind, and
take care of the poor penitent his wife, To others,
recommending his honest and generous servants,
whose fidelity was so well known and commended,
that they were soon promised preferment. He was
some time in prayer, and a very short time in speak-
ing to his confessor ; then he turned to the heads-
man, and desired him to do his office well, and gave
him twenty louis d'ors ; and undressing himself with
the help of his valet and page, he pulled off his coat,
and had underneath a white satin waistcoat. He
took off his periwig, and put on a white satin cap,
with a holland one done with point under it, which he
pulled over his eyes; then took a cheerful leave of
all, and kneeled down, and said, ' When he lifted up
his hands the third time, the headsman should do
his office.' Which accordingly was done, and the
headsman gave him his last stroke, and the Prince
fell on the scaffold. The people with one common
voice, as if it had been but one entire one, prayed for
his soul ; and murmurs of sighs were heard from the
whole multitude, who scrambled for some of the
bloody sawdust, to keep for his memory.
The headsman going to take up the head, as the
manner is, to show it to the people, he found he had
not struck it off, and that the body stirred ; with that
he stepped to an engine, which they always carry with
them, to force those who may be refractory ; think-
ing, as he said, to have twisted the head from the
shoulders, conceiving it to hang but by a small matter
of flesh. Though it was an odd shift of the fellow's,
yet it was done, and the best shift he could suddenly
132 THE FAIR JILT
propose. The Margrave, and another officer, old
men, were on the scaffold, with some of the Prince's
friends and servants ; who seeing the headsman put
the engine about the neck of the Prince, began to
call out, and the people made a great noise. The
Prince, who found himself yet alive ; or rather, who
was past thinking but had some sense of feeling left,
when the headsman took him up, and set his back
against the rail, and clapped the engine about his
neck, got his two thumbs between the rope and his
neck, feeling himself pressed there ; and struggling
between life and death, and bending himself over the
rail backward, while the headsman pulled forward,
he threw himself quite over the rail, by chance, and
not design, and fell upon the heads and shoulders of
the people, who were crying out with amazing shouts
of joy. The headsman leaped after him, but the
rabble had liked to have pulled him to pieces. All
the city was in an uproar, but none knew what the
matter was, but those who bore the body of the
Prince, whom they found yet living ; but how, or by
what strange miracle preserved, they knew not, nor
did examine ; but with one accord, as if the whole
crowd had been one body, and had but one motion,
they bore the Prince on their heads about a hundred
yards from the scaffold, where there is a monastery of
Jesuits ; and there they secured him. All this was
done, his beheading, his falling, and his being secured,
almost in a moment's time ; the people rejoicing, as
at some extraordinary victory won. One of the
officers being, as I said, an old timorous man, was so
frightened at the accident, the bustle, the noise, and
the confusion, of which he was wholly ignorant, that
he died with amazement and fear ; and the other was
fain to be let blood.
The officers of justice went to demand the prisoner,
but they demanded in vain ; the Jesuits had now
a right to protect him, and would do so. All his
overjoyed friends went to see in what condition he
THE FAIR JILT 133
was, and all of quality found admittance. They saw
him in bed, going to be dressed by the most skilful
surgeons, who yet could not assure him of life. They
desired nobody should speak to him, or ask him any
questions. They found that the headsman had
struck him too low, and had cut him into the
shoulder-bone. A very great wound, you may be
sure ; for the sword, in such executions, carries an
extreme force. However, so great care was taken on
all sides, and so greatly the fathers were concerned
for him, that they found an amendment, and hopes
of a good effect of their incomparable charity and
goodness.
At last, when he was permitted to speak, the first
news he asked was after the Princess. And his
friends were very much afflicted to find, that all his
loss of blood had not quenched that flame, nor let
out that which made him still love that bad woman.
He was solicited daily to think no more of her. And
all her crimes are laid so open to him, and so shame-
fully represented ; and on the other side, his virtues
so admired ; and which, they said, would have been
eternally celebrated, but for his folly with this
infamous creature ; that at last, by assuring him of
all their assistance if he abandoned her ; and to re-
nounce him, and deliver him up, if he did not ; they
wrought so far upon him, as to promise he would
suffer her to go alone into banishment, and would
not follow her, or live with her any more. But alas !
this was but his gratitude that compelled this com-
plaisance, for in his heart he resolved never to aban-
don her ; nor was he able to live, and think of doing
it. However, his reason assured him, he could not
do a deed more justifiable, and one that would regain
his fame sooner.
His friends asked him some questions concerning
his escape ; and since he was not beheaded, but only
wounded, why he did not immediately rise up. But
he replied, he was so absolutely prepossessed, that at
134 THE FAIR JILT
the third lifting up his hands he should receive the
stroke of death, that at the same instant the sword
touched him, he had no sense ; nay, not even of pain,
so absolutely dead he was with imagination ; and
knew not that he stirred, as the headsman found he
did ; nor did he remember anything, from the lifting
up of his hands, to his fall ; and then awakened, as
out of a dream, or rather a moment's sleep without
dream, he found he lived, and wondered what was
arrived to him, or how he came to live ; having not,
as yet, any sense of his wound, though so terrible
an one.
After this, Alcidiana, who was extremely afflicted
for having been the prosecutor of this great man ;
who, bating this last design against her, which she
knew was at the instigation of her sister, had obliged
her with all the civility imaginable ; now sought all
means possible of getting his pardon, and that of her
sister ; though of a hundred thousand crowns, which
she should have paid her, she could get but ten thou-
sand ; which was from the sale of her rich beds, and
some other furniture. So that the young Count, who
before should have married her, now went off for
want of fortune ; and a young merchant (perhaps the
best of the two) was the man to whom she was
destined.
At last, by great intercession, both their pardons
were obtained; and the Prince, who would be no
more seen in a place that had proved every way so
fatal to him, left Flanders, promising never to live
with the fair hypocrite more ; but ere he departed, he
wrote her a letter, wherein he ordered her, in a little
time, to follow him into Holland ; and left a bill of
exchange with one of his trusty servants, whom he
had left to wait upon her, for money for her accom-
modation ; so that she was now reduced to one
woman, one page, and this gentleman. The Prince,
in this time of his imprisonment, had several bills of
great sums from his father, who was exceeding rich,
THE FAIR JILT 135
and this all the children he had in the world, and
whom he tenderly loved.
As soon as Miranda was come into Holland, she
was welcomed with all imaginable respect and en-
dearment by the old father ; who was imposed upon
so, as that he knew not she was the fatal occasion of
all these disasters to his son ; but rather looked on
her as a woman, who had brought him a hundred
and fifty thousand crowns, which his misfortunes had
consumed. But, above all, she was received by Tar-
quin with a joy unspeakable ; who, after some time,
to redeem his credit, and gain himself a new fame,
put himself into the French army, where he did
wonders ; and after three campaigns, his father dying,
he returned home, and retired to a country-house :
where, with his Princess, he lived as a private gentle-
man, in all the tranquillity of a man of good fortune.
They say Miranda has been very penitent for her life
past, and gives Heaven the glory for having given
her these afflictions that have reclaimed her, and
brought her to as perfect a state of happiness, as this
troublesome world can afford.
Since I began this relation, I heard that Prince
Tarquin died about three-quarters of a year ago.
THE NUN
OR THE PERJURED 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 engaged in some love-intrigue or other.
One night as he was retreating from one of those
engagements, Don Sebastian, whose sister he had
abused 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, designed to have despatched
him on a doubtful embassy to the Almighty Monarch.
But he received their first instructions with better
address than they expected, and dismissed his envoy
first, killing one of Don Sebastian's friends. Which
so enraged the injured brother, that his strength and
resolution seemed to be redoubled, and so animated his
two surviving companions, that (doubtless) they had
gained a dishonourable victory, had not Don Antonio
accidentally come in to the rescue ; who after a
short dispute, killed one of the two who attacked him
only ; whilst Don Henrique, with the greatest diffi-
culty, defended his life, for some moments, against
Sebastian, whose rage deprived him of strength, and
gave his adversary the unwished advantage of his
seeming death, though not without bequeathing some
137
138 THE NUN
bloody legacies to Don Henrique. Antonio had re-
ceived but one slight wound in the left arm, and his
surviving antagonist none ; who however thought it
not advisable to begin a fresh dispute against two, of
whose courage he had but too fatal a proof, though
one of them was sufficiently disabled. The con-
querors on the other side, politicly retreated, and
quitting the field to the conquered, 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
preserved, told his companion in arms, that he
thought it indispensably necessary that he should
quarter with him that night for his further preserva-
tion. To which he prudently consented, and went,
with no little uneasiness, to his lodgings ; where he
surprised 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 un-
happy. And, undoubtedly, nothing but death, or
more fatal love, could have divided them. However,
at present, they were united and secure.
In the meantime, 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, seized the
fourth : who as he was about to justify himself, by
discovering one of the authors of so much bloodshed,
was interrupted by a groan from his supposed dead
friend Don Sebastian ; whom, after a brief account of
some part of the matter, and a 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, though
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. It was there they thought them-
selves most secure, where indeed they were in the
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 139
greatest danger ; for though (haply) they might there
have escaped the murderous attempt of Don Sebas-
tian 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
falsehood. It was more than a year since Don Antonio
had first seen and loved her. For it was impossible
any man should do one without the other. He had
had the unkind opportunity of speaking and convey-
ing a billet to her at church ; and to his greater mis-
fortune, the next time he found her there, he met with
too kind a return both from her eyes and from her
hand, which privately slipped 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 ; though 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 hers;
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 proved ineffectual ; however, he had
the good fortune not to be known, though once or
twice he narrowly escaped with life, bearing off his
wounds with difficulty. (Alas, that the wounds of
love should cause those of hate !) Upon which she
was strictly confined 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 under-
140 THE NUN
stood she still continued, at his return to Seville, with
Don Henrique, whom he acquainted with his in-
vincible passion for her; lamenting the severity of
her present circumstances, that admitted of no
prospect of relief; which caused 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 engaged, bethought
himself of an expedient that would undoubtedly
reward their endeavours. It was, 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 imagin-
able 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 indisposed, (as it is very probable she
was, with so close an imprisonment). Henrique re-
turned 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
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 141
saw her ; (ah ! would he had only seen her veiled !)
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 completing of their happi-
ness ; which nothing then could obstruct but herself.
But Henrique had seen her ; he had gazed, 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 wished so.
With this, and a short answer to his letter, Henrique
returned to the longing Antonio ; who, receiving the
paper with the greatest devotion, and kissing it with
the greatest zeal, opened 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 advised and desired me,
he shall have no less on me, who am
Yours entirely,
And only yours,
ARDELIA.
Having respectfully and tenderly kissed the name,
he could not choose but show the billet to his friend ;
who reading that part of it which concerned himself,
started and blushed : which Antonio observing, was
curious to know the cause of it. Henrique told him,
that he was surprised to find her express so little love,
after so long an absence. To which his friend replied
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
142 THE NUN
him of its continuance, since she subscribed herself
his entirely, and only his. How blind is love ! Don
Henrique knew how to make it bear another mean-
ing; which, however, he had the discretion to conceal.
Antonio, who was as real in his friendship, as constant
in his love, asked him what he thought of her beauty?
To which the other answered, that he thought it
irresistible to any, but to a soul prepossessed, and
nobly fortified 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/ replied Hen-
rique. ' Yes, yes,' returned 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 continued, ' 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 loved one another,
whether I could easier part with my friend, or my
mistress.' ' Though what you say is highly generous,
replied Henrique, ' yet give me leave to urge, that it
looks like a trial of friendship, and argues you inclin-
able to jealousy. But, pardon me, I know it to be
sincerely meant by you ; and must therefore own,
that it is the best, because it is the noblest way of
securing both your friend and mistress.' ' I need not
make use of any arts to secure me of either,' replied
Antonio, ' but expect to enjoy them both in a little
time.'
Henrique, who was a little uneasy with a discourse
of this nature, diverted it, by reflecting on what had
passed at Madrid, between them two and Don Sebas-
tian and his friends; which caused Antonio to bethink
himself of the danger to which he exposed his friend,
by appearing daily, though in disguise. For, doubt-
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 143
less, 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 blessed in
her love, Don Henrique had a long and fatal confer-
ence 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 steadfastly
fixed 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 anything hap-
pened, 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 un-
happily contributed to it ! ' ' No, madam,' replied 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 placed 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
exposed for your sake ; and what is more than all, to
my friend, whom you love more than any considera-
tion on earth.' ' And must this be done ? ' she asked.
' Is it inevitable as fate ? ' ' Fixed as the laws of
nature, madam,' replied he. ' Don't you find the
144 THE NUN
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 miser-
able confinement, than by any means disturb the
peace of your mind, or occasion one moment's inter-
ruption of your quiet.' ' Would to Heaven you did
not,' sighed he to himself. Then addressing his words
more distinctly to her, cried he, ' Ah, cruel ! ah,
unjust Ardelia ! these words belong to none but
Antonio ; why then would you endeavour to per-
suade me, that I do, or ever 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 blessed my soul, by cast-
ing me away from you to Antonio ! ' ' Ha,' cried he,
starting, ' what said you, madam ! What did Ardelia
say ? That I had blessed your soul with hopes !
That I would cast you away to Antonio ! Can they
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 145
who safely arrive in their wished-for port, be said to
be shipwrecked ? Or, can an abject indigent wretch
make a king? These are more than riddles, madam ;
and I must not think to expound them.' ' No,' said
she, ' let it alone, Don Henrique ; I'll ease you of that
trouble, and tell you plainly that I love you.' ' Ah,'
cried he, ' now all my fears are come upon me ! '
' How ! ' asked she, ' were you afraid I should love
you ? Is my love so dreadful then ? ' ' Yes, when
misplaced,' replied he; ' but it was your falsehood that
I feared. 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 engaged ;
strongly obliged 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, though his father killed my uncle.
Nay, perhaps,' continued she, ' I have a friendship for
him, but no more.' 'No more, said you, madam?'
cried he ; ' but tell me, did you never love him ? '
' Indeed I did,' replied 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,' returned Don Hen-
rique, 'my honour, my friendship forbids it.' 'No,'
she returned, ' your honour requires it ; and if your
friendship opposes your honour, it can have no sure
and solid foundation.' ' Female sophistry,' cried Hen-
rique : ' but you need no art nor artifice, Ardelia, to
make me love you. Love you ! ' pursued 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
paused, and then afresh proceeded thus,] 'You told
me, or my ears deceived me, that you loved me,
Ardelia.' ' I did,' she replied, ' and that I do love
you, is as true as that I told you so.' ' 'Tis well ; but
146 THE NUN
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 show 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 ! ' cried 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, ere yet she be my
bride.' ' I hope,' said she, ' my loving obedience may
merit your compassion ; and that at last, ere the fire
is lighted that must consume the offering, I mean the
marriage-tapers' (alluding to the old Roman cere-
mony) ' that you or some other pitying angel, will
snatch me from the altar.' ' Ah, no more, Ardelia !
say no more,' cried he, ' we must be cruel, to be just
to ourselves.' [Here their discourse ended, and they
walked into the house, where they found the good old
gentleman and his lady, with whom he stayed 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 though 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
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 147
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 dropped 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 pre-
ceded and threatened the thunder and tempest that
should fall on his head, I cannot positively say ; yet
all this she was then forced to endure, ere 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 loved 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
kissed, seconded with whole volleys of deaths crammed
in every sentence, pointed with the keenest affliction
that ever pierced 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 ! ' cried he, starting and staring wildly on her,
'What said you, madam? What said you, my Ardelia?'
1 If you like the repetition, take it ! ' replied she, un-
moved. ' Would to Heaven you were never like to
see me more ! ' ' Good ! very good ! ' cried 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 com-
mand, 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 aver-
sion I am, will have it so.' 'Oh, do not wrong me,
madam ! ' cried 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 mean-
148 THE NUN
ing ! for hitherto 'tis darkness all to me.' ' Attend,
therefore, with your best faculties/ pursued Ardelia,
1 and know, that I do most sincerely and most passion-
ately 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 herself 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.'
c And when I forfeit my just title to that,' interrupted
Don Henrique, ' may 1 be made most miserable !
May I lose the blessings of thy friendship ! May
I lose thee ! ' ' Say on then, Henrique,' cried Antonio,
1 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 stead-
fastly on Henrique, he stood like a statue, without
motion ; unless sometimes, when his swelling heart
raised his overcharged breast.] After a little pause,
and a hearty sigh or two, Henrique began : ' Oh,
Antonio ! Oh my friend ! prepare thyself to hear yet
more dreadful accents! I am,' pursued he, 'unhappily
the greatest and most innocent criminal that ere till
now offended : I love her, Antonio, I love Ardelia
with a passion strong and violent as thine ! Oh !
summon all that used 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.' ' Though there be wounds, horror, and
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 149
death in each syllable,' interrupted Antonio, 'yet
prithee now go on, but with all haste.' ' I will,' re-
turned Henrique, ' though 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 dis-
gusts? 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 loved her ! Then how should I, whose
thoughts are unisons to yours, evade those charms
that had prevailed 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,' cried 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 fare-
well of all the tastes of bliss from your Ardelia, at
this moment.' [At which words he kissed 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 caused there.]
' Be happy, Antonio,' cried 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
canst give Antonio ! Farewell to both ! ' added he,
going out. ' Ah,' cried she, ' farewell to all joys,
blessings, happiness, if you forsake me. Yet do not
go ! Ah, cruel ! ' continued she, seeing him quit the
room, ' but you shall take my soul with you.' Here
ISO THE NUN
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 atten-
dants, ere she could be perfectly recovered. In the
meanwhile Don Henrique had not the power to go
out of sight of the house, but wandered to and fro
about it, distracted in his soul ; and not being able
longer to refrain her sight, her last words still re-
sounding 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 amazed her slighted lover, that he
knew not, at first, how to proceed in this tormenting
scene ; but at last, summoning all his wonted resolu-
tion, 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
with 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 oppor-
tunity. 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, ha,d 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 palli-
ate 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
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 151
attendant, with her, without whom she had been at a
loss, among so many fair strangers ; strangers, I
mean, to her unhappy circumstances. Whilst they
were carried near a mile farther, where, just as it was
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 belonged to the convent. Here
Don Antonio told Don Henrique, that he had not
acted honourably ; that he had betrayed him, and
robbed him at once both of a friend and mistress. To
which the 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 yourself/ continued he,
'that I have kept my promise in delivering her to
you.' ' Yes,' cried Antonio, ' after you had practised
foully and basely on her.' 'Not at all!' returned
Henrique. ' It was her fate that brought this mis-
chief 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 asked. ' 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,' cried 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 ! Farewell ! Oh, haste ! '
1 Farewell ! ' returned Don Henrique, ' Farewell, thou
152 THE NUN
bravest, truest friend ! Farewell, thou noblest part of
me ! And farewell 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 danger-
ous 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 ordered them to drive him directly to
Don Richardo's with all imaginable speed ; where he
arrived 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 returned without his daughter, and so desperately
wounded. Before he thought it convenient to ask
him any question more than to inquire of his
daughter's safety, to which he received a short but
satisfactory answer, Don Richardo sent for an eminent
and able surgeon, who probed and dressed 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 ac-
count, 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
hardly made an end of his narration, ere 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 pre-
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 153
caution 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 un-
discovered, till his cure was perfected.
In the meantime Ardelia, who that fatal night but
too rightly guessed 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 cleared him-
self 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 con-
stancy; which added to her afflictions, and heightened
her distemper, insomuch that Richardo was con-
strained 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 enjoyed a perfect health of
body, her mind grew sick, and she plunged into a
deep melancholy ; which made her entertain a posi-
tive resolution of taking the veil at the end of her
novitiate ; which accordingly she did, notwithstanding
all the entreaties, prayers, and tears both of her father
and lover. But she soon repented her vow, and often
wished that she might by any means see and speak
to Don Henrique, by whose help she promised to her-
154 THE NUN
self a deliverance out of her voluntary imprisonment:
nor were his wishes wanting to the same effect, though
he was forced to fly into Italy, to avoid the prosecu-
tion of Antonio's friends. Thither she pursued 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 wandered 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 surprised 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 acci-
dentally one night as he was going his rounds, and
she coming out from Ardelia ; with her he prevailed,
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 con-
tinuance 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 com-
pleted 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 pursued 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 arrived, he went directly to the convent
where his sister Elvira had been one of the professed,
ever since Don Henrique had forsaken her, and where
Ardelia had taken her repented vow. Elvira had all
along concealed the occasion of her coming thither
from Ardelia ; and though she was her only confidant,
and knew the whole story of her misfortunes, and
heard the name of Don Henrique repeated a hundred
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 155
times a day, whom still she loved most perfectly, yet
never gave her beautiful rival any cause of suspicion
that she loved 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 herself, 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 remembered
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 passion-
ately in love with him, and continued 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 exceed-
ing 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 defaced 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 be-
twixt them. She had her wish, and more, if possible;
for he loved her beyond the thought of any other
present or future blessing, and failed not to let her
know it, at the second interview; when he received
the greatest pleasure he could have wished, 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
156 THE NUN
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
injured honour, and his resentments ; she opposed
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 herself
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 anything in this
world, by
Your injured 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 surprised with this
THE PERJURED BEAUTY 157
billet ; however, he could hardly resolve to forbear
his accustomed visits to Ardelia, at first. But upon
more mature consideration, he only chose to converse
with her by letters, which still pressed 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 returned 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 stirred from
that very place for a quarter of an hour before,
prepared 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 fastened, for her to descend on the
outside, 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 betrayed, but knew not by whom,
shrieked 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 mis-
guided his arm, for his sword went quite through
Ardelia' s body, who only said, ' Ah, wretched maid ! '
and dropped from Henrique's arms, who then was
obliged to quit her, to preserve his own life, if pos-
sible : 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 recol-
lecting himself, he flew with redoubled rage to attack
Henrique ; and his servant had seconded him, had
158 THE NUN
not Henrique's, who was now descended, otherwise
diverted him. They fought with the greatest ani-
mosity on both sides, and with equal advantage ; for
they both fell together : ' Ah, my Ardelia, I come to
thee now ! ' Sebastian groaned out. 'Twas this unlucky
arm, which now embraces thee, that killed thee.'
' Just Heaven ! ' she sighed out, ' Oh, yet have mercy ! '
[Here they both died.] ' Amen,' cried 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 outlive that last word ; which
was echoed by Elvira, who all this while stood weep-
ing, and calling out for help, as she stood close to the
wall in the garden.
This alarmed the rest of the sisters, who rising,
caused the bell to be rung out, as upon dangerous
occasions it used to be ; which raised the neighbour-
hood, who came time enough to remove the dead
bodies of the two rivals, and of the late fallen angel
Ardelia. The injured and neglected Elvira, whose
piety designed quite contrary effects, was immediately
seized with a violent fever, which, as it was violent,
did not last long : for she died within four-and-twenty
hours, with all the happy symptoms of a departing
saint
THE HISTORY OF
AGNES DE CASTRO
THOUGH love, all soft and flattering, promises
nothing but pleasures ; yet its consequences are often
sad and fatal. It is not enough to be in love, to be
happy; since Fortune, who is capricious, and takes
delight to trouble the repose of the most elevated
and virtuous, has very little respect for passionate and
tender hearts, when she designs to produce strange
adventures.
Many examples of past ages render this maxim
certain ; but the reign of Don Alphonso IV., King of
Portugal, furnishes us with one, the most extraordinary
that history can produce.
He was the son of that Don Denis, who was so
successful in all his undertakings, that it was said of
him, that he was capable of performing whatever he
designed, (and of Isabella, a Princess of eminent
virtue) who when he came to inherit a flourishing
and tranquil State, endeavoured to establish peace
and plenty in abundance in his kingdom.
And to advance this his design, he agreed on a
marriage between his son Don Pedro (then about
eight years of age) and Bianca, daughter of Don
Pedro, King of Castile ; and whom the young Prince
married when he arrived to his sixteenth year.
Bianca brought nothing to Coimbra but infirmities
and very few charms. Don Pedro, who was full of
sweetness and generosity, lived nevertheless very well
159
160 AGNES DE CASTRO
with her; but those distempers of the Princess de-
generating into the palsy, she made it her request
to retire, and at her intercession the Pope broke the
marriage, and the melancholy Princess concealed her
languishment in a solitary retreat : and Don Pedro,
for whom they had provided another match, married
Constantia Manuel, daughter of Don John Manuel,
a prince of the blood of Castile, and famous for the
enmity he had to his king.
Constantia was promised to the King of Castile ;
but that King not keeping his word, they made no
difficulty of bestowing her on a young Prince, who
was one day to reign over a number of fine provinces.
He was but fi ve-and-twenty years of age, and the man
of all Spain that had the best fashion and grace : and
with the most advantageous qualities of the body he
possessed those of the soul, and showed himself
worthy in all things of the crown that was destined
for him.
The Princess Constantia had beauty, wit, and
generosity, in as great a measure as it was possible
for a woman to be possessed with ; her merit alone
ought to have attached Don Pedro eternally to her ;
and certainly he had for her an esteem, mixed with so
great a respect, as might very well pass for love with
those that were not of a nice and curious observation :
but alas ! his real care was reserved for another
beauty.
Constantia brought into the world, the first year
after her marriage, a son, who was called Don Louis :
but it scarce saw the light, and died almost as soon as
born. The loss of this little Prince sensibly touched
her, but the coldness she observed in the Prince her
husband, went yet nearer her heart ; for she had
given herself absolutely up to her duty, and had made
her tenderness for him her only concern : but puissant
glory, which tied her so entirely to the interest of the
Prince of Portugal, opened her eyes upon his actions,
where she observed nothing in his caresses and civili-
AGNES DE CASTRO 161
ties that was natural, or could satisfy her delicate
heart.
At first she fancied herself deceived, but time
having confirmed her in what she feared, she sighed
in secret ; yet had that consideration for the Prince,
as not to let him see her disorder : and which never-
theless she could not conceal from Agnes de Castro,
who lived with her, rather as a companion, than a
maid of honour, and whom her friendship made her
infinitely distinguish from the rest.
This maid, so dear to the Princess, very well
merited the preference her mistress gave her; she
was beautiful to excess, wise, discreet, witty, and had
more tenderness for Constantia than she had for
herself, having quitted her family, which was illus-
trious, to give herself wholly to the service of the
Princess, and to follow her into Portugal. It was
into the bosom of this maid, that the Princess un-
laded her first moans ; and the charming Agnes
forgot nothing that might give ease to her afflicted
heart.
Nor was Constantia the only person who com-
plained of Don Pedro- before his divorce from
Bianca, he had expressed some care and tenderness
for Elvira Gonzales, sister to Don Alvaro Gonzales,
favourite to the King of Portugal; and this amuse-
ment in the young years of the Prince, had made
a deep impression on Elvira, who flattered her ambi-
tion with the infirmities of Bianca. She saw, with
a secret rage, Constantia take her place, who was
possessed with such charms, that quite divested her
of all hopes.
Her jealousy left her not idle, she examined all the
actions of the Prince, and easily discovered the little
regard he had for the Princess ; but this brought him
not back to her. And it was upon very good grounds
that she suspected him to be in love with some other
person, and possessed with a new passion ; and which
she promised herself, she would destroy as soon as
162 AGNES DE CASTRO
she could find it out. She had a spirit altogether
proper for bold and hazardous enterprises ; and the
credit of her brother gave her so much vanity, as
all the indifference of the Prince was not capable
of humbling.
The Prince languished, and concealed the cause with
so much care, that it was impossible for any to find it
out. No public pleasures were agreeable to him, and
all conversations were tedious ; and it was solitude
alone that was able to give him any ease.
This change surprised all the world. The King,
who loved his son very tenderly, earnestly pressed
him to know the reason of his melancholy ; but the
Prince made no answer, but only this, that it was the
effect of his temper.
But time ran on, and the Princess was brought to
bed of a second son, who lived, and was called Fer-
nando. Don Pedro forced himself a little to take
part in the public joy, so that they believed his
humour was changing ; but this appearance of a calm
endured not long, and he fell back again into his
black melancholy.
The artful Elvira was incessantly agitating in
searching out the knowledge of this secret. Chance
wrought for her ; and, as she was walking, full of
indignation and anger, in the garden of the palace of
Coimbra, she found the Prince of Portugal sleeping
in an obscure grotto.
Her fury could not contain itself at the sight of
this loved object, she rolled her eyes upon him, and
perceived, in spite of sleep, that some tears escaped
his eyes ; the flame which burnt yet in her heart,
soon grew soft and tender there : but oh ! she heard
him sigh, and after that utter these words, ' Yes,
divine Agnes, I will sooner die than let you know it.
Constantia shall have nothing to reproach me with.'
Elvira was enraged at this discourse, which repre-
sented to her immediately, the same moment, Agnes
de Castro with all her charms ; and not at all doubt-
AGNES DE CASTRO 163
ing, but it was she who possessed the heart of Don
Pedro, she found in her soul more hatred for this
fair rival, than tenderness for him.
The grotto was not a fit place to make reflections
in, or to form designs. Perhaps her first transports
would have made her waken him, if she had not
perceived a paper lying under his hand, which she
softly seized on ; and that she might not be surprised
in the reading it, she went out of the garden with as
much haste as confusion.
When she was retired to her apartment, she opened
the paper, trembling, and found in it these verses, writ
by the hand of Don Pedro ; and which, in appear-
ance, he had newly then composed.
In vain, oh ! sacred honour, you debate
The mighty business in my heart :
Love ! charming love ! rules all my fate ;
Interest and glory claim no part.
The god, sure of his victory, triumphs there,
And will have nothing in his empire share.
In vain, oh ! sacred duty, you oppose ;
In vain, your nuptial tie you plead :
Those forced devoirs Love overthrows,
And breaks the vows he never made.
Fixing his fatal arrows everywhere,
I burn and languish in a soft despair.
Fair Princess, you to whom my faith is due ;
Pardon the destiny that drags me on :
Tis not my fault my heart's untrue,
I am compelled to be undone.
My life is yours, I gave it with my hand,
But my fidelity I <
can't command.
Elvira did not only know the writing of Don Pedro,
but she knew also that he could write verses. And
seeing the sad part which Constantia had in these
which were now fallen into her hands, she made no
scruple of resolving to let the Princess see them :
but that she might not be suspected, she took care
not to appear in this business herself; and since it
was not enough for Constantia to know that the
164 AGNES DE CASTRO
Prince did not love her, but that she must know also
that he was a slave to Agnes de Castro, Elvira caused
these few verses to be written in an unknown hand,
under those writ by the Prince.
Sleep betrayed th 1 unhappy lover,
While tears were streaming from his eyes ;
His heedless tongue without disguise,
The secret did discover :
The language of his heart declare,
That Agnes' image triumphs there.
Elvira regarded neither exactness nor grace in
these lines: and if they had but the effect she designed,
she wished no more.
Her impatience could not wait till the next day to
expose them : she therefore went immediately to the
lodgings of the Princess, who was then walking in
the garden of the palace ; and passing without re-
sistance, even to her cabinet, she put the paper into
a book, in which the Princess used to read, and went
out again unseen, and satisfied with her good fortune.
As soon as Constantia was returned, she entered
into her cabinet, and saw the book open, and the
verses lying in it, which were to cost her so dear : she
soon knew the hand of the Prince which was so familiar
to her ; and besides the information of what she had
always feared, she understood it was Agnes de Castro
(whose friendship alone was able to comfort her in her
misfortunes) who was the fatal cause of it : she read
over the paper a hundred times, desiring to give her
eyes and reason the lie ; but finding but too plainly
she was not deceived, she found her soul possessed
with more grief than anger : when she considered, as
much in love as the Prince was, he had kept his tor-
ment secret. After having made her moan, without
condemning him, the tenderness she had for him, made
her shed a torrent of tears, and inspired her with a
resolution of concealing her resentment.
She would certainly have done it by a virtue extra-
ordinary, if the Prince, who missing his verses when
AGNES DE CASTRO 165
he waked, and fearing they might fall into indiscreet
hands, had not entered the palace, all troubled with
his loss ; and hastily going into Constantia's apart-
ment, saw her fair eyes all wet with tears, and at the
same instant cast his own on the unhappy verses that
had escaped from his soul, and now lay before the
Princess.
He immediately turned pale at this sight, and
appeared so moved, that the generous Princess felt
more pain than he did : ' Madam,' said he (infinitely
alarmed), ' from whom had you that paper ? ' 'It can-
not come but from the hand of some person,' answered
Constantia, ' who is an enemy both to your repose and
mine. It is the work, sir, of your own hand ; and
doubtless the sentiment of your heart. But be not
surprised, and do not fear ; for if my tenderness should
make it pass for a crime in you, the same tenderness
which nothing is able to alter, shall hinder me from
complaining.'
The moderation and calmness of Constantia, served
only to render the Prince more ashamed and confused.
' How generous are you, madam,' pursued he, ' and
how unfortunate am I ! ' Some tears accompanied
his words, and the Princess, who loved him with
extreme ardour, was so sensibly touched, that it was
a good while before she could utter a word. Constantia
then broke silence, and showing him what Elvira had
caused to be written, ' You are betrayed, sir,' added
she, ' you have been heard speak, and your secret is
known.' It was at this very moment that all the
forces of the Prince abandoned him ; and his condition
was really worthy compassion : he could not pardon
himself the involuntary crime he had committed, in
exposing of the lovely and the innocent Agnes. And
though he was convinced of the virtue and goodness
of Constantia, the apprehensions that he had, that
this modest and prudent maid might suffer by his
conduct, carried him beyond all consideration.
The Princess, who heedfully surveyed him, saw so
166 AGNES DE CASTRO
many marks of despair in his face and eyes, that she
was afraid of the consequences ; and holding out her
hand, in a very obliging manner to him, she said,
' I promise you, sir, I will never more complain of
you, and that Agnes shall always be very dear to me ;
you shall never hear me make you any reproaches :
and since I cannot possess your heart, I will content
myself with endeavouring to render myself worthy
of it.' Don Pedro, more confused and dejected than
before he had been, bent one of his knees at the feet
of Constantia, and with respect kissed that fair kind
hand she had given him, and perhaps forgot Agnes for
a moment.
But love soon put a stop to all the little advances
of Hymen ; the fatal star that presided over the
destiny of Don Pedro had not yet vented its malignity;
and one moment's sight of Agnes gave new force to
his passion.
The wishes and desires of this charming maid had
no part in this victory ; her eyes were just, though
penetrating, and they searched not in those of the
Prince, what they had a desire to discover to her.
As she was never far from Constantia, Don Pedro
was no sooner gone out of the closet, but Agnes
entered; and finding the Princess all pale and languish-
ing in her chair, she doubted not but there was some
sufficient cause for her affliction : she put herself in
the same posture the Prince had been in before, and
expressing an inquietude, full of concern : ' Madam,'
said she, ' by all your goodness, conceal not from me
the cause of your trouble." ' Alas, Agnes,' replied the
Princess, 'what would you know? And what should
I tell you ? The Prince, the Prince, my dearest maid,
is in love ; the hand that he gave me, was not a present
of his heart ; and for the advantage of this alliance,
I must become the victim of it.' ' What ! the Prince
in love ! ' replied Agnes, with an astonishment mixed
with indignation. ' What beauty can dispute the
empire over a heart so much your due? Alas, madam,
AGNES DE CASTRO 167
all the respect I owe him, cannot hinder me from
murmuring against him.' ' Accuse him of nothing,'
interrupted Constantia, ' he does what he can ; and
I am more obliged to him for desiring to be faithful,
than if I possessed his real tenderness. It is not
enough to fight, but to overcome ; and the Prince
does more in the condition wherein he is, than I
ought reasonably to hope for. In fine, he is my
husband, and an agreeable one ; to whom nothing
is wanting, but what I cannot inspire ; that is, a
passion which would have made me but too happy.'
' Ah ! madam,' cried out Agnes, transported with her
tenderness for the Princess, 'he is a blind and stupid
Prince, who knows not the precious advantages he
possesses.' ' He must surely know something,' re-
plied the Princess modestly. ' But, madam,' replied
Agnes, ' is there anything, not only in Portugal, but
in all Spain, that can compare with you ? And, with-
out considering the charming qualities of your person,
can we enough admire those of your soul ? ' ' My
dear Agnes,' interrupted Constantia, sighing, 'she
who robs me of my husband's heart, has but too
many charms to plead his excuse ; since it is thou,
child, whom fortune makes use of, to give me the
killing blow. Yes, Agnes, the Prince loves thee ; and
the merit I know thou art possessed of, puts bounds
to my complaints, without suffering me to have the
least resentment.'
The delicate Agnes little expected to hear what
the Princess told her. Thunder would have less sur-
prised, and less oppressed her. She remained a long
time without speaking ; but at last, fixing her looks
all frightful on Constantia, ' What say you, madam ? '
cried she, 'and what thoughts have you of me?
What, that I should betray you ? And coming hither
only full of ardour to be the repose of your life, do I
bring a fatal poison to afflict it? W 7 hat detestation
must I have for the beauty they find in me, without
aspiring to make it appear? And how ought I to
168 AGNES DE CASTRO
curse the unfortunate day, on which I first saw the
Prince ? But, madam, it cannot be me whom Heaven
has chosen to torment you, and to destroy all your
tranquillity. No, it cannot be so much my enemy, to
put me to so great a trial. And if I were that odious
person, there is no punishment, to which I would not
condemn myself. It is Elvira, madam, the Prince
loves, and loved before his marriage with you, and
also before his divorce from Bianca ; and somebody
has made an indiscreet report to you of this intrigue
of his youth. But, madam, what was in the time of
Bianca, is nothing to you.' ' It is certain that Don
Pedro loves you,' answered the Princess, ' and I have
vanity enough to believe, that none besides yourself
could have disputed his heart with me. But the secret
is discovered, and Don Pedro has not disowned it.'
' What,' interrupted Agnes, more surprised than ever,
' is it then from himself you have learned his weak-
ness ? ' The Princess then showed her the verses, and
there was never any despair like to hers.
While they were both thus sadly employed, both
sighing, and both weeping, the impatient Elvira, who
was willing to learn the effect of her malice, returned
to the apartment of the Princess, where she freely
entered ; even to the cabinet where these unhappy
persons were : who all afflicted and troubled as they
were, blushed at her approach, whose company they
did not desire. She had the pleasure to see Constantia
hide from her the paper which had been the cause of
all their trouble, and which the Princess had never
seen, but for her spite and revenge ; and to observe
also in the eyes of the Princess, and those of Agnes,
an immoderate grief. She stayed in the cabinet as
long as it was necessary to be assured, that she had
succeeded in her design ; but the Princess, who did
not desire such a witness of the disorder in which she
then was, prayed to be left alone. Elvira then went
out of the cabinet, and Agnes de Castro withdrew at
the same time.
AGNES DE CASTRO 169
It was in her own chamber, that Agnes examining
more freely this adventure, found it as cruel as death.
She loved Constantia sincerely, and had not till then
anything more than an esteem, mixed with admira-
tion, for the Prince of Portugal ; which indeed, none
could refuse to so many fine qualities. And looking
on herself as the most unfortunate of her sex, as
being the cause of all the sufferings of the Princess,
to whom she was obliged for the greatest bounties,
she spent the whole night in tears and complaints,
sufficient to have revenged Constantia for all the
griefs she made her suffer.
The Prince, on his side, was in no great tranquillity;
the generosity of his Princess increased his remorse,
without diminishing his love : he feared, and with
reason, that those who were the occasion of Constan-
tia's seeing those verses, should discover his passion
to the King, from whom he hoped for no indulgence :
and he would most willingly have given his life, to
have been free from this extremity.
In the meantime the afflicted Princess languished
in a most deplorable sadness : she found nothing
in those who were the cause of her misfortunes, but
things fitter to move her tenderness than her anger.
It was in vain that jealousy strove to combat the
inclination she had to love her fair rival ; nor was
there any occasion of making the Prince less dear to
her : and she felt neither hatred, nor so much as
indifference for innocent Agnes.
While these three disconsolate persons abandoned
themselves to their melancholy, Elvira, not to leave
her vengeance imperfect, studied in what manner she
might bring it to the height of its effects. Her
brother, on whom she depended, showed her a great
deal of friendship, and judging rightly that the love
of Don Pedro to Agnes de Castro would not be
approved by the King, she acquainted Don Alvaro
her brother with it, who was not ignorant of the
passion the Prince had once protested to have for his
170 AGNES DE CASTRO
sister. He found himself very much interested in
this news, from a second passion he had for Agnes ;
which the business of his fortune had hitherto hin-
dered him from discovering. And he expected a
great many favours from the King, that might render
the effort of his heart the more considerable.
He hid not from his sister this one thing, which he
found difficult to conceal ; so that she was now pos-
sessed with a double grief, to find Agnes sovereign of
all the hearts to which she had a pretension.
Don Alvaro was one of those ambitious men, that
are fierce without moderation, and proud without
generosity ; of a melancholy, cloudy humour, of a
cruel inclination, and to effect his ends, found nothing
difficult or unlawful. Naturally he loved not the
Prince, who, on all accounts, ought to have held the
first rank in the heart of the King, which should
have set bounds to the favour of Don Alvaro ; who
when he knew the Prince was his rival, his jealousy
increased his hate of him : and he conjured Elvira
to employ all her care, to oppose an engagement that
could not but be destructive to them both; she
promised him, and he not very well satisfied, relied
on her promise.
Don Alvaro, who had too lively a representation
within himself, of the beauties and grace of the
Prince of Portugal, thought of nothing, but how to
combat his merits, he himself not being handsome, or
well made. His fashion was as disagreeable as his
humour, and Don Pedro had all the advantages that
one man may possibly have over another. In fine, all
that Don Alvaro wanted, adorned the Prince but as
he was the husband of Constantia, and depended upon
an absolute father; and that Don Alvaro was free,
and master of a good fortune, he thought himself
more assured of Agnes, and fixed his hopes on that
thought.
He knew very well, that the passion of Don Pedro
could not but inspire a violent anger in the soul of
AGNES DE CASTRO 171
the King. Industrious in doing ill, his first business
was to carry this unwelcome news to him. After he
had given time to his grief, and had composed himself
to his desire, he then besought the King to interest
himself in his amorous affair, and to be the protector
of his person:
Though Don Alvaro had no other merit to recom-
mend him to the King, than a continual and blind
obedience to all his commands ; yet he had favoured
him with several testimonies of his vast bounty ; and
considering the height to which the King's liberality
had raised him, there were few ladies that would have
refused his alliance. The King assured him of the
continuation of his friendship and favour, and promised
him, if he had any authority, he would give him the
charming Agnes.
Don Alvaro, perfectly skilful in managing his
master, answered the King's last bounty with a pro-
found submission. He had yet never told Agnes
what he felt for her ; but he thought now he might
make a public declaration of it, and sought all means
to do it.
The gallantry which Coimbra seemed to have for-
gotten, began now to be awakened. The King to
please Don Alvaro, under pretence of diverting Con-
stantia, ordered some public sports, and commanded
that everything should be magnificent.
Since the adventure of the verses, Don Pedro
endeavoured to lay a constraint on himself, and to
appear less troubled ; but in his heart he suffered
always alike : and it was not but with great uneasi-
ness he prepared himself for the tournament. And
since he could not appear with the colours of Agnes,
he took those of his wife, without device, or any
great magnificence.
Don Alvaro adorned himself with the liveries of
Agnes de Castro ; and this fair maid, who had yet
found no consolation from what the Princess had told
her, had this new cause of being displeased.
172 AGNES DE CASTRO
Don Pedro appeared in the list with an admirable
grace ; and Don Alvaro, who looked on this day as
his own, appeared there all shining with gold, mixed
with stones of blue, which were the colours of Agnes ;
and there were embroidered all over his equipage,
flaming hearts of gold on blue velvet, and nets for the
snares of love, with abundance of double A's ; his
device was a love coming out of a cloud, with these
verses written underneath :
Love from a cloud breaks like the god of day,
And to the world his glories does display ;
To gaze on charming eyes, and make them know,
What to soft hearts, and to his power they owe.
The pride of Don Alvaro was soon humbled at
the feet of the Prince of Portugal, who threw him
against the ground with tweniy others, and carried
alone the glory of the day. There was in the evening
a noble assembly at Constantia's, where Agnes would
not have been, unless expressly commanded by the
Princess. She appeared there all negligent and care-
less in her dress, but yet she appeared all beautiful
and charming. She saw, with disdain, her name, and
her colours, worn by Don Alvaro, at a public triumph ;
and if her heart was capable of any tender motions,
it was not for such a man as he for whom her delicacy
destined them. She looked on him with a contempt,
which did not hinder him from pressing so near, that
there was a necessity for her to hear what he had to
declare to her.
She treated him not uncivilly, but her coldness
would have rebated the courage of any but Alvaro.
' Madam/ said he (when he could be heard of none
but herself), ' I have hitherto concealed the passion
you have inspired me with, fearing it should displease
you ; but it has committed a violence on my respect ;
and I could no longer conceal it from you.' ' I never
reflected on your actions,' answered Agnes with all
the indifference of which she was capable, ' and if you
AGNES DE CASTRO 173
think you offend me, you are in the wrong to make
me perceive it.' * This coldness is but an ill omen for
me,' replied Don Alvaro, 'and if you have not found
me out to be your lover to-day, I fear you will never
approve my passion.'
4 Oh ! what a time have you chosen to make it
appear to me ? ' pursued Agnes. * Is it so great an
honour for me, that you must take such care to show
it to the world? And do you think that I am so
desirous of glory, that I must aspire to it by your
actions? If I must, you have very ill maintained it
in the tournament ; and if it be that vanity that you
depend upon, you will make no great progress on
a soul that is not fond of shame. If you were
possessed of all the advantages, which the Prince has
this day carried away, you yet ought to consider
what you are going about ; and it is not a maid like
me, who is touched with enterprises, without respect
or permission.'
The favourite of the King was too proud to hear
Agnes, without indignation : but as he was willing to
conceal it, and not offend her, he made not his resent-
ment appear; and considering the observation she
made on the triumphs of Don Pedro (which increased
his jealousies), ' If I have not overcome at the tourna-
ment,' replied he, ' I am not the less in love for being
vanquished, nor less capable of success on occasion.'
They were interrupted here, but from that day,
Don Alvaro, who had opened the first difficulties,
kept no more his wonted distance, but perpetually
persecuted Agnes ; yet, though he were protected by
the King, that inspired in her never the more con-
sideration for him. Don Pedro was always ignorant
by what means the verses he had lost in the garden,
fell into the hands of Constantia. As the Princess
appeared to him indulgent, he was only concerned
for Agnes ; arid the love of Don Alvaro, which was
then so well known, increased the pain : and had he
been possessed of the authority, he would not have
174 AGNES DE CASTRO
suffered her to have been exposed to the persecutions
of so unworthy a rival. He was also afraid of the
King's being advertised of his passion, but he thought
not at all of Elvira, nor apprehended any malice from
her resentment.
While she burned with a desire of destroying
Agnes, against whom she vented all her venom, she
was never weary of making new reports to her brother,
assuring him, that though they could not prove that
Agnes made any returns to the tenderness of the
Prince, yet that was the cause of Constantia's grief:
and, that if this Princess should die of it, Don Pedro
might marry Agnes. In fine, she so incensed the
jealous Don Alvaro's jealousy, that he could not
hinder himself from running immediately to the King,
with the discovery of all he knew, and all he guessed,
and who, he had the pleasure to find, was infinitely
enraged at the news. ' My dear Alvaro/ said the
King, 'you shall instantly marry this dangerous
beauty : and let possession assure your repose and
mine. If I have protected you on other occasions,
judge what a service of so great an importance for
me, would make me undertake ; and without any
reserve, the forces of this State are in your power, and
almost anything that I can give shall be assured you,
so you render yourself master of the destiny of
Agnes.'
Don Alvaro pleased, and vain with his master's
bounty, made use of all the authority he gave him.
He passionately loved Agnes, and would not, on the
sudden, make use of violence ; but resolved with
himself to employ all possible means to win her
fairly ; yet if that failed, to have recourse to force, if
she continued always insensible.
While Agnes de Castro (importuned by his assidui-
ties, despairing at the grief of Constantia, and perhaps
made tender by those she had caused in the Prince of
Portugal) took a resolution worthy of her virtue ; yet,
amiable as Don Pedro was, she found nothing in him,
AGNES DE CASTRO 175
but his being husband to Constantia, that was dear to
her. And, far from encouraging the power she had
got over his heart, she thought of nothing but re-
moving from Coimbra. The passion of Don Alvaro,
which she had no inclination to favour, served her as
a pretext ; and pressed with the fear of causing, in
the end, a cruel divorce between the Prince and his
Princess, she went to find Constantia, with a trouble,
which all her care was not able to hide from her.
The Princess easily found it out; and their com-
mon misfortunes having not changed their friendship,
4 What ails you, Agnes ? ' said the Princess to her, in
a soft tone, and with her ordinary sweetness. ' And
what new misfortune causes that sadness in thy
looks?' 'Madam,' replied Agnes, shedding a rivulet
of tears, ' the obligations and ties I have to you, put
me upon a cruel trial. I had bounded the felicity of
my life in hope of passing it near your Highness, yet
I must carry to some other part of the world this
unlucky face of mine, which renders me nothing but
ill offices. And it is to obtain that liberty, that I am
come to throw myself at your feet; looking upon you
as my sovereign.'
Constantia was so surprised and touched with the
proposition of Agnes, that she lost her speech for
some moments. Tears, which were sincere, ex-
pressed her first sentiments : and after having shed
abundance, to give a new mark of her tenderness to
the fair afflicted Agnes, she with a sad and melancholy
look, fixed her eyes upon her, and holding out her
hand to her, in a most obliging manner, sighing, cried,
1 You will then, my dear Agnes, leave me; and expose
me to the griefs of seeing you no more ? ' ' Alas,
madam,' interrupted this lovely maid, ' hide from the
unhappy Agnes a bounty which does but increase her
misfortunes. It is not I, madam, that would leave
you; it is my duty, and my reason that orders my
fate. And those days which I shall pass far from
you, promise me nothing to oblige me to this design,
176 AGNES DE CASTRO
if I did not see myself absolutely forced to it. I am
not ignorant of what passes at Coimbra ; and I shall
be an accomplice of the injustice there committed, if
I should stay there any longer.' ' Ah, I know your
virtue,' cried Constantia, ' and you may remain here
in all safety, while I am your protectress ; and let
what will happen, I will accuse you of nothing. 1
'There's no answering for what's to come/ replied
Agnes, sadly, ' and I shall be sufficiently guilty, if my
presence cause sentiments, which cannot be innocent.
Besides, madam, the importunities of Don Alvaro are
insupportable to me ; and though I find nothing but
aversion to him, since the King protects his in-
solence, and he's in a condition of undertaking any-
thing, my flight is absolutely necessary. But, madam,
though he has nothing but what seems odious to me ;
I call Heaven to witness, that if I could cure the
Prince by marrying Don Alvaro, I would not consider
of it a moment ; and finding in my punishment the
consolation of sacrificing myself to my Princess,
I would support it without murmuring. But if I were
the wife of Don Alvaro, Don Pedro would always
look upon me with the same eyes. So that I find
nothing more reasonable for me, than to hide myself
in some corner of the world ; where, though I shall
most certainly live without pleasure, yet I shall pre-
serve the repose of my dearest mistress.' 'All the
reason you find in this design/ answered the Princess,
' cannot oblige me to approve of your absence. Will
it restore me the heart of Don Pedro ? And will he
not fly away with you ? His grief is mine, and my
life is tied to his ; do not make him despair then, if
you love me. I know you, I tell you so once more ;
and let your power be ever so great over the heart of
the Prince, I will not suffer you to abandon us.'
Though Agnes thought she had perfectly known
Constantia, yet she did not expect to find so entire
a virtue in her, which made her think herself more
happy, and the Prince more criminal. ' Oh, wisdom !
AGNES DE CASTRO 177
Oh, bounty without example ! ' cried she. ' Why is it,
that the cruel destinies do not give you all you
deserve ? You are the disposer of my actions,' con-
tinued she, in kissing the hand of Constantia, ' I'll do
nothing but what you'll have me. But consider, and
weigh well the reasons that ought to counsel you in
the measures you oblige me to take.'
Don Pedro, who had not seen the Princess all that
day, came in then, and finding them both extremely
troubled, with a fierce impatience, demanded the
cause : ' Sir,' answered Constantia, * Agnes too wise,
and too scrupulous, fears the effects of her beauty, and
will live no longer at Coimbra ; and it was on this
subject (which cannot be agreeable to me) that she
asked my advice.' The Prince grew pale at this dis-
course, and snatching the words from her mouth
(with more concern than possessed either of them)
cried with a voice very feeble, ' Agnes cannot fail, if
she follow your counsel, madam: and I leave you full
liberty to give it her.' He then immediately went
out, and the Princess, whose heart he perfectly pos-
sessed, not being able to hide her displeasure, said,
' My dear Agnes, if my satisfaction did not only
depend on your conversation, I should desire it of
you, for Don Pedro's sake ; it is the only advantage
that his unfortunate love can hope. And would not
the world have reason to call me barbarous, if I con-
tribute to deprive him of that ? ' ' But the sight of
me will prove a poison to him,' replied Agnes. 'And
what should I do, my Princess, if after the reserve he
has hitherto kept, his mouth should add anything to
the torments I have already felt, by speaking to me
of his flame ? ' ' You would hear him sure, without
causing him to despair,' replied Constantia, ' and
I should put this obligation to the account of the rest
you have done.' ' Would you then have me expect
those events which I fear, madam?' replied Agnes.
Well I will obey, but just Heaven,' pursued she, 'if
they prove fatal, do not punish an innocent heart for
i;8 AGNES DE CASTRO
it' Thus this conversation ended. Agnes withdrew
into her chamber, but it was not to be more at ease.
What Don Pedro had learned of the design of
Agnes, caused a cruel agitation in his soul ; he wished
he had never loved her, and desired a thousand times
to die. But it was not for him to make vows against
a thing which fate had designed him ; and whatever
resolutions he made, to bear the absence of Agnes,
his tenderness had not force enough to consent to it.
After having, for a long time, combated with him-
self, he determined to do what was impossible for him
to let Agnes do. His courage reproached him with
the idleness, in which he passed the most youthful and
vigorous part of his days : and making it appear to
the King, that his allies, and even the Prince Don
John Emanuel, his father-in-law, had concerns in the
world which demanded his presence on the frontiers,
he easily obtained liberty to make this journey, to
which the Princess would put no obstacle.
Agnes saw him part without any concern, but it
was not upon the account of any aversion she had to
him. Don Alvaro began then to make his importunity
an open persecution ; he forgot nothing that might
touch the insensible Agnes, and made use, a long
time, only of the arms of love. But seeing that this
submission and respect was to no purpose, he formed
strange designs.
As the King had a deference for all his counsels,
it was not difficult to inspire him with what he had
a mind to. He complained of the ungrateful Agnes,
and forgot nothing that might make him perceive
that she was not cruel to him on his account, but
from the too much sensibility she had for the Prince.
The King, who was extremely angry at this, reiterated
all the promises he had made him.
The King had not yet spoken to Agnes in favour
of Don Alvaro ; and not doubting but his approbation
would surmount all obstacles, he took an occasion to
entertain her with it. And removing some distance
AGNES DE CASTRO 179
from those who might hear him, ' I thought Don
Alvaro had merit enough,' said he to her, 'to have
obtained a little share in your esteem ; and I could
not imagine there would have been any necessity of
my soliciting it for him : I know you are very charming,
but he has nothing that renders him unworthy of you ;
and when you shall reflect on the choice my friendship
has made of him from among all the great men of my
Court, you will do him at the same time justice. His
fortune is none of the meanest, since he has me for
his protector. He is nobly born, a man of honour
and courage ; he adores you, and it seems to me that
all these reasons are sufficient to vanquish your pride.'
The heart of Agnes was so little disposed to give
itself to Don Alvaro, that all the King of Portugal
had said had no effect on her in his favour. ' If Don
Alvaro, sir,' answered she, 'were without merit, he
possesses advantages enough in the bounty your
Majesty is pleased to honour him with, to make him
master of all things. It is not that I find any defect
in him that I answer not his desires. But, sir, by
what obstinate power would you that I should love,
if Heaven has not given me a soul that is tender?
And why should you pretend that I should submit to
him, when nothing is dearer to me than my liberty ? '
*You are not so free, nor so insensible, as you say,'
answered the King, blushing with anger ; ' and if your
heart were exempt from all sorts of affection, he might
expect a more reasonable return than what he finds.
But imprudent maid, conducted by an ill fate,' added
he in fury, ' what pretensions have you to Don Pedro ?
Hitherto I have hid the chagrin, which his weakness
and yours give me ; but it was not the less violent for
being hid. And since you oblige me to speak out,
I must tell you, that if my son were not already
married to Constantia, he should never be your hus-
band ; renounce then those vain ideas, which will cure
him, and justify you.'
The courageous Agnes was scarce mistress of the
i8o AGNES DE CASTRO
first transports, at a discourse so full of contempt ;
but calling her virtue to the aid of her anger, she
recovered herself by the assistance of reason. And
considering the outrage she received, not as coming
from a great King, but a man blinded and possessed
by Don Alvaro, she thought him not worthy of her
resentment ; her fair eyes animated themselves with
so shining a vivacity, they answered for the purity of
her sentiments ; and fixing them steadfastly on the
King, ' If the Prince Don Pedro have weaknesses,'
replied she, with an air disdainful, 'he never com-
municated them to me; and I am certain, I never
contributed wilfully to them. But to let you see how
little I regard your defiance, and to put my glory in
safety, I will live far from you, and all that belongs to
you. Yes, sir, I will quit Coimbra with pleasure ; and
for this man, who is so dear to you,' answered she
with a noble pride and fierceness, of which the King
felt all the force, ' for this favourite, so worthy to
possess the most tender affections of a great prince,
I assure you, that into whatever part of the world
fortune conducts me, I will not carry away the least
remembrance of him.' At these words she made
a profound reverence, and made such haste from his
presence, that he could not oppose her going if he
would.
The King was now more strongly convinced than
ever, that she favoured the passion of Don Pedro, and
immediately went to Constantia, to inspire her with
the same thought ; but she was not capable of receiv-
ing such impressions, and following her own natural
inclinations, she generously defended the virtue of his
actions. The King, angry to see her so well in-
tentioned to her rival, whom he would have had her
hate, reproached her with the sweetness of her temper,
and went thence to mix his anger with Don Alvaro's
rage, who was totally confounded when he saw the
negotiation of his master had taken no effect. ' The
haughty maid braves me then, sir,' said he to the
AGNES DE CASTRO 181
King 1 , 'and despises the honour which your bounty
offered her ! Why cannot I resist so fatal a passion ?
But I must love her, in spite of myself; and if this
flame consume me, I can find no way to extinguish
it.' 'What can I further do for you?' replied the
King. ' Alas, sir,' answered Don Alvaro, ' I must do
by force, what I cannot otherwise hope from the
proud and cruel Agnes.' ' Well, then,' added the
King, ' since it is not fit for me to authorise publicly
a violence in the midst of my kingdom, choose those
of my subjects whom you think most capable of
serving you, and take away by force the beauty that
charms you ; and if she do not yield to your love, put
that power you are master of into execution, to oblige
her to marry you.'
Don Alvaro, ravished with this proposition, which
at the same time flattered both his love and his anger,
cast himself at the feet of the King, and renewed his
acknowledgments by fresh protestations, and thought
of nothing but employing his unjust authority against
Agnes.
Don Pedro had been about three months absent,
when Alvaro undertook what the King counselled
him to; though the moderation was known to him,
yet he feared his presence, and would not attend the
return of a rival, with whom he would avoid all
disputes.
One night when the said Agnes, full of her ordinary
inquietudes, in vain expected the god of sleep, she
heard a noise, and after saw some men unknown
enter her chamber, whose measures being well con-
sulted, they carried her out of the palace, and putting
her in a close coach, forced her out of Coimbra, with-
out being hindered by any obstacle. She knew not
of whom to complain, nor whom to suspect. Don
Alvaro seemed too puissant to seek his satisfaction
this way; and she accused not the Prince of this
attempt, of whom she had so favourable an opinion ;
whatever she could think or say, she could not hinder
182 AGNES DE CASTRO
her ill fortune. They hurried her on with diligence,
and before it was day, were a considerable way off
from the town.
As soon as day began to break, she surveyed those
that encompassed her, without so much as knowing
one of them ; and seeing that her cries and prayers
were all in vain with these deaf ravishers, she satisfied
herself with imploring the protection of Heaven, and
abandoned herself to its conduct.
While she sat thus overwhelmed with grief, uncer-
tain of her destiny, she saw a body of horse advance
towards the troop which conducted her. The ravishers
did not shun them, thinking it to be Don Alvaro : but
when he approached more near, they found it was the
Prince of Portugal who was at the head of them, and
who, without foreseeing the occasion that would offer
itself of serving Agnes, was returning to Coimbra full
of her idea, after having performed what he ought in
this expedition.
Agnes, who did not expect him, changed now her
opinion, and thought that it was the Prince that had
caused her to be stolen away. ' Oh, sir ! ' said she to
him, having still the same thought, ' is it you that
have torn me from the Princess ? And could so cruel
a blow come from a hand that is so dear to her?
What will you do with an unfortunate creature who
desires nothing but death? And why will you ob-
scure the glory of your life, by an artifice unworthy
of you ? ' This language astonished the Prince no
less than the sight of Agnes had done ; he found by
what she had said, that she was taken away by force ;
and immediately passing to the height of rage, he
made her understand by one only look, that he was
not the base author of her trouble. ' I tear you from
Constantia, whose only pleasure you are ! ' replied he.
'What opinion have you of Don Pedro ? No, madam,
though you see me here, I am altogether innocent of
the violence that has been done you ; and there is
nothing I will refuse to hinder it' He then turned
AGNES DE CASTRO 183
himself to behold the ravishers, but his presence
had already scattered them ; he ordered some of his
men to pursue them, and to seize some of them,
that he might know what authority it was that set
them at work.
During this, Agnes was no less confused than
before ; she admired the conduct of her destiny, that
brought the Prince at a time when he was so necessary
to her. Her inclinations to do him justice soon re-
paired the offence her suspicions had caused ; she was
glad to have escaped a misfortune, which appeared
certain to her : but this was not a sincere joy, when
she considered that her lover was her deliverer, and
a lover worthy of all her acknowledgments, but who
owed his heart to the most amiable Princess in the
world.
While the Prince's men were pursuing the ravishers
of Agnes, he was left almost alone with her; and
though he had always resolved to shun being so, yet
his constancy was not proof against so fair an occa-
sion : ' Madam,' said he to her, ' is it possible that
men born amongst those that obey us, should be
capable of offending you ? I never thought myself
destined to revenge such an offence; but since Heaven
has permitted you to receive it, I will either perish or
make them repent it.' ' Sir,' replied Agnes, more
concerned at this discourse than at the enterprise of
Don Alvaro, ' those who are wanting in their respect
to the Princess and you, are not obliged to have any
for me. I do not in the least doubt but Don Alvaro
was the undertaker of this enterprise ; and I judged
what I ought to fear from him, by what his importuni-
ties have already made me suffer. He is sure of the
King's protection, and he will make him an accomplice
in his crime : but, sir, Heaven conducted you hither
happily for me, and I am indebted to you for the
liberty I have of serving the Princess yet longer.'
'You will do for Constantia,' replied the Prince,
1 what 'tis impossible not to do for you ; your good-
1 84 AGNES DE CASTRO
ness attaches you to her, and my destiny engages me
to you for ever.'
The modest Agnes, who feared this discourse as
much as the misfortune she had newly shunned,
answered nothing but by downcast eyes ; and the
Prince, who knew the trouble she was in, left her to go
to speak to his men, who brought back one of those
that belonged to Don Alvaro, by whose confession he
found the truth. He pardoned him, thinking not fit
to punish him, who obeyed a man whom the weakness
of his father had rendered powerful.
Afterwards they conducted Agnes back to Coimbra,
where her adventure began to make a great noise.
The Princess was ready to die with despair, and at
first thought it was only a continuation of the design
this fair maid had of retiring ; but some women that
served her having told the Princess, that she was
carried away by violence, Constantia made her
complaint to the King, who regarded her not at all.
'Madam,' said he to her, 'let this fatal plague
remove itself, who takes from you the heart of your
husband; and without afflicting yourself for her
absence, bless Heaven and me for it.'
The generous Princess took Agnes's part with a
great deal of courage, and was then disputing her
defence with the King, when Don Pedro arrived at
Coimbra.
The first object that met the Prince's eyes was
Don Alvaro, who was passing through one of the
courts of the palace, amidst a crowd of courtiers,
whom his favour with the King drew after him. This
sight made Don Pedro rage ; but that of the Princess
and Agnes caused in Alvaro another sort of emotion.
He easily divined, that it was Don Pedro, who had
taken her from his men, and, if his fury had acted
what it would, it might have produced very sad
effects.
' Don Alvaro,' said the Prince to him, ' is it thus
you make use of the authority which the King my
AGNES DE CASTRO 185
father hath given you ? Have you received employ-
ments and power from him, for no other end but to
do these base actions, and to commit rapes on ladies ?
Are you ignorant how the Princess interests herself
in all that concerns this maid? And do you not
know the tender and affectionate esteem she has for
her ? ' ' No,' replied Don Alvaro, with an insolence
that had like to have put the Prince past all patience,
' I am not ignorant of it, nor of the interest your
heart takes in her.' ' Base and treacherous as thou
art/ replied the Prince, 'neither the favour which
thou hast so much abused, nor the insolence which
makes thee speak this, should hinder me from punish-
ing thee, wert thou worthy of my sword ; but there
are other ways to humble thy pride, and 'tis not fit for
such an arm as mine to seek so base an employment
to punish such a slave as thou art.'
Don Pedro went away at these words, and left
Alvaro in a rage, which is not to be expressed ;
despairing to see himself defeated in an enterprise
he thought so sure ; and at the contempt the Prince
showed him, he promised himself to sacrifice all to his
revenge.
Though the King loved his son, he was so pre-
possessed against his passion, that he could not pardon
him what he had done, and condemned him as much
for this last act of justice, in delivering Agnes, as if it
had been the greatest of crimes.
Elvira, whom the sweetness of hope flattered some
moments, saw the return of Agnes with a sensible
displeasure, which suffered her to think of nothing
but irritating her brother.
In fine, the Prince saw the King, but instead of
being received by him with a joy due to the success
of his journey, he appeared all sullen and out of
humour. After having paid him his first respects,
and given him an exact account of what he had done,
he spoke to him about the violence committed against
the person of Agnes de Castro, and complained to
186 AGNES DE CASTRO
him of it in the name of the Princess, and of his own.
'You ought to be silent in this affair,' replied the
King ; ' and the motive which makes you speak is so
shameful for you, that I sigh and blush at it. What
is it to you, if this maid, whose presence is trouble-
some to me, be removed hence, since 'tis I that desire
it?' 'But, sir/ interrupted the Prince, 'what necessity
is there of employing force, artifice, and the night, when
the least of your orders had been sufficient? Agnes
would willingly have obeyed you ; and if she continue
at Coimbra, it is perhaps against her will : but be it
as it will, sir, Constantia is offended, and if it were
not for fear of displeasing you (the only thing that
retains me), the ravisher should not have gone un-
punished.' ' How happy are you,' replied the King,
smiling with disdain, ' in making use of the name of
Constantia to uphold the interest of your heart ! You
think I am ignorant of it, and that this unhappy
Princess looks on the injury you do her with indiffer-
ence. Never speak to me more of Agnes' (with
a tone very severe). ' Content yourself, that I pardon
what's passed, and think maturely of the considera-
tions I have for Don Alvaro, when you would design
anything against him.' ' Yes, sir,' replied the Prince
with fierceness, 'I will speak to you no more of
Agnes ; but Constantia and I will never suffer, that
she should be any more exposed to the insolence of
your favourite.' The King had like to have broke
out into a rage at this discourse ; but he had yet
a rest of prudence left that hindered him. ' Retire,'
said he to Don Pedro, 'and go make reflections on
what my power can do, and what you owe me.'
During this conversation, Agnes was receiving from
the Princess, and from all the ladies of the Court,
great expressions of joy and friendship. Constantia
saw again her husband, with a great deal of satis-
faction ; and far from being sorry at what he had
lately done for Agnes, she privately returned him
thanks for it, and still was the same towards him, not-
AGNES DE CASTRO 187
withstanding all the jealousy which was endeavoured
to be inspired in her.
Don Alvaro, who found in his sister a maliciousness
worthy of his trust, did not conceal his fury from her.
After she had made vain attempts to moderate it,
in blotting Agnes out of his heart, seeing that his
disease was incurable, she made him understand, that
so long as Constantia should not be jealous, there
were no hopes : that if Agnes should once be sus-
pected by her, she would not fail of abandoning her,
and that then it would be easy to get satisfaction, the
Prince being now so proud of Constantia's indulgence.
In giving this advice to her brother, she promised to
serve him effectually; and having no need of anybody
but herself to perform ill things, she recommended
Don Alvaro to manage well the King.
Four years were passed in that melancholy station,
and the Princess, besides her first dead child, and
Ferdinando, who was still living, had brought two
daughters into the world.
Some days after Don Pedro's return, Elvira, who
was most dexterous in the art of well governing any
wicked design, did gain one of the servants who
belonged to Constantia's chamber. She first spoke
her fair, then overwhelmed her with presents and
gifts ; and finding in her as ill a disposition as in her-
self, she readily resolved to employ her.
After she was sure of her, she composed a letter,
which was after writ over again in an unknown hand,
which she deposited in that maid's hands, that she
might deliver to Constantia with the first opportunity,
telling her, that Agnes had dropped it. This was the
substance of it :
I employ not my own hand to write to you, for reasons that
I shall acquaint you with. How happy am I to have overcome
all your scruples ! And what happiness shall I find in the
progress of our intrigue ! The whole course of my life shall
continually represent to you the sincerity of my affections ;
pray think on the secret conversation that I require of you.
I dare not speak to you in public, therefore let me conjure you
188 AGNES DE CASTRO
here, by all that I have suffered, to come to-night to the place
appointed, and speak to me no more of Constantia ; for she
must be content with my esteem, since my heart can be only
yours.
The unfaithful Portuguese served Elvira exactly to
her desires ; and the very next day seeing Agnes go
out from the Princess, she carried Constantia the
letter ; which she took, and found there what she was
far from imagining. Tenderness never produced an
effect more full of grief, than what it made her suffer.
'Alas ! they are both culpable,' said she, sighing, 'and
in spite of the defence my heart would make for them,
my reason condemns them. Unhappy Princess, the
sad subject of the capriciousness of fortune ! Why
dost not thou die, since thou hast not a heart of
honour to revenge itself? O Don Pedro! why did
you give me your hand, without your heart ? And
thou, fair, and ungrateful ! wert thou born to be the
misfortune of my life, and perhaps the only cause of
my death ? ' After having given some moments to
the violence of her grief, she called the maid, who
brought her the letter, commanding her to speak of it
to nobody, and to suffer no one to enter into her
chamber.
She considered then of that Prince with more
liberty, whose soul she was not able to touch with the
least tenderness ; and of the cruel fair one that had
betrayed her. Yet, even while her soul was upon the
rack, she was willing to excuse them, and ready to do
all she could for Don Pedro; at least, she made a firm
resolution, not to complain of him.
Elvira was not long without being informed of what
had passed, nor of the melancholy of the Princess,
from whom she hoped all she desired.
Agnes, far from foreseeing this tempest, returned
to Constantia; and hearing of her indisposition,
passed the rest of the day at her chamber-door, that
she might from time to time learn news of her health ;
for she was not suffered to come in, at which Agnes
AGNES DE CASTRO 189
was both surprised and troubled. The Prince had the
same destiny, and was astonished at an order which
ought to have excepted him.
The next day Constantia appeared, but so altered,
that it was not difficult to imagine what she had
suffered. Agnes was the most impatient to approach
her, and the Princess could not forbear weeping.
They were both silent for some time, and Constantia
attributed this silence of Agnes to some remorse
which she felt : and this unhappy maid being able to
hold no longer, ' Is it possible, madam,' said she,
'that two days should have taken from me all the
goodness you had for me ? What have I done ? And
for what do you punish me ? ' The Princess regarded
her with a languishing look, and returned her no
answer but sighs. Agnes, offended with this reserve,
went out with very great dissatisfaction and anger;
which contributed to her being thought criminal.
The Prince came in immediately after, and found
Constantia more disordered than usual, and conjured
her in a most obliging manner to take care of her
health. ' The greatest good for me/ said she, ' is not
the continuation of my life ; I should have more care
of it if I loved you less : but ' She could not
proceed ; and the Prince, excessively afflicted at her
trouble, sighed sadly, without making her any answer,
which redoubled her grief. Spite then began to mix
itself; and all things persuading the Princess that
they made a sacrifice of her, she would enter into no
explanation with her husband, but suffered him to go
away without saying anything to him.
Nothing is more capable of troubling our reason,
and consuming our health, than secret notions of
jealousy in solitude.
Constantia, who used to open her heart freely to
Agnes, now believing she had deceived her, abandoned
herself so absolutely to grief, that she was ready to
sink under it ; she immediately fell sick with the
violence of it, and all the Court was concerned at
igo AGNES DE CASTRO
this misfortune. Don Pedro was truly afflicted at it,
but Agnes more than all the world beside. Constantia's
coldness towards her, made her continually sigh ; and
her distemper created merely by fancy, caused her to
reflect on everything that offered itself to her memory :
so that at last she began even to fear herself, and to
reproach herself for what the Princess suffered.
But the distemper began to be such that they feared
Constantia's death, and she herself began to feel the
approaches of it. This thought did not at all disquiet
her : she looked on death as the only relief from all
her torments ; and regarded the despair of all that
approached her without the least concern.
The King, who loved her tenderly, and who knew
her virtue, was infinitely moved at the extremity she
was in. And Don Alvaro, who lost not the least
occasion of making him understand that it was
jealousy which was the cause of Constantia's dis-
temper, did but too much incense him against
criminals, worthy of compassion. The King was
not of a temper to conceal his anger long : ' You
give fine examples,' said he to the Prince, ' and such
as will render your memory illustrious ! The death
of Constantia (of which you only are to be accused)
is the unhappy fruit of your guilty passion. Fear
Heaven after this : and behold yourself as a monster
that does not deserve to see the light. If the interest
you have in my blood did not plead for you, what ought
you not to fear from my just resentment ? But what
must not imprudent Agnes, to whom nothing ties
me, expect from my hands ? If Constantia dies, she,
who has the boldness, in my Court, to cherish a foolish
flame by vain hopes, and make us lose the most
amiable Princess, whom thou art not worthy to
possess, shall feel the effects of her indiscretion.'
Don Pedro knew very well, that Constantia was
not ignorant of his sentiments for Agnes; but he
knew also with what moderation she received it. He
was very sensible of the King's reproaches ; but as
AGNES DE CASTRO 191
his fault was not voluntary, and that a commanding
power, a fatal star, had forced him to love in spite of
himself, he appeared afflicted and confused : ' You
condemn me, sir,' answered he, ' without having well
examined me ; and if my contentions were known to
you, perhaps you would not find me so criminal. I
would take the Princess for my judge, who you say
I sacrifice, if she were in a condition to be consulted.
If I am guilty of any weakness, her justice never
reproached me for it ; and my tongue never informed
Agnes of it. But suppose I have committed any
fault, why would you punish an innocent lady, who
perhaps condemns me for it as much as you ? ' * Ah,
villain ! ' interrupted the King, ' she has but too much
favoured you. You would not have loved thus long,
had she not made you some returns.' ' Sir,' replied
the Prince, pierced with grief for the outrage that was
committed against Agnes, 'you offend a virtue, than
which nothing can be purer; and those expressions
which break from your choler, are not worthy of you.
Agnes never granted me any favours ; I never asked
any of her ; and I protest to Heaven, I never thought
of anything contrary to the duty I owe Constantia.'
As they thus argued, one of the Princess's women
came all in tears to acquaint Don Pedro, that the
Princess was in the last extremities of life : ' Go see
thy fatal work,' said the King, ' and expect from a too-
long patient father the usage thou deservest.'
The Prince ran to Constantia, whom he found
dying, and Agnes in a swoon, in the arms of some of
the ladies. What caused this double calamity, was,
that Agnes, who could suffer no longer the indifference
of the Princess, had conjured her to tell her what was
her crime, and either to take her life from her, or re-
store her to her friendship.
Constantia, who found she must die, could no longer
keep her secret affliction from Agnes ; and after some
words, which were a preparation to the sad explana-
tion, she showed her that fatal billet, which Elvira
1 92 AGNES DE CASTRO
had caused to be written : ' Ah, madam ! ' cried out
the fair Agnes, after having read it, ' ah, madam !
how many cruel inquietudes had you spared me, had
you opened your heart to me with your wonted
bounty ! Tis easy to see that this letter is counter-
feit, and that 1 have enemies without compassion.
Could you believe the Prince so imprudent, to make
use of any other hand but his own, on an occasion like
this? And do you believe me so simple to keep
about me this testimony of my shame, with so little
precaution ? You are neither betrayed by your hus-
band nor me ; 1 attest Heaven, and those efforts 1
have made to leave Coimbra. Alas, my dear Princess !
how little have you known her, whom you have so
much honoured ! Do not believe that when I have
justified myself, I will have any more communication
with the world. No, no ; there will be no retreat far
enough from hence for me. I will take care to hide
this unlucky face, where it shall be sure to do no more
harm.'
The Princess touched at this discourse, and the
tears of Agnes, pressed her hand, which she held in
hers ; and fixing looks upon her capable of moving
pity in the most insensible souls, ' If I have committed
any offence, my dear Agnes,' answered she. ' death,
which I expect in a moment, shall revenge it. I ought
also to protest to you, that I have not ceased loving
you, and that I believe everything you have said,
giving you back my most tender affections.'
It was at this time that the grief, which equally
oppressed them, put the Princess into such an ex-
tremity, that they sent for the Prince. He came, and
found himself almost without life or motion at this
sight. And what secret motive soever might call him
to the aid of Agnes, it was to Constantia he ran.
The Princess, who finding her last moments drawing
on, by a cold sweat that covered her all over ; and
finding she had no more business with life, and causing
those persons she most suspected to retire, ' Sir,' said
AGNES DE CASTRO 193
she to Don Pedro, ' if I abandon life without regret,
it is not without trouble that I part with you. But,
Prince, we must vanquish when we come to die ; and
I will forget myself wholly, to think of nothing but
of you. I have no reproaches to mak-i against you,
knowing that 'tis inclination that disposes hearts, and
not reason. Agnes is beautiful enough to inspire the
most ardent passion, and virtuous enough to deserve
the first fortunes in the world. I ask her, once more,
pardon for the injustice I have done her, and recom-
mend her to you, as a person most dear to me.
Promise me, my dear Prince, before I expire, to give
her my place in your throne: it cannot be better
filled : you cannot choose a Princess more perfect for
your people, nor a better mother for our little children.
And you, my dear and faithful Agnes,' pursued she,
' listen not to a virtue too scrupulous, that may make
any opposition to the Prince of Portugal. Refuse
him not a heart of which he is worthy ; and give him
that friendship which you had for me, with that which
is due to his merit. Take care of my little Fernando,
and the two young Princesses : let them find me in
you, and speak to them sometimes of me. Adieu, live
both of you happy, and receive my last embraces.'
The afflicted Agnes, who had recovered a little her
forces, lost them again a second time ; her weakness
was followed with convulsions so vehement, that they
were afraid of her life ; but Don Pedro never removed
from Constantia : ' What, madam,' said he, ' you will
leave me then ; and you think 'tis for my good? Alas,
Constantia ! if my heart has committed an outrage
against you, your virtue has sufficiently revenged you
on me in spite of you. Can you think me so bar-
barous ? ' As he was going on, he saw death shut the
eyes of the most generous Princess for ever ; and he
was within a very little of following her.
But what loads of grief did this bring upon Agnes,
when she found in that interval, wherein life and
death were struggling in her soul, that Constantia
o
194 AGNES DE CASTRO
was newly expired ! She would then have taken away
her own life, and have let her despair fully appear.
At the noise of the death of the Princess, the town
and the palace were all in tears. Elvira, who saw
then Don Pedro free to engage himself, repented of
having contributed to the death of Constantia ; and
thinking herself the cause of it, promised in her griefs
never to pardon herself.
She had need of being guarded several days to-
gether ; during which time she failed not incessantly
to weep. And the Prince gave all those days to
deepest mourning. But when the first emotions were
past, those of his love made him feel that he was still
the same.
He was a long time without seeing Agnes ; but
this absence of his served only to make her appear
the more charming when he did see her.
Don Alvaro, who was afraid of the liberty of the
Prince, made new efforts to move Agnes de Castro,
who was now become insensible to everything but
grief. Elvira, who was willing to make the best of
the design she had begun, consulted all her woman's
arts, and the delicacy of her wit, to revive the flames
with which the Prince once burnt for her. But his
constancy was bounded, and it was Agnes alone that
was to reign over his heart. She had taken a firm
resolution, since the death of Constantia, to pass the
rest of her days in a solitary retreat. In spite of
the precaution she took to hide this design, the
Prince was informed of it, and did all he was able to
dispose his constancy and fortitude to it. He thought
himself stronger than he really was ; but after he had
well consulted his heart, he found but too well how
necessary the presence of Agnes was to him. ' Madam,'
said he to her one day, with a heart big, and his eyes
in tears, ' which action of my life has made you deter-
mine my death ? Though I never told you how much
I loved you, yet I am persuaded you are not ignorant
of it. I was constrained to be silent during some
AGNES DE CASTRO 195
years for your sake, for Constantia's, and my own ;
but 'tis not possible for me to put this force upon my
heart for ever: I must once at least tell you how it
languishes. Receive then the assurances of a passion,
full of respect and ardour, with an offer of my for-
tune, which I wish not better, but for your advantage.'
Agnes answered not immediately to these words,
but with abundance of tears; which having wiped
away, and beholding Don Pedro with an air which
made him easily comprehend she did not agree with
his desires, ' If I were capable of the weakness with
which you'd inspire me, you'd be obliged to punish
me for it. What!' said she, * Constantia is scarce
buried, and you would have me offend her ! No, my
Prince,' added she with more softness, ' no, no, she
whom you have heaped so many favours on, will not
call down the anger of Heaven, and the contempt of
men upon her, by an action so perfidious. Be not
obstinate then in a design in which I will never show
you favour. You owe to Constantia, after her death,
a fidelity that may justify you : and I, to repair the
ills I have made her suffer, ought to shun all converse
with you.' ' Go, madam,' replied the Prince, growing
pale, ' go, and expect the news of my death ; in that
part of the world, whither your cruelty shall lead you,
the news shall follow close after ; you shall quickly
hear of it : and I will go seek it in those wars which
reign among my neighbours.'
These words made the fair Agnes de Castro per-
ceive that her innocency was not so great as she
imagined, and that her heart interested itself in the
preservation of Don Pedro : ' You ought, sir, to pre-
serve your life,' replied Agnes, ' for the sake of the
little Prince and Princesses, which Constantia has left
you. Would you abandon their youth,' continued
she, with a tender tone, ' to the cruelty of Don Alvaro ?
Live ! sir, live ! and let the unhappy Agnes be the
only sacrifice.' ' Alas, cruel maid ! ' interrupted Don
Pedro, ' why do you command me to live, if I cannot
196 AGNES DE CASTRO
live with you ? Is it an effect of your hatred ? ' ' No,
sir,' replied Agnes, ' I do not hate you ; and I wish to
God that I could be able to defend myself against the
weakness with which I find myself possessed. Oblige
me to say no more, sir : you see my blushes, interpret
them as you please : but consider yet, that the less
aversion I find I have to you, the more culpable I am ;
and that I ought no more to see, or speak to you. In
fine, sir, if you oppose my retreat, I declare to you,
that Don Alvaro, as odious as he is to me, shall serve
for a defence against you ; and that I will sooner con-
sent to marry a man I abhor, than to favour a passion
that cost Constantia her life.' ' Well then, Agnes,' re-
plied the Prince, with looks all languishing and dying,
' follow the motions which barbarous virtue inspires
you with ; take these measures you judge necessary
against an unfortunate lover, and enjoy the glory of
having cruelly refused me.'
At these words he went away ; and troubled as
Agnes was, she would not stay him. Her courage
combated with her grief, and she thought now, more
than ever, of departing.
It was difficult for her to go out of Coimbra; and not
to defer what appeared to her so necessary, she went
immediately to the apartment of the King, notwith-
standing the interest of Don Alvaro. The King re-
ceived her with a countenance severe, not being able
to consent to what she demanded : ' You shall not go
hence,' said he, ' and if you are wise, you shall enjoy
here with Don Alvaro both my friendship and my
favour.' ' I have taken another resolution,' answered
Agnes, ' and the world has no part in it.' ' You will
accept Don Pedro,' replied the King, 'his fortune is
sufficient to satisfy an ambitious maid : but you will
not succeed Constantia, who loved you so tenderly ;
and Spain has Princesses enough to fill up part of the
throne which I shall leave him.' ' Sir,' replied Agnes,
piqued at this discourse, ' if I had a disposition to love,
and a design to marry, perhaps the Prince might be
AGNES DE CASTRO 197
the only person on whom I would fix it. And you
know, if my ancestors did not possess crowns, yet
they were worthy to wear them. But let it be how
it will, I am resolved to depart, and to remain no
longer a slave in a place to which I came free.'
This bold answer, which showed the character of
Agnes, angered and astonished the King. 'You
shall go when we think fit,' replied he, ' and without
being a slave at Coimbra, you shall attend our order/
Agnes saw she must stay, and was so grieved at
it, that she kept her chamber several days, without
daring to inform herself of the Prince ; and this
retirement spared her the affliction of being visited
by Don Alvaro.
During this, Don Pedro fell sick, and was in so
great danger, that there was a general apprehension
of his death. Agnes did not in the least doubt, but it
was an effect of his discontent : she thought at first
she had strength and resolution enough to see him
die, rather than to favour him ; but had she reflected
a little, she had soon been convinced to the con-
trary. She found not in her heart that cruel constancy
she thought there so well established. She felt pains
and inquietude, shed tears, made wishes ; and, in fine,
discovered that she loved.
It was impossible to see the heir of the crown,
a Prince that deserved so well, even at the point
of death, without a general affliction. The people
who loved him, passed whole days at the palace gate
to hear news of him. The Court was all overwhelmed
with grief.
Don Alvaro knew very well how to conceal a
malicious joy, under an appearance of sadness.
Elvira, full of tenderness, and perhaps of remorse,
suffered also on her side. The King, although he
condemned the love of his son, yet still had a tender-
ness for him, and could not resolve to lose him.
Agnes de Castro, who knew the cause of his dis-
temper, expected the end of it with strange anxieties.
198 AGNES DE CASTRO
In fine, after a month had passed away in fears, they
began to have a little hopes of his recovery. The
Prince and Don Alvaro were the only persons that
were not glad of it : but Agnes rejoiced enough for
all the rest.
Don Pedro, seeing that he must live whether he
would or no, thought of nothing but passing his days
in melancholy and discontent. As soon as he was in
a condition to walk, he sought out the most solitary
places, and gained so much upon his own weakness,
to go everywhere, where Agnes was not ; but her idea
followed him always, and his memory, faithful to
represent her to him with all her charms, rendered
her always dangerous.
One day, when they had carried him into the
garden, he sought out a labyrinth which was at the
farthest part of it, to hide his melancholy, during
some hours ; there he found the sad Agnes, whom
grief, little different from his, had brought thither;
the sight of her whom he expected not, made him
tremble. She saw by his pale and meagre face the
remains of his distemper ; his eyes full of languish-
ment troubled her, and though her desire was so great
to have fled from him, an unknown power stopped
her, and it was impossible for her to go.
After some moments of silence, which many sighs
interrupted, Don Pedro raised himself from the place
where his weakness had forced him to sit ; he made
Agnes see, as he approached her, the sad marks of
his sufferings : and not content with the pity he saw
in her eyes, ' You have resolved my death then, cruel
Agnes,' said he, ' my desire was the same with yours ;
but Heaven has thought fit to reserve me for other
misfortunes, and I see you again, as unhappy, but
more in love than ever.'
There was no need of these words to move Agnes
to compassion, the languishment of the Prince spoke
enough : and the heart of this fair maid was but too
much disposed to yield itself. She thought then that
AGNES DE CASTRO 199
Constantia ought to be satisfied ; love, which com-
bated for Don Pedro, triumphed over friendship, and
found that happy moment, for which the Prince of
Portugal had so long sighed.
' Do not reproach me, for that which has cost me
more than you, sir,' replied she, 'and do not accuse
a heart, which is neither ungrateful nor barbarous :
and I must tell you, that I love you. But now I have
made you that confession, what is it farther that you
require of me?' Don Pedro, who expected not a
change so favourable, felt a double satisfaction ; and
falling at the feet of Agnes, he expressed more by the
silence his passion created, than he coujd have done
by the most eloquent words.
After having known all his good fortune, he then
consulted with the amiable Agnes, what was to be
feared from the King ; they concluded that the cruel
billet, which so troubled the last days of Constantia,
could come from none but Elvira and Don Alvaro.
The Prince, who knew that his father had searched
already an alliance for him, and was resolved on his
favourite's marrying Agnes, conjured her so tenderly
to prevent these persecutions, by consenting to a
secret marriage, that, after having a long time con-
sidered, she at last consented. ' I will do what you
will have me,' said she, ' though I presage nothing but
fatal events from it ; all my blood turns to ice, when
I think of this marriage, and the image of Constantia
seems to hinder me from doing it.'
The amorous Prince surmounted all her scruples,
and separated himself from Agnes, with a satisfaction
which soon redoubled his forces ; he saw her after-
ward with the pleasure of a mystery. And the day
of their union being arrived, Don Gill, Bishop of
Guarda, performed the ceremony of the marriage, in
the presence of several witnesses, faithful to Don
Pedro, who saw him possessor of all the charms of
the fair Agnes.
She lived not the more peaceable for belonging to
200 AGNES DE CASTRO
the Prince of Portugal ; her enemies, who continually
persecuted her, left her not without troubles : and the
King, whom her refusal enraged, laid his absolute
commands on her to marry Don Alvaro, with threats
to force her to it, if she continued rebellious.
The Prince took loudly her part ; and this, joined
to the refusal he made of marrying the Princess of
Aragon, caused suspicions of the truth in the King
his father. He was seconded by those that were too
much interested, not to unriddle this secret. Don
A) varo and his sister acted with so much care, gave
sc many gifts, and made so many promises, that they
discovered the secret engagements of Don Pedro and
Agnes.
The King wanted but little of breaking out into all
the rage and fury so great a disappointment could
inspire him with, against the Princess. Don Alvaro,
whose love was changed into the most violent hatred,
appeased the first transports of the King, by making
him comprehend, that if they could break the marriage
of them, that would not be a sufficient revenge ; and
so poisoned the soul of the King, to consent to the
death of Agnes.
The barbarous Don Alvaro offered his arm for this
terrible execution, and his rage was security for the
sacrifice.
The King, who thought the glory of his family dis-
graced by this alliance, and his own in particular in the
procedure of his son, gave full power to this murderer,
to make the innocent Agnes a victim to his rage.
It was not easy to execute this horrid design.
Though the Prince saw Agnes but in secret, yet all
his cares were still awake for her, and he was married
to her above a year, before Don Alvaro could find out
an opportunity so long sought for.
The Prince diverted himself but little, and very
rarely went far from Coimbra ; but on a day, an
unfortunate day, and marked out by Heaven for an
unheard-of and horrid assassination, he made a party
AGNES DE CASTRO 201
to hunt at a fine house, which the King of Portugal
had near the city.
Agnes loved everything that gave the Prince satis-
faction ; but a secret trouble made her apprehend
some misfortune in this unhappy journey. ' Sir,' said
she to him, alarmed, without knowing the reason why,
' I tremble, seeing you to-day as it were designed the
last of my life. Preserve yourself, my dear Prince ;
and though the exercise you take be not very dan-
gerous, beware of the least hazards, and bring me
back all that I trust with you.' Don Pedro, who had
never found her so handsome and so charming before,
embraced her several times, and went out of the
palace with his followers, with a design not to return
till the next day.
He was no sooner gone, but the cruel Don Alvaro
prepared himself for the execution he had resolved
on ; he thought it of that importance, that it required
more hands than his own, and so chose for his com-
panions Don Lopez Pacheo, and Pedro Cuello, two
monsters like himself, whose cruelty he was assured
of by the presents he had made them.
They waited the coming of the night, and the
lovely Agnes was in her first sleep, which was the
last of her life, when these assassins approached her
bed. Nothing made resistance to Don Alvaro, who
could do everything, and whom the blackest furies
introduced to Agnes ; she wakened, and opening her
curtains, saw, by the candle burning in her chamber,
the poniard with which Don Alvaro was armed; he
having his face not covered, she easily knew him, and
forgetting herself, to think of nothing but the Prince:
'Just Heaven,' said she, lifting up her fine eyes, 'if
you will revenge Constantia, satisfy yourself with my
blood only, and spare that of Don Pedro.' The
barbarous man that heard her, gave her not time to
say more; and finding he could never (by all he could
do by love) touch the heart of the fair Agnes, he
pierced it with his poniard : his accomplices gave her
202 AGNES DE CASTRO
several wounds, though there was no necessity of so
many to put an end to an innocent life.
What a sad spectacle was this for those who ap-
proached her bed the next day ! And what dismal
news was this to the unfortunate Prince of Portugal !
He returned to Coimbra at the first report of this
adventure, and saw what had certainly cost him his
life, if men could die of grief. After having a
thousand times embraced the bloody body of Agnes,
and said all that a just despair could inspire him
with, he ran like a madman into the palace, demand-
ing the murderers of his wife, of things that could not
hear him. In fine, he saw the King, and without ob-
serving any respect, he gave a loose to his resent-
ment : after having railed a long time, overwhelmed
with grief, he fell into a swoon, which continued all
that day. They carried him into his apartment : and
the King, believing that his misfortune would prove
his cure, repented not of what he had permitted.
Don Alvaro, and the two other assassins, quitted
Coimbra. This absence of theirs made them appear
guilty of the crime ; for which the afflicted Prince
vowed a speedy vengeance to the ghost of his lovely
Agnes, resolving to pursue them to the uttermost
part of the universe. He got a considerable number
of men together, sufficient to have made resistance,
even to the King of Portugal himself, if he should yet
take the part of the murderers : with these he ravaged
the whole country, as far as the Duero Waters, and
carried on a war, even till the death of the King, con-
tinually mixing tears with blood, which he gave to
the revenge of his dearest Agnes.
Such was the deplorable end of the unfortunate
love of Don Pedro of Portugal, and of the fair Agnes
de Castro, whose remembrance he faithfully preserved
in his heart, even upon the throne, to which he
mounted, by the right of his birth, after the death of
the King.
THE LOVER'S WATCH
OR THE ART OF MAKING LOVE
THE ARGUMENT
IT is in the most happy and august Court of the
best and greatest monarch of the world, that Damon,
a young nobleman, whom we will render under that
name, languishes for a maid of quality, who will give
us leave to call her Iris.
Their births are equally illustrious ; they are both
rich, and both young ; their beauty such as I do not
too nicely particularise, lest I should discover (which
I am not permitted to do) who these charming lovers
are. Let it suffice, that Iris is the most fair and
accomplished person that ever adorned a Court ; and
that Damon is only worthy of the glory of her
favour ; for he has all that can render him lovely
in the fair eyes of the amiable Iris. Nor is he
master of those superficial beauties alone, that please
at first sight ; he can charm the soul with a thousand
arts of wit and gallantry. And, in a word, I may
say, without flattering either, that there is no one
beauty, no one grace, no perfection of mind and
body, that wants to complete a victory on both sides.
The agreement of age, fortunes, quality and
humours in these two fair lovers, made the impatient
Damon hope, that nothing would oppose his passion ;
and if he saw himself every hour languishing for the
203
204 THE LOVER'S WATCH
adorable maid, he did not however despair. And if
Iris sighed, it was not for fear of being one day more
happy.
In the midst of the tranquillity of these two lovers,
Iris was obliged to go into the country for some
months, whither it was impossible for Damon to wait
on her, he being obliged to attend the King his
master ; and being the most amorous of his sex,
suffered with extreme impatience the absence of his
mistress. Nevertheless, he failed not to send to her
every day, and gave up all his melancholy hours to
thinking, sighing, and writing to her the softest letters
that love could inspire. So that Iris even blessed
that absence that gave her so tender and convincing
proofs of his passion ; and found this dear way of
conversing, even recompensed all her sighs for his
absence.
After a little intercourse of this kind, Damon be-
thought himself to ask Iris a discretion which he had
won of her before she left the town ; and in a billet-
doux to that purpose, pressed her very earnestly for
it Iris being infinitely pleased with his importunity,
suffered him to ask it often ; and he never failed of
doing so.
But as I do not here design to relate the adventures
of these two amiable persons, nor give you all the
billet-douxs that passed between them ; you shall
here find nothing but the watch this charming maid
sent her impatient lover.
IRIS TO DAMON
IT must be confessed, Damon, that you are the most
importuning man in the world. Your billets have a
hundred times demanded a discretion, which you won
of me ; and tell me, will you not wait my return to
be paid ? You are either a very faithless creditor, or
THE LOVER'S WATCH 205
believe me very unjust, that you dun with such im-
patience. But to let you see that I am a maid of
honour, and value my word, I will acquit myself of
this obligation I have to you, and send you a watch
of my fashion ; perhaps you never saw any so good.
It is not one of those that have always something to
be mended in it : but one that is without fault, very
just and good, and will remain so as long as you con-
tinue to love me : but, Damon, know, that the very
minute you cease to do so, the string will break, and
it will go no more. 'Tis only useful in my absence,
and when I return 'twill change its motion : and
though I have set it but for the springtime, it will
serve you the whole year round : and it will be neces-
sary only that you alter the business of the hours
(which my cupid, in the middle of my watch, points
you out) according to the length of the days and nights.
Nor is the dart of that little god directed to those
hours, so much to inform you how they pass, as how
you ought to pass them ; how you ought to employ
those of your absence from Iris. 'Tis there you shall
find the whole business of a lover, from his mistress ;
for I have designed it a rule to all your actions. The
consideration of the workman ought to make you set
a value upon the work : and though it be not an ac-
complished and perfect piece; yet, Damon, you
ought to be grateful and esteem it, since I have made
it for you alone. But however I may boast of the
design, I know, as well as I believe you love me, that
you will not suffer me to have the glory of it wholly,
but will say in your heart :
That Love, the great instructor of the mind,
That forms anew, and fashions every soul,
Refines the gross defects of human kind ;
Humbles the proud and vain, inspires the dull j
Gives cowards noble heat in fight,
And teaches feeble women how to write :
That doth the universe command,
Does from my Iris' heart direct her hand.
206 THE LOVER'S WATCH
I give you the liberty to say this to your heart, if you
please: and that you may know with what justice
you do so, I will confess in my turn.
THE CONFESSION
That Love's my conduct where I go,
And Love instructs me all I do.
Prudence no longer is my guide,
Nor take I counsel of my pride.
In vain does honour now invade,
In vain does reason take my part,
If against Love it do persuade,
If it rebel against my heart.
If the soft evening do invite,
And I incline to take the air,
The birds, the spring, the flow'rs no more delight :
'Tis Love makes all the pleasure there :
Love, which about me still I bear ;
I'm charm'd with what I thither bring,
And add a softness to the spring.
If for devotion I design,
Love meets me, even at the shrine ;
In all my worship claims a part,
And robs even Heaven of my heart :
All day does counsel and control,
And all the night employs my soul.
No wonder then if all you think be true,
That Love's concerned in all I do for you.
And, Damon, you know that Love is no ill master ;
and I must say, with a blush, that he has found me
no unapt scholar ; and he instructs too agreeably not
to succeed in all he undertakes.
Who can resist his soft commands ?
When he resolves, what God withstands ?
But I ought to explain to you my watch : the
naked cupid which you will find in the middle of it,
with his wings clipped, to show you he is fixed and
constant, and will not fly away, points you out with
his arrow the four-and-twenty hours that compose
the day and the night : over every hour you will
THE LOVER'S WATCH 207
find written what you ought to do, during its course ;
and every half-hour is marked with a sigh, since the
quality of a lover is, to sigh day and night : sighs are
the children of lovers, that are born every hour.
And that my watch may always be just, Love himself
ought to conduct it ; and your heart should keep
time with the movement :
My present's delicate and new,
If by your heart the motion's set ;
According as that's false or true,
You'll find my Watch will answer it.
Every hour is tedious to a lover, separated from
his mistress : and to show you how good I am, I will
have my watch instruct you, to pass some of them
without inquietude ; that the force of your imagina-
tion may sometimes charm the trouble you have for
my absence :
Perhaps I am mistaken here,
My heart may too much credit give :
But, Damon, you can charm my fear,
And soon my error undeceive.
But I will not disturb my repose at this time with
a jealousy, which I hope is altogether frivolous and
vain ; but begin to instruct you in the mysteries of
my watch. Cast then your eyes upon the eighth hour
in the morning, which is the hour I would have you
begin to wake : you will find there written :
EIGHT O'CLOCK
AGREEABLE REVERIE
Do not rise yet ; you may find thoughts agreeable
enough, when you awake, to entertain you longer in
bed. And 'tis in that hour you ought to recollect all
the dreams you had in the night. If you had
dreamed anything to my advantage, confirm yourself
208 THE LOVER'S WATCH
in that thought ; but if to my disadvantage, renounce
it, and disown the injurious dream. It is in this
hour also that I give you leave to reflect on all that I
have ever said and done, that has been most obliging
to you, and that gives you the most tender sentiments.
THE REFLECTIONS
Remember, Damon, while your mind
Reflects on things that charm and please,
You give me proofs that you are kind,
And set my doubting soul at ease :
For when your heart receives with joy
The thoughts of favours which I give,
My smiles in vain I not employ,
And on the square we love and live.
Think then on all I ever did,
That e'er was charming, e'er was dear ;
Let nothing from that soul be hid,
Whose griefs and joys I feel and share.
All that your love and faith have sought,
All that your vows and sighs have bought,
Now render present to your thought.
And for what's to come, I give you leave, Damon,
to flatter yourself and to expect, I shall still pursue
those methods, whose remembrance charms so well.
But, if it be possible, conceive these kind thoughts
between sleeping and waking, that all my too for-
ward complaisance, my goodness, and my tenderness,
which I confess to have for you, may pass for half
dreams : for it is most certain
That though the favours of the fair
Are ever to the lover dear ;
Yet, lest he should reproach that easy flame,
That buys its satisfaction with its shame ;
She ought but rarely to confess
How much she finds of tenderness ;
Nicely to guard the yielding part,
And hide the hard-kept secret in her heart
THE LOVER'S WATCH 209
For, let me tell you, Damon, though the passion of a
woman of honour be ever so innocent, and the lover
ever so discreet and honest ; her heart feels I know
not what of reproach within, at the reflection of any
favours she has allowed him. For my part, I never
call to mind the least soft or kind word I have
spoken to Damon, without finding at the same
instant my face covered over with blushes, and my
heart with sensible pain. I sigh at the remembrance
of every touch I have stolen from his hand, and have
upbraided my soul, which confesses so much guilty
love, as that secret desire of touching him made
appear. I am angry at the discovery, though I am
pleased at the same time with the satisfaction I take
in doing so ; and ever disordered at the remembrance
of such arguments of too much love. And these un-
quiet sentiments alone are sufficient to persuade me,
that our sex cannot be reserved too much. And I
have often, on these occasions, said to myself:
THE RESERVE
Though Damon every virtue have,
With all that pleases in his form,
That can adorn the just and brave,
That can the coldest bosom warm ;
Though wit and honour there abound,
Yet the pursuer's ne'er pursued,
And when my weakness he has found,
His love will sink to gratitude :
While on the asking part he lives,
'Tis she th' obliger is who gives.
And he that at one throw the stake has won
Gives over play, since all the stock is gone.
And what dull gamester ventures certain store
With losers who can set no more ?
210 THE LOVER'S WATCH
NINE O'CLOCK
DESIGN TO PLEASE NOBODY
I should continue to accuse you of that vice I have
often done, that of laziness, if you remained past
this hour in bed : it is time for you to rise ; my watch
tells you it is nine o'clock. Remember that I am
absent, therefore do not take too much pains in dress-
ing yourself, and setting your person off.
THE QUESTION
Tell me ! What can he design,
Who in his mistress' absence will be fine?
Why does he cock, and comb, and dress ?
Why is his cravat string in print ?
What does th' embroidered coat confess ?
Why to the glass this long address,
If there be nothing in 't ?
If no new conquest is design'd,
If no new beauty fill his mind ?
Let fools and fops, whose talents lie
In being neat, in being spruce,
Be dressed in vain, and tawdery ;
With men of sense, 'tis out of use :
The only folly that distinction sets
Between the noisy fluttering fools and wits.
Remember, Iris is away ;
And sighing to your valet cry,
Spare your perfumes and care to-day,
I have no business to be gay,
Since Iris is not by.
I'll be all negligent in dress,
And scarce set off for complaisance :
Put me on nothing that may please,
But only such as may give no offence.
Say to yourself, as you are dressing, ' Would it
please Heaven, that I might see Iris to-day ! But
oh ! it is impossible : therefore all that I shall see will
THE LOVER'S WATCH 211
be but indifferent objects, since it is Iris only that
I wish to see.' And sighing, whisper to yourself:
THE SIGH
Ah ! charming object of my wishing thought 1
Ah ! soft idea of a distant bliss !
That only art in dreams and fancy brought,
That give short intervals of happiness.
But when I waking find thou absent art,
And with thee, all that I adore,
What pains, what anguish fills my heart !
What sadness seizes me all o'er!
All entertainments I neglect,
Since Iris is no longer there :
Beauty scarce claims my bare respect,
Since in the throng I find not her.
Ah then ! how vain it were to dress, and show j
Since all I wish to please, is absent now !
It is with these thoughts, Damon, that your mind
ought to be employed, during your time of dressing.
And you are too knowing in love, to be ignorant
That when a lover ceases to be blest
With the object he desires,
Ah ! how indifferent are the rest !
How soon their conversation tires !
Though they a thousand arts to please invent,
Their charms are dull, their wit impertinent.
TEN O'CLOCK
READING OF LETTERS
My cupid points you now the hour in which you
ought to retire into your cabinet, having already passed
an hour in dressing : and for a lover, who is sure not
to appear before his mistress, even that hour is too
much to be so employed. But I will think, you
thought of nothing less than dressing while you were
2i2 THE LOVER'S WATCH
about it. Lose then no more minutes, but open your
escritoire, and read over some of those billets you have
received from me. Oh ! what pleasures a lover feels
about his heart, in reading those from a mistress he
entirely loves !
THE JOY
Who, but a lover, can express
The joys, the pants, the tenderness,
That the soft amorous soul invades,
While the dear billet-doux he reads ?
Raptures divine the heart o'erflow,
Which he that loves not cannot know.
A thousand tremblings, thousand fears,
The short-breathed sighs, the joyful tears !
The transport, where the love's confessed ;
The change, where coldness is expressed j
The diff'ring flames the lover burns,
As those are shy, or kind, by turns.
However you find them, Damon, construe them all
to my advantage : possibly, some of them have an air
of coldness, something different from that softness
they are usually too amply filled with ; but where you
find they have, believe there, that the sense of honour,
and my sex's modesty, guided my hand a little against
the inclinations of my heart ; and that it was as a kind
of an atonement, I believed I ought to make, for
something I feared I had said too kind, and too
obliging before. But wherever you find that stop,
that check in my career of love, you will be sure to
find something that follows it to favour you, and
deny that unwilling imposition upon my heart ; which,
lest you should mistake, love shows himself in smiles
again, and flatters more agreeably, disdaining the
tyranny of honour and rigid custom, that imposition
upon our sex ; and will, in spite of me, let you see he
reigns absolutely in my soul.
The reading my billet-doux may detain you an
hour : I have had so much goodness to write you
THE LOVER'S WATCH 213
enough to entertain you so long at least, and some-
times reproach myself for it ; but, contrary to all my
scruples, I find myself disposed to give you those
frequent marks of my tenderness. If yours be so
great as you express it, you ought to kiss my letters
a thousand times ; you ought to read them with atten-
tion, and weigh every word, and value every line. A
lover may receive a thousand endearing words from
a mistress, more easily than a billet. One says a great
many kind things of course to a lover, which one is
not willing to write, or to give testified under one's
hand, signed and sealed. But when once a lover has
brought his mistress to that degree of love, he ought
to assure himself, she loves not at the common rate.
LOVE'S WITNESS
Slight unpremeditated words are borne
By every common wind into the air ;
Carelessly uttered, die as soon as born,
And in one instant give both hope and fear :
Breathing all contraries with the same wind,
According to the caprice of the mind.
But billet-doux are constant witnesses,
Substantial records to eternity ;
Just evidence, who the truth confess,
On which the lover safely may rely ;
They're serious thoughts, digested and resolved ;
And last when words are into clouds devolved.
I will not doubt, but you give credit to all that
is kind in my letters; and I will believe, you find
a satisfaction in the entertainment they give you, and
that the hour of reading them is not disagreeable to
you. I could wish, your pleasure might be extreme,
even to the degree of suffering the thought of my
absence not to diminish any part of it. And I could
wish too, at the end of your reading, you would sigh
with pleasure, and say to yourself:
214 THE LOVER'S WATCH
THE TRANSPORT
O Iris ! While you thus can charm,
While at this distance you can wound and warm ;
My absent torments I will bless and bear,
That give me such dear proofs how kind you are.
Present, the valued store was only seen,
Now I am rifling the bright mass within.
Every dear, past, and happy day,
When languishing at Iris' feet I lay ;
When all my prayers and all my tears could move
No more than her permission, I should love :
Vain with my glorious destiny,
I thought, beyond, scarce any Heaven could be.
But, charming maid, now I am taught,
That absence has a thousand joys to give,
On which the lovers present never thought,
That recompense the hours we grieve.
Rather by absence let me be undone,
Than forfeit all the pleasures that has won.
With this little rapture, I wish you would finish
the reading my letters, shut your escritoire, and quit
your cabinet ; for my love leads to eleven o'clock.
ELEVEN O'CLOCK
THE HOUR TO WRITE IN
If my watch did not inform you it is now time to
write, I believe, Damon, your heart would, and tell
you also that I should take it kindly, if you would
employ a whole hour that way ; and that you should
never lose an occasion of writing to me, since you
are assured of the welcome I give your letters.
Perhaps you will say, an hour is too much, and that
it is not the mode to write long letters. I grant you,
Damon, when we write those indifferent ones of
gallantry in course, or necessary compliment; the
handsome comprising of which in the fewest words,
THE LOVER'S WATCH 215
renders them the most agreeable : but in love we
have a thousand foolish things to say, that of them-
selves bear no great sound, but have a mighty sense
in love ; for there is a peculiar eloquence natural
alone to a lover, and to be understood by no other
creature. To those, words have a thousand graces
and sweetnesses ; which, to the unconcerned, appear
meanness, and easy sense, at the best. But, Damon,
you and I are none of those ill judges of the beauties
of love ; we can penetrate beyond the vulgar, and
perceive the fine soul in every line, through all the
humble dress of phrase; when possibly they who
think they discern it best in florid language, do not
see it at all. Love was not born or bred in courts,
but cottages; and, nursed in groves and shades, smiles
on the plains, and wantons in the streams ; all un-
adored and harmless. Therefore, Damon, do not
consult your wit in this affair, but love alone ; speak
all that he and nature taught you, and let the fine
things you learn in schools alone. Make use of those
flowers you have gathered there, when you conversed
with statesmen and the gown. Let Iris possess your
heart in all its simple innocence, that is the best
eloquence to her that loves : and that is my instruc-
tion to a lover that would succeed in his amours ; for
I have a heart very difficult to please, and this is the
nearest way to it.
ADVICE TO LOVERS
Lovers, if you would gain the heart
Of Damon, learn to win the prize ;
He'll show you all its tend'rest part,
And where its greatest danger lies ;
The magazine of its disdain,
Where honour, feebly guarded, does remain.
If present, do but little say ;
Enough the silent lover speaks :
But wait, and sigh, and gaze all day ;
Such rhetoric more than language takes.
For words the dullest way do move ;
And uttered more to show your wit than love.
216 THE LOVER'S WATCH
Let your eyes tell her of your heart ;
Its story is, for words, too delicate.
Souls thus exchange, and thus impart,
And all their secrets can relate.
A tear, a broken sigh, she'll understand ;
Or the soft trembling pressings of the hand.
Or if your pain must be in words exprest,
Let them fall gently, unassured, and slow ;
And where they fail, your looks may tell the rest :
Thus Damon spoke, and I was conquered so.
The witty talker has mistook his art ;
The modest lover only charms the heart.
Thus, while all day you gazing sit,
And fear to speak, and fear your fate,
You more advantages by silence get,
Than the gay forward youth with all his prate.
Let him be silent here ; but when away,
Whatever love can dictate, let him say.
There let the bashful soul unveil,
And give a loose to love and truth ;
Let him improve the amorous tale,
With all the force of words, and fire of youth ;
There all, and anything let him express ;
Too long he cannot write, too much confess.
O Damon ! How well have you made me under-
stand this soft pleasure ! You know my tenderness
too well, not to be sensible how I am charmed with
your agreeable long letters.
THE INVENTION
Ah ! he who first found out the way
Souls to each other to convey,
Without dull speaking, sure must be,
Something above humanity.
Let the fond world in vain dispute,
And the first sacred mystery impute
Of letters to the learned brood,
And of the glory cheat a god :
'Twas Love alone that first the art essayed,
And Psyche was the first fair yielding maid,
That was by the dear billet-doux betrayed.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 217
It is an art too ingenious to have been found out
by man, and too necessary to lovers, not to have
been invented by the god of love himself. But,
Damon, I do not pretend to exact from you those
letters of gallantry, which, I have told you, are filled
with nothing but fine thoughts, and writ with all the
arts of wit and subtilty : I would have yours still all
tender unaffected love, words unchosen, thoughts un-
studied, and love unfeigned. I had rather find more
softness than wit in your passion ; more of nature
than of art ; more of the lover than the poet.
Nor would I have you write any of those little
short letters, that are read over in a minute ; in love,
long letters bring a long pleasure : do not trouble
yourself to make them fine, or write a great deal of
wit and sense in a few lines ; that is the notion of a
witty billet, in any affair but that of love. And have
a care rather to avoid these graces to a mistress ; and
assure yourself, dear Damon, that what pleases the
soul pleases the eye, and the largeness or bulk of
your letter shall never offend me ; and that I only am
displeased when I find them small. A letter is ever the
best and most powerful agent to a mistress, it almost
always persuades, it is always renewing little im-
pressions, that possibly otherwise absence would
deface. Make use then, Damon, of your time while
it is given you, and thank me that I permit you to
write to me. Perhaps I shall not always continue in
the humour of suffering you to do so ; and it may so
happen, by some turn of chance and fortune, that you
may be deprived, at the same time, both of my
presence, and of the means of sending to me. I will
believe that such an accident would be a great mis-
fortune to you, for I have often heard you say, that
'To make the most happy lover suffer martyrdom,
one need only forbid him seeing, speaking and writing
to the object he loves.' Take all the advantages then
you can, you cannot give me too often marks too
powerful of your passion . write therefore during this
218 THE LOVER'S WATCH
hour, every day. I give you leave to believe, that
while you do so, you are serving me the most oblig-
ingly and agreeably you can, while absent ; and that
you are giving me a remedy against all grief, uneasi-
ness, melancholy, and despair ; nay, if you exceed
your hour, you need not be ashamed. The time you
employ in this kind devoir, is the time that I shall be
grateful for, and no doubt will recompense it. You
ought not however to neglect heaven for me ; I will
give you time for your devotion, for my watch tells
you it is time to go to the temple.
TWELVE O'CLOCK
INDISPENSABLE DUTY
There are certain duties which one ought never to
neglect : that of adoring the gods is of this nature ;
and which we ought to pay, from the bottom of our
hearts : and that, Damon, is the only time I will dis-
pense with your not thinking on me. But I would
not have you go to one of those temples, where the
celebrated beauties, and those that make a profession
of gallantry, go ; and who come thither only to see,
and be seen ; and whither they repair, more to show
their beauty and dress, than to honour the gods. If
you will take my advice, and oblige my wish, you
shall go to those that are least frequented, and you
shall appear there like a man that has a perfect
veneration for all things sacred.
THE INSTRUCTION
Damon, if your heart and flame,
You wish, should always be the same,
Do not give it leave to rove,
Nor expose it to new harms :
Ere you think on't, you may love,
If you gaze on beauty's charms :
If with me you would not part,
Turn your eyes into your heart.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 219
If you find a new desire
In your easy soul take fire,
From the tempting ruin fly ;
Think it faithless, think it base :
Fancy soon will fade and die,
If you wisely cease to gaze.
Lovers should have honour too,
Or they pay but half Love's due.
Dp not to the temple go,
With design to gaze or show :
Whate'er thoughts you have abroad,
Though you can deceive elsewhere,
There's no feigning with your God ;
Souls should be all perfect there.
The heart that's to the altar brought,
Only heaven should fill its thought.
Do not your sober thoughts perplex,
By gazing on the ogling sex :
Or if beauty call your eyes,
Do not on the object dwell ;
Guard your heart from the surprise,
By thinking Iris doth excel.
Above all earthly things I'd be,
Damon, most beloved by thee ;
And only heaven must rival me.
ONE O'CLOCK
FORCED ENTERTAINMENT
I perceive it will be very difficult to you to quit the
temple, without being surrounded with compliments
from people of ceremony, friends, and newsmongers,
and several of those sorts of persons, who afflict and
busy themselves, and rejoice at a hundred things they
have no interest in ; coquettes and politicians, who
make it the business of their whole lives, to gather all
the news of the town ; adding or diminishing accord-
ing to the stock of their wit and invention, and
spreading it all abroad to the believing fools and
gossips ; and perplexing everybody with a hundred
220 THE LOVER'S WATCH
ridiculous novels, which they pass off for wit and
entertainment. Or else some of those recounters of
adventures, that are always telling of intrigues, and
that make a secret to a hundred people of a thousand
foolish things they have heard : like a certain pert
and impertinent lady of the town, whose youth and
beauty being past, set up for wit, to uphold a feeble
empire over hearts ; and whose character is this :
THE COQUETTE
Milanda, who had never been
Esteem'd a beauty at fifteen.
Always amorous was, and kind :
To every swain she lent an ear ;
Free as air, but false as wind ;
Yet none complained she was severe.
She eased more than she made complain ;
Was always singing, pert, and vain.
Where'er the throng was, she was seen,
And swept the youths along the green
With equal grace she flattered all ;
And fondly proud of all address,
Her smiles invite, her eyes do call,
And her vain heart her looks confess.
She rallies this, to that she bowed,
Was talking ever, laughing loud.
On every side she makes advance,
And everywhere a confidence ;
She tells for secrets all she knows,
And all to know she does pretend :
Beauty in maids she treats as foes :
But every handsome youth as friend.
Scandal still passes off for truth ;
And noise and nonsense, wit and youth.
Coquette all o'er, and every part,
Yet wanting beauty, even of art ;
Herds with the ugly, and the old ;
And plays the critic on the rest :
Of men, the bashful, and the bold,
Either, and all, by turns, likes best :
Even now, though youth be languished, she
Sets up for love and gallantly.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 221
This sort of creature, Damon, is very dangerous ; not
that I fear you will squander away a heart upon her,
but your hours ; for, in spite of you, she'll detain you
with a thousand impertinences, and eternal tattle.
She passes for a judging wit ; and there is nothing
so troublesome as such a pretender. She, perhaps,
may get some knowledge of our correspondence ;
and then, no doubt, will improve it to my disadvan-
tage. Possibly she may rail at me; that is her
fashion by the way of friendly speaking; and an
awkward commendation, the most effectual way of
defaming and traducing. Perhaps she tells you, in
a cold tone, that you are a happy man to be beloved
by me : that Iris indeed is handsome, and she won-
ders she has no more lovers ; but the men are not
of her mind ; if they were, you should have more
rivals. She commends my face, but that I have blue
eyes, and it is a pity my complexion is no better :
my shape but too much inclining to fat. Cries she
would charm infinitely with her wit, but that she
knows too well she is mistress of it. And concludes,
but altogether she is well enough. Thus she
runs on without giving you leave to edge in a word
in my defence ; and ever and anon crying up her
own conduct and management : tells you how she is
oppressed with lovers, and fatigued with addresses;
and recommending herself, at every turn, with a per-
ceivable cunning. And all the while is jilting you
of your good opinion ; which she would buy at the
price of anybody's repose, or her own fame, though but
for the vanity of adding to the number of her lovers.
When she sees a new spark, the first thing she does,
she inquires into his estate ; if she finds it such as
may (if the coxcomb be well managed) supply her
vanity, she makes advances to him, and applies
herself to all those little arts, she usually makes use
of to gain her fools ; and according to his humour
dresses and affects her own. But, Damon, since
I point to no particular person in this character, I will
222 THE LOVER'S WATCH
not name who you should avoid ; but all of this sort
I conjure you, wheresoever you find them. But if
unlucky chance throw you in their way, hear all they
say, without credit or regard, as far as decency will
suffer you ; hear them without approving their fop-
pery ; and hear them without giving them cause to
censure you. But it is so much lost time to listen to
all the novels this sort of people will perplex you
with ; whose business is to be idle, and who even
tire themselves with their own impertinences. And
be assured after all there is nothing they can tell
you that is worth your knowing. And Damon, a
perfect lover never asks any news but of the maid
he loves.
THE INQUIRY
Damon, if your love be true
To the heart that you possess,
Tell me what you have to do
Where you have no tenderness ?
Her affairs who cares to learn,
For whom he has not some concern ?
If a lover fain would know
If the object loved be true,
Let her but industrious be
To watch his curiosity ;
Though ne'er so cold his questions seem,
They come from warmer thoughts within.
When I hear a swain inquire
What gay Melinda does to live.
I conclude there is some fire
In a heart inquisitive ;
Or 'tis, at least, the bill that's set
To show, the heart is to be let.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 223
TWO O'CLOCK
DINNER-TIME
Leave all those fond entertainments or you will
disoblige me, and make dinner wait for you ; for my
cupid tells you it is that hour. Love does not pre-
tend to make you lose that ; nor is it my province to
order you your diet. Here I give you a perfect liberty
to do what you please ; and possibly, it is the only
hour in the whole four-and-twenty that I will abso-
lutely resign you, or dispense with your even so
much as thinking on me. It is true, in seating your-
self at table, I would not have you placed over
against a very beautiful object ; for in such a one
there are a thousand little graces in speaking, looking,
and laughing, that fail not to charm, if one gives way
to the eyes, to gaze and wander that way ; in which,
perhaps, in spite of you, you will find a pleasure.
And while you do so, though without design or con-
cern, you give the fair charmer a sort of vanity in
believing you have placed yourself there, only for the
advantage of looking on her ; and she assumes a
hundred little graces and affectations which are not
natural to her, to complete a conquest, which she
believes so well begun already. She softens her
eyes, and sweetens her mouth ; and in fine, puts on
another air than when she had no design, and when
you did not, by your continual looking on her, rouse
her vanity, and increase her easy opinion of her own
charms. Perhaps she knows I have some interest in
your heart, and prides herself, at least, with believing
she has attracted the eyes of my lover, if not his
heart; and thinks it easy to vanquish the whole, if
she pleases ; and triumphs over me in her secret
imaginations. Remember, Damon, that while you
act thus in the company and conversation of other
beauties, every look or word you give in favour of
224 THE LOVER'S WATCH
them, is an indignity to my reputation ; and which
you cannot suffer if you love me truly, and with
honour : and assure yourself, so much vanity as you
inspire in her, so much fame you rob me of; for
whatever praises you give another beauty, so much
you take away from mine. Therefore, if you dine
in company, do as others do : be generally civil, not
applying yourself by words or looks to any par-
ticular person : be as gay as you please ; talk and
laugh with all, for this is not the hour for chagrin.
THE PERMISSION
My Damon, though I stint your love,
I will not stint your appetite ;
That I would have you still improve,
By every new and fresh delight.
Feast till Apollo hides his head,
Or drink the amorous god to Thetis' bed.
Be like yourself: all witty, gay !
And o'er the bottle bless the board ;
The listening round will, all the day,
Be charmed, and pleased with every word.
Though Venus' son inspire your wit,
'Tis the Silenian god best utters it.
Here talk of everything but me,
Since ev'rything you say with grace :
If not disposed your humour be,
And you'd this hour in silence pass ;
Since something must the subject prove
Of Damon's thoughts, let it be me and Love.
But, Damon, this enfranchised hour,
No bounds, or laws, will I impose ;
But leave it wholly in your power,
What humour to refuse or choose :
I rules prescribe but to your flame ;
For I, your mistress, not physician, aro
THE LOVER'S WATCH 225
THREE O'CLOCK
VISITS TO FRIENDS
Damon, my watch is juster than you imagine ; it
would not have you live retired and solitary, but
permits you to go and make visits. I am not one of
those that believe love and friendship cannot find
a place in one and the same heart. And that man
would be very unhappy, who, as soon as he had a
mistress, should be obliged to renounce the society
of his friends. I must confess I would not that you
should have so much concern for them, as you have
for me ; for I have heard a sort of a proverb that
says ' He cannot be very fervent in love, who is not
a little cold in friendship.' You are not ignorant,
that when Love establishes himself in a heart, he
reigns a tyrant there, and will not suffer even
friendship, if it pretend to share his empire there.
CUPID
Love is a god, whose charming sway
Both heaven, and earth, and seas obey ;
A power that will not mingled be
With any dull equality.
Since first from heaven, which gave him birth,
He ruled the empire of the earth ;
Jealous of sov'reign power he rules,
And will be absolute in souls.
I should be very angry if you had any of those
friendships which one ought to desire in a mistress
only ; for many times it happens that you have
sentiments a little too tender for those amiable
persons ; and many times love and friendship are so
confounded together, that one cannot easily discern
one from the other. I have seen a man flatter him-
self with an opinion, that he had but an esteem for
a woman, when by some turn of fortune in her life,
Q
226 THE LOVER'S WATCH
as marrying, or receiving the addresses of men, he
has found by spite and jealousies within, that that
was love, which he before took for complaisance or
friendship. Therefore have a care, for such amities
are dangerous : not but that a lover may have fair
and generous female friends, whom he ought to
visit; and perhaps I should esteem you less, if I
did not believe you were valued by such, if I were
perfectly assured they were friends and not lovers.
But have a care you hide not a mistress under this
veil, or that you gain not a lover by this pretence :
for you may begin with friendship, and end with
love ; and I should be equally afflicted should you give
it or receive it. And though you charge our sex with
all the vanity, yet I often find nature to have given
you as large a portion of that common crime, which
you would shuffle off, as ashamed to own ; and are
as fond and vain of the imagination of a conquest,
as any coquette of us all : though at the same time
you despise the victim, you think it adds a trophy
to your fame. And I have seen a man dress and
trick, and adjust his looks and mien to make a visit
to a woman he loved not, nor ever could love, as for
those he made to his mistress ; and only for the
vanity of making a conquest upon a heart, even
unworthy of the little pains he has taken about it.
And what is this but buying vanity at the expense
of ease ; and with fatigue to purchase the name
of a conceited fop, besides that of a dishonest man ?
For he who takes pains to make himself beloved,
only to please his curious humour, though he should
say nothing that tends to it, more than by his looks,
his sighs, and now and then breaking into praises
and commendations of the object ; by the care he
takes, to appear well dressed before her, and in good
order, he lies in his looks, he deceives with his mien
and fashion, and cheats with every motion, and every
grace he puts on. He cozens when he sings or
dances ; he dissembles when he sighs : and every-
THE LOVER'S WATCH 227
thing he does that wilfully gains upon her, is malice
prepense, baseness, and art below a man of sense
or virtue : and yet these arts, these cozenages, are
the common practices of the town. What is this
but that damnable vice, of which they so reproach
our sex; that of jilting for hearts? And it is in
vain that my lover, after such foul play, shall think
to appease me, with saying ' He did it to try how
easy he could conquer, and of how great force his
charms were ; and why should I be angry if all the town
loved him, since he loved none but Iris ? ' Oh foolish
pleasure ! How little sense goes to the making of
such a happiness ! And how little love must he have
for one particular person, who would wish to inspire
it into all the world, and yet himself pretend to be
insensible! But this, Damon, is rather what is but
too much practised by your sex, than any guilt
I charge on you : though vanity be an ingredient
that nature very seldom omits in the composition
of either sex ; and you may be allowed a tincture
of it at least. And, perhaps, I am not wholly
exempt from this leaven in my nature, but accuse
myself sometimes of finding a secret joy of being
adored, though I even hate my worshipper. But
if any such pleasure touch my heart, I find it at the
same time blushing in my cheeks with a guilty
shame, which soon checks the petty triumphs ; and
I have a virtue at soberer thoughts, that I find sur-
mounts my weakness and indiscretion ; and I hope
Damon finds the same : for, should he have any of
those attachments, I should have no pity for him.
THE EXAMPLE
Damon, if you'd have me true,
Be you my precedent and guide :
Example sooner we pursue,
Than the dull dictates of our pride.
Precepts of virtue are too weak an aim :
'Tis demonstration that can best reclaim.
THE LOVER'S WATCH
Show me the path you'd have me go ;
With such a guide I cannot stray :
What you approve, whate'er you do,
It is but just I bend the way.
If true, my honour favours your design ;
If false, revenge is the result of mine.
A lover true, a maid sincere,
Are to be prized as things divine :
'Tis justice makes the blessing dear,
Justice of love without design.
And she that reigns not in a heart alone,
Is never safe, or easy, on her throne.
FOUR O'CLOCK
GENERAL CONVERSATION
In this visiting-hour, many people will happen to
meet at one and the same time together, in a place :
and as you make not visits to friends, to be silent,
you ought to enter into conversation with them ; but
those conversations ought to be general, and of
general things : for there is no necessity of making
your friend the confidant of your amours. It would
infinitely displease me, to hear you have revealed to
them all that I have reposed in you ; though secrets
ever so trivial, yet since uttered between lovers, they
deserve to be prized at a higher rate. For what can
show a heart more indifferent and indiscreet, than to
declare in any fashion, or with mirth, or joy, the
tender things a mistress says to her lover ; and which
possibly, related at second hand, bear not the same
sense, because they have not the same sound and air
they had originally, when they came from the soft
heart of her, who sighed them first to her lavish
lover? Perhaps they are told again with mirth, or
joy, unbecoming their character and business ; and
then they lose their graces: (for love is the most
solemn thing in nature, and the most unsuiting with
gaiety). Perhaps the soft expressions suit not so
THE LOVER'S WATCH 229
well the harsher voice of the masculine lover, whose
accents were not formed for so much tenderness ; at
least, not of that sort : for words that have the same
meaning, are altered from their sense by the least
tone or accent of the voice ; and those proper and
fitted to my soul, are not possibly so to yours,
though both have the same efficacy upon us; yours
upon my heart, as mine upon yours: and both will
be misunderstood by the unjudging world. Besides
this, there is a holiness in love that is true, that ought
not to be profaned. And as the poet truly says, at
the latter end of an ode, of which I will recite the
whole :
THE INVITATION
Amynta, fear not to confess
The charming secret of thy tenderness :
That which a lover can't conceal,
That which, to me, thou shouldst reveal ;
And is but what thy lovely eyes express.
Come, whisper to my panting heart,
That heaves and meets thy voice half-way ;
That guesses what thou wouldst impart,
And languishes for what thou hast to say.
Confirm my trembling doubt, and make me know,
Whence all these blessings, and these sighings flow.
Why dost thou scruple to unfold
A mystery that does my life concern ?
If thou ne'er speakest, it will be told ;
For lovers all things can discern.
From every look, from every bashful grace,
That still succeed each other in thy face,
I shall the dear transporting secret learn :
But 'tis a pleasure not to be exprest,
To hear it by the voice confest,
When soft sighs breathe it on my panting breast
All calm and silent is the grove,
Whose shading boughs resist the day ;
Here thou may'st blush, and talk of love,
While only winds, unheeding, stay,
That will not bear the sound away :
While I with solemn awful joy,
All my attentive faculties employ ;
230 THE LOVER'S WATCH
Listening to every valued word ;
And in my soul the secret treasure hoard :
There like some mystery divine,
The wondrous knowledge I'll enshrine.
Love can his joys no longer call his own,
That the dear secret's kept unknown.
There is nothing more true than those two last lines :
and that love ceases to be a pleasure, when it ceases
to be a secret, and one you ought to keep sacred.
For the world, which never makes a right judgment
of things, will misinterpret love, as they do religion ;
everyone judging it, according to the notion he hath
of it, or the talent of his sense. Love (as a great
Duke said) is like apparitions ; everyone talks of
them, but few have seen them. Everybody thinks
himself capable of understanding love, and that he is
a master in the art of it ; when there is nothing so
nice, or difficult, to be rightly comprehended ; and
indeed cannot be, but to a soul very delicate. Nor
will he make himself known to the vulgar : there
must be an uncommon fineness in the mind that con-
tains him ; the rest he only visits in as many dis-
guises as there are dispositions and natures, where he
makes but a short stay, and is gone. He can fit
himself to all hearts, being the greatest flatterer in
the world : and he possesses everyone with a con-
fidence, that they are in the number of his elect ; and
they think they know him perfectly, when nothing
but the spirits refined possess him in his excellency.
From this difference of love, in different souls, pro-
ceed those odd fantastic maxims, which so many
hold of so different kinds. And this makes the most
innocent pleasures pass oftentimes for crimes, with
the unjudging crowd, who call themselves lovers.
And you will have your passion censured by as many
as you shall discover it to, and as many several ways.
I advise you therefore, Damon, to make no confidants
of your amours ; and believe, that silence has, with
me, the most powerful charm.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 231
'Tis also in these conversations, that those indis-
creetly civil persons often are, who think to oblige a
good man, by letting him know he is beloved by
someone or other ; and making him understand how
many good qualities he is master of, to render him
agreeable to the fair sex, if he would but advance
where love and good fortune call ; and that a too
constant lover loses a great part of his time, which
might be managed to more advantage, since youth
hath so short a race to run. This, and a thousand
the like indecent complaisances, give him a vanity
that suits not with that discretion, which has hitherto
acquired him so good a reputation. I would not
have you, Damon, act on these occasions, as many of
the easy sparks have done before you, who receive
such weakness and flattery for truth ; and passing it
off with a smile, suffer them to advance in folly, till
they have gained a credit with them, and they believe
all they hear , telling them they do so, by consenting
gestures, silence, or open approbation. For my part,
I should not condemn a lover that should answer a
sort of civil brokers for love, somewhat briskly ; and
by giving them to understand they are already
engaged, or directing them to fools, that will possibly
hearken to them, and credit such stuff, shame them
out of a folly so infamous and disingenuous. In such
a case only I am willing you should own your passion ;
not that you need tell the object which has charmed
you. And you may say, you are already a lover,
without saying you are beloved. For so long as you
appear to have a heart unengaged, you are exposed
to all the little arts and addresses of this sort of
obliging procurers of love, and give way to the hope
they have of making you their proselyte. For your
own reputation then, and my ease and honour, shun
such conversations ; for they are neither creditable
to you, nor pleasing to me. And believe me, Damon,
a true lover has no curiosity, but what concerns his
mistress.
232 THE LOVER'S WATCH
FIVE O'CLOCK
DANGEROUS VISITS
I foresee, or fear, that these busy impertinent
friends will oblige you to visit some ladies of their
acquaintance, or yours ; my watch does not forbid
you. Yet I must tell you, I apprehend danger in
such visits ; and I fear, you will have need of all your
care and precaution, in these encounters, that you
may give me no cause to suspect you. Perhaps you
will argue, that civility obliges you to it. If I were
assured there would no other design be carried on, I
should believe it were to advance an enormous
prudence too far, to forbid you. Only keep yourself
upon your guard ; for the business of most part of
the fair sex, is, to seek only the conquest of hearts.
All their civilities are but so many interests ; and
they do nothing without design. And in such con-
versations there is always a Je ne sais quoi, that is
feared, especially when beauty is accompanied with
youth and gaiety ; and which they assume upon all
occasions that may serve their turn. And I confess
it is not an easy matter to be just in these hours and
conversations : the most certain way of being so, is
to imagine I read all your thoughts, observe all your
looks, and hear all your words.
THE CAUTION
My Damon, if your heart be kind,
Do not too long with beauty stay ;
For there are certain moments when the mind
Is hurried by the force of charms away.
In fate a minute critical there lies,
That waits on Love, and takes you by surprise.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 233
A lover pleased with constancy,
Lives still as if the maid he loved were by :
As if his actions were in view,
As if his steps she did pursue ;
Or that his very soul she knew.
Take heed ; for though I am not present there,
My Love, my genius waits you everywhere.
I am very much pleased with the remedy, you say,
you make use of to defend yourself from the attacks
that beauty gives your heart ; which in one of your
billets, you said was this, or to this purpose :
THE CHARM FOR CONSTANCY
Iris, to keep my soul entire and true,
It thinks, each moment of the day, on you.
And when a charming face I see,
That does all other eyes incline,
It has no influence on me :
I think it ev'n deformed to thine.
My eyes, my soul, and sense, regardless move
To all, but the dear object of my love.
But, Damon, I know all lovers are naturally flat-
terers, though they do not think so themselves ;
because everyone makes a sense of beauty according
to his own fancy. But perhaps you will say in your
own defence, that it is not flattery to say an un-
beautiful woman is beautiful, if he that says so be-
lieves she is so. I should be content to acquit you
of the first, provided you allow me the last : and if I
appear charming in Damon's eyes, I am not fond of
the approbation of any other. It is enough the world
thinks me not altogether disagreeable, to justify his
choice ; but let your good opinion give what increase
it pleases to my beauty, though your approbation
give me a pleasure, it shall not a vanity ; and I am
contented that Damon should think me a beauty,
without my believing I am one. It is not to draw
new assurances, and new vows from you, that I speak
234 THE LOVER'S WATCH
this ; though tales of love are the only ones we desire
to hear often told, and which never tire the hearers if
addressed to themselves. But it is not to this end I
now seem to doubt what you say to my advantage :
no, my heart knows no disguise, nor can dissemble
one thought of it to Damon ; it is all sincere, and
honest as his wish. Therefore it tells you, it does not
credit everything you say ; though I believe you say
abundance of truths in a great part of my character.
But when you advance to that, which my own sense,
my judgment, or my glass cannot persuade me to
believe, you must give me leave either to believe you
think me vain enough to credit you, or pleased that
your sentiments and mine are differing in this point.
But I doubt I may rather reply in some verses, a
friend of yours and mine sent to a person she thought
had but indifferent sentiments for her; yet, who never-
theless flattered her, because he imagined she had a
very great esteem for him. She is a woman that, you
know, naturally hates flattery : on the other side she
was extremely dissatisfied, and uneasy at his opinion
of his being more in her favour than she desired he
should believe. So that one night having left her full
of pride and anger, she next morning sent him these
verses, instead of a billet-doux.
THE DEFIANCE
By Heaven 'tis false, I am not vain ;
And rather would the subject be
Of your indifference, or disdain,
Than wit or raillery.
Take back the trifling praise you give,
And pass it on some easier fool,
Who may the injuring wit believe,
That turns her into ridicule.
Tell her, she's witty, fair and gay,
With all the charms that can subdue :
Perhaps she'll credit what you say ;
But curse me if I do.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 235
If your diversion you design,
On my good-nature you have prest :
Or if you do intend it mine,
You have mistook the jest.
Philander, fly that guilty art :
Your charming facile wit will find,
It cannot play on any heart,
That is sincere and kind.
For wit with softness to reside,
Good-nature is with pity stored ;
But flattery's the result of pride,
And fawns to be adored.
Nay, even when you smile and bow,
'Tis to be rendered more complete :
Your wit, with ev'ry grace you show,
Is but a popular cheat.
Laugh on, and call me coxcomb do ;
And, your opinion to improve,
Think, all you think of me is true ;
And to confirm it, swear I love.
Then, while you wreck my soul with pain,
And of a cruel conquest boast,
'Tis you, Philander, that are vain,
And witty at my cost.
Possibly, the angry Amynta, when she writ these
verses, was more offended, that he believed himself
beloved, than that he flattered ; though she would
seem to make that a great part of the quarrel, and
cause of her resentment. For we are often in a
humour to seem more modest in that point, than
naturally we are ; being too apt to have a favourable
opinion of ourselves : and it is rather the effects of
a fear that we are flattered, than our own ill opinion
of the beauty flattered ; and that the praiser thinks
not so well of it, as we do ourselves, or at least we
wish he should. Not but there are grains of allow-
ance for the temper of him that speaks. One man's
humour is to talk much ; and he may be permitted
to enlarge upon the praise he gives the person he
236 THE LOVER'S WATCH
pretends to, without being accused of much guilt.
Another hates to be wordy ; from such a one, I have
known one soft expression, one tender thing, go as
far as whole days' everlasting protestations urged with
vows, and mighty eloquence. And both the one and
the other, indeed, must be allowed in good manners,
to stretch the compliment beyond the bounds of nice
truth : and we must not wonder to hear a man call
a woman a beauty, when she is not ugly ; or another
a great wit, if she have but common-sense above the
vulgar ; well bred, when well dressed ; and good-
natured, when civil. And as I should be very ridicu-
lous, if I took all you said for absolute truth ; so I
should be very unjust, not to allow you very sincere
in almost all you said besides ; and those things, the
most material to love, honour, and friendship. And
for the rest, Damon, be it true or false, this believe,
you speak with such a grace, that I cannot choose but
credit you ; and find an infinite pleasure in that faith,
because I love you. And if I cannot find the cheat,
I am contented you should deceive me on, because
you do it so agreeably.
SIX O'CLOCK
WALK WITHOUT DESIGN
You yet have time to walk ; and my watch fore-
saw you could not refuse your friends. You must
to the Park, or to the Mall ; for the season is fair and
inviting, and all the young beauties love those places
too well, not to be there. It is there that a thousand
intrigues are carried on, and as many more designed.
It is there that everyone is set out for conquest ; and
who aim at nothing less than hearts. Guard yours
well, my Damon ; and be not always admiring what
you see. Do not, in passing by, sigh them silent
THE LOVER'S WATCH 237
praises. Suffer not so much as a guilty wish to
approach your thoughts, nor a heedful glance to steal
from your fine eyes : those are regards you ought
only to have for her you love. But oh ! above all,
have a care of what you say. You are not reproach-
able, if you should remain silent all the time of your
walk ; nor would those that know you believe it the
effects of dulness, but melancholy. And if any of
your friends ask you why you are so, I will give
you leave to sigh, and say :
THE MALCONTENT
Ah ! wonder not if I appear
Regardless of the pleasures here ;
Or that my thoughts are thus confined
To the just limits of my mind.
My eyes take no delight to rove
O'er all the smiling charmers of the grove,
Since she is absent whom they love.
Ask me not, Why the flow'ry spring,
Or the gay little birds that sing,
Or the young streams no more delight,
Or shades and arbours can't invite ?
Why the soft murmurs of the wind,
Within the thick-grown groves confined,
No more my soul transport, or cheer ;
Since all that's charming Iris, is not here ;
Nothing seems glorious, nothing fair.
Then suffer me to wander thus,
With downcast eyes, and arms across :
Let beauty unregarded go ;
The trees and flowers unheeded strow ;
Let purling streams neglected glide ;
With all the spring's adorning pride.
'Tis Iris only soul can give
To the dull shades, and plains, and make them thrive ;
Nature and my last joys retrieve.
I do not, for all this, wholly confine your eyes:
you may look indifferently on all, but with a par-
ticular regard on none. You may praise all the
238 THE LOVER'S WATCH
beauties in general, but no single one too much. I
will not exact from you neither an entire silence.
There are a thousand civilities you ought to pay to
all your friends and acquaintance ; and while I
caution you of actions, that may get you the reputa-
tion of a lover of some of the fair that haunt those
places, I would not have you, by an unnecessary and
uncomplaisant sullenness, gain that of a person too
negligent or morose. I would have you remiss in
no one punctilio of good manners. I would have
you very just, and pay all you owe ; but in these
affairs be not over generous, and give away too much.
In fine, you may look, speak, and walk ; but, Damon,
do it all without design : and while you do so, re-
member that Iris sent you this advice.
THE WARNING
Take heed, my Damon, in the grove,
Where beauties with design do walk ;
Take heed, my Damon, how you look and talk,
For there are ambuscades of love.
The very winds that softly blow,
Will help betray your easy heart ;
And all the flowers that blushing grow,
The shades about, and rivulets below,
Will take the victor's part.
Remember, Damon, all thy safety lies
In the just conduct of your eyes.
The heart, by nature good and brave,
Is to those treacherous guards a slave.
If they let in the fair destructive foe,
Scarce honour can defend her noble seat :
Ev'n she will be corrupted too,
Or driven to a retreat.
The soul is but the cully to the sight,
And must be pleased in what that takes delight.
Therefore examine yourself well; and conduct your
eyes, during this walk, like a lover that seeks nothing:
and do not stay too long in these places.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 239
SEVEN O'CLOCK
VOLUNTARY RETREAT
It is time to be weary, it is night : take leave of
your friends and retire home. It is in this retreat
that you ought to recollect in your thoughts all the
actions of the day, and all those things that you
ought to give me an account of, in your letter. You
cannot hide the least secret from me, without treason
against sacred love. For all the world agrees that
confidence is one of the greatest proofs of the passion
of love ; and that lover who refuses his confidence to
the person he loves, is to be suspected to love but
very indifferently, and to think very poorly of the
sense and generosity of his mistress. But that you
may acquit yourself like a man, and a lover of honour,
and leave me no doubt upon my soul ; think of all
you have done this day, that I may have all the story
of it in your next letter to me : but deal faithfully,
and neither add nor diminish in your relation; the
truth and sincerity of your confession will atone even
for little faults that you shall commit against me,
in some of those things you shall tell me. For if
you have failed in any point or circumstance of love,
I had much rather hear it from you than another :
for it is a sort of repentance to accuse yourself ; and
would be a crime unpardonable, if you suffer me to
hear it from any other: and be assured, while you
confess it, I shall be indulgent enough to forgive
you. The noblest quality of man is sincerity ; and,
Damon, one ought to have as much of it in love, as
in any other business of one's life, notwithstanding
the most part of men make no account of it there ;
but will believe there ought to be double-dealing,
240 THE LOVER'S WATCH
and an art practised in love as well as in war. But,
oh ! beware of that notion.
SINCERITY
Sincerity ! thou greatest good !
Thou virtue which so many boast !
And art so nicely understood !
And often in the searching lost !
For when we do approach thee near,
The fine idea framed of thee,
Appears not now so charming fair
As the most useful flattery.
Thou hast no glitt'ring to invite ;
Nor takest the lover at first sight.
The modest virtue shuns the crowd,
And lives, like Vestals, in a cell ;
In cities 'twill not be allowed,
Nor takes delight in Courts to dwell ;
'Tis nonsense with the man of wit ;
And ev'n a scandal to the great :
For all the young, and fair, unfit ;
And scorned by wiser fops of state.
A virtue yet was never known
To the false trader, or the falser gown.
And, Damon, though thy noble blood
Be most illustrious, and refined ;
Though ev'ry grace and ev'ry good
Adorn thy person and thy mind :
Yet, if this virtue shine not there,
This God-like virtue, which alone,
Wert thou less witty, brave, or fair,
Would for all these, less prized, atone ;
My tender folly I'd control,
And scorn the conquest of thy soul.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 241
EIGHT O'CLOCK
IMPATIENT DEMANDS
After you have sufficiently collected yourself of all
the past actions of the day, call your page into your
cabinet, or him whom you trusted with your last
letter to me ; where you ought to inquire of him
a thousand things, and all of me. Ask impatiently,
and be angry if he answers not your curiosity soon
enough. Think that he has a dreaming in his voice,
in these moments more than at other times; and
reproach him with dulness : for 'tis most certain that
when one loves tenderly, we would know in a minute,
what cannot be related in an hour. Ask him, How
I did? How I received his letter? And if he ex-
amined the air of my face, when I took it? If I
blushed or looked pale? If my hand trembled, or
I spoke to him with short interrupting sighs? If I
asked him any questions about you, while I was
opening the seal ? Or if I could not well speak, and
was silent? If I read it attentively, and with joy?
And all this, before you open the answer I have sent
you by him : which, because you are impatient to
read, you, with the more haste and earnestness, de-
mand all you expect from him; and that you may
the better know what humour I was in, when I writ
that to you. For, oh ! a lover has a thousand little
fears, and dreads, he knows not why. In fine, make
him recount to you all that passed, while he was with
me ; and then you ought to read that which I have
sent, that you may inform yourself of all that passes
in my heart: for you may assure yourself, all that
I say to you that way proceeds from thence.
2 4 2 THE LOVER'S WATCH
THE ASSURANCE
How shall a lover come to know,
Whether he's beloved or no ?
What dear things must she impart,
To assure him of her heart ?
Is it when her blushes rise ;
And she languish in her eyes ;
Tremble when he does approach ;
Look pale, and faint at ev'ry touch ?
Is it, when a thousand ways
She does his wit and beauty praise ;
Or she venture to explain,
In less moving words, a pain ;
Though so indiscreet she grows,
To confirm it with her vows ?
These some short-lived passion moves,
While the object's by she loves ;
While the gay and sudden fire
Kindles by some fond desire :
And a coldness will ensue.
When the lover's out of view.
Then she reflects with scandal o'er
The easy scene that passed before :
Then, with blushes, would recall
The unconsidering criminal ;
In which a thousand faults she'll find,
And chide the errors of her mind.
Such fickle weight is found in words,
As no substantial faith affords :
Deceived and baffled all may be,
Who trust that frail security.
But a well-digested flame,
That will always be the same ;
And that does from merit grow,
Established by our reason too ;
By a better way will prove,
'Tis th' unerring fire of love.
Lasting records it will give :
And, that all she says may live ;
Sacred and authentic stand,
Her heart confirms it by her hand.
If this, a maid, well-born, allow ;
Damon, believe her just and true.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 243
NINE O'CLOCK
MELANCHOLY REFLECTIONS
You will not have much trouble to explain what
my watch designs here. There can be no thought
more afflicting, than that of the absence of a
mistress : and which the sighings of the heart will
soon make you find. Ten thousand fears oppress
him ; he is jealous of everybody, and envies those
eyes and ears that are charmed by being near the
object adored. He grows impatient, and makes a
thousand resolutions, and as soon abandons them all.
He gives himself wholly up to the torment of un-
certainty ; and by degrees, from one cruel thought to
another, winds himself up to insupportable chagrin.
Take this hour then, to think on your misfortunes,
which cannot be small to a soul that is wholly sensi-
ble of love. And everyone knows, that a lover,
deprived of the object of his heart, is deprived of all
the world, and inconsolable : for though one wishes
without ceasing for the dear charmer one loves, and
though you speak of her every minute ; though you
are writing to her every day, and though you are
infinitely pleased with the dear and tender answer ;
yet, to speak sincerely, it must be confessed, that the
felicity of a true lover is to be always near his
mistress. And you may tell me, O Damon ! what
you please ; and say that absence inspires the flame,
which perpetual presence would satiate. I love too
well to be of that mind, and when I am, I shall
believe my passion is declining. I know not whether
it advances your love ; but surely it must ruin your
repose : and it is possible to be, at once, an absent
lover, and happy too. For my part, I can meet with
nothing that can please in the absence of Damon ;
but on the contrary I see all things with disgust.
I will flatter myself, that it is so with you ; and that
244 THE LOVER'S WATCH
the least evils appear great misfortunes ; and that all
those who speak to you of anything but of what you
love, increase your pain, by a new remembrance of
her absence. I will believe that these are your senti-
ments, when you are assured not to see me in some
weeks ; and if your heart do not betray your words,
all those days will be tedious to you. I would not,
however, have your melancholy too extreme ; and to
lessen it, you may persuade yourself, that I partake it
with you : for, I remember, in your last you told me,
you would wish we should be both grieved at the
same time, and both at the same time pleased ; and
I believe I love too well not to obey you.
LOVE SECURED
Love, of all joys, the sweetest is,
The most substantial happiness ;
The softest blessing life can crave,
The noblest passion souls can have.
Yet, if no interruption were,
No difficulties came between,
'Twould not be rendered half so dear :
The sky is gayest when small clouds are seen.
The sweetest flower, the blushing rose,
Amidst the thorns securest grows.
If love were one continued joy,
How soon the happiness would cloy !
The wiser god did this foresee ;
And to preserve the bliss entire,
Mixed it with doubt and jealousy,
Those necessary fuels to the fire ;
Sustained the fleeting pleasures with new fears ;
With little quarrels, sighs and tears ;
With absence, that tormenting smart,
That makes a minute seem a day,
A day a year to the impatient heart,
That languishes in the delay,
But cannot sigh the tender pain away ;
That still returns, and with a greater force,
Through every vein it takes its grateful course.
But whatsoe'er the lover does sustain,
Though he still sigh, complain, and fear ;
It cannot be a mortal pain,
When two do the affliction bear.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 245
TEN O'CLOCK
REFLECTIONS
After the afflicting thoughts of my absence, make
some reflections on your happiness. Think it a bless-
ing to be permitted to love me ; think it so, because
I permit it to you alone, and never could be drawn to
allow it any other. The first thing you ought to con-
sider, is, that at length I have suffered myself to be
overcome, to quit that nicety that is natural to me,
and receive your addresses ; nay, thought them agree-
able : and that I have at last confessed, the present of
your heart is very dear to me. It is true, I did not
accept of it the first time it was offered me, nor before
you had told me a thousand times, that you could not
escape expiring, if I did not give you leave to sigh
for me, and gaze upon me ; and that there was an
absolute necessity for me, either to give you leave to
love, or die. And all those rigours my severity has
made you suffer, ought now to be recounted to your
memory, as subjects of pleasure ; and you ought to
esteem and judge of the price of my affections, by the
difficulties you found in being able to touch my heart.
Not but you have charms that can conquer at first
sight ; and you ought not to have valued me less, if
I had been more easily gained. But it is enough to
please you, to think and know I am gained ; no matter
when and how. When, after a thousand cares and
inquietudes, that which we wish for succeeds to our
desires, the remembrance of those pains and pleasures
we encountered in arriving at it, gives us a new joy.
Remember also, Damon, that I have preferred you
before all those that have been thought worthy of my
esteem ; and that I have shut my eyes to all their
pleading merits, and could survey none but yours.
246 THE LOVER'S WATCH
Consider then, that you had not only the happiness
to please me, but that you only found out the way of
doing it, and I had the goodness at last to tell you so,
contrary to all the delicacy and niceness of my soul,
contrary to my prudence, and all those scruples, you
know, are natural to my humour.
My tenderness proceeded further, and I gave you
innocent marks of my new-born passion, on all
occasions that presented themselves. For, after that
from my eyes and tongue you knew the sentiments
of my heart, I confirmed that truth to you by my
letters. Confess, Damon, that if you make these
reflections, you will not pass this hour very disagree-
ably.
BEGINNING LOVE
As free as wanton winds I lived,
That unconcerned do play :
No broken faith, no fate I grieved ;
No fortune gave me joy.
A dull content crowned all my hours.
My heart no sighs opprest ;
I called in vain on no deaf powers,
To ease a tortured breast.
The sighing swains regardless pined,
And strove in vain to please :
With pain I civilly was kind,
But could afford no ease.
Though wit and beauty did abound,
The charm was wanting still,
That could inspire the tender wound,
Or bend my careless will.
Till in my heart a kindling flame
Your softer sighs had blown ;
Which I, with striving, love and shame,
Too sensibly did own.
Whate'er the god before could plead ;
Whate'er the youth's desert ;
The feeble siege in vain was laid
Against my stubborn heart.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 247
At first my sighs and blushes spoke,
Just when your sighs would rise ;
And when you gazed, I wished to look,
But durst not meet your eyes.
I trembled when my hand you pressed,
Nor could my guilt control ;
But love prevailed, and I confessed
The secrets of my soul.
And when upon the giving part,
My present to avow,
By all the ways confirmed my heart,
That honour would allow ;
Too mean was all that I could say,
Too poorly understood :
I gave my soul the noblest way,
My letters made it good.
You may believe I did not easily, nor suddenly,
bring my heart to this condescension ; but I loved,
and all things in Damon were capable of making me
resolve so to do. I could not think it a crime, where
every grace, and every virtue justified my choice.
And when once one is assured of this, we find not
much difficulty in owning that passion which will so
well commend one's judgment ; and there is no
obstacle that love does not surmount. I confessed
my weakness a thousand ways, before I told it you ;
and I remember all those things with pleasure, but
yet I remember them also with shame.
ELEVEN O'CLOCK
SUPPER
I will believe, Damon, that you have been so well
entertained during this hour, and have found so much
sweetness in these thoughts, that if one did not tell
you that supper waits, you would lose yourself in
reflections so pleasing, many more minutes. But you
must go where you are expected ; perhaps, among
248 THE LOVER'S WATCH
the fair, the young, the gay ; but do not abandon
your heart to too much joy, though you have so
much reason to be contented : but the greatest
pleasures are always imperfect, if the object beloved
do not partake of it. For this reason be cheerful
and merry with reserve : do not talk too much, I
know you do not love it ; and if you do it, it will be
the effect of too much complaisance, or with some
design of pleasing too well ; for you know your own
charming power, and how agreeable your wit and
conversation are to all the world. Remember, I am
covetous of every word you speak, that is not
addressed to me, and envy the happy listener, if I
am not by. And I may reply to you as Amynta did
to Philander, when he charged her of loving a talker :
and because, perhaps, you have not heard it, I will,
to divert you, send it to you ; and at the same time
assure you, Damon, that your more noble quality, of
speaking little, has reduced me to a perfect abhorrence
of those wordy sparks, that value themselves upon
their ready and much talking upon every trivial
subject, and who have so good an opinion of their
talent that way, they will let nobody edge in a word,
or a reply ; but will make all the conversation them-
selves, that they may pass for very entertaining
persons, and pure company. But the verses :
THE REFORMATION
Philander, since you'll have it so,
I grant I was impertinent ;
And, till this moment, did not know,
Through all my life what 'twas I meant.
Your kind opinion was the flattering glass,
In which my mind found how deformed it was.
In your clear sense, which knows no art,
I saw the errors of my soul ;
And all the foibles of my heart
With one reflection you control.
Kind as a god, and gently you chastise :
By what you hate, you teach me to be wise.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 249
Impertinence, my sex's shame,
That has so long my life pursued,
You with such modesty reclaim,
As all the women has subdued.
To so divine a power what must I owe,
That renders me so like the perfect You ?
That conversable thing I hate,
Already, with a just disdain,
That prides himself upon his prate,
And is, of words, that nonsense, vain :
When in your few appears such excellence,
As have reproached, and charmed me into sense.
For ever may I listening sit,
Though but each hour a word be born ;
I would attend thy coming wit,
And bless what can so well inform.
Let the dull world henceforth to words be damned ;
I'm into nobler sense than talking shamed.
I believe you are so good a lover, as to be of my
opinion ; and that you will neither force yourself
against nature, nor find much occasion to lavish out
those excellent things that must proceed from you,
whenever you speak. If all women were like me, I
should have more reason to fear your silence than
your talk : for you have a thousand ways to charm
without speaking, and those which to me show a
great deal more concern. But, Damon, you know
the greatest part of my sex judge the fine gentleman
by the volubility of his tongue, by his dexterity in
repartee, and cry ' Oh ! he never wants fine things to
say : he's eternally talking the most surprising
things.' But, Damon, you are well assured, I hope,
that Iris is none of these coquettes : at least, if she
had any spark of it once in her nature, she is by the
excellency of your contrary temper taught to know,
and scorn the folly. And take heed your conduct
never gives me cause to suspect you have deceived
me in your temper.
250 THE LOVER'S WATCH
TWELVE O'CLOCK
COMPLAISANCE
Nevertheless, Damon, civility requires a little com-
plaisance after supper ; and I am assured, you can
never want that, though I confess, you are not accused
of too general a complaisance, and do not often make
use of it to those persons you have an indifference
for: though one is not the less esteemable for having
more of this than one ought ; and though an excess
of it be a fault, it is a very excusable one. Have
therefore some for those with whom you are : you
may laugh with them, drink with them, dance or
sing with them ; yet think of me. You may discourse
of a thousand indifferent things with them, and at
the same time still think of me. If the subject be
any beautiful lady, whom they praise, either for her
person, wit, or virtue, you may apply it to me : and
if you dare not say it aloud, at least, let your heart
answer in this language :
Yes, the fair object, whom you praise,
Can give us love a thousand ways ;
Her wit and beauty charming are ;
But still my Iris is more fair.
Nobody ever spoke before me of a faithful lover,
but still I sighed, and thought of Damon : and ever
when they tell me tales of love, any soft pleasing
intercourses of an amour ; oh ! with what pleasures
do I listen ! and with pleasure answer them, either
with my eyes, or tongue :
That lover may his Sylvia warm,
But cannot, like my Damon, charm.
If I have not all these excellent qualities you meet
with in those beautiful people, I am however very
THE LOVER'S WATCH 251
glad that love prepossesses your heart to my ad-
vantage : and I need not tell you, Damon, that a true
lover ought to persuade himself, that all other objects
ought to give place to her, for whom his heart sighs.
But see, my Cupid tells you it is one o'clock, and that
you ought not to be longer from your apartment;
where, while you are undressing, I will give you
leave to say to yourself:
THE REGRET
Alas ! and must the sun decline,
Before it have informed my eyes
Of all that's glorious, all that's fine,
Of all I sigh for, all I prize ?
How joyful were those happy days,
When Iris spread her charming rays,
Did my unwearied heart inspire
With never-ceasing awful fire,
And ev'ry minute gave me new desire t
But now, alas ! all dead and pale,
Like flow'rs that wither in the shade :
Where no kind sunbeams can prevail,
To raise its cold and fading head,
I sink into my useless bed.
I grasp the senseless pillow as I lie ;
A thousand times, in vain, I sighing cry.
Ah ! would to heaven my Iris were as nigk.
ONE O'CLOCK
IMPOSSIBILITY TO SLEEP
You have been up long enough ; and Cupid, who
takes care of your health, tells you, it is time for you
to go to bed. Perhaps you may not sleep as soon as
you are laid, and possibly you may pass an hour in
bed, before you shut your eyes. In this impossibility
of sleeping, I think it very proper for you to imagine
what I am doing where I am. Let your fancy take
a little journey then, invisible, to observe my actions
252 THE LOVER'S WATCH
and my conduct. You will find me sitting alone in
my cabinet (for I am one that do not love to go to
bed early) and will find me very uneasy and pensive,
pleased with none of those things that so well enter-
tain others. I shun all conversation, as far as civility
will allow, and find no satisfaction like being alone,
where my soul may, without interruption, converse
with Damon. I sigh, and sometimes you will see
my cheeks wet with tears, that insensibly glide down
at a thousand thoughts that present themselves soft
and afflicting. I partake of all your inquietude.
On other things I think with indifference, if ever my
thoughts do stray from the more agreeable object.
I find, however, a little sweetness in this thought,
that, during my absence, your heart thinks of me,
when mine sighs for you. Perhaps I am mistaken,
and that at the same time that you are the entertain-
ment of all my thoughts, I am no more in yours ;
and perhaps you are thinking of those things that
immortalise the young and brave, either by those
glories the Muses flatter you with, or that of Bellona,
and the god of war ; and serving now a monarch,
whose glorious acts in arms has outgone all the
feigned and real heroes of any age, who has, himself,
outdone whatever history can produce of great and
brave, and set so illustrious an example to the under-
world, that it is not impossible, as much a lover as
you are, but you are thinking now how to render
yourself worthy the glory of such a god-like master,
by projecting a thousand things of gallantry and
danger. And though I confess, such thoughts are
proper for your youth, your quality, and the place
you have the honour to hold under our sovereign,
yet let me tell you, Damon, you will not be without
inquietude, if you think of either being a delicate
poet, or a brave warrior ; for love will still interrupt
your glory, however you may think to divert him
either by writing or fighting. And you ought to
remember these verses :
THE LOVER'S WATCH 253
LOVE AND GLORY
Beneath the kind protecting laurel's shade,
For sighing lovers, and for warriors made,
The soft Adonis, and rough Mars were laid.
Both were designed to take their rest ;
But Love the gentle boy opprest,
And false alarms shook the stern hero's breast.
This thinks to soften all his toils of war,
In the dear arms of the obliging fair ;
And that, by hunting, to divert his care.
All day, o'er hills and plains, wild beasts he chased,
Swift as the flying winds, his eager haste ;
In vain, the god of Love pursues as fast.
But oh ! no sports, no toils, divertive prove,
The evening still returns him to the grove,
To sigh and languish for the Queen of Love :
Where elegies and sonnets he does frame,
And to the listening echoes sighs her name,
And on the trees carves records of his flame.
The warrior in the dusty camp all day
With rattling drums and trumpets, does essay
To fright the tender flatt'ring god away.
But still, alas, in vain : whate'er delight,
What cares he takes the wanton boy to fright,
Love still revenges it at night.
'Tis then he haunts the royal tent,
The sleeping hours in sighs are spent,
And all his resolutions does prevent.
In all his pains, Love mixed his smart ;
In every wound he feels a dart ;
And the soft god is trembling in his heart.
Then he retires to shady groves,
And there, in vain, he seeks repose,
And strives to fly from what he cannot lose.
While thus he lay, Bellona came,
And with a gen'rous fierce disdain,
Upbraids him with his feeble flame.
254 THE LOVER'S WATCH
Arise, the world's great terror, and their care ;
Behold the glitt'ring host from far,
That waits the conduct of the god of war.
Beneath these glorious laurels, which were made
To crown the noble victor's head,
Why thus supinely art thou laid ?
Why on that face, where awful terror grew,
Thy sun-parched cheeks why do I view
The shining tracks of falling tears bedew ?
What god has wrought these universal harms ?
What fatal nymph, what fatal charms,
Has made the hero deaf to war's alarms ?
Now let the conqu'ring ensigns up be furled :
Learn to be gay, be soft, and curled ;
And idle, lose the empire of the world.
In fond effeminate delights go on ;
Lose all the glories you have won :
Bravely resolve to love, and be undone.
'Tis thus the martial virgin pleads ;
Thus she the am'rous god persuades
To fly from Venus, and the flow'ry meads.
You see here that poets and warriors are often-
times in affliction, even under the shades of their
protecting laurels ; and let the nymphs and virgins
sing what they please to their memory, under the
myrtles, and on flowery beds, they are much better
days than in the campaign. Nor do the crowns of
glory surpass those of love : the first is but an
empty name, which is now kept and lost with hazard ;
but love more nobly employs a brave soul, and all
his pleasures are solid and lasting ; and when one has
a worthy object of one's flame, glory accompanies
love too. But go to sleep, the hour is come ; though
it is now that your soul ought to be entertained in
dreams.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 255
TWO O'CLOCK
CONVERSATION IN DREAMS
I doubt not but you will think it very bold and
arbitrary, that my watch should pretend to rule even
your sleeping hours, and that my cupid should govern
your very dreams ; which are but thoughts disordered,
in which reason has no part ; chimeras of the imagina-
tion, and no more. But though my watch does not
pretend to counsel unreasonable, yet you must allow
it here, if not to pass the bounds, at least to advance
to the utmost limits of it. I am assured, that after
having thought so much of me in the day, you will
think of me also in the night. And the first dream
my watch permits you to make, is to think you are
in conversation with me.
Imagine, Damon, that you are talking to me of
your passion, with all the transport of a lover, and
that I hear you with satisfaction ; that all my looks
and blushes, while you are speaking, give you new
hopes and assurances ; that you are not indifferent to
me ; and that I give you a thousand testimonies of
my tenderness, all innocent and obliging.
While you are saying all that love can dictate, all
that wit and good manners can invent, and all that I
wish to hear from Damon, believe in this dream, all
flattering and dear, that after having showed me the
ardour of your flame, I confess to you the bottom of
my heart, and all the loving secrets there ; that I give
you sigh for sigh, tenderness for tenderness, heart for
heart, and pleasure for pleasure. And I would have
your sense of this dream so perfect, and your joy so
entire, that if it happen you should awake with the
satisfaction of this dream, you should find your heart
still panting with the soft pleasure of the dear
256 THE LOVER'S WATCH
deceiving transport, and you should be ready to cry
out:
Ah ! how sweet it is to dream,
When charming Iris is the theme !
For such, I wish, my Damon, your sleeping and your
waking thoughts should render me to your heart.
THREE O'CLOCK
CAPRICIOUS SUFFERING IN DREAMS
It is but just to mix a little chagrin with these
pleasures, a little bitter with your sweet ; you may be
cloyed with too long an imagination of my favours :
and I will have your fancy in dreams represent me to
it, as the most capricious maid in the world. I know,
here you will accuse my watch, and blame me with
unnecessary cruelty, as you will call it: but lovers
have their little ends, their little advantages, to pursue
by methods wholly unaccountable to all, but that
heart which contrives them. And as good a lover as
I believe you, you will not enter into my design at
first sight; and though, on reasonable thoughts, you
will be satisfied with this conduct of mine, at its first
approach you will be ready to cry out :
THE REQUEST
Oh Iris ! let my sleeping hours be fraught
With joys, which you deny my waking thought
Is't not enough you absent are ?
Is't not enough I sigh all day,
And languish out my life in care,
To ev'ry passion made a prey ?
I burn with love, and soft desire ;
I rave with jealousy and fear :
All day, for ease, my soul I tire ;
In vain I search it ev'rywhere :
It dwells not with the witty or the fair.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 257
It is not in the camp or court,
In business, music, or in sport ;
The plays, the Park, the Mall afford
No more than the dull basset-board.
The beauties in the drawing-room,
With all their sweetness, all their bloom,
No more my faithful eyes invite,
Nor rob my Iris of a sigh or glance,
Unless soft thoughts of her incite
A smile, or trivial complaisance.
Then since my days so anxious prove,
Ah, cruel tyrant ! give
A little loose to joys in love,
And let your Damon live.
Let him in dreams be happy made,
And let his sleep some bliss provide :
The nicest maid may yield in night's dark shade,
What she so long by daylight had denied.
There let me think you present are,
And court my pillow for my fair.
There let me find you kind, and that you give
All that a man of honour dares receive.
And may my eyes eternal watches keep,
Rather than want that pleasure when I :
sleep.
Some such complaint as this I know you will
make ; but, Damon, if the little quarrels of lovers
render the reconciling moments so infinitely charm-
ing, you must needs allow, that these little chagrins
in capricious dreams must awaken you to more joy to
find them but dreams, than if you had met with no
disorder there. It is for this reason that I would have
you suffer a little pain for a coming pleasure ; nor,
indeed, is it possible for you to escape the dreams my
cupid points you out. You shall dream that I have
a thousand foibles, something of the lightness of my
sex ; that my soul is employed in a thousand vanities ;
that (proud and fond of lovers) I make advances for
the glory of a slave, without any other interest or design
than that of being adored. I will give you leave to
think my heart fickle, and that, far from resigning it
to anyone, I lend it only for a day, or an hour, and
s
258 THE LOVER'S WATCH
take it back at pleasure ; that I am a very coquette,
even to impertinence.
All this I give you leave to think, and to offend
me : but it is in sleep only that I permit it ; for I
would never pardon you the least offence of this
nature, if in any other kind than in a dream. Nor is
it enough affliction to you, to imagine me thus idly
vain ; but you are to pass on to a hundred more
capricious humours : as that I exact of you a hundred
u ijust things; that I pretend you should break off
with all your friends, and for the future have none at
all; that I will myself do those things, which I
violently condemn in you ; and that I will have for
others, as well as you, that tender friendship that
resembles love, or rather love which people call friend-
ship ; and that I will not, after all, have you dare
complain of me.
In fine, be as ingenious as you please to torment
yourself; and believe, that I am become unjust, un-
grateful, and insensible. But were I so indeed, O
Damon ! consider your awaking heart, and tell me,
would your love stand the proof of all these faults in
me? But know, that I would have you believe I
have none of these weaknesses, though I am not
wholly without faults, but those will be excusable to
a lover ; and this notion I have of a perfect one :
Whate'er fantastic humours rule the fair,
She's still the lover's dotage, and his care.
FOUR O'CLOCK
JEALOUSY IN DREAMS
Do not think, Damon, to wake yet ; for I design
you shall yet suffer a little more : jealousy must now
possess you, that tyrant over the heart, that compels
your very reason, and seduces all your good-nature.
And in this dream you must believe that in sleeping,
THE LOVER'S WATCH 259
which you could not do me the injustice to do when
awake. And here you must explain all my actions
to the utmost disadvantage : nay, I will wish, that
the force of this jealousy may be so extreme, that it
may make you languish in grief, and be overcome
with anger.
You shall now imagine, that one of your rivals is
with me, interrupting all you say, or hindering all you
would say ; that I have no attention to what you
say aloud to me, but that I incline mine ear to
hearken to all that he whispers to me. You shall
repine, that he pursues me everywhere, and is eter-
nally at your heels if you approach me ; that I caress
him with sweetness in my eyes, and that vanity in my
heart, that possesses the humours of almost all the
fair; that is, to believe it greatly for my glory to have
abundance of rivals for my lovers. I know you love me
too well not to be extremely uneasy in the company
of a rival, and to have one perpetually near me ; for
let him be beloved or not by the mistress, it must be
confessed, a rival is a very troublesome person. But,
to afflict you to the utmost, I will have you imagine
that my eyes approve of all his thoughts ; that they
flatter him with hopes ; and that I have taken away
my heart from you, to make a present of it to this
more lucky man. You shall suffer, while possessed
with this dream, all that a cruel jealousy can make a
tender soul suffer.
THE TORMENT
O jealousy ! thou passion most ingrate !
Tormenting as despair, envious as hate !
Spiteful as witchcraft, which th' Invoker harms ;
Worse than the wretch that suffers by its charms.
Thou subtile poison in the fancy bred,
Diffused through every vein, the heart and head,
And over all, like wild contagion spread,
Thou, whose sole property is to destroy,
Thou opposite to good, antipathy to joy ;
Whose attributes are cruel rage and fire,
Reason debauched, false sense, and mad desire.
2<5o THE LOVER'S WATCH
In fine, it is a passion that ruffles all the senses,
and disorders the whole frame of nature. It makes
one hear and see what was never spoken, and what
never was in view. It is the bane of health and
beauty, an unmannerly intruder ; and an evil of life
worse than death. She is a very cruel tyrant in the
heart ; she possesses and pierces it with infinite un-
quiets ; and we may lay it down as a certain maxim
She that would rack a lover's heart
To the extent of cruelty,
Must his tranquillity pervert
To the most torturing jealousy.
I speak too sensibly of this passion, not to have
loved well enough to have been touched with it. And
you shall be this unhappy lover, Damon, during this
dream, in which nothing shall present itself to your
tumultuous thoughts, that shall not bring its pain.
You shall here pass and repass a hundred designs,
that shall confound one another. In fine, Damon,
anger, hatred, and revenge, shall surround your heart.
There they shall all together reign
With mighty force, with mighty pain ;
In spite of reason, in contempt of love :
Sometimes by turns, sometimes united move.
FIVE O'CLOCK
QUARRELS IN DREAMS
I perceive you are not able to suffer all this in-
justice, nor can I permit it any longer : and though
you commit no crime yourself, yet you believe in this
dream, that I complain of the injuries you do my
fame ; and that I am extremely angry with a jealousy
so prejudicial to my honour. Upon this belief you
THE LOVER'S WATCH 261
accuse me of weakness ; you resolve to see me no
more, and are making a thousand feeble vows against
love. You esteem me as a false one, and resolve to
cease loving the vain coquette, and will say to me, as
a certain friend of yours said to his false mistress :
THE INCONSTANT
Though, Sylvia, you are very fair,
Yet disagreeable to me ;
And since you so inconstant are,
Your beauty's damned with levity.
Your wit, your most offensive arms,
For want of judgment, wants its charms.
To every lover that is new,
All new and charming you surprise ;
But when your fickle mind they view,
They shun the danger of your eyes.
Should you a miracle of beauty show,
Yet you're inconstant, and will still be so.
It is thus you will think of me : and in fine,
Damon, during this dream, we are in perpetual state
of war.
Thus both resolve to break their chain,
And think to do't without much pain,
But oh ! alas ! we strive in vain.
For lovers, of themselves, can nothing do ;
There must be the consent of two :
You give it me, and I must give it you.
And if we shall never be free, till we acquit one
another, this tie between you and I, Damon, is likely
to last as long as we live ; therefore in vain you
endeavour, but can never attain your end ; and in
conclusion you will say, in thinking of me :
Oh ! how at ease my heart would live,
Could I renounce this fugitive ;
This dear, but false, attracting maid
That has her vows and faith betrayed I
Reason would have it so, but love
Dares not the dang'rous trial prove.
262 THE LOVER'S WATCH
Do not be angry then, for this afflicting hour is
drawing to an end, and you ought not to despair of
coming into my absolute favour again :
Then do not let your murm'ring heart,
Against my int'rest, take your part.
The feud was raised by dreams, all false and vain,
And the next sleep shall reconcile again.
SIX O'CLOCK
ACCOMMODATION IN DREAMS
Though the angry lovers force themselves, all they
can, to chase away the troublesome tenderness of the
heart, in the height of their quarrels, love sees all
their sufferings, pities and redresses them. And
when we begin to cool, and a soft repentance follows
the chagrin of the love-quarrel, it is then that love
takes the advantage of both hearts, and renews the
charming friendship more forcibly than ever, puts a
stop to all our feuds, and renders the peace-making
minutes the most dear and tender part of our life.
How pleasing it is to see your rage dissolve ! How
sweet, how soft is every word that pleads for pardon
at my feet ! It is there that you tell me, your very
sufferings are overpaid, when I but assure you from
my eyes, that I will forget your crime. And your
imagination shall here present me the most sensible
of your past pain, that you can wish; and that all my
anger being banished, I give you a thousand marks
of my faith and gratitude ; and lastly, to crown all,
that we again make new vows to one another of
inviolable peace:
After these debates of love,
Lovers thousand pleasures prove,
Which they ever think to taste,
Though oftentimes they do not last
THE LOVER'S WATCH 263
Enjoy then all the pleasures that a heart that is
very amorous, and very tender, can enjoy. Think no
more on those inquietudes that you have suffered ;
bless Love for his favours, and thank me for my
graces : and resolve to endure anything, rather than
enter upon any new quarrels. And however dear the
reconciling moments are, there proceeds a great deal
of evil from these little frequent quarrels; and I think
the best counsel we can follow, is to avoid them as near
as we can. And if we cannot, but that, in spite of love
and good understanding, they should break out, we
ought to make as speedy peace as possible ; for it is
not good to grate the heart too long, lest it grow
hardened insensibly, and lose its native temper. A
few quarrels there must be in love : love cannot sup-
port itself without them : and, besides the joy of an
accommodation, love becomes by it more strongly
united, and more charming. Therefore let the lover
receive this as a certain receipt against declining love :
LOVE RECONCILED
He that would have the passion be
Entire between the am'rous pair,
Let not the little feuds of jealousy
Be carried on to a despair :
That palls the pleasure he would raise ;
The fire that he would blow, allays.
When understandings false arise,
When misinterpreted your thought,
If false conjectures of your smiles and eyes
Be up to baneful quarrels wrought ;
Let love the kind occasion take,
And straight accommodations make.
The sullen lover, long unkind,
Ill-natured, hard to reconcile,
Loses the heart he had inclined ;
Love cannot undergo long toil ;
He's soft and sweet, not born to bear
The rough fatigues of painful war.
264 THE LOVER'S WATCH
SEVEN O'CLOCK
DIVERS DREAMS
Behold, Damon, the last hour of your sleep, and of
my watch. She leaves you at liberty now, and you
may choose your dreams : trust them to your imagina-
tion, give a loose to fancy, and let it rove at will,
provided, Damon, it be always guided by a respectful
love. For thus far I pretend to give bounds to your
imagination, and will not have it pass beyond them.
Take heed, in sleeping, you give no ear to a flattering
cupid, that will favour your slumbering minutes with
lies too pleasing and vain : you are discreet enough
when you are awake ; will you not be so in dreams ?
Damon, awake ; my watch's course is done : after
this, you cannot be ignorant of what you ought to do
during my absence. I did not believe it necessary to
caution you about balls and comedies ; you know,
a lover deprived of his mistress, goes seldom there.
But if you cannot handsomely avoid these diversions,
I am not so unjust a mistress, to be angry with you
for it , go, if civility, or other duties oblige you.
I will only forbid you, in consideration of me, not
to be too much satisfied with those pleasures; but
see them so, as the world may have reason to say,
you do not seek them, you do not make a business
or pleasure of them ; and that it is complaisance,
and not inclination, that carries you thither. Seem
rather negligent than concerned at anything there ;
and let every part of you say, Iris is not here.
I say nothing to you neither of your duty else-
where ; I am satisfied you know it too well ; and
have too great a veneration for your glorious master,
to neglect any part of that for even love itself. And
I very well know how much you love to be eternally
near his illustrious person ; and that you scarce prefer
your mistress before him, in point of love : in all
THE LOVER'S WATCH 265
things else, I give him leave to take place of Iris in the
noble heart of Damon.
I am satisfied you pass your time well now at
Windsor, for you adore that place; and it is not,
indeed, without great reason ; for it is most certainly
now rendered the most glorious palace in the Chris-
tian world. And had our late gracious sovereign, of
blessed memory, had no other miracles and wonders
of his life and reign to have immortalised his fame
(of which there shall remain a thousand to posterity)
this noble structure alone, this building (almost
divine) would have eternised the great name of
glorious Charles II. till the world moulder again to
its old confusion, its first chaos. And the painting
of the famous Varrio, and noble carvings of the
inimitable Gibbon, shall never die, but remain to tell
succeeding ages, that all arts and learning were not
confined to ancient Rome and Greece, but that
England, too, could boast its mightiest share. Nor is
the inside of this magnificent structure, immortalised
with so many eternal images of the illustrious Charles
and Catharine, more to be admired than the wondrous
prospects without. The stupendous height, on which
the famous pile is built, renders the fields, and flowery
meadows below, the woods, the thickets, and the
winding streams, the most delightful object that ever
nature produced. Beyond all these, and far below,
in an inviting vale, the venerable college, an old, but
noble building, raises itself, in the midst of all the
beauties of nature, high-grown trees, fruitful plains,
purling rivulets, and spacious gardens, adorned with
all variety of sweets that can delight the senses.
At farther distance yet, on an ascent almost as
high as that to the royal structure, you may behold
the famous and noble Clifdon rise, a palace erected
by the illustrious Duke of Buckingham, who will
leave this wondrous piece of architecture, to inform
the future world of the greatness and delicacy of his
mind ; it being for its situation, its prospects, and its
266 THE LOVER'S WATCH
marvellous contrivances, one of the finest villas of
the world ; at least, were it finished as begun ; and
would sufficiently declare the magnificent soul of the
hero that caused it to be built, and contrived all its
fineness. And this makes up not the least part of the
beautiful prospect from the Palace Royal, while on
the other side lies spread a fruitful and delightful park
and forest well stored with deer, and all that makes
the prospect charming; fine walks, groves, distant
valleys, downs, and hills, and all that nature could in-
vent, to furnish out a quiet soft retreat for the most
fair and most charming of queens, and the most
heroic, good, and just of kings. And these groves
alone are fit and worthy to divert such earthly gods.
Nor can heaven, nature, or human art contrive an
addition to this earthly paradise, unless those great
inventors of the age, Sir Samuel Moreland, or Sir
Robert Gordon, could by the power of engines, con-
vey the water so into the park and Castle, as to furnish
it with delightful fountains, both useful and beautiful.
These are only wanting, to render the place all perfec-
tion, and without exception.
This, Damon, is a long digression from the business
of my heart ; but, you know I am so in love with that
charming Court, that when you gave me an occasion,
by your being there now, only to name the place,
I could not forbear transgressing a little, in favour of
its wondrous beauty ; and the rather, because I would,
in recounting it, give you to understand how many
fine objects there are, besides the ladies that adorn it,
to employ your vacant moments in ; and I hope you
will, without my instructions, pass a great part of your
idle time in surveying these prospects, and give that
admiration you should pay to living beauty, to those
more venerable monuments of everlasting fame.
Neither need I, Damon, assign you your waiting
times : your honour, duty, love, and obedience, will
instruct you when to be near the person of the King ;
and, I believe, you will omit no part of that devoir.
THE LOVER'S WATCH 267
You ought to establish your fortune and your glory :
for I am not of the mind of those critical lovers, who
believe it a very hard matter to reconcile love and
interest, to adore a mistress, and serve a master at the
same time. And I have heard those, who on this
subject, say, ' Let a man be never so careful in these
double duties, it is ten to one but he loses his fortune
or his mistress.' These are errors that I condemn :
and I know that love and ambition are not incom-
patible, but that a brave man may preserve all his
duties to his sovereign, and his passion and his respect
for his mistress. And this is my notion of it :
LOVE AND AMBITION
The nobler lover, who would prove
Uncommon in address,
Let him Ambition join with Love ;
With Glory, Tenderness :
But let the virtues so be mixt,
That when to Love he goes.
Ambition may not come betwixt,
Nor Love his power oppose.
The vacant hours from softer sport,
Let him give up to interest and the court.
'Tis Honour shall his business be,
And Love his noblest play :
Those two should never disagree,
For both make either gay.
Love without Honour were too mean
For any gallant heart ;
And Honour singly, but a dream,
Where Love must have no part.
A flame like this you cannot fear.
Where Glory claims an equal share.
Such a passion, Damon, can never make you quit
any part of your duty to your Prince. And the
monarch you serve is so gallant a master, that the
inclination you have to his person obliges you to
serve him, as much as your duty ; for Damon's loyal
268 THE LOVER'S WATCH
soul loves the man, and adores the monarch: for he is
certainly all that compels both, by a charming force
and goodness, from all mankind.
THE KING
Darling of Mars ! Bellona's care 1
The second deity of war !
Delight of heaven, and joy of earth !
Born for great and wondrous things,
Destined at his auspicious birth
T' outdo the numerous race of long-past kings.
Best representative of heaven,
To whom its chiefest attributes are given I
Great, pious, steadfast, just, and brave !
To vengeance slow, but swift to save !
Dispensing mercy all abroad !
Soft and forgiving as a god !
Thou saving angel who preserv'st the land
From the just rage of the avenging hand ;
Stopt the dire plague, that o'er the earth was hurled,
And sheathing thy almighty sword,
Calmed the wild fears of a distracted world,
(As heaven first made it) with a sacred word 1
But I will stop the low flight of my humble Muse,
who when she is upon the wing, on this glorious
subject, knows no bounds. And all the world has
agreed to say so much of the virtues and wonders of
this great monarch, that they have left me nothing
new to say; though indeed he every day gives us new
themes of his growing greatness, and we see nothing
that equals him in our age. Oh ! how happy are we
to obey his laws ; for he is the greatest of kings, and
the best of men.
You will be very unjust, Damon, if you do not
confess I have acquitted myself like a maid of honour,
of all the obligations I owe you, upon the account of
the discretion I lost to you. If it be not valuable
enough, I am generous enough to make it good : and
THE LOVER'S WATCH 269
since I am so willing to be just, you ought to esteem
me, and to make it your chiefest care to preserve me
yours ; for I believe I shall deserve it, and wish you
should believe so too. Remember me, write to me,
and observe punctually all the motions of my watch :
the more you regard it, the better you will like it ; and
whatever you think of it at first sight, it is no ill
present. The invention is soft and gallant ; and
Germany, so celebrated for rare watches, can produce
nothing to equal this.
Damon, my watch is just and new j
And all a lover ought to do,
My cupid faithfully will show.
And ev'ry hour he renders there,
Except theurc du Berglre.
THE CASE
FOR THE WATCH
DAMON TO IRIS
EXPECT not, O charming Iris ! that I should choose
words to thank you in ; (words, that least part of love,
and least the business of the lover) but will say all,
and everything that a tender heart can dictate, to
make an acknowledgment for so dear and precious
a present as this of your charming watch : while
all I can say will but too dully express my sense of
gratitude, my joy, and the pleasure I receive in the
mighty favour. I confess the present too rich, too
gay, and too magnificent for my expectation : and
though my love and faith deserve it, yet my humbler
hope never durst carry me to a wish of so great
a bliss, so great an acknowledgment from the maid
I adore. The materials are glorious, the work deli-
cate, and the movement just, and even gives rules to
my heart, who shall observe very exactly all that the
cupid remarks to me; even to the minutes, which
I will point with sighs, though I am obliged to them
there but every half hour.
You tell me, fair Iris, that I ought to preserve it
tenderly, and yet you have sent it me without a case.
But that I may obey you justly, and keep it dear to
me, as long as I live, I will give it a case of my
fashion : it shall be delicate, and suitable to the fine
271
272 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH
present, of such materials too. But because I would
have it perfect, I will consult your admirable wit and
invention in an affair of so curious a consequence.
THE FIGURE OF THE CASE
I design to give it the figure of the heart. Does
not your watch, Iris, rule the heart? It was your
heart that contrived it, and it was your heart you
consulted in all the management of it ; and it was
your heart that brought it to so fine a conclusion.
The heart never acts without reason, and all the heart
projects, it performs with pleasure.
Your watch, my lovely maid, has explained to me
a world of rich secrets of love : and where should
thoughts so sacred be stored, but in the heart, where
all the secrets of the soul are treasured up, and of
which only Love alone can take a view ? It is thence
he take his sighs and tears, and all his little flatteries
and arts to please ; all his fine thoughts, and all his
mighty raptures ; nothing is so proper as the heart to
preserve it, nothing so worthy as the heart to contain
it ; and it concerns my interest too much, not to be
infinitely careful of so dear a treasure. And believe
me, charming Iris, I will never part with it
THE VOTARY
Fair goddess of my just desire,
Inspirer of my softest fire !
Since you, from out the num'rous throng
That to your altars do belong,
To me the sacred myst'ry have revealed,
From all my rival-worshippers concealed ;
And taught my soul with heav'nly fire,
Refined it from its grosser sense,
And wrought it to a higher excellence ;
It can no more return to earth,
Like things that thence receive their birth :
But still aspiring, upward move,
And teach the world new flights of love ;
New arts of secrecy shall learn,
And render youth discreet in love's concern.
THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 273
In his soft heart, to hide the charming things
A mistress whispers to his ear ;
And ev'ry tender sigh she brings,
Mix with his soul, and hide it there.
To bear himself so well in company,
That if his mistress present be,
It may be thought by all the fair,
Each in his heart does claim a share,
And all are more beloved than she.
But when with the dear maid apart,
Then at her feet the lover lies ;
Opens his soul, shows all his heart,
While joy is dancing in his eyes.
Then all that honour may, or take, or give,
They both distribute, both receive.
A looker-on would spoil a lover's joy ;
For love's a game where only two can play.
And 'tis the hardest of love's mysteries,
To feign love where it is not, hide it where it is.
After having told you, my lovely Iris, that I design
to put your watch into a heart, I ought to show you
the ornaments of the case. I do intend to have them
crowned ciphers : I do not mean those crowns of
vanity, which are put indifferently on all sorts of
ciphers; no, I must have such as may distinguish
mine from the rest, and may be true emblems of
what I would represent. My four ciphers therefore
shall be crowned with these four wreaths of olive,
laurel, myrtle, and roses : and the letters that begin
the names of Iris and Damon shall compose the
ciphers ; though I must intermix some other letters
that bear another sense, and have another signification.
THE FIRST CIPHER
The first cipher is composed of an I and a D,
which are joined by an L and an E ; which signifies
Love Extreme. And it is but just, O adorable Iris !
that love should be mixed with our ciphers, and that
love alone should be the union of them.
274 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH
Love ought alone the mystic knot to tie ;
Love, that great master of all arts :
And this dear cipher is to let you see,
Love unites names as well as hearts.
Without this charming union, our souls could not
communicate those invisible sweetnesses, which com-
plete the felicity of lovers, and which the most tender
and passionate expressions are too feeble to make us
comprehend. But, my adorable Iris, I am contented
with the vast pleasure I feel in loving well, without
the care of expressing it well ; if you will imagine
my pleasure, without expressing it. For I confess,
it would be no joy to me to adore you, if you did
not perfectly believe I did adore you. Nay, though
you loved me, if you had no faith in me, I should
languish and love in as much pain, as if you scorned ;
and at the same time believe I died for you. For
surely, Iris, it is a greater pleasure to please than to
be pleased ; and the glorious power of giving, is in-
finitely a greater satisfaction, than that of receiving :
there is so great and god-like a quality in it. I
would have your belief therefore equal to my passion,
extreme ; as indeed all love should be, or it cannot
bear that divine name : it can pass but for an in-
different affection. And these ciphers ought to make
the world find all the noble force of delicate passion :
for, O my Iris ! what would love signify, if we did
not love fervently? Sisters and brothers love; friends
and relations have affections: but where the souls
are joined, which are filled with eternal soft wishes,
oh ! there is some excess of pleasure, which cannot
be expressed !
Your looks, your dear obliging words, and your
charming letters, have sufficiently persuaded me of
your tenderness ; and you might surely see the excess
of my passion by my cares, my sighs, and entire
resignation to your will. I never think of Iris, but
my heart feels double flames, and pants and heaves
with double sighs ; and whose force makes its ardours
THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 275
known, by a thousand transports. And they are
very much to blame, to give the name of love to
feeble easy passions. Such transitory tranquil in-
clinations are at best but well-wishers to love ; and
a heart that has such heats as those, ought not to
put itself into the rank of those nobler victims that
are offered at the shrine of Love. But our souls, Iris,
burn with a more glorious flame, that lights and con-
ducts us beyond a possibility of losing one another.
It is this that flatters all my hopes ; it is this alone
makes me believe myself worthy of Iris : and let her
judge of its violence, by the greatness of its splendour.
Does not a passion of this nature, so true, so ardent,
deserve to be crowned ? And will you wonder to
see, over this cipher, a wreath of myrtles, those
boughs so sacred to the Queen of Love, and so
worshipped by lovers? It is with these soft wreaths,
that those are crowned, who understand how to love
well and faithfully.
The smiles, the graces, and the sports,
That in the secret groves maintain their courts,
Are with these myrtles crowned :
Thither the nymphs their garlands bring ;
Their beauties, and their praises sing,
While echoes do the songs resound.
Love, though a god, with myrtle wreaths
Does his soft temples bind ;
More valued are those consecrated leaves,
Than the bright wealth in Eastern rocks confined :
And crowns of glory less ambition move,
Than those more sacred diadems of love.
THE SECOND CIPHER
Is crowned with olives ; and I add to the two
letters of our names an R and L, for Reciprocal
Love. Every time that I have given you, O lovely
Iris, testimonies of my passion, I have been so blest,
276 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH
as to receive some from your bounty ; and you have
been pleased to flatter me with a belief, that I was
not indifferent to you. I dare therefore say, that
being honoured with the glory of your tenderness
and care, I ought, as a trophy of my illustrious
conquest, to adorn the watch with a cipher that is
so advantageous to me. Ought I not to esteem
myself the most fortunate and happy of mankind, to
have exchanged my heart with so charming and
admirable a person as Iris? Ah! how sweet, how
precious is the change ; and how vast a glory arrives
to me from it ! Oh ! you must not wonder if my
soul abandons itself to a thousand ecstasies ! In the
merchandise of hearts, oh, how dear it is to receive
as much as one gives; and barter heart for heart!
Oh ! I would not receive mine again, for all the
crowns the universe contains ! Nor ought you, my
adorable, make any vows or wishes, ever to retrieve
yours ; or show the least repentance for the blessing
you have given me. The exchange we made, was
confirmed by a noble faith ; and you ought to believe,
you have bestowed it well, since you are paid for it
a heart that is so conformable to yours, so true, so
just, and so full of adoration. And nothing can be
the just recompense of love, but love: and to enjoy
the true felicity of it, our hearts ought to keep an
equal motion ; and, like the scales of justice, always
hang even.
It is the property of reciprocal love, to make the
heart feel the delicacy of love, and to give the lover
all the ease and softness he can reasonably hope.
Such a love renders all things advantageous and
prosperous : such a love triumphs over all other
pleasures. And I put a crown of olives over the
cipher of reciprocal love, to make known, that two
hearts, where love is justly equal, enjoy a peace that
nothing can disturb.
THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 277
Olives are never fading seen ;
But always flourishing, and green.
The emblem 'tis of Love and Peace ;
For Love that's true, will never cease :
And Peace does pleasure still increase.
Joy to the world, the peace of kings imparts ;
And peace in love distributes it to hearts.
THE THIRD CIPHER
The C and L, which are joined to the letters of our
names in this cipher crowned with laurel, explains a
Constant Love. It will not, my fair Iris, suffice, that
my love is extreme, my passion violent, and my
wishes fervent, or that our loves are reciprocal ; but
they ought also to be constant : for in love, the
imagination is oftener carried to those things that may
arrive, and which we wish for, than to things that
time has robbed us of. And in those agreeable
thoughts of joys to come, the heart takes more delight
to wander, than in all those that are past; though
the remembrance of them be very dear, and very
charming. We should be both unjust, if we were not
persuaded we are possessed with a virtue, the use of
which is so admirable as that of constancy. Our
loves are not of that sort that can finish, or have an
end ; but such a passion, so perfect, and so constant,
that it will be a precedent for future ages, to love per-
fectly ; and when they would express an extreme
passion, they will say ' They loved, as Damon did the
charming Iris.' And he that knows the glory of
constant love, will despise those fading passions,
those little amusements, that serve for a day. What
pleasure or dependence can one have in a love of that
sort ? What concern ? What raptures can such an
amour produce in a soul ? And what satisfaction can
one promise one's self in playing with a false
gamester ; who though you are aware of him, in spite
of all your precaution, puts the false dice upon you,
and wins all ?
278 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH
Those eyes that can no better conquest make,
Let them ne'er look abroad :
Such, but the empty name of lovers take,
And so profane the god.
Better they never should pretend,
Than, ere begun, to make an end.
Of that fond flame what shall we say,
That's born and languished in a day ?
Such short-lived blessings cannot bring
The pleasure of an envying.
Who is't will celebrate that flame,
That's damned to such a scanty fame ?
While constant love the nymphs and swains
Still sacred make, in lasting strains
And cheerful lays throughout the plains.
A constant love knows no decay ;
But still advancing ev'ry day,
Will last as long as life can stay,
With ev'ry look and smile improves,
With the same ardour always moves,
With such as Damon charming Iris loves 1
Constant love finds itself impossible to be shaken; it
resists the attacks of envy, and a thousand accidents
that endeavour to change it. Nothing can disoblige
it but a known falseness, or contempt : nothing can
remove it; though for a short moment it may lie
sullen and resenting, it recovers, and returns with
greater force and joy. I therefore, with very good
reason, crown this cipher of constant love with a
wreath of laurel ; since such love always triumphs
over time and fortune, though it be not her property
to besiege : for she cannot overcome, but in defending
herself; but the victories she gains are nevertheless
glorious.
For far less conquest, we have known
The victor wear the laurel crown.
The triumph with more pride let him receive ;
While those of love, at least, more pleasures give.
THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 279
THE FOURTH CIPHER
Perhaps, my lovely maid, you will not find out
what I mean by the S and the L, in this last cipher,
that is crowned with roses. I will therefore tell you,
I mean Secret Love. There are very few people who
know the nature of that pleasure, which so divine a
love creates : and let me say what I will of it, they
must feel it themselves, who would rightly understand
it, and all its ravishing sweets. But this there is a
great deal of reason to believe, that the secrecy in
love doubles the pleasures of it. And I am so abso-
lutely persuaded of this, that I believe all those
favours that are not kept secret, are dull and pallid,
very insipid and tasteless pleasures: and let the
favours be ever so innocent that a lover receives from
a mistress, she ought to value them, set a price upon
them, and make the lover pay dear ; while he receives
them with difficulty, and sometimes with hazard. A
lover that is not secret, but suffers every one to count
his sighs, has at most but a feeble passion, such as
produces sudden and transitory desires which die as
soon as born. A true love has not this character ; for
whensoever it is made public, it ceases to be a pleasure,
and is only the result of vanity. Not that I expect
our loves should always remain a secret. No, I should
never, at that rate, arrive to a blessing, which, above
all the glories of the earth, I aspire to ; but even then
there are a thousand joys, a thousand pleasures that
I shall be as careful to conceal from the foolish world,
as if the whole preservation of that pleasure depended
on my silence ; as indeed it does in a great measure.
To this cipher I put a crown of roses, which are
not flowers of a very lasting date. And it is to let
you see, that it is impossible love can be long hid.
We see every day, with what fine dissimulation and
pains, people conceal a thousand hates and malices,
disgusts, disobligations, and resentments, without
2 8o THE CASE FOR THE WATCH
being able to conceal the least part of their love : but
reputation has an odour as well as roses ; and a lover
ought to esteem that as the dearest and tenderest
thing : not only that of his own, which is, indeed, the
least part ; but that of his mistress, more valuable to
him than life. He ought to endeavour to give people
no occasion to make false judgments of his actions,
or to give their censures ; which most certainly are
never in the favour of the fair person : for likely,
those false censurers are of the busy female sex, the
coquettes of that number ; whose little spites and
railleries, joined to that fancied wit they boast of, set
them at odds with all the beautiful and innocent.
And how very little of that kind serves to give the
world a faith, when a thousand virtues, told of the
same persons, by more credible witnesses and judges,
shall pass unregarded ! so willing and inclined is all
the world to credit the ill, and condemn the good !
And yet, oh ! what pity it is we are compelled to
live in pain, to oblige this foolish scandalous world !
And though we know each other's virtue and honour,
we are obliged to observe that caution (to humour the
talking town) which takes away so great a part of
the pleasure of life. It is therefore that among those
roses, you will find some thorns ; by which you may
imagine, that in love, precaution is necessary to its
secrecy. And we must restrain ourselves, upon a
thousand occasions, with so much care, that, O Iris !
it is impossible to be discreet, without pain ; but it is
a pain that creates a thousand pleasures.
Where should a lover hide his joys,
Free from malice, free from noise ;
Where no envy can intrude ;
Where no busy rival's spy,
Made, by disappointment, rude,
May inform his jealousy ?
The heart will the best refuge prove ;
Which nature meant the cabinet of love.
What would a lover not endure,
His mistress' fame and honour to secure?
THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 281
Iris, the care we take to be discreet,
Is the dear toil that makes the pleasure sweet :
The thorn that does the wealth inclose,
That with less saucy freedom we may touch the rose.
THE CLASP OF THE WATCH
Ah, charming Iris ! Ah, my lovely maid ! it is
now, in a more peculiar manner, that I require your
aid in the finishing of my design, and completing the
whole piece to the utmost perfection ; and without
your aid it cannot be performed. It is about the
clasp of the watch ; a material in all appearance, the
most trivial of any part of it. But that it may be
safe for ever, I design it the image, or figure of two
hands ; that fair one of the adorable Iris, joined to
mine; with this motto, " Inviolable Faith." For in this
case, this heart ought to be shut up by this eternal
clasp. Oh ! there is nothing so necessary as this !
Nothing can secure love, but faith.
That virtue ought to be a guard to all the heart
thinks, and all the mouth utters : nor can love say
he triumphs without it. And when that remains not
in the heart, all the rest deserves no regard. Oh ! I
have not loved so ill to leave one doubt upon your
soul. Why then, will you want that faith, O unkind
charmer, that my passion and my services so justly
merit ?
When two hearts entirely love,
And in one sphere of honour move,
Each maintains the other's fire,
With a faith that is entire.
For, what heedless youth bestows,
On a faithless maid, his vows ?
Faith without love, bears Virtue's price ;
But love without her mixture, is a vice.
Love, like religion, still should be,
In the foundation firm and true ;
In points of faith should still agree,
Though innovations vain and new,
Love's little quarrels, may arise ;
In foundations still they're just and wise.
282 THE CASE FOR THE WATCH
Then, charming maid, be sure of this ;
Allow me faith, as well as love :
Since that alone affords no bliss,
Unless your faith your love improve.
Either resolve to let me die
By fairer play, your cruelty ;
Than not your love with faith impart,
And with your vows to give your heart.
In mad despair I'd rather fall,
Than lose my glorious hopes of conquering all.
So certain it is, that love without faith, is of no
value.
In fine, my adorable Iris, this case shall be, as near
as I can, like those delicate ones of filigrain work,
which do not hinder the sight from taking a view of
all within : you may therefore see, through this heart,
all your watch. Nor is my desire of preserving this
inestimable piece more, than to make it the whole
rule of my life and actions. And my chiefest design
in these ciphers, is to comprehend in them the
principal virtues that are most necessary to love.
Do not we know that reciprocal love is justice?
Constant love, fortitude ? Secret love, prudence ?
Though it is true that extreme love, that is, excess
of love, in one sense, appears not to be temperance ;
yet you must know, my Iris, that in matters of love,
excess is a virtue, and that all other degrees of love
are worthy scorn alone. It is this alone that can
make good the glorious title : it is this alone that can
bear the name of love ; and this alone that renders
the lovers truly happy, in spite of all the storms of
fate, and shocks of fortune. This is an antidote
against all other griefs : this bears up the soul in all
calamity ; and is the very heaven of life, the last
refuge of all worldly pain and care, and may well
bear the title of divine.
THE CASE FOR THE WATCH 283
THE ART OF LOVING WELL
That Love may all perfection be,
Sweet, charming to the last degree,
The heart, where the bright flames do dwell,
In faith and softness should excel :
Excess of love should fill each vein,
And all its sacred rites maintain.
The tend'rest thoughts heav'n can inspire,
Should be the fuel to its fire :
And that, like incense, burn as pure ;
Or that in urns should still endure.
No fond desire should fill the soul,
But such as honour may control.
Jealousy I will allow :
Not the amorous winds that blow,
Should wanton in my Iris' hair,
Or ravish kisses from my fair.
Not the flowers that grow beneath,
Should borrow sweetness of her breath,
If her bird she do caress,
How I grudge its happiness,
When upon her snowy hand
The wanton does triumphing stand !
Or upon her breast she skips,
And lays her beak to Iris' lips 1
Fainting at my ravished joy,
I could the innocent destroy.
If I can no bliss afford
To a little harmless bird,
Tell me, O thou dear-loved maid !
What reason could my rage persuade,
If a rival should invade ?
If thy charming eyes should dart
Looks that sally from the heart ;
If you sent a smile, or glance,
To another though by chance ;
Still thou giv'st what's not thy own,
They belong to me alone.
THE CASE FOR THE WATCH
All submission I would pay :
Man was born the fair t obey.
Your very look I'd understand,
And thence receive your least command :
Never your justice will dispute ;
But like a lover execute.
I would no usurper be,
But in claiming sacred thee.
I would have all, and every part ;
No thought would hide within thy heart
Mine a cabinet was made,
Where Iris' secrets should be laid.
In the rest, without control,
She should triumph o'er the soul 1
Prostrate at her feet I'd lie,
Despising power and liberty ;
Glorying more by love to fall,
Than rule the universal ball.
Hear me, O you saucy youth !
And from my maxims learn this truth :
Would you great and powerful prove ?
Be a humble slave to love.
'Tis nobler far a joy to give,
Than any blessing to receive.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
TO DRESS HERSELF BY
OR THE ART OF CHARMING
How long, O charming Iris! shall I speak in vain
of your adorable beauty? You have been just, and
believe I love you with a passion perfectly tender and
extreme, and yet you will not allow your charms to
be infinite. You must either accuse my flames to be
unreasonable, and that my eyes and heart are false
judges of wit and beauty ; or allow that you are the
most perfect of your sex. But instead of that, you
always accuse me of flattery, when I speak of your
infinite merit ; and when I refer you to your glass,
you tell me, that flatters as well as Damon : though
one would imagine, that should be a good witness for
the truth of what I say, and undeceive you of the
opinion of my injustice. Look and confirm your-
self, that nothing can equal your perfections. All the
world says it, and you must doubt it no longer. O,
Iris ! will you dispute against the whole world ?
But since you have so long distrusted your own
glass, I have here presented you with one, which
I know is very true ; and having been made for you
only, can serve only you. All other glasses present
all objects, but this reflects only Iris : whenever you
consult it, it will convince you ; and tell you how
much right I have done you, when I told you, you
were the fairest person that ever nature made. When
285
286 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
other beauties look into it, it will speak to all the fair
ones : but let them do what they will, it will say
nothing to their advantage.
Iris, to spare what you call flattery,
Consult your glass each hour of the day :
Twill tell you where your charms and beauties lie,
And where your little wanton graces play :
Where love does revel in your face and eyes ;
What look invites your slaves, and what denies.
Where all the loves adorn you with such care,
Where dress your smiles, where arm your lovely eyes ;
Where deck the flowing tresses of your hair :
How cause your snowy breasts to fall and rise.
How this severe glance makes a lover die ;
How that, more soft, gives immortality.
Where you shall see what 'tis enslaves the soul ;
Where ev'ry feature, ev'ry look combines :
When the adorning air, o'er all the whole,
To so much wit, and so nice virtue joins.
Where the belle taille, and motion still afford
Graces to be eternally adored.
But I will be silent now, and let your glass speak.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
Damon (O charming Iris !) has given me to you,
that you may sometimes give yourself the trouble,
and me the honour of consulting me in the great
and weighty affairs of beauty. I am, my adorable
mistress ! a faithful glass ; and you ought to believe
all I say to you.
THE SHAPE OF IRIS
I must begin with your shape, and tell you without
flattery, it is the finest in the world, and gives love
and admiration to all that see you. Pray observe
how free and easy it is, without constraint, stiffness,
or affectation : those mistaken graces of the fan-
tastic, and the formal, who give themselves pain
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 287
to show their will to please, and whose dressing
makes the greatest part of their fineness, when they
are more obliged to the tailor than to nature; who
add or diminish, as occasion serves, to form a grace,
where heaven never gave it. And while they remain on
this wreck of pride, they are eternally uneasy, without
pleasing anybody. Iris, I have seen a woman of your
acquaintance, who, having a greater opinion of her own
person than anybody else, has screwed her body into
so fine a form (as she calls it) that she dares no more
stir a hand, lift up an arm, or turn her head aside,
than if, for the sin of such a disorder, she were to be
turned into a pillar of salt ; the less stiff and fixed
statue of the two. Nay, she dares not speak or smile,
lest she should put her face out of that order she had
set it in her glass, when she last looked on herself:
and is all over such a Lady Nice (excepting in her
conversation) that ever made a ridiculous figure. And
there are many ladies more, but too much tainted
with that nauseous formality, that old-fashioned vice.
But Iris, the charming, the all-perfect Iris, has nothing
in her whole form that is not free, natural and easy ;
and whose every motion cannot but please ex-
tremely; and which has not given Damon a thousand
rivals.
Damon, the young, the am'rous, and the true,
Who sighs incessantly for you ;
Whose whole delight, now you are gone,
Is to retire to shades alone,
And to the echoes make his moan.
By purling streams the wishing youth is laid,
Still sighing Iris ! lovely charming maid !
See, in thy absence, how thy lover dies !
While to his sighs the echo still replies.
Then with a stream he holds discourse :
O thou that bend'st thy liquid force
To lovely Thames ! upon whose shore
The maid resides whom I adore !
My tears of love upon thy surface bear :
And if upon thy banks thou seest my fair :
In all thy softest murmurs sing,
From Damon I this present bring ;
288 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
My ev'ry curl contains a tear !
Then at her feet thy tribute pay :
But haste, O happy stream ! away ;
Lest charmed too much, thou shouldst for ever stay.
And thou, O gentle, murm'ring breeze !
That plays in air, and wantons with the trees ;
On thy young wings, where gilded sunbeams play,
To Iris my soft sighs convey,
Still as they rise, each minute of the day :
But whisper gently in her ear ;
Let not the ruder winds thy message hear,
Nor ruffle one dear curl of her bright hair.
Oh ! touch her cheeks with sacred reverence,
And stay not gazing on her lovely eyes !
But if thou bear'st her rosy breath from thence,
'Tis incense of that excellence,
That as thou mount'st, 'twill perfume all the skies.
IRIS'S COMPLEXION
Say what you will, I am confident, if you will
confess your heart, you are, every time you view
yourself in me, surprised at the beauty of your
complexion ; and will secretly own, you never saw
anything so fair. I am not the first glass, by a
thousand, that has assured you of this. If you will
not believe me, ask Damon ; he tells it you every day,
but that truth from him offends you : and because he
loves too much, you think his judgment too little; and
since this is so perfect, that must be defective. But
it is most certain your complexion is infinitely fine,
your skin soft and smooth as polished wax, or ivory,
extremely white and clear; though if anybody speaks
but of your beauty, an agreeable blush casts itself
all over your face, and gives you a thousand new
graces.
And then two flowers newly born,
Shine in your heav'nly face ;
The rose that blushes in the morn,
Usurps the lily's place :
Sometimes the lily does prevail,
And makes the gen'rous crimson pale.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 289
IRIS S HAIR
Oh, the beautiful hair of Iris ! it seems as if nature
had crowned you with a great quantity of lovely fair
brown hair, to make us know that you were born to
rule, and to repair the faults of fortune that has not
given you a diadem. And do not bewail the want of
that (so much your merit's due) since heaven has so
gloriously recompensed you with what gains more
admiring slaves.
Heav'n for sovereignty has made your form :
And you were more than for dull empire born ;
O'er hearts your kingdom shall extend,
Your vast dominion know no end.
Thither the Loves and Graces shall resort ;
To Iris make their homage, and their court.
No envious star, no common fate,
Did on my Iris' birthday wait ;
But all was happy, all was delicate.
Here fortune would inconstant be in vain :
Iris, and love, eternally shall reign.
Love does not make less use of your hair for new
conquests, than of all the rest of your beauties that
adorn you. If he takes our hearts with your fine
eyes, it ties them fast with your hair; and if it
weaves a chain, it is not easily broken. It is not
of those sorts of hair, whose harshness discovers
ill-nature ; nor of those whose softness shows us
the weakness of the mind ; not that either of
these arguments are without exception. But it is
such as bears the character of a perfect mind, and
a delicate wit ; and for its colour, the most faithful,
discreet, and beautiful in the world ; such as shows
a complexion and constitution, neither so cold to be
insensible, nor so hot to have too much fire : that is,
neither too white, nor too black ; but such a mixture
of the two colours, as makes it the most agreeable in
the world.
290 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
'Tis that which leads those captivated hearts,
That bleeding at your feet do lie ;
'Tis that the obstinate converts,
That dare the power of love deny :
, 'Tis that which Damon so admires ;
Damon, who often tells you so.
If from your eyes Love takes his fires,
'Tis with your hair he strings his bow :
Which touching but the feathered dart,
It never missed the destined heart.
IRIS'S EYES
I believe, my fair mistress, I shall dazzle you with
the lustre of your own eyes. They are the finest blue
in the world : they have all the sweetness that ever
charmed the heart, with a certain languishment that's
irresistible ; and never any looked on them, that did
not sigh after them. Believe me, Iris, they carry un-
avoidable darts and fires ; and whoever expose them-
selves to their dangers, pay for their imprudence.
Cold as my solid crystal is,
Hard and impenetrable too ;
Yet I am sensible of bliss,
When your charming eyes I view
Even by me their flames are felt ;
And at each glance I fear to melt.
Ah, how pleasant are my days !
How my glorious fate I bless !
Mortals never knew my joys,
Nor monarch guessed my happiness.
Every look that's soft and gay,
Iris gives me every day.
Spite of her virtue and her pride,
Every morning I am blest
With what to Damon is denied ;
To view her when she is undrest.
All her heaven of beauty's shown
To triumphing me alone.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 291
Scarce the prying beams of light,
Or th' impatient god of day,
Are allowed so near a sight,
Or dare profane her with a ray ;
When she has appeared to me,
Like Venus rising from the sea.
But oh ! I must those charms conceal,
All too divine for vulgar eyes :
Should I my secret joys reveal,
Of sacred trust I break the ties ;
And Damon would with envy die,
Who hopes one day to be as blest as I.
Extravagant with my joys, I have strayed beyond
my limits ; for I was telling you of the wondrous
fineness of your eyes, which no mortal can resist, nor
any heart stand the force of their charms, and the
most difficult conquest they gain, scarce cost them
the expense of a look. They are modest and tender,
chaste and languishing. There you may take a view
of the whole soul, and see wit and good nature
(those two inseparable virtues of the mind) in an
extraordinary measure. In fine, you see all that fair
eyes can produce, to make themselves adored. And
when they are angry, they strike an unresistible awe
upon the soul ; and those severities Damon wishes
may perpetually accompany them, during their
absence from him ; for it is with such eyes, he would
have you receive all his rivals.
Keep, lovely maid, the softness in your eyes,
To flatter Damon with another day :
When at your feet the ravished lover lies,
Then put on all that's tender, all that's gay :
And for the griefs your absence makes him prove,
Give him the softest, dearest looks of love.
His trembling heart with sweetest smiles caress,
And in your eyes soft wishes let him find ;
That your regret of absence may confess,
In which no sense of pleasure you could find
And to restore him, let your faithful eyes
Declare, that all his rivals you despise.
292 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
THE MOUTH OF IRIS
I perceive your modesty would impose silence on
me : but, O fair Iris ! do not think to present your-
self before a glass, if you would not have it tell you
all your beauties. Content yourself that I only
speak of them, en passant ; for should I speak what
I would, I should dwell all day upon each particular,
and still say something new. Give me liberty then
to speak of your fine mouth : you need only open it
a little, and you will see the most delicate teeth that
ever you beheld ; the whitest, and the best set. Your
lips are the finest in the world ; so round, so soft, so
plump, so dimpled, and of the loveliest colour. And
when you smile, oh ! what imagination can conceive
how sweet it is, that has not seen you smiling? I
cannot describe what I so admire ; and it is in vain
to those who have not seen Iris.
O Iris ! boast that one peculiar charm,
That has so many conquests made ;
So innocent, yet capable of harm ;
So just itself, yet has so oft betrayed :
Where a thousand graces dwell,
And wanton round in ev'ry smile.
A thousand loves do listen when you speak,
And catch each accent as it flies :
Rich flowing wit, whene'er you silence break,
Flows from your tongue, and sparkles in your eyes.
Whether you talk, or silent are,
Your lips immortal beauties wear.
THE NECK OF IRIS
All your modesty, all your nice care, cannot hide
the ravishing beauties of your neck ; we must see it,
coy as you are; and see it the whitest, and finest
shaped, that ever was formed. Oh ! why will you
cover it ? You know all handsome things would be
seen. And oh ! how often have you made your
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 293
lovers envy your scarf, or anything that hides so fine
an object from their sight. Damon himself com-
plains of your too nice severity. Pray do not hide it
so carefully. See how perfectly turned it is ! with
small blue veins, wandering and ranging here and
there, like little rivulets, that wanton over the flowery
meads ! See how the round white rising breasts
heave with every breath, as if they disdained to be
confined to a covering ; and repel the malicious
cloud that would obscure their brightness !
Fain I would have leave to tell
The charms that on your bosom dwell ;
Describe it like some flow'ry field,
That does ten thousand pleasures yield ;
A thousand gliding springs and groves ;
All receptacles for loves :
But oh ! what Iris hides, must be
Ever sacred kept by me.
THE ARMS AND HANDS OF IRIS
I shall not be put to much trouble to show you
your hands and arms, because you may view them
without my help ; and you are very unjust, if you
have not admired them a thousand times. The
beautiful colour and proportion of your arm is in-
imitable, and your hand is dazzling, fine, small,
and plump; long pointed fingers delicately turned;
dimpled on the snowy outside, but adorned within
with rose, all over the soft palm. O Iris ! nothing
equals your fair hand ; that hand, of which Love so
often makes such use to draw his bow, when he
would send the arrow home with more success ; and
which irresistibly wounds those, who possibly have
not yet seen your eyes. And when you have been
veiled, that lovely hand has gained you a thousand
adorers. And I have heard Damon say, ' Without
the aid of more beauties, that alone had been suffi-
cient to have made an absolute conquest over his
294 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
soul.' And he has often vowed 'It never touched
him but it made his blood run with little irregular
motions in his veins, his breath beat short and double,
his blushes rise, and his very soul dance.'
Oh ! how the hand the lover ought to prize
'Bove any one peculiar grace,
While he is dying for the eyes
And doting on the lovely face !
The unconsid'ring little knows,
How much he to this beauty owes.
That, when the lover absent is,
Informs him of his mistress' heart ;
Tis that which gives him all his bliss,
When dear love-secrets 'twill impart.
That plights the faith the maid bestows ;
And that confirms the tim'rous vows.
'Tis that betrays the tenderness,
Which the too bashful tongue denies :
Tis that which does the heart confess,
And spares the language of the eyes.
Tis that which treasure gives so vast ;
Ev'n Iris 'twill to Damon give at last.
THE GRACE AND AIR OF IRIS
It is I alone, O charming maid ! that can show you
that noble part of your beauty : that generous air
that adorns all your lovely person, and renders every
motion and action perfectly adorable. With what
a grace you walk ! How free, how easy, and how
unaffected ! See how you move ! for only here you
can see it Damon has told you a thousand times,
that never any mortal had so glorious an air : but he
could not half describe it, nor would you credit even
what he said ; but with a careless smile pass it off
for the flattery of a lover. But here behold, and be
convinced, and know, no part of your beauty can
charm more than this. O Iris! confess, Love has
adorned you with all his art and care. Your beauties
are the themes of all the Muses; who tell you in daily
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 295
songs, that the Graces themselves have not more than
Iris. And one may truly say, that you alone know
how to join the ornaments and dress with beauty ;
and you are still adorned, as if that shape and air
had a peculiar art to make all things appear gay and
fine. Oh ! how well dressed you are ! How every-
thing becomes you! Never singular, never gaudy;
but always suiting with your quality.
Oh ! how that negligence becomes your air !
That careless flowing of your hair,
That plays about with wanton grace,
With evrey motion of your face :
Disdaining all that dull formality,
That dares not move the lip, or eye,
But at some fancied grace's cost ;
And think, with it, at least, a lover lost.
But the unlucky minute to reclaim,
And ease the coquette of her pain,
The pocket-glass adjusts the face again :
Resets the mouth, and languishes the eyes ;
And thinks, the spark that ogles that way dies.
Of Iris learn, O ye mistaken fair !
To dress your face, your smiles, your air :
Let easy nature all the business do,
She can the softer graces show ;
Which art but turns to ridicule,
And where there's none serves but to show the fool.
In Iris you all graces find ;
Charms without art, a motion unconfined ;
Without constraint, she smiles, she looks, she talks ;
And without affectation, moves and walks.
Beauties so perfect ne'er were seen :
O ye mistaken fair ! Dress ye by Iris' mien.
THE DISCRETION OF IRIS
But, O Iris ! the beauties of the body are imperfect,
if the beauties of the soul do not advance themselves
to an equal height. But, O Iris ! what mortal is
there so damned to malice, that does not, with adora-
tion, confess, that you, O charming maid, have an
296 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
equal portion of all the braveries and virtues of the
mind? And, who is it, that confesses your beauty,
that does not at the same time acknowledge and bow
to your wisdom ? The whole world admires both in
you ; and all with impatience ask ' Which of the two
is most surprising, your beauty, or your discretion?'
But we dispute in vain on that excellent subject ;
for after all, it is determined, that the two charms are
equal. It is none of those idle discretions that con-
sists in words alone, and ever takes the shadow of
reason for the substance ; and that makes use of all
the little artifices of subtlety, and florid talking, to
make the outside of the argument appear fine, and
leave the inside wholly misunderstood ; who runs
away with words, and never thinks of sense. But
you, O lovely maid ! never make use of these affected
arts ; but without being too brisk or too severe, too
silent or too talkative, you inspire in all your hearers
a joy, and a respect. Your soul is an enemy to that
usual vice of your sex, of using little arguments
against the fair ; or, by a word or jest, making your-
self and hearers pleasant at the expense of the fame
of others.
Your heart is an enemy to all passions, but that
of love. And this is one of your noble maxims,
' That every one ought to love, in some part of his
life ; and that in a heart truly brave, love is without
folly : that wisdom is a friend to love, and love to
perfect wisdom.' Since these maxims are your own,
do not, O charming Iris ! resist that noble passion :
and since Damon is the most tender of all your
lovers, answer his passion with a noble ardour. Your
prudence never fails in the choice of your friends ;
and in choosing so well your lover, you will stand
an eternal precedent to all unreasonable fair ones.
O thou that dost excel in wit and truth !
Be still a precedent for love and youth.
Let the dull world say what it will,
A noble flame's unblameable.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 297
Where a fine sentiment and soft passion rules,
They scorn the censure of the fools.
Yield, Iris, then ; oh, yield to love !
Redeem your dying slave from pain ;
The world your conduct must approve :
Your prudence never acts in vain.
THE GOODNESS AND COMPLAISANCE OF IRIS
Who but your lovers, fair Iris ! doubts but you are
the most complaisant person in the world ; and that
with so much sweetness you oblige all, that you
command in yielding. And as you gain the heart
of both sexes, with the affability of your noble
temper ; so all are proud and vain of obliging you.
And, Iris, you may live assured, that your empire is
eternally established by your beauty and your good-
ness : your power is confirmed, and you grow in
strength every minute: your goodness gets you
friends, and your beauty lovers.
This goodness is not one of those, whose folly
renders it easy to every desirer ; but a pure effect of
the generosity of your soul ; such as prudence alone
manages, according to the merit of the person to
whom it is extended ; and those whom you esteem,
receive the sweet marks of it, and only your lovers
complain ; yet even then you charm. And though
sometimes you can be a little disturbed, yet through
your anger your goodness shines ; and you are but
too much afraid, that that may bear a false interpre-
tation. For oftentimes scandal makes that pass for
an effect of love, which is purely that of complaisance.
Never had anybody more tenderness for their
friends, than Iris : their presence gives her joy, their
absence trouble ; and when she cannot see them, she
finds no pleasure like speaking of them obligingly.
Friendship reigns in your heart, and sincerity on your
tongue. Your friendship is so strong, so constant,
and so tender, that it charms, pleases, and satisfies all,
298 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
that are not your adorers. Damon therefore is excus-
able, if he be not contented with your noble friendship
alone ; for he is the most tender of that number.
No ! give me all, th' impatient lover cries ;
Without your soul I cannot live :
Dull friendship cannot mine suffice,
That dies for all you have to give.
The smiles, the vows, the heart must all be mine ;
I cannot spare one thought, or wish of thine.
I sigh, I languish all the day ;
Each minute ushers in my groans :
To ev'ry god in vain I pray ;
In ev'ry grove repeat my moans.
Still Iris' charms are all my sorrows' themes !
They pain me waking, and they rack in dreams.
Return, fair Iris ! Oh, return !
Lest sighing long your slave destroys.
I wish, I rave, I faint, I burn ;
Restore me quickly all my joys :
Your mercy else will come too late ;
Distance in love more cruel is than hate.
THE WIT OF IRIS
You are deceived in me, fair Iris, if you take me
for one of those ordinary glasses, that represent the
beauty only of the body ; I remark to you also the
beauties of the soul. And all about you declares
yours the finest that ever was formed ; that you have
a wit that surprises, and is always new. It is none
of those that loses its lustre when one considers it ;
the more we examine yours, the more adorable we
find it. You say nothing that is not at once agreeable
and solid ; it is always quick and ready, without im-
pertinence, that little vanity of the fair : who, when
they know they have wit, rarely manage it so, as not
to abound in talking ; and think, that all they say
must please, because luckily they sometimes chance
to do so. But Iris never speaks, but it is of use ; and
gives a pleasure to all that hear her. She has the
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 299
perfect air of penetrating, even the most secret
thoughts. How often have you known, without being
told, all that has passed in Damon's heart ! For all
great wits are prophets too.
Tell me ; oh, tell me ! charming prophetess ;
For you alone can tell my love's success.
The lines in my dejected face,
I fear, will lead you to no kind result :
It is your own that you must trace ;
Those of your heart you must consult.
; Tis there my fortune I must learn,
And all that Damon does concern.
I tell you that I love a maid,
As bright as heav'n, of angel-hue ;
The softest nature ever made,
Whom I with sighs and vows pursue.
Oh, tell me, charming prophetess !
Shall I this lovely maid possess ?
A thousand rivals do obstruct my way ;
A thousand fears they do create :
They throng about her all the day,
Whilst I at awful distance wait.
Say, will the lovely maid so fickle prove,
To give my rivals hope, as well as love ?
She has a thousand charms of wit,
With all the beauty heav'n e'er gave :
Oh ! let her not make use of it,
To flatter me into the slave.
Oh ! tell me truth, to ease my pain ;
Say rather, I shall die by her disdain.
THE MODESTY OF IRIS
I perceive, fair Iris, you have a mind to tell me,
I have entertained you too long with a discourse on
yourself. I know your modesty makes this declara-
tion an offence, and you suffer me, with pain, to
unveil those treasures you would hide. Your modesty,
that so commendable a virtue in the fair, and so
peculiar to you, is here a little too severe. Did I
300 THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS
flatter you, you should blush : did I seek, by praising
you, to show an art of speaking finely, you might
chide. But, O Iris, I say nothing but such plain
truths, as all the world can witness are so : and so far
I am from flattery, that I seek no ornament of words.
Why do you take such care to conceal your virtues ?
They have too much lustre, not to be seen, in spite of
all your modesty : your wit, your youth, and reason,
oppose themselves against this dull obstructer of our
happiness. Abate, O Iris, a little of this virtue,
since you have so many others to defend yourself
against the attacks of your adorers. You yourself
have the least opinion of your own charms: and
being the only person in the world, that is not in love
with them, you hate to pass whole hours before your
looking-glass ; and to pass your time, like most of
the idle fair, in dressing, and setting off those beauties,
which need so little art. You, more wise, disdain to
give those hours to the fatigue of dressing, which you
know so well how to employ a thousand ways. The
Muses have blessed you, above your sex ; and you
know how to gain a conquest with your pen, more
absolutely than all the industrious fair, who trust to
dress and equipage.
I have a thousand things to tell you more, but
willingly resign my place to Damon, that faithful
lover ; he will speak more ardently than I : for let
a glass use all its force, yet, when it speaks its best,
it speaks but coldly.
If my glass, O charming Iris, have the good for-
tune (which I could never entirely boast) to be
believed, it will serve at least to convince you I have
not been so guilty of flattery, as I have a thousand
times been charged. Since then my passion is equal
to your beauty (without comparison, or end), believe,
O lovely maid ! how I sigh in your absence ; and be
persuaded to lessen my pain, and restore me to my
joys ; for there is no torment so great, as the absence
of a lover from his mistress ; of which this is the idea.
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS 301
THE EFFECTS OF ABSENCE FROM WHAT WE LOVE
Thou one continued sigh ! all over pain !
Eternal wish ! but wish, alas, in vain !
Thou languishing, impatient hoper on j
A busy toiler, and yet still undone !
A breaking glimpse of distant day,
Enticing on, and leading more astray !
Thou joy in prospect, future bliss extreme ;
Never to be possessed, but in a dream !
Thou fab'lous goddess, which the ravished boy
In happy slumbers proudly did enjoy ;
But waking, found an airy cloud he prest ;
His arms came empty to his panting breast.
Thou shade, that only haunt'st the soul by night ;
And when thou shouldst in form thou fly'st the sight :
Thou false idea of the thinking brain,
That labours for the charming form in vain :
Which if by chance it catch, thou'rt lost again.
THE LUCKY MISTAKE
A NEW NOVEL
THE river Loire has on its delightful banks abun-
dance 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
retired from the busy Court, where in his youth he
had been bred, wearied with the toils of ceremony
and noise, to enjoy that perfect tranquillity of life,
which is nowhere 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 called,
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 believed the
gaiety and lustre of the Court might divert. He
therefore in his retirement spared 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
303
304 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
person, so that he was the sole joy of his life, and the
darling of his eyes.
In the very next house, which joined 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 concerned. 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 origin. 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 depressed ; so De Pais was
more retired, more estranged from his neighbours,
and kept a greater distance, than if he had enjoyed
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 retired so close, that it was rare to see any of
them ; and when they went abroad, which was but
seldom, they wanted nothing as to outward appear-
ance, that was fit for his quality, and what was much
above his condition.
This old Count had two only daughters, of ex-
ceeding beauty, who gave the generous father ten
thousand torments, as often as he beheld them, when
he considered their extreme beauty, their fine wit,
their innocence, modesty, and above all their birth ;
and that he had not a fortune to marry them accord-
ing to their quality ; and below it, he had rather see
them laid in their silent graves, than consent to it :
for he scorned 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, called Count Vernole,
a man of about forty years of age, of low stature,
complexion very black and swarthy, lean, lame, ex-
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 305
tremely 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 Huguenots, and by the high favour
of Cardinal Mazarin, 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 akin to
that of De Pais, there was a greater correspondence
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 clubbed 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 reduced 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 Chariot the
youngest) a glory of wit and beauty, which could not
but one day display itself, with dazzling lustre, to the
wondering world.
Vernole was a great virtuoso, of a humour nice,
delicate, critical, and opinionative : he had nothing
of the French mien in him, but all the gravity of the
x
306 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
don. His ill-favoured 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 satiric upon it ; and loved 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,
seemed 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
them retired, and unseen to all, but his particular
friends, of whom Vernole was the chief.
Vernole never appeared before Atlante (which was
seldom) but he assumed a gravity and respect fit to
have entertained 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
nourished 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 mis-
taken 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 con-
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 307
siderable in the world (believe me), and this will
arrive to her perfectly from the force of her charms.'
De Fais was extremely overjoyed to hear such good
prophesied of Atlante, and from that time set a sort
of an esteem upon her, which he did not on Chariot
his younger ; whom, by the persuasions of Vernole,
he resolved to put in a monastery, that what he had
might descend to Atlante : not but he confessed
Chariot had beauty extremely attractive, and a wit
that promised much, when it should be cultivated by
years and experience ; and would show itself 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 spoken to Atlante of love,
nor did his gravity think it prudence to discover his
heart to so young a maid ; he waited her more sen-
sible 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 in-
sensibly 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 dis-
agreeable 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 confessed.
Though 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 philo-
sophy fit for ladies ; and he took greater pains with
3 o8 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
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 philo-
sophy ; 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 Chariot would often ask
her, ' How she could give whole afternoons to so dis-
agreeable a man. What is it,' said she, ' that charms
you so? his tawny leather-face, his extraordinary
high nose, his wide mouth and eyebrows, that hang
lowering 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 preferred to a fine
body , this decays, but that is eternal ; and age that
ruins one, refines the other.' Though possibly Atlante
thought as ill of the Count as her sister, yet in respect
to him, she would not own it.
Atlante was now arrived to her thirteenth year,
when her beauty, which every day increased, became
the discourse of the whole town, which had already
gained 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.
Everybody talked 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 charmed 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
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 309
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 solicits 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 though he knew she lived the next house
to him, yet he knew also she was kept within like a
vowed nun, or with the severity of a Spaniard. And
though he had a chamber, which had a jutting win-
dow, that looked 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 fre-
quented the Church of Our Lady. Thither then
young Rinaldo resolved to go, and did so two or
three mornings ; in which time, to his unspeakable
grief, he saw no beauty appear that charmed him ;
and yet he fancied 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, though he had no-
body to inquire 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 hei sister
Chariot, who was very handsome, but not comparable
to Atlante. He fixed his eyes upon her as she kneeled
at the altar ; he never moved from that charming face
as long as she remained there ; he forgot all devotion,
310 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
but what he paid to her ; he adored her, he burnt and
languished already for her, and found he must possess
Atlante or die. Often as he gazed 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. Chariot perceived all the motions
of Rinaldo, how he folded his arms, how he sighed
and gazed on her sister ; she took notice of his
clothes, his garniture, and every particular of his
dress, as young girls do ; and seeing him so very
handsome, and so much better dressed than all the
young cavaliers that were in the church, she was very
much pleased 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 Chariot, that what she said
was not to his disadvantage, and by the blushes of
Atlante, that she was not displeased with what was
spoken to her ; he perceived the young one impor-
tunate 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 walked 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 them ; but he no sooner advanced
a step or two towards them to that purpose (for he
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 311
followed them) but his heart failed, and a certain awe
and reverence, or rather the fears and tremblings of a
lover, prevented him. But when he considered, that
possibly he might never have so favourable an oppor-
tunity again, he resolved anew, and called up so
much courage to his heart, as to speak to Atlante ;
but before he did so, Chariot looking behind her, saw
Rinaldo very near to them, and cried out with a voice
of joy, ' O sister, sister ! look where the handsome
monsieur is, just behind us ! sure he is somebody 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,
turned her head, and looked on Rinaldo ; which
encouraged him to advance, and putting off his hat,
which he clapped 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 blushed and bowed. But
Chariot 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,' replied Rinaldo, ' I knew it from that
transcendent beauty that appeared in your faces, and
fine shapes ; for I have heard, there was no beauty in
312 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
the world like that of Atlante's ; and I no sooner
saw her, but my heart told me it was she.' ' Heart ! '
said Chariot, laughing, ' why, do hearts speak ? '
' The most intelligible of anything,' Rinaldo replied,
' when it is tenderly touched, when it is charmed and
transported.' At these words he sighed, and Atlante,
to his extreme satisfaction, blushed. ' Touched,
charmed, and transported,' said Chariot, ' what's that ?
And how do you do to have it be all these things?
For I would give anything 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 in-
spired by some noble object, whose idea it must
retain.' ' What,' replied this pretty prattler, ' I'll
warrant I must be in love?' 'Yes,' said Rinaldo,
' most passionately, or you will have but little con-
versation with your heart.' ' Oh ! ' replied 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 !
It is almost impossible for you to love in vain, you
have your choice of a thousand hearts, which you
have subdued, and may not only choose your slaves,
but be assured of them ; without speaking, you are
beloved, it need not cost you a sigh or a tear. But
unhappy man is often destined 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 Chariot, ' that I am afraid this is
your case.' ' Yes, madam,' replied 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,' replied he,
sighing again. ' I adored her character ; but now I
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 313
have seen her, I die for her.' ' For me, sir ! ' said
Atlante, who had not yet spoken, ' 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 ourselves.' ' 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, O lovely
Atlante ! assure you, that what I have said, are not
words of course, but proceed from a heart that has
vowed itself 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
imagined, 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 charmed 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 blushed for shame, and was a little
angry at herself, 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 believed ; and I cannot imagine so short an
acquaintance can make so considerable an impres-
sion ; of which confession I accuse myself 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 some-
thing, that has encouraged this boldness: for so I
314 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
must call it, in a man so great a stranger to me.'
' Madam,' said he, ' if I have offended by the sudden-
ness 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, warned 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 languished
without telling of my pain ; and you ought to pardon
it now, since it is done with all the respect and
religious awe, that it is possible for a heart to deliver
and unload itself in. Therefore, madam, if you have
by chance uttered anything, that I have taken advan-
tage or hope from, I assure you it is 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
arrived at our homes, send me not to mine in a
despair that I cannot support with life ; but tell me, I
shall be blessed with your sight, sometimes in your
balcony, which is very near to a jutting 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, though 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 engage-
ment, in which I find there will be a great many
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 315
obstacles.' 'Oh! madam,' replied Rinaldo, sighing,
'if my person be not disagreeable to you, you will
have no occasion to fear the rest ; it is 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 replied, ' 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 valued, 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 acknowledged her bounty, and expressed the
joy her last words had given him, by a look that
made her understand he was charmed and pleased :
and she bowing to him with an air of satisfaction in
her face, he was well assured, there was nothing to be
seen so lovely as she then appeared, 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 passed
between them. He found nothing but what gave him
a thousand joys, in all she had said ; and he blessed
this happy day, and wondered 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 satis-
faction, he had a thousand thoughts mixed 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 with-
out her inquietudes. She found Rinaldo more in her
thoughts than she wished, and a sudden change of
humour, that made her know something was the
316 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
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 importuned her, and in spite 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 conver-
sation, 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 fortu-
nate of all womankind in such a match. With these
thoughts she employed 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 forced 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 appeared 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 assumed, 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 employed, 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
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 317
him to declare himself to Monsieur De Pais, who he
knew would be proud of the honour he did him.
Some time passed, 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 ren-
dered him yet more disagreeable than before ; and it
was 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 though he was not certain of seeing
his adorable Atlante, he dressed himself with all that
care, as if he had been to have waited on her, and got
himself into the window, that overlooked Monsieur
De Pais's balcony, where he had not remained long,
before he saw the pretty Chariot 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 disordered
joy on the sight of even Chariot, since she was sister
to Atlante. He called to her (for the window was so
near her, he could easily he 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 agree-
able conversation encouraged him, and drawn him
from one word to another, he should never have had
the confidence to have told Atlante, how much he
adored her.' ' I am very glad,' replied Chariot, ' 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
3i8 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
her already to sigh so, that I could not sleep for her.'
At this his face was covered all over with a rising joy,
which his heart could not contain : and after some
discourse, in which this innocent girl discovered more
than Atlante wished she should, he besought her to
become his advocate ; and she had no brother, to give
him leave to assume that honour, and call her sister.
Thus, by degrees, he flattered her into a consent of
carrying a letter from him to Atlante; which she,
who believed all as innocent as herself, 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 it were a sin to doubt), O 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 vow ; it
is 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 unassured, as that of your eternal adorer,
RIN. BELLYAURD.
He having writ and sealed this, tossed it into the
balcony to Chariot, having first looked about to see if
none perceived 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 Chariot to the
monastery, which work he desired to see performed,
before he declared his intentions to Atlante: for
among all his other good qualities, he was very
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 319
avaricious; and as fair as Atlanta was, he thought
she would be much fairer with the addition of
Chariot's portion. This affair of his with Monsieur
De Pais, gave Chariot 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 imagined from whence it came, and
had a secret joy in that imagination, though she
thought she must put on the severity and niceness
of a virgin, who would not be thought to have sur-
rendered her heart with so small an assault, and the
first too. So she demanded from whence Chariot
had that letter ; who replied with joy, ' From the
fine young gentleman, our neighbour.' At which
Atlante assumed 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
received a letter from him ; he looked so handsome,
and was so richly dressed, ten times finer than he was
yesterday; and I promised 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 finished with
a sigh. While she was reading, Chariot ran into the
garden, to see if they were not likely to be surprised ;
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
Chariot, your little importunate advocate, has at last sub-
dued 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 wrote to one of your sex, though per-
haps I might with less danger have done it to any other man.
320 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
I tremble while I write, since I dread a correspondence of
this nature, which may insensibly draw us into an incon-
venience, 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 myself too soon into your power ; and
though you have abundance of merit, I ought to be
ashamed 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 Chariot ; who immediately
ran into the balcony with it, where she still found
Rinaldo in a melancholy posture, leaning his head on
his hand. She showed 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 stayed 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 : though 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 forced to quit her he
must be, he then believed the tenderness of so fond
a parent would break forth into pity, and plead
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 321
within for his consent. These were the thoughts that
flattered this young lover all the day ; and whether
he were riding the great horse, or at his study of
philosophy, or mathematics, singing, dancing, or
whatsoever other exercise his tutors ordered, his
thoughts were continually on Atlante. And now
he profited no more, whatever he seemed to do;
every day he failed not to write to her by the
hand of the kind Chariot ; who, young as she was,
had conceived a great friendship for Rinaldo, and
failed not to fetch her letters, and bring him answers,
such as he wished to receive. But all this did not
satisfy our impatient lover; absence killed, 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 imagined. The next
day was the appointed time, when she would, under
pretence of going to church, give him an assignation.
And because all public 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 Chariot
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 adorned, and
a very handsome collation ready for them, of cold
meats, salads and sweetmeats.
As soon as they were come into the pleasure-boat,
unseen of any, he kneeled at the feet of Atlante, and
Y
322 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
there uttered so many passionate and tender things
to her, with a voice so trembling and soft, with eyes
so languishing, and a fervency and a fire so sincere,
that her young heart, wholly incapable of artifice,
could no longer resist such language, and such looks
of love. She grows tender, and he perceives it in her
fine eyes, who could not dissemble; he reads her
heart in her looks, and found it yielding apace ; and
therefore assaults it anew, with fresh forces of sighs
and tears. He implores she would assure him of her
heart, which she could no other way do, than by
yielding to marry him. He would carry her to the
next village, there consummate that happiness, with-
out which he was able to live no longer ; for he had
a thousand fears, that some other lover was, or would
suddenly be provided for her; and therefore he would
make sure of her while he had this opportunity : and
to that end, he answered all the objections she could
make to the contrary. But ever, when he named
marriage, she trembled, with fear of doing something
that she fancied she ought not to do without the
consent of her father. She was sensible of the advan-
tage, but had been so used to a strict obedience,
that she could not without horror think of violating
it ; and therefore besought him, as he valued her
repose, not to urge her to that. And told him further,
that if he feared any rival, she would give him what
other assurance and satisfaction he pleased, but that
of marriage ; which she could not consent to, till she
knew such an alliance would not be fatal to him : for
she feared, as passionately as he loved her, when he
should find she had occasioned him the loss of his
fortune, or his father's affection, he would grow to
hate her. Though he answered to this all that a fond
lover could urge, yet she was resolved, and he forced
to content himself with obliging her by his prayers
and protestations, his sighs and tears, to a contract,
which they solemnly made each other, vowing on
either side, they would never marry any other. This
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 323
being solemnly concluded, he assumed a look more gay
and contented than before : he presented her a very
rich ring, which she durst not put on her finger, but
hid it in her bosom. And beholding each other now
as man and wife, she suffered him all the decent free-
doms he could wish to take; so that the hours of
this voyage seemed the most soft and charming of his
life : and doubtless they were so ; every touch of
Atlante transported him, every look pierced his soul,
and he was all raptures of joy, when he considered
this charming lovely maid was his own.
Chariot all this while was gazing above - deck,
admiring the motion of the little vessel, and how
easily the wind and tide bore her up the river. She
had never been in anything of this kind before, and
was very well pleased and entertained, when Rinaldo
called her down to tea ; where they enjoyed them-
selves, as well as was possible: and Chariot was
wondering to see such a content in their eyes.
But now they thought it was high time for them
to return ; they fancy the footman missing them at
church, would go home and alarm their father, and
the Knight of the Ill-favoured Countenance, as Chariot
called Count Vernole, whose severity put their father
on a greater restriction of them, than naturally he
would do of himself. At the name of this Count,
Rinaldo changed colour, fearing he might be some
rival ; and asked Atlante, if this Vernole was akin to
her ? She answered no ; but was a very great friend
to her father, and one who from their infancy had
had a particular concern for their breeding, and was
her master for philosophy. ' Ah ! ' replied Rinaldo,
sighing, 'this man's concern must proceed from
something more than friendship for her father'; and
therefore conjured her to tell him, whether he was
not a lover. 'A lover!' replied Atlante,' I assure you,
he is a perfect antidote against that passion.' And
though she suffered his ugly presence now, she should
loathe and hate him, should he but name love to her.
324 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
She said ' she believed she need not fear any such
persecution, since he was a man who was not at all
amorous ; that he had too much of the satire in his
humour, to harbour any softness there : and nature
had formed his body to his mind, wholly unfit for
love. And that he might set his heart absolutely at
rest, she assured him her father had never yet pro-
posed any marriage to her, though many advantageous
ones were offered him every day.
The sails being turned to carry them back from
whence they came ; after having discoursed of a
thousand things, and all of love, and contrivance to
carry on their mutual design, they with sighs parted ;
Rinaldo staying behind in the pleasure-boat, and they
going ashore in the wherry that attended : after which
he cast many an amorous and sad look, and perhaps
was answered by those of Atlante.
It was past church-time two or three hours, when
they arrived at home, wholly unprepared with an
excuse, so absolutely was Atlante's soul possessed
with softer business. The first person they met was
the footman, who opened the door, and began to cry
out how long he had waited in the church, and how
in vain ; without giving them time to reply. De Pais
came towards them, and with a frowning look de-
manded where they had been. Atlante, who was
not accustomed to excuses and untruth, was a while
at a stand ; when Chariot with a voice of joy cried
out, ' O sir ! we have been aboard of a fine little
ship. At this Atlante blushed, fearing she would tell
the truth. But she proceeded on, and said, that they
had not been above a quarter of an hour at church,
when the Lady , with some other ladies and
cavaliers, were going out of the church, and that
spying them, they would needs have them go with
them. ' My sister, sir/ continued she, ' was very loth
to go, for fear you should be angry ; but my Lady
was so importunate with her on one side, and I on
the other, because I never saw a little ship in my
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 325
life, that at last we prevailed with her ; therefore,
good sir, be not angry.' He promised them he was
not. And when they came in, they found Count
Vernole, who had been inspiring De Pais with
severity, and counselled him to chide the young
ladies, for being too long absent, under pretence of
going to their devotion. Nor was it enough for him
to set the father on, but himself with a gravity, where
concern and malice were both apparent, reproached
Atlante with levity ; and told her he believed she
had some other motive than the invitation of a lady,
to go on ship-board ; and that she had too many
lovers, not to make them doubt that this was a
designed thing ; and that she had heard love from
someone, for whom it was designed. To this she
made but a short reply, that if it was so, she had
no reason to conceal it, since she had sense enough
to look after herself; and if anybody had made love
to her, he might be assured, it was someone whose
quality and merit deserved to be heard : and with
a look of scorn, she passed on to another room, and
left him silently raging within with jealousy : which,
if before she tormented him, this declaration increased
it to a pitch not to be concealed. And this day he
said so much to the father, that he resolved forthwith
to send Chariot to a nunnery : and accordingly the
next day he bid her prepare to go. Chariot, who
was not yet arrived to the years of distinction, did
not much regret it ; and having no trouble but leaving
her sister, she prepared to go to a nunnery, not many
streets from that where she dwelt. The Lady Abbess
was her father's kinswoman, and had treated her very
well, as often as she came to visit her : so that with
satisfaction enough, she was condemned to a mon-
astic life, and was now going for her probation-year.
Atlante was troubled at her departure, because she
had nobody to bring and to carry letters between
Rinaldo and she : however, she took her leave of her,
and promised to come and see her as often as she
326 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
should be permitted to go abroad ; for she feared
now some constraint extraordinary would be put
upon her: and so it happened.
Atlante's chamber was that to which the balcony
belonged ; and though she durst not appear there in
the daytime, she could in the night, and that way
give her lover as many hours of conversation as she
pleased, without being perceived. But how to give
Rinaldo notice of this, she could not tell ; who not
knowing Chariot was gone to a monastery, waited
many days at his window to see her: at last, they
neither of them knowing who to trust with any
message, one day, when he was, as usual, upon his
watch, he saw Atlante step into the balcony, who
having a letter, in which she had put a piece of lead,
she tossed it into his window, whose casement was
open, and ran in again unperceived by any but him-
self. The paper contained only this :
My chamber is that which looks into the balcony ; from
whence, though I cannot converse with you in the day,
I can at night, when I am retired to go to bed : therefore
be at your window. Farewell.
There needed no more to make him a diligent
watcher : and accordingly she was no sooner retired
to her chamber, but she would come into the balcony,
where she failed not to see him attending at his
window. This happy contrivance was thus carried
on for many nights, where they entertained one
another with all the endearment that two hearts
could dictate, who were perfectly united and assured
of each other ; and this pleasing conversation would
often last till day appeared, and forced them to part.
But old Bellyaurd perceiving his son frequent that
chamber more than usual, fancied something extra-
ordinary must be the cause of it ; and one night ask-
ing for his son, his valet told him, he was gone into
the Great Chamber, so this was called. Bellyaurd
asked the valet what he did there j he told him he
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 327
could not tell ; for often he had lighted him thither,
and that his master would take the candle from him
at the chamber-door, and suffer him to go no farther.
Though the old gentleman could not imagine what
affairs he could have alone every night in that
chamber, he had a curiosity to see : and one unlucky
night, putting off his shoes, he came to the door of
the chamber, which was open ; he entered softly, and
saw the candle set in the chimney, and his son at a
great open bay-window. He stopped awhile to wait
when he would turn, but finding him unmovable, he
advanced something farther, and at last heard the
soft dialogue of love between him and Atlante, whom
he knew to be she, by his often calling her by her
name in their discourse. He heard enough to con-
firm him how matters went ; and unseen as he came,
he returned, full of indignation, and thought how to
prevent so great an evil, as this passion of his son
might produce. At first he thought to round him
severely in the ear about it, and upbraid him for
doing the only thing he had thought fit to forbid
him ; but then he thought that would but terrify him
for a while, and he would return again, where he had
so great an inclination, if he were near her ; he there-
fore resolves to send him to Paris, that by absence
he might forget the young beauty that had charmed
his youth. Therefore, without letting Rinaldo know
the reason, and without taking notice that he knew
anything of his amour, he came to him one day, and
told him, all the masters he had for the improving
him in noble sciences were very dull, or very remiss ;
and that he resolved he should go for a year or two
to the Academy at Paris. To this the son made a
thousand evasions ; but the father was positive, and
not to be persuaded by all his reasons : and finding
he should absolutely displease him if he refused to
go, and not daring to tell him the dear cause of his
desire to remain at Orleans, he therefore, with a
breaking heart, consents to go, nay, resolves it, though
328 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
it should be his death. But alas ! he considers that
this parting will not only prove the greatest torment
upon earth to him, but that Atlante will share in his
misfortunes also. This thought gives him a double
torment, and yet he finds no way to evade it.
The night that finished this fatal day, he goes
again to his wonted station, the window ; where he
had not sighed very long, but he saw Atlante enter
the balcony : he was not able a great while to speak
to her, or to utter one word. The night was light
enough to see him at the wonted place ; and she
admires at his silence, and demands the reason in
such obliging terms as adds to his grief; and he, with
a deep sigh, replied, ' Urge me not, my fair Atlante,
to speak, lest by obeying you I give you more cause
of grief than my silence is capable of doing ' : and
then sighing again, he held his peace, and gave her
leave to ask the cause of these last words. But when
he made no reply but by sighing, she imagined it
much worse than indeed it was ; and with a trembling
and fainting voice, she cried, ' Oh ! Rinaldo, give me
leave to divine that cruel news you are so unwilling
to tell me : is it that,' added she, ' you are destined to
some more fortunate maid than Atlante?' At this
tears stopped her speech, and she could utter no
more. ' No, my dearest charmer,' replied Rinaldo,
elevating his voice, ' if that were all, you should see
with what fortitude I would die, rather than obey any
such commands. I am vowed yours to the last
moment of my life ; and will be yours in spite of all
the opposition in the world: that cruelty I could
evade, but cannot this that threatens me.' ' Ah ! '
cried Atlante, ' let Fate do her worst, so she still con-
tinue Rinaldo mine, and keep that faith he hath
sworn to me entire. What can she do beside, that
can afflict me?' 'She can separate me,' cried he,
'for some time from Atlante.' 'Oh!' replied she,
'all misfortunes fall so below that which I first
imagined, that methinks I do not resent this, as I
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 329
should otherwise have done ; but I know, when I
have a little more considered it, I shall even die with
the grief of it, absence being so greater an enemy to
love, and making us soon forget the object beloved.
This, though I never experienced, I have heard, and
fear it may be my fate.' He then convinced her
fears with a thousand new vows, and a thousand im-
precations of constancy. She then asked him if
their loves were discovered, that he was with such
haste to depart? He told her nothing of that was
the cause ; and he could almost wish it were dis-
covered, since he could resolutely then refuse to go
but it was only to cultivate his mind more effectually
than he could do here ; it was the care of his father
to accomplish him the more ; and therefore he could
not contradict it. ' But,' said he, ' I am not sent where
seas shall part us, nor vast distances of earth, but to
Paris,' from whence he might come in two days to see
her again ; and that he would expect from that
balcony, that had given him so many happy moments,
many more when he should come to see her. He be-
sought her to send him away with all the satisfaction
she could, which she could no otherwise do, than by
giving him new assurances that she would never give
away that right he had in her to any other lover.
She vows this with innumerable tears ; and is almost
angry with him for questioning her faith. He tells
her he has but one night more to stay, and his grief
would be unspeakable, if he should not be able to
take a better leave of her, than at a window; and
that, if she would give him leave, he would by a rope
or two, tied together, so as it may serve for steps,
ascend her balcony ; he not having time to provide a
ladder of ropes. She tells him she has so great a
confidence in his virtue and love, that she will refuse
him nothing, though it would be a very bold venture
for a maid, to trust herself with a passionate young
man, in silence of night : and though she did not
extort a vow from him to secure her, she expected
330 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
he would have a care of her honour. He swore to
her, his love was too religious for so base an attempt
There needed not many vows to confirm her faith;
and it was agreed on between them, that he should
come the next night into her chamber.
It happened that night, as it often did, that Count
Vernole lay with Monsieur De Pais, which was in a
ground-room, just under that of Atlante's. As soon as
she knew all were in bed, she gave the word to Rinaldo,
who was attending with the impatience of a passionate
lover below, under the window ; and who no sooner
heard the balcony open, but he ascended with some
difficulty, and entered the chamber, where he found
Atlante trembling with joy and fear. He throws him-
self at her feet, as unable to speak as she; who
nothing but blushed and bent down her eyes, hardly
daring to glance them towards the dear object of her
desires, the lord of all her vows. She was ashamed
to see a man in her chamber, where yet none had
ever been alone, and by night too. He saw her fear,
and felt her trembling ; and after a thousand sighs of
love had made way for speech, he besought her to
fear nothing from him, for his flame was too sacred,
and his passion too holy to offer anything but what
honour with love might afford him. At last he
brought her to some courage, and the roses of her
fair cheeks assumed their wonted colour, not blushing
too red, nor languishing too pale. But when the
conversation began between them, it was the softest
in the world : they said all that parting lovers could
say ; all that wit and tenderness could express. They
exchanged their vows anew ; and to confirm his, he
tied a bracelet of diamonds about her arm, and she
returned him one of her hair, which he had long
begged, and she had on purpose made, which clasped
together with diamonds ; this she put about his arm,
and he swore to carry it to his grave. The night was
far spent in tender vows, soft sighs and tears on both
sides, and it was high time to part : but, as if death
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 331
had been to have arrived to them in that minute, they
both lingered away the time, like lovers who had for-
got themselves ; and the day was near approaching
when he bid farewell, which he repeated very often :
for still he was interrupted by some commanding soft-
ness from Atlante, and then lost all his power of
going ; till she, more courageous and careful of his
interest and her own fame, forced him from her : and
it was happy she did, for he was no sooner got over
the balcony, and she had flung him down his rope,
and shut the door, but Vernole, whom love and con-
trivance kept waking, fancied several times he heard
a noise in Atlante's chamber. And whether in pass-
ing over the balcony, Rinaldo made any noise or not,
or whether it was still his jealous fancy, he came up in
his night-gown, with a pistol in his hand. Atlante
was not so much lost in grief, though she were all in
tears, but she heard a man come up, and imagined
it had been her father, she not knowing of Count
Vernole's lying in the house that night ; if she had,
she possibly had taken more care to have been silent :
but whoever it was, she could not get to bed soon
enough, and therefore turned herself to her dressing-
table, where a candle stood, and where lay a book
open of the story of Ariadne and Theseus. The
Count turning the latch, entered halting into her
chamber in his night-gown clapped close about him,
which betrayed an ill-favoured shape, his night-cap
on, without a periwig, which discovered all his lean
withered jaws, his pale face, and his eyes staring : and
made altogether so dreadful a figure, that Atlante,
who no more dreamt of him than of a devil, had
possibly have rather seen the last. She gave a great
shriek, which frightened Vernole ; so both stood for a
while staring on each other, till both were recollected.
He told her the care of her honour had brought him
thither; and then rolling his small eyes round the
chamber, to see if he could discover anybody, he
proceeded, and cried, ' Madam, if I had no other
33* THE LUCKY MISTAKE
motive than your being up at this time of night, or
rather of day, I could easily guess how you have been
entertained.' ' What insolence is this,' said she, all in
a rage, ' when to cover your boldness of approaching
my chamber at this hour, you would question how
I have been entertained ! Either explain yourself, or
quit my chamber ; for I am not used to see such
terrible objects here.' ' Possibly those you do see,'
said the Count, ' are indeed more agreeable, but I am
afraid have not that regard to your honour as I have' :
and at that word he stepped to the balcony, opened it,
and looked out ; but seeing nobody, he shut it to
again. This enraged Atlante beyond all patience ;
and snatching the pistol out of his hand, she told him
he deserved to have it aimed at his head, for having
the impudence to question her honour, or her conduct;
and commanded him to avoid her chamber as he
loved his life, which she believed he was fonder of
than of her honour. She speaking this in a tone
wholly transported with rage, and at the same time
holding the pistol towards him made him tremble
with fear ; and he now found, whether she were guilty
or not, it was his turn to beg pardon. For you must
know, however it came to pass that his jealousy made
him come up in that fierce posture, at other times
Vernole was the most tame and passive man in the
world, and one who was afraid of his own shadow in
the night. He had a natural aversion for danger, and
thought it below a man of wit, or common-sense, to be
guilty of that brutal thing, called courage or fighting.
His philosophy told him, ' It was safe sleeping in
a whole skin'; and possibly he apprehended as much
danger from this virago, as ever he did from his own
sex. He therefore fell on his knees, and besought
her to hold her fair hand, and not to suffer that,
which was the greatest mark of his respect, to be the
cause of her hate or indignation. The pitiful faces
he made, and the signs of mortal fear in him, had
almost made her laugh, at least it allayed her anger ;
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 333
and she bid him rise and play the fool hereafter some-
where else, and not in her presence. Yet for once
she would deign to give him this satisfaction, that she
was got into a book, which had many moving stories
very well written ; and that she found herself so well
entertained, she had forgotten how the night passed.
He most humbly thanked her for this satisfaction,
and retired, perhaps not so well satisfied as he pre-
tended.
After this, he appeared more submissive and re-
spectful towards Atlante; and she carried herself
more reserved and haughty towards him ; which was
one reason, he would not yet discover his passion.
Thus the time ran on at Orleans, while Rinaldo
found himself daily languishing at Paris. He was
indeed in the best academy in the city, amongst
a number of brave and noble youths, where all things
that could accomplish them, were to be learned by
those that had any genius; but Rinaldo had other
thoughts, and other business: his time was wholly
passed in the most solitary parts of the garden, by
the melancholy fountains, and in the most gloomy
shades, where he could with most liberty breathe out
his passion and his griefs. He was past the tutorage
of a boy ; and his masters could not upbraid him, but
found he had some secret cause of grief, which made
him not mind those exercises, which were the delight
of the rest ; so that nothing being able to divert his
melancholy, which daily increased upon him, he
feared it would bring him into a fever, if he did not
give himself the satisfaction of seeing Atlante. He
had no sooner thought of this, but he was impatient
to put it in execution ; he resolved to go (having very
good horses) without acquainting any of his servants
with it. He got a very handsome and light ladder of
ropes made, which he carried under his coat, and
away he rode for Orleans, stayed at a little village, till
the darkness of the night might favour his design.
And then walking about Atlanta's lodgings, till he
334 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
saw a light in her chamber, and then making that
noise on his sword, as was agreed between them, he
was heard by his adorable Atlante, and suffered to
mount her chamber, where he would stay till almost
break of day, and then return to the village, and take
horse, and away for Paris again. This, once in a
month, was his exercise, without which he could not
live ; so that his whole year was passed in riding
between Orleans and Paris, between excess of grief,
and excess of joy by turns.
It was now that Atlante, arrived to her fifteenth
year, shone out with a lustre of beauty greater than
ever ; and in this year, in the absence of Rinaldo, had
carried herself with that severity of life, without the
youthful desire of going abroad, or desiring any
diversion, but what she found in her own retired
thoughts, that Vernole, wholly unable longer to con-
ceal his passion, resolved to make a publication of it,
first to the father, and then to the lovely daughter, of
whom he had some hope, because she had carried her-
self very well towards him for this year past ; which
she would never have done, if she had imagined he
would ever have been her lover. She had seen no
signs of any such misfortune towards her in these
many years he had conversed with her, and she had
no cause to fear him. When one day her father taking
her into the garden, told her what honour and happi-
ness was in store for her ; and that now the glory of
his fallen family would rise again, since she had a
lover of an illustrious blood, allied to monarchs ; and
one whose fortune was newly increased to a very
considerable degree, answerable to his birth. She
changed colour at this discourse, imagining but too
well who this illustrious lover was ; when De Pais
proceeded and told her, 'indeed his person was not
the most agreeable that ever was seen : but he
married her to glory and fortune, not the man : ' And
a woman,' says he, ' ought to look no further."
She needed not any more to inform her who this
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 335
intended husband was ; and therefore, bursting forth
into tears, she throws herself at his feet, imploring
him not to use the authority of a father, to force her
to a thing so contrary to her inclination : assuring
him, she could not consent to any such thing ; and
that she would rather die than yield. She urged
many arguments for this her disobedience ; but none
would pass for current with the old gentleman, whose
pride had flattered him with hopes of so considerable
a son-in-law. He was very much surprised at Atlante's
refusing what he believed she would receive with joy;
and finding that no arguments on his side could draw
hers to an obedient consent, he grew to such a rage,
as very rarely possessed him : vowing, if she did not
conform her will to his, he would abandon her to all
the cruelty of contempt and poverty. So that at last
she was forced to return him this answer, ' That she
would strive all she could with her heart; but she
verily believed she should never bring it to consent
to a marriage with Monsieur the Count.' The father
continued threatening her, and gave her some days to
consider of it : so leaving her in tears, he returned to
his chamber, to consider what answer he should give
Count Vernole, who he knew would be impatient to
learn what success he had, and what himself was to
hope. De Pais, after some consideration, resolved
to tell him, she received the offer very well, but that
he must expect a little maiden-nicety in the case : and
accordingly did tell him so; and he was not at all
doubtful of his good fortune.
But Atlante, who resolved to die a thousand deaths
rather than break her solemn vows to Rinaldo, or to
marry the Count, cast about how she should avoid
it with the least hazard of her father's rage. She
found Rinaldo the better and the more advantageous
match of the two, could they but get his father's con-
sent. He was beautiful and young ; his title was
equal to that of Vernole, when his father should die ;
and his estate exceeded his : yet she dares not make
336 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
a discovery, for fear she should injure her lover ; who
at this time, though she knew it not, lay sick of
a fever, while she was wondering that he came not as
he used to do. However, she resolved to send him
a letter, and acquaint him with the misfortune ; which
she did in these terms :
ATLANTE TO RINALDO
My father's authority would force me to violate my sacred
vows to you, and give them to the Count Vernole, whom
I mortally hate, yet could wish him the greatest monarch in
the world, that I might show you I could even then despise
him for your sake. My father is already too much enraged
by my denial, to hear reason from me, if I should confess
to him my vows to you : so that I see nothing but a prospect
of death before me ; for assure yourself, my Rinaldo, I will
die rather than consent to marry any other. Therefore
come, my Rinaldo, and come quickly, to see my funeral,
instead of those nuptials they vainly expect from your
faithful ATLANTE.
This letter Rinaldo received ; and there needed no
more to make him fly to Orleans. This raised him
soon from his bed of sickness, and getting immediately
to horse, he arrived at his father's house ; who did not
so much admire to see him, because he heard he was
sick of a fever, and gave him leave to return, if he
pleased. He went directly to his father's house,
because he knew somewhat of the business, he was
resolved to make his passion known, as soon as he
had seen Atlante, from whom he was to take all his
measures. He therefore failed not, when all were in
bed, to rise and go from his chamber into the street ;
where finding a light in Atlante's chamber, for she
every night expected him, he made the usual sign,
and she went into the balcony ; and he having no
conveniency of mounting up into it, they discoursed,
and said all they had to say. From thence she tells
him of the Count's passion, of her father's resolution,
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 337
and that her own was rather to die his, than live for
anybody else. And at last, as their refuge, they
resolved to discover the whole matter : she to her
father, and he to his, to see what accommodation they
could make ; if not, to die together. They parted at this
resolve, for she would permit him no longer to stay in
the street after such a sickness ; so he went home to
bed, but not to sleep.
The next day, at dinner, Monsieur Bellyaurd be-
lieving his son absolutely cured, by absence, of his
passion ; and speaking of all the news in the town,
among the rest, told him he was come in good time
to dance at the wedding of Count Vernole with
Atlante, the match being agreed on. ' No, sir,' replied
Rinaldo, ' I shall never dance at the marriage of Count
Vernole with Atlante ; and you will see in Monsieur
De Pais's house a funeral sooner than a wedding.'
And thereupon he told his father all his passion for
that lovely maid ; and assured him, if he would not
see him laid in his grave, he must consent to this
match. Bellyaurd rose in a fury, and told him he
had rather see him in his grave, than in the arms of
Atlante : ' Not,' continued he, 'so much for any dislike
I have to the young lady, or the smallness of her
fortune; but because I have so long warned you from
such a passion, and have with such care endeavoured
by your absence to prevent it.' He traversed the
room very fast, still protesting against this alliance :
and was deaf to all Rinaldo could say. On the other
side the day being come, wherein Atlante was to give
her final answer to her father concerning her marriage
with Count Vernole ; she assumed all the courage
and resolution she could, to withstand the storm that
threatened a denial. And her father came to her, and
demanding her answer, she told him she could not
be the wife of Vernole, since she was wife to Rinaldo,
only son to Bellyaurd. If her father stormed before,
he grew like a man distracted at her confession ; and
Vernole hearing them loud, ran to the chamber to
338 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
learn the cause ; where just as he entered he found
De Pais's sword drawn, and ready to kill his daughter,
who lay all in tears at his feet. He withheld his
hand ; and asking the cause of his rage, he was told
all that Atlante had confessed ; which put Vernole
quite beside all his gravity, and made him discover
the infirmity of anger, which he used to say ought to
be dissembled by all wise men. So that De Pais
forgot his own to appease his, but it was in vain, for
he went out of the house, vowing revenge to Rinaldo.
And to that end, being not very well assured of his
own courage, as I said before, and being of the
opinion, that no man ought to expose his life to him
who has injured him ; he hired Swiss and Spanish
soldiers to attend him in the nature of footmen ; and
watched several nights about Bellyaurd's door, and
that of De Pais's, believing he should some time or
other see him under the window of Atlante, or per-
haps mounting into it: for now he no longer doubted
but this happy lover was he, whom he fancied he
heard go from the balcony that night he came up
with his pistol ; and being more a Spaniard than
a Frenchman in his nature, he resolved to take him
any way unguarded or unarmed, if he came in his
way.
Atlante, who heard his threatenings when he went
from her in a rage, feared his cowardice might put
him on some base action, to deprive Rinaldo of his
life ; and therefore thought it not safe to suffer him
to come to her by night, as he had before done ; but
sent him word in a note, that he should forbear her
window, for Vernole had sworn his death. This note
came, unseen by his father, to his hands : but this
could not hinder him from coming to her window,
which he did as soon as it was dark : he came thither,
only attended with his valet, and two footmen ; for
now he cared not who knew the secret. He had no
sooner made the sign, but he found himself encom-
passed with Vernole's bravos ; and himself standing
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 339
at a distance cried out ' That is he.' With that they
all drew on both sides, and Rinaldo received a wound
in his arm. Atlante heard this, and ran crying out
' That Rinaldo pressed by numbers, would be killed.'
De Pais, who was reading in his closet, took his
sword, and ran out ; and, contrary to all expectation,
seeing Rinaldo fighting with his back to the door,
pulled him into the house, and fought himself with
the bravos : who being very much wounded by Rin-
aldo, gave ground, and sheered off; and De Pais,
putting up old Bilbo into the scabbard, went into his
house, where he found Rinaldo almost fainting with
loss of blood, and Atlante, with her maids binding up
his wound ; to whom De Pais said, ' This charity,
Atlante, very well becomes you, and is what I can
allow you ; and I could wish you had no other motive
for this action.' Rinaldo by degrees recovered of his
fainting, and as well as his weakness would permit
him, he got up and made a low reverence to De Pais,
telling him he had now a double obligation to pay
him all the respect in the world ; first, for his being
the father of Atlante ; and secondly, for being the
preserver of his life : two ties that should eternally
oblige him to love and honour him, as his own
parent. De Pais replied, he had done nothing but
what common humanity compelled him to do. But
if he would make good that respect he professed
towards him, it must be in quitting all hopes of
Atlante, whom he had destined to another, or an
eternal enclosure in a monastery. He had another
daughter, whom if he would think worthy of his
regard, he should take his alliance as a very great
honour ; but his word and reputation, nay his vows
were passed, to give Atlante to Count Vernole.
Rinaldo, who before he spoke took measure from
Atlante's eyes, which told him her heart was his,
returned this answer to De Pais, ' That he was
infinitely glad to find by the generosity of his offer,
that he had no aversion against his being his son-in-
340 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
law ; and that, next to Atlanta, the greatest happiness
he could wish would be his receiving Chariot from
his hand ; but that he could not think of quitting
Atlante, how necessary soever it would be, for glory,
and his (the further) repose.' De Pais would not
let him at this time argue the matter further, seeing
he was ill, and had need of looking after ; he there-
fore begged he would for his health's sake retire to
his own house, whither he himself conducted him,
and left him to the care of his men, who were escaped
the fray ; and returning to his own chamber, he
found Atlante retired, and so he went to bed full of
thoughts. This night had increased his esteem for
Rinaldo, and lessened it for Count Vernole ; but his
word and honour being passed, he could not break it,
neither with safety nor honour : for he knew the
haughty resenting nature of the Count, and he feared
some danger might arrive to the brave Rinaldo,
which troubled him very much. At last he resolved,
that neither might take anything ill at his hands, to
lose Atlante, and send her to the monastery where
her sister was, and compel her to be a nun. This he
thought would prevent mischief on both sides ; and
accordingly, the next day (having in the morning
sent word to the Lady Abbess what he would have
done), he carries Atlante, under pretence of visiting
her sister (which they often did), to the monastery,
where she was no sooner come, but she was led into
the enclosure. Her father had rather sacrifice her,
than she should be the cause of the murder of two
such noble men as Vernole and Rinaldo.
The noise of Atlante being enclosed, was soon
spread all over the busy town, and Rinaldo was not
the last to whom the news arrived. He was for a
few days confined to his chamber ; where, when alone,
he raved like a man distracted. But his wounds had
so incensed his father against Atlante, that he swore
he would see his son die of them, rather than suffer
him to marry Atlante ; and was extremely overjoyed
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 341
to find she was condemned for ever, to the monastery.
So that the son thought it the wisest course, and
most for the advantage of his love, to say nothing
to contradict his father ; but being almost assured
Atlante would never consent to be shut up in a
cloister, and abandon him, he flattered himself with
hope, that he should steal her from thence, and marry
her in spite of all opposition. This he was impatient
to put in practice. He believed, if he were not per-
mitted to see Atlante, he had still a kind advocate in
Chariot, who was now arrived to her thirteenth year,
and infinitely advanced in wit and beauty. Rinaldo
therefore often goes to the monastery, surrounding it,
to see what possibility there was of accomplishing
his design ; if he could get her consent, he finds it
not impossible, and goes to visit Chariot ; who had
command not to see him, or speak to him. This was
a cruelty he looked not for, and which gave him an
unspeakable trouble, and without her aid it was
wholly impossible to give Atlante any account of his
design. In this perplexity he remained many days,
in which he languished almost to death ; he was dis-
tracted with thought, and continually hovering about
the nunnery walls, in hope, at some time or other, to
see or hear from that lovely maid, who alone could
make his happiness. In these traverses he often met
Vernole, who had liberty to see her when he pleased.
If it happened that they chanced to meet in the day-
time, though Vernole was attended with an equipage
of ruffians, and Rinaldo but only with a couple of
footmen, he could perceive Vernole shun him, grow
pale, and almost tremble with fear sometimes, and
get to the other side of the street ; and if he did not,
Rinaldo having a mortal hate to him, would often
bear up so close to him, that he would jostle him
against the wall, which Vernole would patiently put
up, and pass on ; so that he could never be provoked
to fight by daylight, how solitary soever the place
was where they met. But if they chanced to meet
342 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
at night, they were certain of a skirmish, in which he
would have no part himself; so that Rinaldo was
often like to be assassinated, but still came off with
some slight wound. This continued so long, and
made so great a noise in the town, that the two old
gentlemen were mightily alarmed by it ; and Count
Bellyaurd came to De Pais, one day, to discourse
with him of this affair ; and Bellyaurd, for the
preservation of his son, was almost consenting, since
there was no remedy, that he should marry Atlante.
De Pais confessed the honour he proffered him, and
how troubled he was, that his word was already passed
to his friend, the Count Vernole, whom he said she
should marry, or remain for ever a nun; but if
Rinaldo could displace his love from Atlante, and
place it on Chariot, he should gladly consent to the
match. Bellyaurd, who would now do anything for
the repose of his son, though he believed this ex-
change would not pass, yet resolved to propose it,
since by marrying him he took him out of the danger
of Vernole's assassinates, who would never leave him
till they had despatched him, should he marry Atlante.
While Rinaldo was contriving a thousand ways to
come to speak to, or send billets to Atlante, none of
which could succeed without the aid of Chariot, his
father came and proposed this agreement between
De Pais and himself, to his son. At first Rinaldo
received it with a changed countenance, and a break-
ing heart; but swiftly turning from thought to
thought, he conceived this the only way to come
at Chariot, and so consequently at Atlante : he there-
fore, after some dissembled regret, consents, with a
sad put-on look : and Chariot had notice given her
to see and entertain Rinaldo. As yet they had not
told her the reason ; which her father would tell her,
when he came to visit her, he said. Rinaldo over-
joyed at this contrivance, and his own dissimulation,
goes to the monastery, and visits Chariot ; where he
ought to have said something of this proposition :
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 343
but wholly bent upon other thoughts, he solicits her
to convey some letters, and presents to Atlante ;
which she readily did, to the unspeakable joy of the
poor distressed. Sometimes he would talk to Chariot
of her own affairs; asking her, if she resolved to
become a nun. To which she would sigh, and say,
if she must, it would be extremely against her in-
clinations; and, if it pleased her father, she had rather
begin the world with any tolerable match.
Things passed thus for some days, in which our
lovers were happy, and Vernole assured he should
have Atlante. But at last De Pais came to visit
Chariot, who asked her, if she had seen Rinaldo.
She answered, she had. ' And how does he enter-
tain you ? ' replied De Pais. ' Have you received
him as a husband ? and has he behaved himself like
one?' At this a sudden joy seized the heart of
Chariot ; and loth to confess what she had done for
him to her sister, she hung down her blushing face
to study for an answer. De Pais continued, and told
her the agreement between Bellyaurd and him, for
the saving of bloodshed.
She, who blessed the cause, whatever it was, having
always a great friendship and tenderness for Rinaldo,
gave her father a thousand thanks for his care ; and
assured him, since she was commanded by him, she
would receive him as her husband.
And the next day, when Rinaldo came to visit
her, as he used to do, and bringing a letter with him,
wherein he proposed the sight of Atlante ; he found
a coldness in Chariot, as soon as he told her his
design, and desired her to carry the letter. He asked
the reason of this change : she tells him she was
informed of the agreement between their two fathers,
and that she looked upon herself as his wife, and
would act no more as a confidante ; that she had
ever a violent inclination of friendship for him, which
she would soon improve into something more soft.
He could not deny the agreement, nor his promise;
344 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
but it was in vain to tell her, he did it only to get
a correspondence with Atlante. She is obstinate,
and he as pressing, with all the tenderness of per-
suasion. He vows he can never be any but Atlante's,
and she may see him die, but never break his vows.
She urges her claim in vain, so that at last she was
overcome, and promised she would carry the letter ;
which was to have her make her escape that night.
He waits at the gate for her answer, and Chariot
returns with one that pleased him very well ; which
was, that night her sister would make her escape,
and that he must stand in such a place of the
nunnery wall, and she would come out to him.
After this she upbraids him with his false promise
to her, and of her goodness to serve him after such
a disappointment. He receives her reproaches with
a thousand sighs, and bemoans her misfortune in not
being capable of more than friendship for her; and
vows, that next Atlante, he esteems her of all woman-
kind. She seems to be obliged by this, and assured
him, she would hasten the flight of Atlante; and
taking leave, he went home to order a coach, and
some servants to assist him.
In the meantime Count Vernole came to visit
Atlante ; but she refused to be seen by him : and all
he could do there that afternoon, was entertaining
Chariot at the grate ; to whom he spoke a great
many fine things, both of her improved beauty and
wit ; and how happy Rinaldo would be in so fair a
bride. She received this with all the civility that
was due to his quality ; and their discourse being at
an end, he took his leave, it being towards the
evening.
Rinaldo, wholly impatient, came betimes to the
corner of the dead wall, where he was appointed to
stand, having ordered his footmen and coach to come
to him as soon as it was dark. While he was there
walking up and down, Vernole came by the end of
the wall to go home ; and looking about, he saw, at
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 345
the other end, Rinaldo walking, whose back was
towards him, but he knew him well ; and though he
feared and dreaded his business there, he durst not
encounter him, they being both attended but by one
footman apiece. But Vernole's jealousy and indigna-
tion were so high, that he resolved to fetch his
bravos to his aid, and come and assault him : for he
knew he waited there for some message from Atlante.
In the meantime it grew dark, and Rinaldo's coach
came with another footman ; which were hardly
arrived, when Vernole, with his assistants, came to
the corner of the wall, and screening themselves a
little behind it, near to the place where Rinaldo
stood, who waited now close to a little door, out of
which the gardeners used to throw the weeds and
dirt, Vernole could perceive anon the door to open,
and a woman come out of it, calling Rinaldo by his
name, who stepped up to her, and caught her in his
arms with signs of infinite joy. Vernole being now
all rage, cried to his assassinates, ' Fall on, and kill
the ravisher.' And immediately they all fell on.
Rinaldo, who had only his two footmen on his side,
was forced to let go the lady ; who would have run
into the garden again, but the door fell to and
locked: so that while Rinaldo was fighting, and
beaten back by the bravos, one of which he laid
dead at his feet, Vernole came to the frightened lady,
and taking her by the hand, cried, 'Come, my fair
fugitive, you must go along with me.' She, wholly
scared out of her senses, was willing to go anywhere
out of the terror she heard so near her, and without
reply, gave herself into his hand, who carried her
directly to her father's house ; where she was no
sooner come, but he told her father all that had
passed, and how she was running away with Rinaldo,
but that his good fortune brought him just in the
lucky minute. Her father turning to reproach her,
found by the light of a candle that this was Chariot,
and not Atlante, whom Vernole had brought home.
346 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
At which Vernole was extremely astonished. Her
father demanded of her why she was running away
with a man, who was designed her by consent?
'Yes,' said Chariot, 'you had his consent, sir, and
that of his father ; but I was far from getting it : I
found he resolved to die rather than quit Atlante ;
and promising him my assistance in his amour, since
he could never be mine, he got me to carry a letter
to Atlante ; which was, to desire her to fly away with
him. Instead of carrying her this letter, I told her,
he was designed for me, and had cancelled all his
vows to her. She swooned at this news ; and being
recovered a little, I left her in the hands of the nuns,
to persuade her to live ; which she resolves not to do
without Rinaldo. Though they pressed me, yet I
resolved to pursue my design, which was to tell
Rinaldo she would obey his kind summons. He
waited for her ; but I put myself into his hands in
lieu of Atlante ; and had not the Count received me,
we had been married by this time, by some false
light that could not have discovered me. But I am
satisfied, if I had, he would never have lived with me
longer than the cheat had been undiscovered ; for I
find them both resolved to die, rather than change.
And for my part, sir, I was not so much in love with
Rinaldo, as I was out of love with the nunnery ; and
took any opportunity to quit a life absolutely con-
trary to my humour.' She spoke this with a gaiety
so brisk, and an air so agreeable, that Vernole found
it touched his heart ; and the rather because he found
Atlante would never be his ; or if she were, he should
be still in danger from the resentment of Rinaldo :
he therefore bowing to Chariot, and taking her by
the hand, cried, ' Madam, since Fortune has disposed
you thus luckily for me, in my possession, I humbly
implore you would consent she should make me
entirely happy, and give me the prize for which I
fought, and have conquered with my sword.' ' My
lord,' replied Chariot, with a modest air, ' I am super-
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 347
stitious enough to believe, since Fortune, so contrary
to all our designs, has given me into your hands,
that she from the beginning destined me to the
honour, which, with my father's consent, I shall
receive as becomes me.' De Pais transported with
joy, to find all things would be so well brought
about, it being all one to him, whether Chariot or
Atlante gave him Count Vernole for his son-in-law,
readily consented ; and immediately a priest was sent
for, and they were that night married. And it being
now not above seven o'clock, many of their friends
were invited, the music sent for, and as good a supper
as so short a time would provide, was made ready.
All this was performed in as short a time as
Rinaldo was fighting; and having killed one, and
wounded the rest, they all fled before his conquering
sword, which was never drawn with so good a will.
When he came where his coach stood, just against
the back-garden door, he looked for his mistress : but
the coachman told him, he was no sooner engaged,
but a man came, and with a thousand reproaches on
her levity, bore her off.
This made our young lover rave ; and he is satisfied
she is in the hands of his rival, and that he had been
fighting, and shedding his blood, only to secure her
flight with him. He lost all patience, and it was with
much ado his servants persuaded him to return ;
telling him in their opinion, she was more likely to
get out of the hands of his rival, and come to him,
than when she was in the monastery.
He suffers himself to go into his coach and be
carried home ; but he was no sooner alighted, than he
heard music and noise at De Pais's house. He saw
coaches surround his door, and pages and footmen,
with flambeaux. The sight and noise of joy made
him ready to sink at the door ; and sending his foot-
men to learn the cause of this triumph, the pages that
waited told him, that Count Vernole was this night
married to Monsieur De Pais's daughter. He needed
348 THE LUCKY MISTAKE
no more to deprive him of all sense ; and staggering
against his coach, he was caught by his footmen and
carried into his house, and to his chamber, where they
put him to bed, all senseless as he was, and had much
ado to recover him to life. He asked for his father,
with a faint voice, for he desired to see him before he
died. It was told him he was gone to Count Vernole's
wedding, where there was a perfect peace agreed on
between them, and all their animosities laid aside.
At this news Rinaldo fainted again ; and his servants
called his father home, and told him in what condition
they had brought home their master, recounting to
him all that was past. He hastened to Rinaldo,
whom he found just recovered of his swooning ; who,
putting his hand out to his father, all cold and
trembling, cried, ' Well, sir, now you are satisfied,
since you have seen Atlante married to Count
Vernole. I hope now you will give your unfortunate
son leave to die ; as you wished he should, rather
than give him to the arms of Atlante.' Here his
speech failed, and he fell again into a fit of swooning.
His father ready to die with fear of his son's death,
kneeled down by his bedside ; and after having
recovered a little, he said, ' My dear son, I have been
indeed at the wedding of Count Vernole, but it is not
Atlante to whom he is married, but Chariot; who
was the person you were bearing from the monastery,
instead of Atlante, who is still reserved for you, and
she is dying till she hear you are reserved for her.
Therefore, as you regard her life, make much of your
own, and make yourself fit to receive her ; for her
father and I have agreed to the marriage already.' And
without giving him leave to think, he called to one of
his gentlemen, and sent him to the monastery, with
this news to Atlante. Rinaldo bowed himself as low
as he could in his bed, and kissed the hand of his
father, with tears of joy. But his weakness continued
all the next day ; and they were fain to bring Atlante
to him, to confirm his happiness.
THE LUCKY MISTAKE 349
It must only be guessed by lovers, the perfect joy
these two received in the sight of each other.
Bellyaurd received her as his daughter ; and the
next day made her so, with very great solemnity, at
which were Vernole and Chariot. Between Rinaldo
and him was concluded a perfect peace, and all
thought themselves happy in this double union
THE COURT OF
THE KING OF BANTAM
THIS money certainly is a most devilish thing ! I'm
sure the want of it had like to have ruined my dear
Philibella, in her love to Valentine Goodland ; who
was really a pretty deserving gentleman, heir to
about fifteen hundred pounds a year ; which, how-
ever, did not so much recommend him, as the sweet-
ness of his temper, the comeliness of his person,
and the excellence of his parts. In all which cir-
cumstances my obliging acquaintance equalled him,
unless in the advantage of their fortune. Old Sir
George Goodland knew of his son's passion for
Philibella ; and though he was generous, and of a
humour sufficiently complying, yet he could by no
means think it convenient, that his only son should
marry with a young lady of so slender a fortune as
my friend, who had not above five hundred pound,
and that the gift of her uncle, Sir Philip Friendly :
though her virtue and beauty might have deserved,
and have adorned the throne of an Alexander or a
Csesar.
Sir Philip himself, indeed, was but a younger
brother, though of a good family, and of a generous
education ; which, with his person, bravery, and wit,
recommended him to his Lady Philadelphia, widow
of Sir Bartholomew Banquier, who left her possessed
of two thousand pounds per annum, besides twenty
351
352 THE COURT OF THE
thousand pounds in money and jewels ; which obliged
him to get himself dubbed, that she might not de-
scend to an inferior quality. When he was in town,
he lived let me see ! in the Strand ; or, as near as
I can remember, somewhere about Charing Cross ;
where, first of all Mr. Would-be King, a gentleman of
a large estate in houses, land and money, of a haughty,
extravagant and profuse humour, very fond of every
new face, had the misfortune to fall passionately in
love with Philibella, who then lived with her uncle.
This Mr. Would-be it seems had often been told,
when he was yet a stripling, either by one of his
nurses, or his own grandmother, or by some other
gipsy, that he should infallibly be what his surname
implied, a king, by Providence or chance, ere he died,
or never. This glorious prophecy had so great an
influence on all his thoughts and actions, that he dis-
tributed and dispersed his wealth sometimes so largely,
that one would have thought he had undoubtedly
been king of some part of the Indies ; to see a present
made to-day of a diamond ring, worth two or three
hundred pounds, to Madam Flippant ; to-morrow,
a large chest of the finest china to my Lady Fleece-
well ; and next day, perhaps, a rich necklace of large
Oriental pearl, with a locket to it of sapphires, emeralds,
rubies, etc., to pretty Miss Ogle-me, for an amorous
glance, for a smile, and (it may be, though but rarely)
for the mighty blessing of one single kiss. But such
were his largesses, not to reckon his treats, his balls,
and serenades besides, though at the same time he
had married a virtuous lady, and of good quality.
But her relation to him (it may be feared) made her
very disagreeable: for a man of his humour and
estate can no more be satisfied with one woman, than
with one dish of meat ; and to say truth, it is some-
thing unmodish. However, he might have died a
pure celibate, and altogether unexpert of women, had
his good or bad hopes only terminated in Sir Philip's
niece. But the brave and haughty Mr. Would-be
KING OF BANTAM 353
was not to be baulked by appearances of virtue,
which he thought all womankind only did affect ;
besides, he promised himself the victory over any
lady whom he attempted, by the force of his damned
money, though her virtue were ever so real and strict.
With Philibella he found another pretty young
creature, very like her, who had been a quondam mis-
tress to Sir Philip. He, with young Goodland, was
then diverting his mistress and niece at a game at
cards, when Would-be came to visit him ; he found
them very merry, with a flask or two of claret before
them, and oranges roasting by a large fire, for it was
Christmas-time. The Lady Friendly understanding
that this extraordinary man was with Sir Philip in
the parlour, came in to them, to make the number of
both sexes equal, as well as in hopes to make up a
purse of guineas towards the purchase of some new
fine business that she had in her head, from his accus-
tomed design of losing at play to her. Indeed, she
had part of her wish, for she got twenty guineas of
him ; Philibella ten ; and Lucy, Sir Philip's quondam,
five. Not but that Would-be intended better fortune
to the young ones, than he did to Sir Philip's lady ;
but her ladyship was utterly unwilling to give him
over to their management, though at the last, when
they were all tired with the cards, after Would-be had
said as many obliging things as his present genius
would give him leave, to Philibella and Lucy, es-
pecially to the first, not forgetting his baisemains
to the Lady Friendly, he bid the Knight and Good-
land adieu ; but with a promise of repeating his visit
at six o'clock in the evening on twelfth-day, to renew
the famous and ancient solemnity of choosing king
and queen ; to which Sir Philip before invited him,
with a design yet unknown to you, I hope.
As soon as he was gone, everyone made their
remarks on him, but with very little or no difference
in all their figures of him. In short, all mankind,
had they ever known him, would have universally
354 THE COURT OF THE
agreed in this his character, that he was an original ;
since nothing in humanity was ever so vain, so haughty,
so profuse, so fond, and so ridiculously ambitious, as
Mr. Would-be King. They laughed and talked about
an hour longer, and then young Goodland was obliged
to see Lucy home in his coach ; though he had rather
have sat up all night in the same house with Philibella,
I fancy, of whom he took but an unwilling leave ;
which was visible enough to everyone there, since
they were all acquainted with his passion for my fair
friend.
About twelve o'clock on the day prefixed, young
Goodland came to dine with Sir Philip, whom he
found just returned from Court, in a very good
humour. On the sight of Valentine, the Knight ran
to him, and embracing him, told him, that he had
prevented his wishes, in coming thither before he sent
for him, as he had just then designed. The other
returned, that he therefore hoped he might be of
some service to him, by so happy a prevention of his
intended kindness. ' No doubt,' replied Sir Philip,
' the kindness, I hope, will be to us both ; I am assured
it will, if you will act according to my measures.'
' I desire no better prescriptions for my happiness,'
returned Valentine, ' than what you shall please to set
down to me : but is it necessary or convenient that
I should know them first?' 'It is,' answered Sir
Philip, ' let us sit, and you shall understand them.
I am very sensible,' continued he, ' of your sincere
and honourable affection and pretension to my niece,
who, perhaps, is as dear to me as my own child could
be, had I one ; nor am I ignorant how averse Sir
George your father is to your marriage with her, inso-
much that I am confident he would disinherit you im-
mediately upon it, merely for want of a fortune some-
what proportionable to your estate : but I have now
contrived the means to add two or three thousand
pounds to the five hundred I have designed to give
with her ; I mean, if you marry her, Val, not other-
KING OF BANTAM 355
wise ; for I will not labour so for any other man.'
' What inviolable obligations you put upon me ! '
cried Goodland. ' No return, by way of compliments,
good Val,' said the Knight. " Had I not engaged to
my wife, before marriage, that I would not dispose of
any part of what she brought me, without her con-
sent, I would certainly make Philibella's fortune
answerable to your estate. And besides, my wife is
not yet full eight-and-twenty, and we may therefore
expect children of our own, which hinders me from
proposing anything more for the advantage of my
niece. But now to my instructions ; King will be
here this evening without fail, and, at some time
or other to-night, will show the haughtiness of his
temper to you, I doubt not, since you are in a manner
a stranger to him. Be sure therefore you seem to
quarrel with him before you part, but suffer as much
as you can first from his tongue ; for I know he will
give you occasions enough to exercise your passive
valour. I must appear his friend, and you must retire
home, if you please, for this night, but let me see you
as early as your convenience will permit to-morrow :
my late friend Lucy must be my niece too. Observe
this, and leave the rest to me.' ' I shall most punctually,
and will in all things be directed by you,' said Valen-
tine. ' I had forgot to tell you,' said Friendly, ' that
I have so ordered matters, that he must be king
to-night, and Lucy queen, by the lots in the cake.'
' By all means,' returned Goodland ; ' it must be
Majesty.'
Exactly at six o'clock came Would-be in his coach-
and-six, and found Sir Philip, and his lady, Goodland,
Philibella, and Lucy ready to receive him ; Lucy as
fine as a duchess, and almost as beautiful as she was
before her fall. All things were in ample order for his
entertainment. They played till supper was served
in, which was between eight and nine. The treat was
very seasonable and splendid. Just as the second
course was set on the table, they were all on a sudden
356 THE COURT OF THE
surprised, except Would-be, with a flourish of violins,
and other instruments, which proceeded to entertain
them with the best and newest airs in the last new
plays, being then in the year 1683. The ladies were
curious to know to whom they owed the cheerful part
of their entertainment : on which he called out, ' Hey!
Tom Farmer ! Aleworth ! Eccles ! Hall ! and the rest
of you ! Here's a health to these ladies, and all this
honourable company.' They bowed ; he drank, and
commanded another glass to be filled, into which he
put something yet better than the wine, I mean, ten
guineas. ' Here, Farmer,' said he then, ' this for you
and your friends.' We humbly thank the honourable
Mr. Would-be King. They all returned, and struck
up with more sprightliness than before. For gold and
wine, doubtless, are the best rosin for musicians.
After supper they took a hearty glass or two to the
King, Queen, Duke, etc. And then the mighty cake,
teeming with the fate of this extraordinary personage,
was brought in, the musicians playing an overture at
the entrance of the Alimental Oracle; which was then
cut and consulted, and the royal bean and pea fell to
those to whom Sir Philip had designed them. It was
then the Knight began a merry bumper, with three
huzzas, and ' Long live King Would-be ! ' to Good-
land, who echoed and pledged him, putting the glass
about to the harmonious attendants ; while the ladies
drank their own quantities among themselves, to his
aforesaid Majesty. Then of course you may believe
Queen Lucy's health went merrily round, with the
same ceremony. After which he saluted his royal
consort, and condescended to do the same honour to
the two other ladies.
Then they fell a-dancing, like lightning; I mean,
they moved as swift, and made almost as little noise ;
but his Majesty was soon weary of that ; for he
longed to be making love both to Philibella and
Lucy, who (believe me) that night might well enough
have passed for a queen.
KING OF BANTAM 357
They fell then to questions and commands; to
cross purposes : ' I think a thought, what is it like ? '
etc. In all which, his Would-be Majesty took the
opportunity of showing the excellence of his parts, as,
How fit he was to govern ! How dexterous at mining
and countermining ! and, how he could reconcile the
most contrary and distant thoughts ! The music, at
last, good as it was, grew troublesome and too loud ;
which made him dismiss them. And then he began
to this effect, addressing himself to Philibella :
' Madam, had fortune been just, and were it possible
that the world should be governed and influenced by
two suns, undoubtedly we had all been subjects
to you, from this night's chance, as well as to that
lady, who indeed alone can equal you in the empire
of beauty, which yet you share with her Majesty here
present, who only could dispute it with you, and is
only superior to you in title.' ' My wife is infinitely
obliged to your Majesty,' interrupted Sir Philip, ' who
in my opinion, has greater charms, and more than
both of them together.' ' You ought to think so, Sir
Philip,' returned the new dubbed King, 'however you
should not so liberally have expressed yourself, in
opposition and derogation to Majesty. Let me tell
you it is a saucy boldness that thus has loosed your
tongue ! What think you, young kinsman and coun-
sellor ? ' said he to Goodland. ' With all respect due
to your sacred title,' returned Valentine, rising and
bowing, ' Sir Philip spoke as became a truly affection-
ate husband ; and it had been presumption in him,
unpardonable, to have seemed to prefer her Majesty,
or that other sweet lady, in his thoughts, since your
Majesty has been pleased to say so much and so
particularly of their merits. It would appear as if he
durst lift up his eyes, with thoughts too near the
heaven you only would enjoy.' ' And only can de-
serve, you should have added,' said King, no longer
Would-be. ' How ! may it please your Majesty,'
cried Friendly, ' both my nieces ! though you deserve
358 THE COURT OF THE
ten thousand more, and better, would your Majesty
enjoy them both ? ' 'Are they then both your nieces?'
asked Chance's King. ' Yes, both, sir,' returned the
Knight, 'her Majesty's the eldest, and in that Fortune
has shown some justice.' ' So she has,' replied the
titular monarch. ' My lot is fair/ pursued he, ' though
I can be blessed but with one.
Let Majesty with Majesty be joined,
To get and leave a race of kings behind.
' Come, madam,' continued he, kissing Lucy, ' this, as
an earnest of our future endeavours.' ' I fear,' re-
turned the pretty Queen, 'your Majesty will forget
the unhappy Statira, when you return to the embraces
of your dear and beautiful Roxana.' ' There is none
beautiful but you,' replied the titular King, ' unless
this lady, to whom I yet could pay my vows most
zealously, were it not that fortune has thus pre-
engaged me. But, madam,' continued he, ' to show
that still you hold our royal favour, and that, next to
our royal consort, we esteem you, we greet you thus '
(kissing Philibella), ' and as a signal of our continued
love, wear this rich diamond ' (here he put a diamond
ring on her finger, worth three hundred pounds).
' Your Majesty,' pursued he to Lucy, ' may please to
wear this necklace, with this locket of emeralds.'
' Your Majesty is bounteous as a god ! ' said Valentine.
' Art thou in want, young spark ? ' asked the King of
Bantam ; ' I'll give thee an estate shall make thee
merit the mistress of thy vows, be she who she will.'
' That is my other niece, sir,' cried Friendly. ' How !
how ! presumptuous youth ! How are thy eyes and
thoughts exalted ? ha ! ' 'To bliss your Majesty must
never hope for/ replied Goodland. ' How now ! thou
creature of the basest mould ! Not hope for what
thou dost aspire to ! ' ' Mock-King ; thou canst not,
darest not, shalt not hope it/ returned Valentine in
a heat. ' Hold, Val/ cried Sir Philip, ' you grow
warm, forget your duty to their Majesties, and abuse
KING OF BANTAM 359
your friends, by making us suspected. Good-night,
dear Philibella, and my Queen ! ' ' Madam, I am your
ladyship's servant/ said Goodland ; ' farewell, Sir
Philip. Adieu thou pageant ! thou Property-King !
I shall see thy brother on the stage ere long ; but
first I'll visit thee : and in the meantime, by way of
return to thy proffered estate, I shall add a real terri-
tory to the rest of thy empty titles ; for from thy
education, barbarous manner of conversation, and
complexion, I think I may justly proclaim thee, King
of Bantam so, hail, King that Would-be! Hail,
thou King of Christmas ! All hail, Would-be King
of Bantam/ and so he left them. They all seemed
amazed, and gazed on one another, without speaking
a syllable, till Sir Philip broke the charm, and sighed
out, ' Oh, the monstrous effects of passion ! ' Say
rather, ' Oh, the foolish effects of a mean education ! '
interrupted his Majesty of Bantam. ' For passions
were given us for use, reason to govern and direct us
in the use, and education to cultivate and refine that
reason. But/ pursued he, ' for all his impudence to
me, which I shall take a time to correct, I am obliged
to him, that at last he has found me out a kingdom
to my title ; and if I were monarch, of that place
believe me, ladies, I would make you all princesses
and duchesses; and thou, my old companion, Friendly,
shouldst rule the roast with me. But these ladies
should be with us there, where we could erect temples
and altars to them ; build golden palaces of love, and
castles ' ' In the air/ interrupted her Majesty,
Lucy. I, smiling. "Gad take me/ cried King
Would-be, ' thou dear partner of my greatness, and
shalt be, of all my pleasures ! thy pretty satirical
observation has obliged me beyond imitation.' ' I
think your Majesty is got into a vein of rhyming
to-night/ said Philadelphia. 'Ay! pox of that young
insipid fop, we could else have been as great as an
Emperor of China, and as witty as Horace in his
wine ; but let him go, like a pragmatical, captious,
360 THE COURT OF THE
giddy fool as he is ! I shall take a time to see him.'
'Nay, sir,' said Philibella, 'he has promised your
Majesty a visit in our hearing. Come, sir, I beg
your Majesty to pledge me this glass to your long
and happy reign ; laying aside all thoughts of un-
governed youth. Besides, this discourse must needs
be ungrateful to her Majesty, to whom, I fear, he will
be married within this month ! ' ' How ! ' cried King
and no King ' married to my Queen ! I must not,
cannot suffer it ! ' c Pray restrain yourself a little, sir,'
said Sir Philip, 'and when once these ladies have left
us, I will discourse your Majesty further about this
business.' ' Well, pray Sir Philip, said his lady, ' let
not your Worship be pleased to sit up too long for his
Majesty. About five o'clock I shall expect you ; it is
your old hour.' ' And yours, madam, to wake to re-
ceive me coming to bed ' ' Your ladyship under-
stands me, 1 returned Friendly. ' You're merry, my
love, you're merry,' cried Philadelphia. ' Come, niece,
to bed ! to bed ! ' ' Ay,' said the Knight, ' go, both of
you and sleep together, if you can, without the thoughts
of a lover, or a husband.' His Majesty was pleased
to wish them a good repose ; and so, with a kiss, they
parted for that time.
' Now we're alone,' said Sir Philip, ' let me assure
you, sir, I resent this affront done to you by Mr.
Goodland, almost as highly as you can : and though
I can't wish that you should take such satisfaction, as
perhaps some other hotter sparks would ; yet let me
say, his miscarriage ought not to go unpunished in
him.' ' Fear not,' replied the other, ' I shall give him
a sharp lesson.' ' No, sir,' returned Friendly, ' I would
not have you think of a bloody revenge ; for it is that
which possibly he designs on you : I know him brave
as any man. However, were it convenient that the
sword should determine betwixt you, you should not
want mine. The affront is partly to me, since done in
my house ; but I've already laid down safer measures
for us, though of more fatal consequence to him : that
KING OF BANTAM 361
is, I've formed them in my thoughts. Dismiss your
coach and equipage, all but one servant, and I will
discourse it to you at large. It is now past twelve;
and if you please, I would invite you to take up as
easy a lodging here, as my house will afford.' (Accord-
ingly they were dismissed, and he proceeded.) ' As
I hinted to you before, he is in love with my youngest
niece Philibella ; but her fortune not exceeding five
hundred pounds, his father will assuredly disinherit
him, if he marries her : though he has given his con-
sent that he should marry her eldest sister, whose
father dying ere he knew his wife was with child of
the youngest, left Lucy three thousand pounds, being
as much as he thought convenient to match her
handsomely ; and accordingly the nuptials of young
Goodland and Lucy are to be celebrated next Easter.'
' They shall not, if I can hinder them,' interrupted his
offended Majesty. ' Never endeavour the obstruction,'
said the Knight, ' for I'll show you the way to a dearer
vengeance. Women are women, your Majesty knows ;
she may be won to your embraces before that time,
and then you antedate him your creature.' ' A cuckold,
you mean,' cried King in Fancy ; ' oh, exquisite re-
venge ! but can you consent that I should attempt it ? '
'What is it to me? We live not in Spain, where all
the relations of the family are obliged to vindicate
a whore. No, I would wound him in his most tender
part.' ' But how shall we compass it ? ' asked the other.
' Why thus, throw away three thousand pounds on the
youngest sister, as a portion, to make her as happy as
she can be in her new lover Sir Frederick Flygold,
an extravagant young fop, and wholly given over to
gaming ; so, ten to one, but you may retrieve your
money of him, and have the two sisters at your devo-
tion.' ' Oh, thou my better genius than that which
was given to me by heaven at my birth ! What
thanks, what praises shall I return and sing to thee for
this ! ' cried King Conundrum. ' No thanks, no praises,
I beseech your Majesty, since in this I gratify myself.
362 THE COURT OF THE
You think I am your friend ? and, you will agree to
this ? ' said Friendly, by way of question. ' Most
readily,' returned the fop King: 'would it were
broad day, that I might send for the money to my
banker's ; for in all my life, in all my frolics, en-
counters, and extravagances, I never had one so
grateful, and so pleasant as this will be, if you are in
earnest, to gratify both my love and revenge ! ' ' That
I am in earnest, you will not doubt, when you see
with what application I shall pursue my design. In
the meantime, my duty to your Majesty ; to our good
success in this affair.' While he drank, the other
returned, 'With all my heart'; and pledged him.
Then Friendly began afresh : ' Leave the whole
management of this to me; only one thing more
I think necessary, that you make a present of five
hundred guineas to her Majesty, the bride that must
be.' 'By all means,' returned the wealthy King of
Bantam ; ' I had so designed before.' ' Well, sir,' said
Sir Philip, ' what think you of a set party or two at
piquet, to pass away a few hours, till we can sleep ? '
' A seasonable and welcome proposition,' returned the
King ; ' but I won't play above twenty guineas the
game, and forty the lurch.' ' Agreed,' said Friendly ;
' first call in your servant ; mine is here already.' The
slave came in, and they began, with unequal fortune
at first ; for the Knight had lost a hundred guineas to
Majesty, which he paid in specie ; and then proposed
fifty guineas the game, and a hundred the lurch. To
which the other consented; and without winning
more than three games, and those not together, made
shift to get three thousand two hundred guineas in
debt to Sir Philip ; for which Majesty was pleased to
give him bond, whether Friendly would or no,
Sealed and delivered in the presence of,
The mark of (W.) Will. Watchful.
And, (S.) Sim. Slyboots.
A couple of delicate beagles, their mighty attendants,
KING OF BANTAM 363
It was then about the hour that Sir Philip's (and,
it may be, other ladies) began to yawn and stretch ;
when the spirits refreshed, trolled about, and tickled
the blood with desires of action ; which made Majesty
and Worship think of a retreat to bed : where in less
than half an hour, or before ever he could say his
prayers, I'm sure the first fell fast asleep ; but the last,
perhaps, paid his accustomed devotion, ere he began
his progress to the shadow of death. However, he
waked earlier than his cully Majesty, and got up to
receive young Goodland, who came according to his
word, with the first opportunity. Sir Philip received
him with more than usual joy, though not with
greater kindness, and let him know every syllable
and accident that had passed between them till they
went to bed : which you may believe was not a little
pleasantly surprising to Valentine, who began then
to have some assurance of his happiness with Phili-
bella. His friend told him, that he must now be
reconciled to his Mock-Majesty, though with some
difficulty ; and so taking one hearty glass apiece, he
left Valentine in the parlour to carry the ungrateful
news of his visit to him that morning. King was
in an odd sort of taking, when he heard that Valentine
was below ; and had been, as Sir Philip informed
Majesty, at Majesty's palace, to inquire for him there.
But when he told him, that he had already schooled
him on his own behalf for the affront done in his
house, and that he believed he could bring his
Majesty off without any loss of present honour, his
countenance visibly discovered his past fear, and
present satisfaction ; which was much increased too,
when Friendly showing him his bond for the money
he won of him at play, let him know, that if he paid
three thousand guineas to Philibella, he would im-
mediately deliver him up his bond, and not expect
the two hundred guineas overplus. His Majesty of
Bantam was then in so good a humour, that he could
have made love to Sir Philip ; nay, I believe he could
364 THE COURT OF THE
have kissed Valentine, instead of seeming angry.
Down they came, and saluted like gentlemen : but
after the greeting was over, Goodland began to talk
something of affront, satisfaction, honour, etc., when
immediately Friendly interposed, and after a little
seeming uneasiness and reluctancy, reconciled the hot
and choleric youth to the cold phlegmatic King.
Peace was no sooner proclaimed, than the King of
Bantam took his rival and late antagonist with him in
his own coach, not excluding Sir Philip by any means,
to Locket's, where they dined. Thence he would have
them to Court with him, where the met the Lady
Flippant, the Lady Harpy, the Lady Crocodile, Madam
Tattlemore, Miss Medler, Mrs. Gingerly, a rich grocer's
wife, and some others, besides knights and gentlemen
of as good humours as the ladies ; all whom he
invited to a ball at his own house, the night follow-
ing ; his own lady being then in the country. Madam
Tattlemore, I think, was the first he spoke to in
Court, and whom first he surprised with the happy
news of his advancement to the title of King of
Bantam. How wondrous hasty was she to be gone,
as soon as she heard it ! It was not in her power,
because not in her nature, to stay long enough to
take a civil leave of the company ; but away she flew,
big with the empty title of a fantastic King, pro-
claiming it to every one of her acquaintance, as she
passed through every room, till she came to the
presence-chamber, where she only whispered it ; but
her whispers made above half the honourable company
quit the presence of the King of Great Britain, to go
make their court to his Majesty of Bantam : some
cried ' God bless your Majesty ! ' Some ' Long live
the King of Bantam ! ' Others, ' All hail to your
Sacred Majesty ! ' In short, he was congratulated on
all sides. Indeed I don't hear that his Majesty King
Charles II. ever sent an ambassador to compliment
him ; though possibly, he saluted him by his title the
first time he saw him afterwards : for, you know, he
KING OF BANTAM 365
is a wonderful good-natured and well-bred gentle-
man.
After he thought the Court of England was uni-
versally acquainted with his mighty honour, he was
pleased to think fit to retire to his own more private
palace, with Sir Philip and Goodland, whom he enter-
tained that night very handsomely, till about seven
o'clock ; when they went together to the play, which
was that night, A King and no King. His attendant-
friends could not forbear smiling, to think how aptly
the title of the play suited his circumstances. Nor
could he choose but take notice of it behind the
scenes, between jest and earnest ; telling the players
how kind Fortune had been the night past, in dis-
posing the bean to him ; and justifying what one of
her prophetesses had foretold some years since. ' I
shall now no more regard,' said he, ' that old doating
fellow Pythagoras's saying, Abstineto a fabis> that is,'
added he, by way of construction, " Abstain from
beans " : for I find the excellence of them in cakes and
dishes ; from the first, they inspire the soul with
mighty thoughts ; and from the last our bodies
receive a strong and wholesome nourishment.' ' That
is,' said a wag among those sharp youths, I think it
was my friend the Count, 'these puff you up in mind,
sir, those in body.' They had some further discourse
among the nymphs of the stage, ere they went into
the pit; where Sir Philip spread the news of his
friend's accession to the title, though not yet to the
throne of Bantam ; upon which he was there again
complimented on that occasion. Several of the
ladies and gentlemen who saluted him, he invited to
the next night's ball at his palace.
The play done, thsy took each of them a bottle at
the ' Rose,' and parted till seven the night following ;
which came not sooner than desired : for he had
taken such care, that all things were in readiness
before eight, only he was not to expect the music
till the end of the play. About nine, Sir Philip, his
366 THE COURT OF THE
Lady, Goodland Philibella, and Lucy came. Sir
Philip returned him Rabelais \ which he had borrowed
of him, wherein the Knight had written, in an old
odd sort of a character, this prophecy of his own
making ; with which he surprised the Majesty of
Bantam, who vowed he had never taken notice of it
before; but he said, he perceived it had been long
written, by the character ; and here it follows, as near
as I can remember :
When M. D. C. come L. before,
Three XXX's, two II's and one I. more;
Then KING, though now but name to thee,
Shall both thy name and title be.
They had hardly made an end of reading it, ere
the whole company, and more than he had invited,
came in, and were received with a great deal of
formality and magnificence. Lucy was there attended
as his Queen ; and Philibella, as the Princess her
sister. They danced then till they were weary ; and
afterwards retired to another large room, where they
found the tables spread and furnished with all the
most seasonable cold meat ; which was succeeded by
the choicest fruits, and the richest dessert of sweet-
meats that luxury could think on, or at least that
this town could afford. The wines were almost
excellent in their kind ; and their spirits flew about
through every corner of the house. There was scarce
a spark sober in the whole company, with drinking
repeated glasses to the health of the King of Bantam,
and his Royal Consort, with the Princess Philibella's,
who sat together under a royal canopy of state,
his Majesty between the two beautiful sisters : only
Friendly and Goodland wisely managed that part of
the engagement where they were concerned, and pre-
served themselves from the heat of the debauch.
Between three and four most of them began to
draw off, laden with fruit and sweetmeats, and rich
favours composed of yellow, green, red and white,
KING OF BANTAM 367
the colours of his new Majesty of Bantam. Before
five they were left to themselves ; when the Lady
Friendly was discomposed, for want of sleep, and her
usual cordial, which obliged Sir Philip to wait on her
home, with his two nieces. But his Majesty would
by no means part with Goodland ; whom, before nine
that morning, he made as drunk as a lord, and by
consequence, one of his peers ; for Majesty was then,
indeed, as great as an Emperor. He fancied himself
Alexander, and young Valentine his Hephestion;
and did so be-buss him, that the young gentleman
feared he was fallen into the hands of an Italian.
However, by the kind persuasions of his condescend-
ing and dissembling Majesty, he ventured to go into
bed with him ; where King Would-be fell asleep hand-
over-head : and not long after, Goodland, his new-made
peer, followed him to the cool retreats of Morpheus.
About three the next afternoon they both waked,
as by consent, and called to dress. And after that
business was over, I think they swallowed each of
them a pint of old hock, with a little sugar, by the
way of healing. Their coaches were got ready in
the meantime ; but the peer was forced to accept of
the honour of being carried in his Majesty's to Sir
Philip's, whom they found just risen from dinner,
with Philadelphia and his two nieces. They sat
down, and asked for something to relish a glass of
wine, and Sir Philip ordered a cold chine to be set
before them, of which they ate about an ounce
apiece ; but they drank more by half, I daresay.
After their little repast, Friendly called the Would-
be-Monarch aside, and told him, that he would have
him go to the play that night, which was ' The
London-Cuckolds ' ; promising to meet him there in
less than half an hour after his departure : telling him
withal, that he would surprise him with a much
better entertainment than the stage afforded. Majesty
took the hint, imagining, and that rightly, that the
Knight had some intrigue in his head, for the promo-
368 THE COURT OF THE
tion of the Commonwealth of Cuckoldom. In order
therefore to his advice, he took his leave about a
quarter of an hour after.
When he was gone, Sir Philip thus bespoke his
pretended niece : ' Madam, I hope your Majesty will
not refuse me the honour of waiting on you to a
place where you will meet with better entertainment
than your Majesty can expect from the best comedy
in Christendom. Val,' continued he, 'you must go
with us, to secure me against the jealousy of my
wife.' ' That, indeed,' returned his lady, ' is very
material ; and you are mightily concerned not to give
me occasion, I must own.' ' You see I am now,'
replied he: 'But come! on with hoods and
scarf!' pursued he, to Lucy. Then addressing him-
self again to his lady : ' Madam,' said he, ' we'll wait
on you.' In less time than I could have drunk a
bottle to my share, the coach was got ready, aoid on
they drove to the play-house. ' By the way,' said
Friendly to Val, 'your Honour, noble peer, must
be set down at Long's ; for only Lucy and I must be
seen to his Majesty of Bantam. And now, I doubt
not, you understand what you must trust to.' 'To
be robbed of her Majesty's company, I warrant,' re-
turned the other, 'for these long three hours.' 'Why,'
cried Lucy, 'you don't mean, I hope, to leave me
with his Majesty of Bantam ? ' ' It is for thy good,
child ! It is for thy good,' returned Friendly. To
the ' Rose ' they got then ; where Goodland alighted,
and expected Sir Philip ; who led Lucy into the
King's box, to his new Majesty; where, after the
first scene, he left them together. The overjoyed
fantastic monarch would fain have said some fine
obliging things to the Knight, as he was going out ;
but Friend ly's haste prevented them, who went
directly to Valentine, took one glass, called a reckon-
ing, mounted his chariot, and away home they came :
where I believe he was welcome to his lady; for I
never heard anything to the contrary.
KING OF BANTAM 369
In the meantime, his Majesty had not the patience
to stay out half the play, at which he was saluted by
above twenty gentlemen and ladies by his new and
mighty title : but out he led Miss Majesty ere the
third act was half done ; pretending, that it was so
damned a bawdy play, that he knew her modesty had
been already but too much offended at it ; so into his
coach he got her. When they were seated, she told
him she would go to no place with him, but to the
lodgings her mother had taken for her, when she first
came to town, and which still she kept. ' Your mother,
madam,' cried he, ' why, is Sir Philip's sister living
then ? ' ' His brother's widow is, sir,' she replied. ' Is
she there ? ' he asked. ' No, sir,' she returned ; ' she
is in the country.' ' Oh, then we will go thither to
choose.' The coachman was then ordered to drive
to Jermain Street ; where, when he came in to the
lodgings, he found them very rich and modishly
furnished. He presently called one of his slaves, and
whispered him to get three or four pretty dishes for
supper ; and then getting a pen, ink and paper wrote
a note to C d the goldsmith with Temple Bar, for
five hundred guineas ; which Watchful brought him,
in less than an hour's time, when they were just in the
height of supper ; Lucy having invited her landlady,
for the better colour of the matter. His Bantamite
Majesty took the gold from his slave, and threw it by
him in the window, that Lucy might take notice of it
(which you may assure yourself she did, and after
supper winked on the goodly matron of the house to
retire, which she immediately obeyed). Then his
Majesty began his court very earnestly and hotly,
throwing the naked guineas into her lap ; which she
seemed to refuse with much disdain ; but upon his
repeated promises, confirmed by unheard-of oaths
and imprecations, that he would give her sister three
thousand guineas to her portion, she began by degrees
to mollify, and let the gold lie quietly in her lap.
And the next night, after he had drawn notes on two
2 B
370 THE COURT OF THE
or three of his bankers, for the payment of three
thousand guineas to Sir Philip, or order, and received
his own bond, made for what he had lost at play,
from Friendly, she made no great difficulty to admit
his Majesty to her bed. Where I think fit to leave
them for the present; for (perhaps) they had some
private business.
The next morning before the titular King was
(I won't say up, or stirring, but) out of bed, young
Goodland and Philibella were privately married ; the
bills being all accepted and paid in two days' time.
As soon as ever the fantastic monarch could find in
his heart to divorce himself from the dear and charm-
ing embraces of his beautiful bedfellow, he came
flying to Sir Philip, with all the haste that imagination
big with pleasure could inspire him with, to discharge
itself to a supposed friend. The Knight told him,
that he was really much troubled to find that his
niece had yielded so soon and easily to him ; however,
he wished him joy : to which the other returned, that
he could never want it, whilst he had the command of
so much beauty, and that without the ungrateful
obligations of matrimony, which certainly are the
most nauseous, hateful, pernicious and destructive of
love imaginable. 'Think you so, sir?' asked the
Knight ; ' we shall hear what a friend of mine will
say on such an occasion, to-morrow about this time :
but I beseech your Majesty to conceal your senti-
ments of it to him, lest you make him as uneasy as
you seem to be in that circumstance." ' Be assured
I will,' returned the other : ' but when shall I see the
sweet, the dear, the blooming, the charming Phili-
bella?' 'She will be with us at dinner.' 'Where's
her Majesty ? ' asked Sir Philip. ' Had you inquired
before, she had been here ; for, look, she comes ! '
Friendly seems to regard her with a kind of dis-
pleasure, and whispered Majesty, that he should
express no particular symptoms of familiarity with
Lucy in his house, at any time, especially when
KING OF BANTAM 371
Goodland was there, as then he was above with his
lady and Philibella, who came down presently after
to dinner.
About four o'clock, as his Majesty had intrigued
with her, Lucy took a hackney-coach, and went to
her lodgings ; whither, about an hour after, he followed
her. Next morning, at nine, he came to Friendly's,
who carried him up to see his new-married friend.
But (O damnation to thoughts !) what torments did
he feel, when he saw young Goodland and Philibella
in bed together ; the last of which returned him
humble and hearty thanks for her portion and hus-
band, as the first did for his wife. He shook his head
at Sir Philip, and without speaking one word, left
them, and hurried to Lucy, to lament the ill-treatment
he had met with from Friendly. They cooed and
billed as long as he was able ; she (sweet hypocrite)
seeming to bemoan his misfortunes ; which he took
so kindly, that when he left her, which was about
three in the afternoon, he caused a scrivener to draw
up an instrument, wherein he settled a hundred
pounds a year on Lucy for her life, and gave her
a hundred guineas more against her lying-in : (for she
told him, and indeed it was true, that she was with
child, and knew herself to be so from a very good
reason), and indeed she was so by the Friendly
Knight. When he returned to her, he threw the
obliging instrument into her lap (it seems, he had
a particular kindness for that place) ; then called for
wine, and something to eat ; for he had not drunk
a pint to his share all the day (though he had plied it
at the chocolate house). The landlady, who was in-
vited to sup with them, bid them good-night, about
eleven : when they went to bed, and partly slept till
about six ; when they were entertained by some
gentlemen of their acquaintance, who played and
sang very finely, by way of epithalamium, these
words and more :
372 COURT OF THE KING OF BANTAM
Joy to great Bantam !
Live long, love and wanton !
And thy Royal Consort !
For both are of one sort, etc.
The rest I have forgot. He took some offence at
the words ; but more at the visit that Sir Philip, and
Goodland, made him, about an hour after, who found
him in bed with his Royal Consort ; and after having
wished them joy, and thrown their Majesties' own
shoes and stockings at their head, retired. This gave
Monarch in Fancy so great a caution, that he took
his Royal Consort into the country (but above forty
miles off the place where his own lady was), where,
in less than eight months, she was delivered of a
princely babe, who was christened by the heathenish
name of Hayoumorecake Bantam, while her Majesty
lay in like a pretty Queen.
THE ADVENTURE OF
THE BLACK LADY
ABOUT the beginning of last June (as near as I can
remember) Bellamora came to town from Hampshire,
and was obliged to lodge the first night at the same
inn where the stage-coach set up. The next day she
took coach for Covent Garden, where she thought to
find Madam Brightly, a relation of hers, with whom
she designed to continue for about half a year un-
discovered, if possible, by her friends in the country :
and ordered therefore her trunk, with her clothes, and
most of her money and jewels, to be brought after her
to Madam Brightly's by a strange porter, whom she
spoke to in the street as she was taking coach ; being
utterly unacquainted with the neat practices of this
fine city. When she came to Bridges Street, where
indeed her cousin had lodged near three or four years
since, she was strangely surprised that she could not
learn anything of her ; no, nor so much as meet with
any one that had ever heard of her cousin's name.
Till, at last, describing Madam Brightly to one of the
housekeepers in that place, he told her, that there
was such a kind of lady, whom he had sometimes
seen there about a year and a half ago ; but that he
believed she was married and removed towards Soho.
In this perplexity she quite forgot her trunk and
money, etc., and wandered in her hackney-coach all
over St. Anne's parish; inquiring for Madam Brightly,
373
374 THE ADVENTURE OF
still describing her person, but in vain ; for no soul
could give her any tale or tidings of such a lady.
After she had thus fruitlessly rambled, till she, the
coachman, and the very horses were even tired, by
good fortune for her, she happened on a private house,
where lived a good, discreet, ancient gentlewoman,
who was fallen to decay, and forced to let lodgings
for the best part of her livelihood. FYom whom she
understood, that there was such a kind of lady who
had lain there somewhat more than a twelvemonth,
being near three months after she was married ; but
that she was now gone abroad with the gentleman
her husband, either to the play, or to take the fresh
air; and she believed would not return till night.
This discourse of the good gentlewoman's so elevated
Bellamora's drooping spirits, that after she had begged
the liberty of staying there till they came home, she
discharged the coachman in all haste, still forgetting
her trunk, and the more valuable furniture of it.
When they were alone, Bellamora desired she might
be permitted the freedom to send for a pint of sack ;
which, with some little difficulty, was at last allowed
her. They began then to chat for a matter of half an
hour of things indifferent : and at length the ancient
gentlewoman asked the fair innocent (I must not say
foolish) one, of what country, and what her name
was : to both which she answered directly and truly,
though it might have proved not discreetly. She
then inquired of Bellamora if her parents were living,
and the occasion of her coming to town. The fair
unthinking creature replied, that her father and
mother were both dead ; and that she had escaped
from her uncle, under the pretence of making a visit
to a young lady, her cousin, who was lately married,
and lived above twenty miles from her uncle's, in the
road to London, and that the cause of her quitting
the country, was to avoid the hated importunities of
a gentleman, whose pretended love to her she feared
had been her eternal ruin. At which she wept and
THE BLACK LADY 375
sighed most extravagantly. The discreet gentle-
woman endeavoured to comfort her by all the softest
and most powerful arguments in her capacity;
promising her all the friendly assistance that she
could expect from her, during Bellamora's stay in
town : which she did with so much earnestness, and
visible integrity, that the pretty innocent creature was
going to make her a full and real discovery of her
imaginary insupportable misfortunes; and (doubtless)
had done it, had she not been prevented by the return
of the lady, whom she hoped to have found her
Cousin Brightly. The gentleman her husband just
saw her within doors, and ordered the coach to drive
to some of his bottle-companions ; which gave the
women the better opportunity of entertaining one
another, which happened to be with some surprise on
all sides. As the lady was going up into her apart-
ment, the gentlewoman of the house told her there
was a young lady in the parlour, who came out of the
country that very day on purpose to visit her. The
lady stepped immediately to see who it was, and Bella-
mora approaching to receive her hoped-for cousin,
stopped on the sudden just as she came to her ; and
sighed out aloud, ' Ah, madam ! I am lost ; it is not
your ladyship I seek.' ' No, madam,' returned the
other, ' I am apt to think you did not intend me this
honour. But you are as welcome to me, as you could
be to the dearest of your acquaintance : have you for-
gotten me, Madam Bellamora ? ' continued she. That
name startled the other : however, it was with a kind
of joy. 'Alas! madam,' replied the young one, 'I now
remember that I have been so happy to have seen
you ; but where and when, my memory cannot tell
me.' ' It is indeed some years since,' returned the
lady, ' but of that another time. Meanwhile, if you
are unprovided of a lodging, I dare undertake, you
shall be welcome to this gentlewoman.' The un-
fortunate returned her thanks ; and whilst a chamber
was preparing for her, the lady entertained her in her
376 THE ADVENTURE OF
own. About ten o'clock they parted, Bellamora being
conducted to her lodging by the mistress of the house,
who then left her to take what rest she could amidst
her so many misfortunes; returning to the other lady,
who desired her to search into the cause of Bella-
mora's retreat to town.
The next morning the good gentlewoman of the
house coming up to her, found Bellamora almost
drowned in tears, which by many kind and sweet
words she at last stopped ; and asking whence so
great signs of sorrow should proceed, vowed a most
profound secrecy if she would discover to her their
occasion ; which, after some little reluctancy, she did,
in this manner.
' I was courted,' said she, 4 above three years ago,
when my mother was yet living, by one Mr. Fondlove,
a gentleman of good estate, and true worth ; and one
who, I dare believe, did then really love me. He
continued his passion for me, with all the earnest and
honest solicitations imaginable, till some months be-
fore my mother's death ; who, at that time, was most
desirous to see me disposed of in marriage to another
gentleman, of much better estate than Mr. Fondlove ;
but one whose person and humour did by no means
hit with my inclinations. And this gave Fondlove
the unhappy advantage over me. For, finding me
one day all alone in my chamber, and lying on my
bed, in as mournful and wretched a condition to my
then foolish apprehension, as now I am, he urged his
passion with such violence, and accursed success for
me, with reiterated promises of marriage, whensoever
I pleased to challenge them, which he bound with the
most sacred oaths, and most dreadful execrations :
that partly with my aversion to the other, and partly
with my inclinations to pity him, I ruined myself.'
Here she relapsed into a greater extravagance of grief
than before; which was so extreme that it did not
continue long. When therefore she was pretty well
come to herself, the ancient gentlewoman asked her,
THE BLACK LADY 377
why she imagined herself ruined. To which she
answered, ' I am great with child by him, madam, and
wonder you did not perceive it last night. Alas !
I have not a month to go : I am ashamed, ruined,
and damned, I fear, for ever lost.' ' Oh ! fie, madam,
think not so,' said the other, ' for the gentleman may
yet prove true, and marry you.' 'Ay, madam,' replied
Bellamora, * I doubt not that he would marry me; for
soon after my mother's death, when I came to be at
my own disposal, which happened about two months
after, he offered, nay most earnestly solicited me to it,
which still he perseveres to do.' ' This is strange ! '
returned the other, ' and it appears to me to be your
own fault, that you are yet miserable. Why did you
not, or why will you not consent to your own happi-
ness ? ' ' Alas ! ' cried Bellamora, ' it is the only thing
I dread in this world : for, I am certain, he can never
love me after. Besides, ever since I have abhorred
the sight of him : and this is the only cause that
obliges me to forsake my uncle, and all my friends
and relations in the country, hoping in this populous
and public place to be most private, especially,
madam, in your house, and in your fidelity and dis-
cretion.' 'Of the last you may assure yourself,
madam,' said the other : ' but what provision have
you made for the reception of the young stranger
that you carry about you ? ' ' Ah, madam ! ' cried
Bellamora, 'you have brought to my mind another
misfortune.' Then she acquainted her with the sup-
posed loss of her money and jewels, telling her withal,
that she had but three guineas and some silver left,
and the rings she wore, in her present possession.
The good gentlewoman of the house told her, she
would send to inquire at the inn where she lay the
first night she came to town ; for haply, they might
give some account of the porter to whom she had
entrusted her trunk; and withal repeated her promise
of all the help in her power, and for that time left her
much more composed than she found her. The good
378 THE ADVENTURE OF
gentlewoman went directly to the other lady, her
lodger, to whom she recounted Bellamora's mournful
confession ; at which the lady appeared mightily
concerned : and at last she told her landlady, that she
would take care that Bellamora should lie in accord-
ing to her quality: 'for,' added she, 'the child, it
seems, is my own brother's.'
As soon as she had dined, she went to the Ex-
change, and bought child-bed linen ; but desired that
Bellamora might not have the least notice of it. And
at her return despatched a letter to her brother Fond-
love in Hampshire, with an account of every particular;
which soon brought him up to town, without satisfying
any of his or her friends with the reason of his sudden
departure. Meanwhile, the good gentlewoman of the
house had sent to the Star Inn on Fish Street Hill,
to demand the trunk, which she rightly supposed to
have been carried back thither : for by good luck, it
was a fellow that plied thereabouts, who brought it to
Bellamora's lodgings that very night, but unknown
to her. Fondlove no sooner got to London, but he
posts to his sister's lodgings, where he was advised
not to be seen of Bellamora till they had worked
farther upon her, which the landlady began in this
manner. She told her that her things were mis-
carried, and she feared lost ; that she had but a little
money herself, and if the Overseers of the Poor
(justly so called from their overlooking them) should
have the least suspicion of a strange and unmarried
person, who was entertained in her house big with
child, and so near her time as Bellamora was, she
should be troubled, if they could not give security to
the parish of twenty or thirty pounds, that they
should not suffer by her, which she could not; or
otherwise she must be sent to the house of correction,
and her child to a parish nurse. This discourse, one
may imagine, was very dreadful to a person of her
youth, beauty, education, family and estate : however,
she resolutely protested, that she had rather undergo
THE BLACK LADY 379
all this, than be exposed to the scorn of her friends
and relations in the country. The other told her
then, that she must write down to her uncle a farewell
letter, as if she were just going aboard the packet-
boat for Holland, that he might not send to inquire
for her in town, when he should understand she was
not at her new-married cousin's in the country; which
accordingly she did, keeping herself close prisoner to
her chamber ; where she was daily visited by Fond-
love's sister and the landlady, but by no soul else, the
first dissembling the knowledge she had of her mis-
fortunes. Thus she continued for above three weeks,
not a servant being suffered to enter her chamber, so
much as to make her bed, lest they should take notice
of her great belly : but for all this caution, the secret
had taken wind, by the means of an attendant of the
other lady below, who had overheard her speaking of
it to her husband. This soon got out of doors, and
spread abroad, till it reached the long ears of the
wolves of the parish, who next day designed to pay
her a visit. But Fondlove, by good providence, pre-
vented it ; who, the night before, was ushered into
Bellamora's chamber by his sister, his brother-in-law,
and the landlady. At the sight of him she had like
to have swooned away: but he taking her in his arms,
began again, as he was wont to do, with tears in his
eyes, to beg that she would marry him ere she was
delivered ; if not for his, nor her own, yet for the
child's sake, which she hourly expected ; that it might
not be born out of wedlock, and so be made incapable
of inheriting either of their estates ; with a great
many more pressing arguments on all sides. To
which at last she consented ; and an honest officious
gentleman, whom they had before provided, was called
up, who made an end of the dispute. So to bed they
went together that night ; next day to the Exchange,
for several pretty businesses that ladies in her con-
dition want. Whilst they were abroad, came the
vermin of the parish (I mean the Overseers of the
380 ADVENTURE OF THE BLACK LADY
Poor, who eat the bread from them), to search for
a young black-haired lady (for so was Bellamora)
who was either brought to bed, or just ready to lie
down. The landlady showed them all the rooms in
the house, but no such lady could be found. At last
she bethought herself, and led them into her parlour,
where she opened a little closet door, and showed
them a black cat that had just kittened: assuring
them, that she should neyer trouble the parish as
long as she had rats or mice in the house ; and so
dismissed them like loggerheads as they came.
FINIS
FLYMOUTH: WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
PRINTERS
