You may easily imagine how transported the poor _Octavio_ was; he

kissed and embraced the amiable boy a thousand times; and taking a

ring from his finger of considerable value, gave it the dear reviver

of his hopes. _Octavio_ already knew the strength of the house, which

consisted but of a gardener, whose wife was house-keeper, and their

son who was his father’s servant in the garden, and their daughter,

who was a sort of maid-servant: and they had brought only the

coachman, and one footman, who were likely to be merrily employed in

the kitchen at night when all got to supper together. I say, _Octavio_

already knew this, and there was now nothing that opposed his wishes:

so that dismissing the dear boy, he remained the rest of the tedious

day at the _cabaret_, the most impatient of night of any man on earth;

and when the boy appeared, it was like the approach of an angel. He

told him, his lady was the most melancholy creature that ever eyes

beheld, and that to conceal the cause, she had feigned herself ill,

and had not stirred from her chamber all the day: that the old lover

was perpetually with her, and the most concerned dotard that ever

_Cupid_ enslaved: that he had so wholly taken up his lady with his

disagreeable entertainment, that it was impossible either by a look or

note to inform her of his being so near her, whom she considered as

her present defender, and her future happiness. ‘But this evening,’

continued the youth, ‘as I was waiting on her at supper, she spied the

ring on my finger, which, my lord, your bounty made me master of this

morning. She blushed a thousand times, and fixed her eyes upon it for

she knew it, and was impatient to have asked me some questions, but

contained her words: and after that, I saw a joy dance in her lovely

eyes, that told me she divined you were not far from thence. Therefore

I beseech your lordship let us haste.’ So both went out together, and

the page conducted him into a chamber he better knew than the boy,

while every moment he receives intelligence, how affairs went in that

of _Sylvia_’. by the page, who leaving _Octavio_ there went out as a

spy for him. In fine, with much ado, _Sylvia_ persuaded her old lover

to urge her for no favours that night, for she was indisposed and

unfit for love; yet she persuades with such an air, so smiling, and

insinuating, that she increases the fire, she endeavoured to allay:

but he, who was all obedience, as well as new desire, resolves to

humour her, and shew the perfect gallantry of his love; he promises

her she shall command: and after that never was the old gentleman seen

in so excellent a humour before in the whole course of his life; a

certain lightning against a storm that must be fatal to him.

He was no sooner gone from her, with a promise to go to bed and sleep,

that he might be the earlier up to shew her the fine gardens, which

she loved, but she sends _Antonet_ to call the page, from whom she

longed to know something of _Octavio_, and was sure he could inform

her. But she was undressing while she spoke, and got into her bed

before she left her: but _Antonet_, instead of bringing the sighing

youth, brought the transported and ravished _Octavio_, who had by this

time pulled his coarse campaign, and put down his hair. He fell

breathless with joy on her bed-side; when _Antonet_, who knew that

love desired no lookers-on, retired, and left _Octavio_ almost dead

with joy, in the clasping arms of the trembling maid, the lovely

_Sylvia_. Oh, who can guess their satisfaction? Who can guess their

sighs and love, their tender words, half stifled in kisses? Lovers!

fond lovers! only can imagine; to all besides, this tale will be

insipid. He now forgets where he is, that not far off lay his amorous

uncle, that to be found there was death, and something worse; but

wholly ravished with the languishing beauty, taking his pistols out of

either pocket, he lays them on a dressing-table, near the bed-side,

and in a moment throws off his clothes, and gives himself up to all

the heaven of love, that lay ready to receive him there, without

thinking of any thing, but the vast power of either’s charms. They lay

and forgot the hasty hours, but old _Sebastian_ did not. They were all

counted by him with the impatience of a lover: he burnt, he raged with

fierce desire, and tossed from side to side, and found no ease;

_Sylvia_ was present in imagination, and he like _Tantalus_ reaches at

the food, which, though in view, is not within his reach: he would

have prayed, but he had no devotion for any deity but _Sylvia_; he

rose and walked and went to bed again, and found himself uneasy every

way. A thousand times he was about to go, and try what opportunity

would do, in the dark silent night--but fears her rage--he fears she

will chide at least; then he resolves, and unresolves as fast: unhappy

lover--thus to blow the fire when there was no materials to supply it;

at last, overcome with fierce desire too violent to be withstood, or

rather fate would have it so ordained, he ventures all, and steals to

_Sylvia_’. chamber, believing, when she found him in her arms, she

could not be displeased; or if she were, that was the surest place of

reconciliation: so that only putting his night-gown about him, he went

softly to her chamber for fear of waking her: the unthinking lovers

had left open the door, so that it was hardly put to; and the first

alarm was _Octavio_’. hand being seized, which was clasping his

treasure. He starts from the frighted arms of _Sylvia_, and leaping

from the bed would have escaped; for he knew too well the touch of

that old hand; but _Sebastian_, wholly surprised at so robust a

repulse, took most unfortunately a stronger hold, and laying both his

hands roughly upon him, with a resolution to know who he was, for he

felt his hair; and _Octavio_ struggling at the same minute to get from

him, they both fell against the dressing-table, and threw down the

pistols; in their fall, one of which going off, shot the unfortunate

old lover into the head, so that he never spoke word more: at the

going off of the pistol, _Sylvia_, who had not minded those _Octavio_

laid on the table, cried out--’Oh my _Octavio_!’ ‘My dearest charmer,’

replied he, ‘I am well----’and feeling on the dead body, which he

wondered had no longer motion, he felt blood flowing round it, and

sighing cried--’Ah _Sylvia_! I am undone--my uncle--oh my

parent----speak, dear sir! what unlucky accident has done this fatal

deed?’ _Sylvia_, who was very soft by nature, was extremely surprised,

and frightened at the news of a dead man in her chamber, so that she

was ready to run mad with the apprehension of it: she raved and tore

herself, and expressed her fright in cries and distraction; so that

_Octavio_ was compelled from one charitable grief to another. He goes

to her and comforts her, and tells, since it is by no design of either

of them, their innocence will be their guardian angel. He tells her,

all their fault was love, which made him so heedlessly fond of joys

with her, he stayed to reap those when he should have secured them by

flight. He tells her this is now no place to stay in, and that he

would put on her clothes, and fly with her to some secure part of the

world; ‘For who,’ said he,’.hat finds this poor unfortunate here, will

not charge his death on me, or thee?----Haste then, my dearest maid,

haste, haste, and let us fly----’ So dressing her, he led her into

_Antonet_’. chamber, while he went to see which way they could get

out. So locking the chamber-door where the dead body lay, which by

this time was stiff and cold, he locked that also of his uncle’s

chamber, and calling the page, they all got themselves ready; and

putting two horses in the coach, they unseen and unperceived got

themselves all out: the servants having drank hard at their meeting in

the country last night, were all too sound asleep to understand any

thing of what passed. It being now about the break of day, _Octavio_

was the coachman, and the page riding by the coach-side, while

_Sylvia_ and _Antonet_ were in it, they in an hour’s time reached the

town, where _Octavio_ packed up all that was carriageable; took his

own coach and six horses; left his affairs to the management of a

kinsman, that dwelt with him, took bills to the value of two thousand

pounds, and immediately left the town, after receiving some letters

that came last night by the post, one of which was from _Philander_;

and indeed, this new grief upon _Octavio_’. soul, made him the most

dejected and melancholy man in the world, insomuch that he, who never

wept for any thing but for love, was often found with tears rolling

down his cheeks, at the remembrance of an accident so deplorable, and

of which, he and his unhappy passion was the cause, though innocently:

yet could not the dire reflection of that, nor the loss of so tender a

parent as was _Sebastian_, lessen one spark of that fire for _Sylvia_,

whose unfortunate flame had been so fatal. While they were safe out of

danger, the servants of _Sebastian_ admired when ten, eleven and

twelve o’clock was come, they saw neither the old lord, nor any of the

new guests. But when the coachman missed his coach and horses, he was

in a greater maze, and thought some body had stolen them, and accusing

himself of sluggishness and debauchery, that made him not able to

hear, when the coach went out, he forswore all drinking: but when the

house-keeper and he met, and discoursed about the lady and the rest,

they concluded, that the old gentleman and she were agreed upon the

matter; and being got to bed together had quite forgot themselves; and

made a thousand roguish remarks upon them. They believed the maid and

the page too, were as well employed, since they saw neither. But when

dinner was ready, she went up to the maid’s chamber and found it

empty, as also that of the page; her heart then presaging something,

she ventures to knock at her lord’s chamber-door, but finding it

locked, and none answer, they broke it open; and after doing the same

by that of _Sylvia_, they found the poor _Sebastian_ stretched on the

floor, and shot in the head, the toilet pulled almost down, and the

lock of the pistol hanging in the point of the toilet entangled, and

the muzzle of it just against the wound. At first, when they saw him,

they fancied _Sylvia_ might kill him, for either offering to come to

bed to her in the night, or some other malicious end. But when they

saw how the pistol lay, they fancied it accident in the dark; ‘For,’

said the woman--’I and my daughter have been up ever since day-break,

and I am sure no such thing happened then, nor could they since

escape:’ and it being natural in _Holland_ to cry, ‘Loop Schellum’,

that is, ‘Run rogue’, to him that is alive, and who has killed

another; and for every man to set a helping hand to bear him out of

danger, thinking it too much that one is already dead: I say, this

being the nature of the people, they never pursued the murderers, or

fled persons, but suffered _Sebastian_ to lie till the coroner sat

upon him, who found it, or at least thought it accident; and there was

all for that time. But this, with all the reasonable circumstances,

did not satisfy the _States_. Here is one of their high and mighties

killed, a fair lady fled, and upon inquiry a fine young fellow too,

the nephew: all knew they were rivals in this fair lady; all knew

there were animosities between them; all knew _Octavio_ was absconded

some days before; so that, upon consideration, they concluded he was

murdered by compact; and the rather, because they wished it so in

spite of _Octavio_; and because both he and _Sylvia_ were fled like

guilty persons. Upon this they made a seizure of both his, and his

uncle’s estate, to the use of the _States_. Thus the best and most

glorious man, that ever graced that part of the world, was undone by

love. While _Sylvia_ with sighs and tears would often say that sure

she was born the fate of all that adored her, and no man ever thrived

that had a design upon her, or a pretension to her.

Thus between excess of grief and excess of love, which indeed lay

veiled in the first, they arrived at _Brussels_; where _Octavio_,

having news of the proceedings of the _States_ against him, resolving

rather to lose his life, than tamely to surrender his right, he went

forth in order to take some care about it: and in these extremes of a

troubled mind, he had forgot to read _Philander_’. letters, but gave

them to _Sylvia_ to peruse, till he returned, beseeching and conjuring

her, by all the charms of love, not to suffer herself to be afflicted,

but now to consider she was wholly his; and she could not, and ought

not to rob him of a sigh, or tear for any other man. For they had

concluded to marry, as soon as _Sylvia_ should be delivered from that

part of _Philander_, of which she was possessed. Therefore beholding

her entirely his own, of whom he was so fondly tender, he could not

endure the wind should blow on her, and kiss her lovely face: jealous

of even the air she breathed, he was ever putting her in mind, of

whose and what she was; and she ever giving him new assurances, that

she was only _Octavio_’.. The last part of his ill news he concealed

from her; that of the usage of the _States_. He was so entirely

careful of her fame, that he had two lodgings, one most magnificent

for her, another for himself; and only visited her all the live-long

day. And being now retired from her, she whose love and curiosity grew

less every day, for the false _Philander_, opened his letter with a

sigh of departed love, and read this.

Philander _to_ Octavio.

Sure of your friendship, my dear _Octavio_, I venture to lay before

you the history of my misfortunes, as well as those of my joys,

equally extreme.

In my last, I gave you an account how triumphing a lover I was, in the

possession of the adorable _Calista_; and how very near I was being

surprised in the fountain, where I had hid myself from the rage of old

_Clarinau_; and escaped wet and cold to my lodging: and though indeed

I escaped, it was not without giving the old husband a jealousy, which

put him upon inquiry, after a stricter manner, as I heard the next day

from _Calista_; but with as ill success as the night before;

notwithstanding it appears, by what after happened, that he still

retained his jealousy, and that of me, from a thousand little

inquiries I had from time to time made, from my being now absent, and

most of all from my being, (as now he fancied) that vision, which

_Calista_ saw in the garden. All these circumstances wrought a

thousand _conundrums_, in his _Spanish_ politic noddle: and he

resolves that _Calista_’. actions should be more narrowly watched.

This I can only guess from what ensued. I am not able to say, by what

good fortune, I escaped several happy nights after the first, but it

is certain I did so; for the old man carrying all things fair to the

lovely Countess, she thought herself secure in her joys hitherto, as

to any discovery: however, I never went on this dear adventure but I

was well armed against any mishaps, of poniard, sword, and pistol,

that garb of a right _Spaniard_. _Calista_ had been married above two

years, before I beheld her, and had never been with child: but it so

chanced, that she conceived the very first night of our happiness;

since which time, not all her flatteries and charms, could prevail for

one night with the old Count: for, whether from her seeming fondness

he imagined the cause, or what other reason he had to withstand her

desire and caresses, I know not: but still he found, or feigned some

excuses to put her off: so that _Calista_’. pleas and love increased

with her growing belly. And though almost every night I had the fair,

young charmer in bed with me, (without the least suspicion on

_Dormina_’. side) or, else in the arbours, or on flowery banks in the

garden; till I am confident there was not a walk, a grove, an arbour,

or bed of sweets, that was not conscious of our stolen delights; nay,

we grew so very bold in love, that we often suffered the day to break

upon us; and still escaped his spies, who by either watching at the

wrong door, or part of the vast garden, or by sleepiness, or

carelessness, still let us pass their view. Four happy months, thus

blessed, and thus secured, we lived, when _Calista_ could no longer

conceal her growing shame, from the jealous _Clarinau_, or _Dormina_.

She feared, with too much reason, that it was jealousy, which made him

refrain her bed, though he dissembled well all day; and one night,

weeping in my bosom, with all the tenderness of love, she said, that

if I loved her, as she hoped I did, I should be shortly very

miserable: ‘For oh,’ cries she, ‘I can no longer hide this----dear

effect of my stolen happiness----and _Clarinau_ will no sooner

perceive my condition, but he will use his utmost rigour against me; I

know his jealous nature, and find I am undone----’ With that she told

me how he had killed his first wife; for which he was obliged to fly

from the Court, and country of _Spain_: and that she found from all

his severity, he was not changed from his nature. In fine, she said

and loved so much, that I was wholly charmed, and vowed myself her

slave, or sacrifice, either to follow what she could propose, or fall

a victim with her to my love. After which it was concluded, (neither

having a mind to leave the world, when we both knew so well how to

make ourselves happy in it) that the next night I should bring her a

suit of men’s clothes; and she would in that disguise fly with me to

any part of the world. For she vowed, if this unlucky force of flying

had not happened to her, she had not been longer able to endure his

tyranny and slavery; but had resolved to break her chain, and put

herself upon any fortune. So that after the usual endearments on both

sides, I left her, resolved to follow my fortune, and she me, to

sacrifice all to her repose. That night, and all next day, she was not

idle; but put up all her jewels, of which she had the richest of any

lady in all those parts; for in that the old Count was over-lavish:

and the next night I brought her a suit, which I had made that day on

purpose, as gay as could be made in so short a time; and scaling my

wall, well armed, I found her ready at the door to receive me; and

going into an arbour, by the aid of a dark-lanthorn I carried, she

dressed her in a laced shirt of mine, and this suit I had brought her,

of blue velvet, trimmed with rich loops and buttons of gold; a white

hat, and white feather; a fair peruke, and scarlet breeches, the rest

suitable. And I must confess to you, my dear _Octavio_, that never any

thing appeared so ravishing, and yet I have seen _Sylvia_! But even

she a baby to this more noble figure. _Calista_ is tall, and fashioned

the most divinely--the most proper for that dress of any of her sex:

and I own I never saw any thing so beautiful all over, from head to

foot: and viewing her thus, (carrying my lanthorn all about her) but

more especially her face, her wondrous, charming face--(pardon me, if

I say, what does but look like flattery)--I never saw any thing more

resembling my dear _Octavio_, than the lovely _Calista_, Your very

feature, your very smile and air; so that, if possible, that increased

my adoration and esteem for her: thus completed, I armed her, and

buckled on her sword, and she would needs have one of my pistols too,

that stuck in my belt; and now she appeared all lovely man. It was so

late by that time we had done, that the moon, which began to shine

very bright, gave us a thousand little fears, and disposing her jewels

all about us safe, we began our adventure, with a thousand dreadful

apprehensions on _Calista_’. side. And going up the walk, towards the

place where we were to mount the wall, just at the end of it, turning

a corner, we encountered two men, who were too near us to be

prevented. ‘Oh,’ cried _Calista_ to me, who saw them first,--’My dear

_Philander_, we are undone!’ I looked and saw them, and replied, ‘My

charmer, do not fear, they are but two to two, whoever they be; for

love and I shall be of force enough to encounter them.’ ‘No, my

_Philander_,’ replied she briskly, ‘it is I will be your second in

this rencounter.’ At this approaching them more near, (for they hasted

to us, nor could we fly from them,) we soon found by his hobbling,

that old _Clarinau_ was one, and the other a tall _Spaniard_, his

nephew. I clapped my hair under my hat, and both of us making a stand,

we resolved, if they durst not venture on us, to let them pass----but

_Clarinau_, who was on that side which faced _Calista_, cried, ‘Ah

villain, have I caught thee!’ and at the same instant with a poniard

stabbed her into the arm; for with a sudden turn she evaded it from

her heart, to which it was designed. At which, repaying his

compliment, she shot off her pistol, and down he fell, crying out for

a priest; while I, at the same time, laid my tall boy at his feet. I

caught my dear _virago_ in my arms, and hasted through the garden with

her, and was very hasty in mounting the ladder, putting my fair second

before me, without so much as daring yet to ask her, if she were

wounded, lest it should have hindered our flight, if I had found her

hurt: nor knew I she was so, till I felt her warm precious blood,

streaming on my face, as I lifted her over the wall; but I soon

conveyed her into my new lodgings, yet not soon enough to secure her

from those that pursued us. For with their bawling they alarmed some

of the servants, who looking narrowly for the murderers, tracked us by

_Calista_’., blood, which they saw with their flambeaus, from the

place where _Clarinau_, and his nephew lay, to the very wall; and

thinking from our wounds we could not escape far, they searching the

houses, found me dressing _Calista_’. wound, which I kissed a thousand

times. But the matchless courage of the fair _virago_! the magnanimity

of _Calista_’. soul! Nothing of foolish woman harboured there, nothing

but softest love; for whilst I was raving mad, tearing my hair and

cursing my fate in vain, she had no concern but for me; no pain but

that of her fear of being taken from me, and being delivered to old

_Clarinau_, whom I feared was not dead; nor could the very seizing

her, daunt her spirits, but with an unmatched fortitude she bore it

all; she only wished she could have escaped without bloodshed. We were

both led to prison, but none knew who we were; for those that seized

us, had by chance never seen me, and _Calista_’. habit secured the

discovery. While we both remained there, we had this comfort of being

well lodged together; for they did not go about to part us, being in

for one crime. And all the satisfaction she had, was, that she should,

she hoped, die concealed, if she must die for the crime; and that was

much a greater joy, than to think she should be rendered back to

_Clarinau_, who in a few days we heard was upon his recovery. This

gave her new fears; but I confess to you, I was not afflicted at it;

nor did I think it hard for me to bribe _Calista_ off; for the master

of the prison was very civil and poor, so that with the help of some

few of _Calista_’., jewels, he was wrought upon to let her escape, I

offering to remain, and bear all the brunt of the business, and to pay

whatever he could be fined for it. These reasons, with the ready

jewels, mollified the needy rascal; and though loath she were to leave

me, yet she being assured that all they could do was but to fine me,

and her stay she knew was her inevitable ruin, at last submitted,

leaving me sufficient in jewels to satisfy for all that could happen,

which were the value of a hundred thousand crowns. She is fled to

_Brussels_, to a nunnery of _Augustines_, where the Lady Abbess is her

aunt, and where for a little time she is secure, till I can follow

her.

I beg of you my dear _Octavio_, write to me, and write me a letter of

recommendation to the magistrates here, who all being concerned when

any one of them is a cuckold, are very severe upon criminals in those

cases. I tire you with my melancholy adventure--but it is some ease in

the extremes of grief, to receive the tender pity of a friend, and

that I am sure _Octavio_ will afford his unhappy

PHILANDER.

As cold and as unconcerned as _Sylvia_ imagined she had found her

heart to _Philander_’., memory, at the reading of this letter, in

spite of all the tenderness she had for _Octavio_, she was possessed

with all those pains of love and jealousy, which heretofore tormented

her, when love was young, and _Philander_ appeared with all those

charms, with which he first conquered; she found the fire was but hid

under those embers, which every little blast blows off, and makes it

flame anew. It was now that she, forgetting all the past obligations

of _Octavio_, all his vast presents, his vows, his sufferings, his

passion and his youth, abandoned herself wholly to her tenderness for

_Philander_, and drowns her fair cheeks in a shower of tears: and

having eased her heart a little by this natural relief of her sex, she

opened the letter that was designed for herself, and read this.

_To_ SYLVIA.

I know, my lovely _Sylvia_, I am accused of a thousand barbarities for

unkindly detaining your lover, who long ere this ought to have thrown

himself at your feet, imploring a thousand pardons for his tedious six

months’ absence, though the affliction of it, is all my own, and I am

afraid all the punishment; but when, my dearest _Sylvia_, I reflect

again, it is in order to our future tranquillity, I depend on your

love and reason for my excuse. I know my absence has procured me a

thousand rivals, and you as many adorers, and fear _Philander_ appears

grown old in love, and worn out with sorrow and care, unfit for the

soft play of the young and delicate _Sylvia_; new lovers have new vows

and new presents, and your fickle sex stoop to the lavish prostrate.

Ill luck--unkind fate has rifled me, and of a shining fortune left me

even to the charity of a stingy world; and I have now no compliment to

maintain the esteem in so great a soul as that of _Sylvia_, but that

old repeated one, of telling her my dull, my trifling heart is still

her own: but, oh! I want the presenting eloquence that so persuades

and charms the fair, and am reduced to that fatal torment of a

generous mind, rather to ask and take, than to bestow. Yet out of my

contemptible stock, I have sent my _Sylvia_ something towards that

dangerous, unavoidable hour, which will declare me, however, a happy

father of what my _Sylvia_ bears about her; it is a bill for a

thousand pattacoons. I am at present under an easy restraint about a

little dispute between a man of quality here and myself; I had also

been at _Brussels_ to have provided all things for your coming

illness, but every day expect my liberty, and then without delay I

will take post, and bring _Philander_ to your arms. I have news that

_Cesario_ is arrived at _Brussels_. I am at present a stranger to all

that passes, and having a double obligation to haste, you need not

fear but I shall do so.

This letter raised in her a different sentiment, from that of the

story of his misfortune; and that taught her to know, that this he had

writ to her was all false, and dissembled; which made her, in

concluding the letter, cry out with a vehement scorn and

indignation.--’Oh how I hate thee, traitor! who hast the impudence to

continue thus to impose upon me, as if I wanted common sense to see

thy baseness: for what can be more base and cowardly than lies, that

poor plebeian shift, condemned by men of honour or of wit.’

Thus she spoke, without reminding that this most contemptible quality

she herself was equally guilty of, though infinitely more excusable in

her sex, there being a thousand little actions of their lives, liable

to censure and reproach, which they would willingly excuse and colour

over with little falsities; but in a man, whose most inconstant

actions pass oftentimes for innocent gallantries, and to whom it is no

infamy to own a thousand amours, but rather a glory to his fame and

merit; I say, in him, (whom custom has favoured with an allowance to

commit any vices and boast it) it is not so brave. And this fault of

_Philander_’. cured _Sylvia_ of her disease of love, and chased from

her heart all that softness, which once had so much favoured him.

Nevertheless she was filled with thoughts that failed not to make her

extremely melancholy: and it was in this humour _Octavio_ found her;

who, forgetting all his own griefs to lessen hers, (for his love was

arrived to a degree of madness) he caresses her with all the eloquence

his passion could pour out; he falls at her feet, and pleads with such

a look and voice as could not be resisted; nor ceased he till he had

talked her into ease, till he had looked and loved her into a perfect

calm: it was then he urged her to a new confirmation of her heart to

him, and took hold of every yielding softness in her to improve his

advantage. He pressed her to all he wished, but by such tender

degrees, by arts so fond and endearing, that she could deny nothing.

In this humour, she makes a thousand vows against _Philander_, to hate

him as a man, that had first ruined her honour, and then abandoned her

to all the ills that attend ungovern’d youth, and unguarded beauty:

she makes _Octavio_ swear as often to be revenged on him for the

dishonour of his sister: which being performed, they re-assumed all

the satisfaction which had seemed almost destroyed by adverse fate,

and for a little space lived in great tranquillity; or if _Octavio_

had sentiments that represented past unhappinesses, and a future

prospect of ill consequences, he strove with all the power of love to

hide them from _Sylvia_. In this time, they often sent to the nunnery

of the _Augustines_, to inquire of the Countess of _Clarinau_; and at

last, hearing she was arrived, no force of persuasion or reason could

hinder _Sylvia_ from going to make her a visit. _Octavio_ pleads in

vain the overthrow of all his revenge, by his sister’s knowledge that

her intrigue was found out: but in an undress--for her condition

permitted no other, she is carried to the monastery, and asks for the

Mother Prioress, who came to the grate; where, after the first

compliments over, she tells her she is a relation to that lady, who

such a day came to the house. _Sylvia_, by her habit and equipage,

appearing of quality, was answered, that though the lady were very

much indisposed, and unfit to appear at the grate, she would

nevertheless endeavour to serve her, since she was so earnest; and

commanding one of the nuns to call down Madam the Countess, she

immediately came; but though in a dress all negligent, and a face

where languishment appeared, she at first sight surprised our fair

one, with a certain majesty in her mien and motion, and an air of

greatness in her face, which resembled that of _Octavio_: so that not

being able to sustain herself on her trembling supporters, she was

ready to faint at a sight so charming, and a form so angelic. She saw

her all that _Philander_ had described; nor could the partiality of

his passion render her more lovely than she appeared this instant to

_Sylvia_. She came to reproach her----but she found a majesty in her

looks above all censure, that awed the jealous upbraider, and almost

put her out of countenance; and with a rising blush she seemed ashamed

of her errand. At this silence the lovely _Calista_, a little

surprised, demanded of an attending nun if that lady would speak with

her? This awaked _Sylvia_ into an address, and she replied, ‘Yes,

madam, I am the unfortunate, who am compelled by my hard fate to

complain of the most charming woman that ever nature made: I thought,

in my coming hither, I should have had no other business but to have

told you how false, how perjured a lover I had had; but at a sight so

wondrous, I blame him no more, (whom I find now compelled to love) but

you, who have taken from me, by your charms, the only blessing heaven

had lent me.’ This she ended with a sigh; and Madam the Countess, who

from the beginning of her speaking, guessed, from a certain trembling

at her heart, who it was she spoke of, resolved to shew no signs of a

womanish fear or jealousy, but with an unalterable air and courage,

replied, ‘Madam, if my charms were so powerful, as you are pleased to

tell me they are, they sure have attracted too many lovers for me to

understand which it is I have been so unhappy to rob you of. If he be

a gallant man, I shall neither deny him, nor repent my loving him the

more for his having been a lover before.’ To which _Sylvia_, who

expected not so brisk an answer, replied; ‘She makes such a confession

with so much generosity, I know she cannot be insensible of the

injuries she does, but will have a consideration and pity for those

wretches at least, who are undone to establish her satisfaction.’

’.adam,’ replied the Countess, (a little touched with the tenderness

and sadness with which she spoke) ‘you have so just a character of my

soul, that I assure you I would not for any pleasure in the world do

an action should render it less worthy of your good thoughts. Name me

the man--and if I find him such as I may return you with honour, he

shall find my friendship no more.’ ‘Ah, madam, it is impossible,’

cried _Sylvia_,’.hat he can ever be mine, that has once had the glory

of being conquered by you; and what is yet more, of having conquered

you.’ ‘Nay, madam,’ replied _Calista_, ‘if your loss be irrecoverable,

I have no more to do but to sigh with you, and join our hard fates;

but I am not so vain of my own beauty, nor have so little admiration

for that of yours, to imagine I can retain any thing you have a claim

to; for me, I am not fond of admirers, if heaven be pleased to give me

one, I ask no more. I will leave the world to you, so it allow me my

_Philander_.’ This she spoke with a little malice, which called up all

the blushes in the fair face of _Sylvia_; who a little nettled at the

word _Philander_, replied; ‘Go, take the perjured man, and see how

long you can maintain your empire over his fickle heart, who has

already betrayed you to all the reproach an incensed rival and an

injured brother can load you with: see where he has exposed you to

_Octavio_; and after that tell me what you can hope from such a

perjured villain----’ At these words, she gave her the letter

_Philander_ had writ to _Octavio_, with that he had writ to

herself--and without taking leave, or speaking any more, she left her

thoughtful rival: who after pausing a moment on what should be writ

there, and what the angry lady meant, she silently passed on to her

chamber. But if she were surprised with her visitor, she was much

more, when opening the letters she found one to her brother, filled

with the history of her infamy, and what pressed her soul more

sensibly, the other filled with passion and softness to a mistress.

She had scarcely read them out, but a young nun, her kinswoman, came

into her chamber; whom I have since heard protest, she scarce saw in

that moment any alteration in her, but that she rose and received her,

with her wonted grace and sweetness; and but for some answers that she

made _mal à propos_, and sighs, that against her will broke from her

heart, she should not have found an alteration; but this being

unusual, made her inquisitive; and the faint denial she met with made

her importune, and that so earnestly, and with so many vows of

fidelity and secrecy, that _Calista_’. heart, even breaking within,

poured itself for ease, into the faithful bosom of this young devotee;

and having told her all the story of her misfortune, she began with so

much courage and bravery of mind, to make vows against the charming

betrayer of her fame, and with him all mankind, and this with such

consideration and repentance, as left no room for reproach, or

persuasion; and from this moment resolved never to quit the solitude

of the cloisters. She had all her life, before her marriage, lived in

one, and wished now, she had never seen the world, or departed from a

life so pure and innocent. She looked upon this fatal accident, now a

blessing, to bring her back to a life of devotion and tranquillity:

and indeed is a miracle of piety. Some time after this, she was

brought to bed, but commanded the child should be removed, where she

might never see it, which accordingly was done; after which, in due

time, she took the habit, and remains a rare example of repentance and

holy-living. This new penitent became the news of the whole town; and

it was not without some pleasure, that _Octavio_ heard it, as the only

action she could do, that could reconcile him to her; the knowledge of

which, and some few soft days with _Sylvia_, made him chase away all

those shiverings, that had seized him upon several occasions: but

_Sylvia_ was all sweetness, all love and good humour, and made his

days easy, and his nights entirely happy. While, on the other side,

there was no satisfaction, no pleasure, that the fond lavish lover did

not, at any price, purchase for her repose; for it was the whole

business of his life, to study what would charm and please her: and

being assured by so many vows of her heart, there was nothing rested,

to make him perfectly happy, but her being delivered of what belonged

to his rival, and in which he had no part, he was at perfect ease.

This she wishes with an impatience equal to his; whose love and

fondness for _Octavio_ appeared to be arrived to the highest degree,

and she every minute expected to be free from the only thing, that

hindered her from giving herself entirely to her impatient love.

In the midst of this serenity of affairs, _Sylvia_’. page one day

brings them news his lord was arrived, and that he saw him in the park

walking with some _French_ gentlemen, and undiscovered to him came to

give her notice, that she might take her measures accordingly. In

spite of all her love to _Octavio_, her blushes flew to her cheeks at

the news, and her heart panted with unusual motion; she wonders at

herself, and fears and doubts her own resolution; she till now

believed him wholly indifferent to her, but she knows not what

construction this new disorder will bear; and what confounded and

perplexed her more, was, that _Octavio_ beheld all these emotions,

with unconceivable resentment; he swells with pride and anger, and

even bursts with grief, and not able longer to contain his complaint,

he reproaches her in the softest language that ever love and grief

invented; while she weeps with shame and divided love, and demands of

him a thousand pardons; she deals thus kindly at least with him, to

confess this truth; that it was impossible, but at the approach of a

man, who taught her first to love, and for which knowledge she had

paid so infinitely dear, she could not but feel unusual motions; that

that tenderness and infant flame, he once inspired, could not but have

left some warmth about her heart, and that _Philander_, the once

charming dear _Philander_, could never be absolutely to her as a

common man, and begged that he would give some grains of allowance to

a maid, so soft by nature, and who had once loved so well, to be

undone by the dear object; and though every kind word she gave his

rival was a dagger at his heart, nevertheless, he found, or would

think he found, some reason in what she said; at least he seemed more

appeased, while she, on the other side, dissembled all the ease, and

repose of mind, that could flatter him to calmness.

You must know, that for _Sylvia_’., honour, she had lodgings by

herself, and _Octavio_ had his in another house, at an aunt’s of his,

a widow, and a woman of great quality; and _Sylvia_ being near her

lying-in, had provided all things, with the greatest magnificence

imaginable, and passed for a young widow, whose husband died, at the

Siege of----_Octavio_ only visited her daily, and all the nights she

had to herself. For he treated her as one whom he designed to make his

wife, and one whose honour was his own; but that night the news of

_Philander_’., arrival was told her, she was more than ordinary

impatient to have him gone, pretending illness, and yet seemed loath

to let him go, and lovers (the greatest cullies in nature, and the

aptest to be deceived, though the most quick-sighted)--do the soonest

believe; and finding it the more necessary he should depart, the more

ill she feigned to be, he took his leave, and left her to repose,

after taking all care necessary, for one in her circumstances. But

she, to make his absence more sure, and fearing lest he should suspect

something of her design, being herself guilty, she orders him to be

called back, and caresses him anew, tells him she was never more

unwilling to part with him, and all the while is complaining and

wishing to be in bed; and says he must not stir till he sees her laid.

This obliges and cajoles him anew, and he will not suffer her women to

undress her, but does the grateful business himself, and reaps some

dear recompense by every service, and pleases his eyes and lips, with

the ravishing beauties, of the loose unguarded, suffering fair one.

She permits him any thing to have him gone, which was not till he saw

her laid, as if to her rest: but he was no sooner got into his coach,

but she rose, and slipped on her night-gown, and some other loose

thingss and got into a chair, commanding her page to conduct the

chairmen to all the great _cabarets_, where she believed it most

likely to find _Philander_; which was accordingly done; and the page

entering, inquires for such a _cavalier_, describing his person, his

fine remarkable black hair of his own: but the first he entered into,

he saw _Brilliard_ bespeaking supper: for you must know that, that

husband-lover being left, as I have said, in prison in _Holland_, for

the accusation of _Octavio_; the unhappy young nobleman was no sooner

fled upon the unlucky death of his uncle, but the _States_ set

_Brilliard_ at liberty; who took his journey immediately to

_Philander_, whom he found just released from his troublesome affair,

and designed for _Brussels_, where they arrived that very morning:

where the first thing he did, was to go to the nunnery of St _Austin_,

to inquire for the fair _Calista_; but instead of encountering the

kind, the impatient, the brave _Calista_, he was addressed to, by the

old Lady Abbess, in so rough a manner, that he no longer doubted, upon

what terms he stood there, though he wondered how they should know his

story with _Calista_: when to put him out of doubt, she assured him,

he should never more behold the face of her injured niece; for whose

revenge she left him to heaven. It was in vain he kneeled and

implored; he was confirmed again and again, she should never come from

out the confines of those walls; and that her whole remaining life

spent in penitence, was too little to wash away her sins with him: and

giving him the letter he sent to _Octavio_, (which _Sylvia_ had given

_Calista_, and she the Lady Abbess, with a full confession of her

fault) she cried; ‘See there, sir, the treachery you have committed

against a woman of quality--whom your criminal love has rendered the

most miserable of her sex.’ At the ending of which, she drew the

curtain over the grate, and left him, wholly amazed and confounded,

finding it to be the same he had writ to _Octavio_, and in it, that he

had writ to _Sylvia_: by the sight of which, he no longer doubted, but

that confidante had betrayed him every way. He rails on his false

friendship, curses the Lady Abbess, himself, his fortune, and his

birth; but finds it all in vain: nor was he so infinitely afflicted

with the thought of the eternal loss of _Calista_, (because he had

possessed her) as he was to find himself betrayed to her, and

doubtless to _Sylvia_, by _Octavio_; and nothing but _Calista_’. being

confined from him, (though she were very dear and charming to his

thought) could have made him rave so extremely for a sight of her: he

loves her the more, by how much the more it was impossible for him to

see her; and that difficulty and his despair increased his flame. In

this humour he went to his lodging, the most undone extravagant that

ever raged with love. He considers her in a place, where no art, or

force of love, or human wit, can retrieve her; no nor so much as send

her a letter. This added to his fury, and in his first wild

imaginations, he resolves nothing less than firing the monastery, that

in that confusion he might seize his right of love, and do a deed,

that would render his name famous as the _Athenian_ youth, who to get

a fame, though an inglorious one, fired the temple of their gods. But

his rage abating by consideration, that impiety dwelt not long with

him: and he ran over a number more, till from one to another, he

reduced himself, to a degree of moderation, which presenting him with

some flattering hope, that give him a little ease: it was then that

_Chevalier Tomaso_, and another _French_ gentleman of _Cesario_’.

faction, (who were newly arrived at _Brussels_) came to pay him their

respects: and after a while carried him into the park to walk, where

_Sylvia_’. page had seen him; and from whence they sent _Brilliard_ to

bespeak supper at this _cabaret_, where _Sylvia_’. chair and herself

waited, and where the page found _Brilliard_, of whom he asked for his

lord; but understanding he could not possibly come in some hours,

being designed for Court that evening, whither he was obliged to go

and kiss the Governor’s hands, he went to the lady, who was almost

dead with impatience, and told her, what he had learned: upon which

she ordered her chairmen to carry her back to her lodgings, for she

would not be persuaded to ask any questions of _Brilliard_, for whom

she had a mortal hate: however, she resolved to send her page back

with a billet, to wait _Philander_’. coming, which was not long; for

having sooner dispatched their compliment at Court than they believed

they should, they went all to supper together, where _Brilliard_ had

bespoke it; where being impatient to learn all the adventures of

_Cesario_, since his departure from him, and of which no person could

give so good an account as _Chevalier Tomaso_, _Philander_ gave order

that no body whomsoever should disturb them, and sat himself down to

listen to the fortune of the Prince.

’.ou know, my lord,’ said _Tomaso_,’.he state of things at your

departure; and that all our glorious designs, for the liberty of all

_France_ were discovered, and betrayed by some of those little

rascals, that great men are obliged to make use of in the greatest

designs: upon whose confession you were proscribed, myself, this

gentleman, and several others: it was our good fortunes to escape

untaken, and yours to fall first in the messenger’s hands, and carried

to the _Bastille_, even from whence you had the luck to escape: but it

was not so with _Cesario_.’ ‘Heavens,’ cried _Philander_, ‘the Prince,

I hope is not taken.’ ‘Not so neither,’ replied _Tomaso_, ‘nor should

you wonder you have received no news of him, in a long time, since

forty thousand crowns being offered for his head, or to any thing that

could discover him, it would have exposed him to have written to any

body, he being beset on all sides with spies from the King; so that it

was impossible to venture a letter, without very great hazard of his

life. Besides all these hindrances, _Cesario_, who, you know, was ever

a great admirer of the fair sex, happened in this his retreat to fall

most desperately in love: nor could the fears of death, which alarmed

him on all sides, deter him from his new amour: which, because it has

relation to some part of his adventures, I cannot omit, especially to

your lordship, his friend, to whom every circumstance of that Prince’s

fate and fortune will be of concern.

’.ou must imagine, my lord, that your seizure and escape was enough to

alarm the whole party; and there was not a man of the League who did

not think it high time to look about him, when one, so considerable as

your lordship, was surprised. Nor did the Prince himself any longer

believe himself safe, but retired himself under the darkness of the

following night: he went only accompanied with his page to a lady’s

house, a widow of quality at _Paris_, that populous city being, as he

conceived, the securest place to conceal himself in. This lady was

Madam the Countess of----who had, as you know, my lord, one only

daughter, _Mademoiselle Hermione_, the heiress of her family. The

Prince knew this young lady had a tenderness for him ever since they

were both very young, which first took beginning in a masque at Court,

where she then acted _Mercury_, and danced so exceedingly finely, that

she gave our young hero new desire, if not absolute love, and charmed

him at least into wishes. She was not then old enough to perceive she

conquered, as well as to make a conquest: and she was capable of

receiving impressions as well as to give them: and it was believed by

some who were very near the Prince, and knew all his secrets then,

that this young lady pitied the sighs of the royal lover, and even

then rewarded them: and though this were most credibly whispered, yet

methinks it seems impossible he should then have been happy; and after

so many years, after the possession of so many other beauties, should

return to her again, and find all the passions and pains of a

beginning flame. But there is nothing to be wondered at in the

contradictions and humours of human nature. But however inconstant and

wavering he had been, _Hermione_ retained her first passion for him;

and that I less wonder at, since you know the Prince has the most

charming person in the world, and is the most perfectly beautiful of

all his sex: to this his youth and quality add no little lustre; and I

should not wonder, if all the softer sex should languish for him, nor

that any one should love on--who hath once been touched with love for

him.

’.t was his last assurance the Prince so absolutely depended on, that

(notwithstanding she was far from the opinion of his party) made him

resolve to take sanctuary in those arms he was sure would receive him

in any condition and circumstances. But now he makes her new vows,

which possibly at first his safety obliged him to, while she returned

them with all the passion of love. He made a thousand submissions to

Madam the Countess, who he knew was fond of her daughter to that

degree, that for her repose she was even willing to behold the

sacrifice of her honour to this Prince, whom she knew _Hermione_ loved

even to death; so fond, so blindly fond is nature: and indeed after a

little time that he lay there concealed, he reaped all the

satisfaction that love could give him, or his youth could wish, with

all the freedom imaginable. He only made vows of renouncing all other

women, what ties or obligations soever he had upon him, and to resign

himself entirely up to _Hermione_. I know not what new charms he had

found by frequent conversation with her, and being uninterrupted by

the sight of any other ladies; but it is most certain, my lord, that

he grew to that excess of love, or rather dotage, (if love in one so

young can be called so) that he languished for her, even while he

possessed her all: he died, if obliged by company to retire from her

an hour, at the end of which, being again brought to her, he would

fall at her feet, and sigh, and weep, and make the most piteous moan

that ever love inspired. He would complain upon the cruelty of a

moment’s absence, and vow he would not live where she was not. All

that disturbed his happiness he reproached as enemies to his repose,

and at last made her feign an illness, that no visits might be made

her, and that he might possess all her hours. Nor did _Hermione_

perceive all this without making her advantages of so glorious an

opportunity; but, with the usual cunning of her sex, improved every

minute she gave him: she now found herself sure of the heart of the

finest man in the world; and of one she believed would prove the

greatest, being the head of a most powerful faction, who were

resolved, the first opportunity, to order affairs so as to come to an

open rebellion, and to make him a king. All these things, how unlikely

soever in reason, her love and ambition suggested to her; so that she

believed she had but one game more to play, to establish herself the

greatest and most happy woman in the world. She consults in this

weighty affair, with her mother, who had a share of cunning that could

carry on a design as well as any of her sex. They found but one

obstacle to all _Hermione_’. rising greatness; and that was the

Prince’s being married; and that to a lady of so considerable birth

and fortune, so eminent for her virtue, and all perfections of

womankind, and withal so excellent for wit and beauty, that it was

impossible to find any cause of a separation between them. So that

finding it improbable to remove that let to her glories, she grew very

melancholy, which was soon perceived by the too amorous Prince, who

pleads, and sighs, and weeps on her bosom day and night to find the

cause: but she, who found she had a difficult game to play, and that

she had need of all her little aids, pretends a thousand little

frivolous reasons before she discovers the true one; which served but

to oblige him to ask anew, as she designed he should----At last, one

morning, finding him in the softest fit in the world, and ready to

give her whatever she could ask in return for the secret of her

disquiet, she told him with a sigh, how unhappy she was in loving so

violently a man who could never be any thing to her more than the

robber of her honour: and at last, with abundance of sighs and tears,

bewailed his marriage----He taking her with all the joy imaginable in

his arms, thanked her for speaking of the only thing he had a thousand

times been going to offer to her, but durst not for fear she should

reproach him. He told her he looked upon himself as married to no

woman but herself, to whom by a thousand solemn vows he had contracted

himself, and that he would never own any other while he lived, let

fortune do what she pleased with him. _Hermione_, thriving hitherto so

well, urged his easy heart yet farther, and told him, though she had

left no doubt remaining in her of his love and virtue, no suspicion of

his vows, yet the world would still esteem the Princess his wife, and

herself only as a prostitute to his youthful pleasure; and as she

conceived her birth and fortune not to be much inferior to that of the

Princess, she should die with indignation and shame, to bear all the

reproach of his wantonness, while his now wife would live esteemed and

pitied as an injured innocent. To all which he replied, as mad in

love, that the Princess, he confessed, was a lady to whom he had

obligations, but that he esteemed her no more his wife, since he was

married to her at the age of twelve years; an age, wherein he was not

capacitated to choose good or evil, or to answer for himself, or his

inclinations: and though she were a lady of absolute virtue, of youth,

wit and beauty; yet fate had so ordained it, that he had reserved his

heart to this moment entirely for herself; and that he renounced all

pretenders to him except herself; that he had now possessed the

Princess for the space of twenty years; that youth had a long race to

run, and could not take up at those years with one single beauty: that

hitherto ravage and destruction of hearts had been his province and

glory, and that he thought he never lost time but when he was a little

while constant: but now he was fixed to all he would ever possess

whilst he had breath; and that she was both his mistress and his wife;

his eternal happiness, and the end of all his loving. It is there he

said he would remain as in his first state of innocence: that hitherto

his ambition had been above his passion, but that now his heart was so

entirely subdued to this fair charmer (for so he call’d and thought

her) that he could be content to live and die in the glory of being

hers alone, without wishing for liberty or empire, but to render her

more glorious. A thousand things tender and fond he said to this

purpose, and the result of all ended in most solemn vows, that if ever

fortune favoured him with a crown, he would fix it on her head, and

make her in spite of all former ties and obligations, Queen of

_France_. This was sufficient to appease her sighs and tears, and she

remained entirely satisfied of his vows, which were exchanged before

Madam the Countess, and confirmed by all the binding obligations, love

on his side could invent, and ambition and subtlety on hers. When I

came at any time to visit him, which by stealth a-nights sometimes I

did, to take orders from him how I should act in all things, (though I

lay concealed like himself) he would tell me all that had passed

between him and _Hermione_. I suppose, not so much for the reposing

the secret in my breast, as out of a fond pleasure to be repeating

passages of his dotage, and repeating her name, which was ever in his

mouth: I saw she had reduced him to a great degree of slavery, and

could not look tamely on, while a hero so young, so gay, so great, and

so hopeful, lay idling away his precious time, without doing any

thing, either in order for his own safety or ambition. It was, my

lord, a great pity to see how his noble resolution was changed, and

how he was perfectly effeminated into soft woman. I endeavoured at

first to rouse him from this lethargy of love; and argued with him the

little reason, that in my opinion he had to be so charmed. I told him,

_Hermione_, of all the beauties of _France_, was esteemed one of the

meanest, and that if ever she had gained a conquest (as many she was

infamously famed for) it was purely the force of her youth and

quality; but that now that bloom was past, and she was one of those,

which in less quality we called old. At these reproaches of his

judgement, I often perceived him to blush, but more with anger than

shame. Yet because, according to the vogue of the town, he found there

was reason in what I said, and which he could only contradict by

saying, however she was, she appeared all otherwise to him: he blamed

me a little kindly for my hard words against her, and began to swear

to me, that he thought her all over charm. He vowed there was absolute

fascination in her eyes and tongue. “It is confessed,” said he, “she

has not much of youth, nor of that which we agree to call beauty: but

she has a grace so masculine, an air so ravishing, a wit and humour so

absolutely made to charm, that they all together sufficiently

recompense for her want of delicacy in complexion and feature: and in

a word, my _Tomaso_,” cries he, embracing me, “she is, though I know

not what, or how, a maid that compels me to adore her; she has a

natural power to please above the rest of her dull sex; and I can

abate her a face and shape, and yet vie her for beauty, with any of

the celebrated ones of _France_.”

’. found, by the manner of his saying this, that he was really

charmed, and past all retrieve, bewitched to this lady. I found it

vain therefore to press him to a separation, or to lessen his passion,

but on the contrary told him, there was a time for all things; if fate

had so ordained it that he must love. But I besought him, with all the

eloquence of perfect duty and friendship, not to suffer his passion to

surmount his ambition and his reason, so far as to neglect his

interest and safety; and for a little pleasure with a woman, suffer

all his friends to perish, that had woven their fortunes with his, and

must stand or fall, as he thrived: I implored him not to cast away the

_good cause_, which was so far advanced, and that yet, notwithstanding

this discourse, might all be retrieved by his conduct, and good

management, that I knew however the King appeared in outward shew to

be offended, that it was yet in his power to calm the greatest tempest

this discovery had raised: that it was but casting himself at His

Majesty’s feet, and begging his mercy, by a confession of the truth of

some part of the matter; and that it was impossible he could fail of a

pardon, from so indulgent a monarch, as he had offended: that there

was no action could wholly rase out of the King’s heart, that

tenderness and passion he had ever expressed towards him; and his

peace might be made with all the facility imaginable. To this he urged

a very great reluctancy, and cried, he would sooner die, than by a

confession expose the lives of his friends, and let the world see

their whole design before they had power to effect it: and not only

so, but put it past all their industry, ever to bring so hopeful a

plot about again. At this I smiled, and asked His Highness’s pardon,

told him I was of another opinion, as most of the heads of the

_Huguenots_ were, that what he said to His Majesty in private could

never possibly be made public: that His Majesty would content himself

with the knowledge of the truth, without caring to satisfy the world,

so greatly to the prejudice of a prince of the blood, and a man so

very dear to him as himself. He urged the fears this would give those

of the Reformed Religion, and alarm them with a thousand

apprehensions, that it would discover every man of them, by

unravelling the intrigue. To this I replied, that their fears would be

very short-lived; for as soon as he had, by his submission and

confession, gained his pardon, he had no more to do, but to renounce

all he had said, leave the Court, and put himself into the protection

of his friends, who were ready to receive him. That he need but appear

abroad a little time, and he would see himself addressed to again, by

all the _Huguenot_ party, who would quickly put him into a condition

of fearing nothing.

’.y counsel, with the same persuasion from all of quality of the

party, who came to see him, was at last approved of by him, and he

began to say a thousand things to assure me of his fidelity to his

friends, and the faction, which he vowed never to forsake, for any

other interest, but to stand or fall in its defence, and that he was

resolved to be a king, or nothing; and that he would put in practice

all the arts and stratagems of cunning, as well as force, to attain to

this glorious end, however crooked and indirect they might appear to

fools. However, he conceived the first necessary step to this, was the

getting his pardon, to gain a little time, to manage things anew to

the best advantage: that at present all things were at a stand without

life or motion, wanting the sight of himself, who was the very life

and soul of motion, the axle-tree that could turn the wheel of fortune

round about again.

’.nd now he had talked himself in to sense again; he cried--“Oh my

_Tomaso_! I long to be in action, my soul is on the wing, and ready to

take its flight through any hazard----” but sighing on a sudden, again

he cried: “But oh, my friend, my wings are impt by love, I cannot

mount the regions of the air, and thence survey the world; but still,

as I would rise to mightier glory, they flag to humble love, and fix

me there. Here I am charmed to lazy, soft repose, here it is I smile

and play, and love away my hours: but I will rouse, I will, my dear

_Tomaso_; nor shall the winged boy hold me enslaved: believe me,

friend, he shall not.” He sent me away pleased with this, and I left

him to his repose.’

Supper being ready to come upon the table; though _Philander_ were

impatient to hear the story out, yet he would not press _Tomaso_, till

after supper; in which time, they discoursed of nothing but of the

miracles of _Cesario_’. love to _Hermione_. He could not but wonder a

prince so young, so amorous, and so gay, should return again, after

almost fifteen years, to an old mistress, and who had never been in

her youth a celebrated beauty: one, whom it was imagined the King, and

several after him at Court, had made a gallantry with----On this he

paused for some time, and reflected on his passion for _Sylvia_; and

this fantastic intrigue of the Prince’s inspired him with a kind of

curiosity to try, whether fleeting love, would carry him back again to

this abandoned maid. In these thoughts, and such discourse, they

passed away the time during supper; which ended, and a fresh bottle

brought to the table, with a new command that none should interrupt

them, the impatient _Philander_ obliged _Tomaso_ to give him a farther

account of the Prince’s proceedings; which he did in this manner.

’.y lord, having left the Prince, as I imagined very well resolved, I

spoke of it to as many of our party, as I could conveniently meet

with, to prepare them for the discovery, I believed the Prince would

pretend to make, that they should not by being alarmed at the first

news of it, put themselves into fears, that might indeed discover

them: nor would I suffer _Cesario_ to rest, but daily saw him, or

rather nightly stole to him, to keep up his resolution: and indeed, in

spite of love, to which he had made himself so entire a slave, I

brought him to his own house, to visit Madam his wife, who was very

well at Court, maugre her husband’s ill conduct, as they called it;

the King being, as you know, my lord, extremely kind to that deserving

lady, often made her visits, and would without very great impatiency

hear her plead for her husband, the Prince; and possibly it was not

ungrateful to him: all this we daily learned from a page, who secretly

brought intelligence from Madam the Princess: so that we conceived it

wholly necessary for the interest of the Prince, that he should live

in a good understanding with this prudent lady. To this end, he

feigned more respect than usual to her, and as soon as it was dark,

every evening made her his visits. One evening, amongst the rest, he

happened to be there, just as the proclamation came forth, of four

thousand crowns to any that could discover him; and within half an

hour after came the King, to visit the Princess, as every night he

did; her lodging being in the Court: the King came without giving any

notice, and with a very slender train that night; so that he was

almost in the Princess’s bed-chamber before any body informed her he

was there; so that the Prince had no time to retire but into Madam the

Princess’s cabaret, the door of which she immediately locking, made

such a noise and bustle, that it was heard by His Majesty, who

nevertheless had passed it by, if her confusion and blushes had not

farther betrayed her, with the unusual address she made to the King:

who therefore asked her, who she had concealed in her closet. She

endeavoured to put him off with some feigned replies, but it would not

do; the more her confusion, the more the King was inquisitive, and

urged her to give him the key of her _cabaret_: but she, who knew the

life of the Prince would be in very great danger, should he be taken

so, and knew on the other side, that to deny it, would betray the

truth as much as his discovery would, and cause him either to force

the key, or the door, fell down at his feet, and wetting his shoes

with her tears, and grasping his knees with her trembling arms,

implored that mercy and pity, for the Prince her husband, whom her

virtue had rendered dear to her, however criminal he appeared to His

Majesty: she told him, His Majesty had more peculiarly the attributes

of a god, than any other monarch upon earth, and never heard the

wretched or the innocent plead in vain. She told him, that herself,

and her children, who were dearer to her than life, should all be as

hostages for the good conduct and duty of the Prince’s future life and

actions: and they would all be obliged to suffer any death, though

ever so ignominious, upon the least breaking out of her lord: that he

should utterly abandon those of the Reformed Religion, and yield to

what articles His Majesty would graciously be pleased to impose,

quitting all his false and unreasonable pretensions to the crown,

which was only the effects of the flattery of the _Huguenot_ party,

and the _malcontents_. Thus with the virtue and goodness of an angel,

she pleaded with such moving eloquence, mixed with tears from

beautiful eyes, that she failed not to soften the royal heart, who

knew not how to be deaf when beauty pleaded: yet he would not seem to

yield so suddenly, lest it should be imagined he had too light a sense

of his treasons, which, in any other great man, would have been

punished with no less than death: yet, as she pleaded, he grew calmer,

and suffered it without interruption, till she waited for his reply;

and obliged him by her silence to speak. He numbers up the obligations

he had heaped on her husband; how he had, by putting all places of

great command and interest into his hands, made him the greatest

prince, and favourite of a subject, in the world; and infinitely

happier than a monarch: that he had all the glory and power of one,

and wanted but the care: all the sweets of empire, while all that was

disagreeable and toilsome, remained with the title alone. He therefore

upbraided him with infinite ingratitude, and want of honour; with all

the folly of ambitious youth: and left nothing unsaid that might make

the Princess sensible it was too late to hide any of his treasons from

him, since they were all but too apparent to His Majesty. It was

therefore that she urged nothing but his royal mercy, and forgiveness,

without endeavouring to lessen his guilt, or enlarge on his innocency.

In fine, my lord, so well she spoke, that at last, she had the joy to

perceive the happy effects of her wit and goodness, which had moved

tears of pity and compassion from His Majesty’s eyes; which was

_Cesario_’. cue to come forth, as immediately he did, (having heard

all that had passed) and threw himself at His Majesty’s feet: and this

was the critical minute he was to snatch for the gaining of his point,

and of which he made a most admirable use. He called up all the force

of necessary dissimulation, tenderness to his voice, tears to his

eyes, and trembling to his hands, that stayed the too willing and

melting monarch by his robe, till he had heard him implore, and

granted him his pity: nor did he quit his hold, till the King cried,

with a soft voice--“Rise”--at which he was assured of what he asked.

He refused however to rise, till the pardon was pronounced. He owned

himself the greatest criminal in nature; that he was drawn from his

allegiance by the most subtle artifices of his enemies, who under

false friendships had allured his hopes with gilded promises; and

which he now too plainly saw were designed to propagate their own

private interests, and not his glory. He humbly besought His Majesty

to make some gracious allowances for his vanities of youth, and to

believe now he had so dearly bought discretion, at almost the price of

His Majesty’s eternal displeasure, that he would reform, and lead so

good a life, so absolutely free from any appearance of ambition, that

His Majesty should see he had not a more faithful subject than

himself. In fine, he found himself, by this acknowledgement he had

begun with, to advance yet further: nor would His Majesty be satisfied

without the whole scene of the matter; and how they were to have

surprised and seized him; where, and by what numbers. All which he was

forced to give an account of; since now to have fallen back, when he

was in their hands, had been his infallible ruin. All which he

performed with as much tenderness and respect to his friends

concerned, as if his own life had been depending: and though he were

extremely pressed to discover some of the great ones of the party, he

would never give his consent to an action so mean, as to be an

evidence. All that could be got from him farther, was to promise His

Majesty, to give under his hand, what he had in private confessed to

him; with which the King remained very well satisfied, and ordered him

to come to Court the next day. Thus for that night they parted with

infinite caresses on the King’s part, and no little joy on his. His

Majesty was no sooner gone, but he gave immediate order to the

Secretaries of State, to draw up his pardon, which was done with so

good speed, that he had it in his hands the next day. When he came to

Court, it is not to be imagined the surprise it was to all, to behold

the man, in the greatest state imaginable, who but yesterday was to

have been crucified at any price: and those who most exclaimed against

him, were the first that paid him homage, and caressed him at the

highest rate; only the most wise and judicious prophesied his glories

were not of long continuation. The King made no visits where the

Prince did not publicly appear: he told all the people, with infinite

joy, that the Prince had confessed the whole plot, and that he would

give it, under his hand and seal, in order to have it published

throughout all _France_, for the satisfaction of all those who had

been deluded and deceived by our specious pretences; and for the

terror of those, who had any ways adhered to so pernicious a villainy:

so that he met with nothing but reproaches from those of our own party

at Court: for there were many, who hitherto were unsuspected, and who

now, out of fear of being betrayed by the Prince, were ready to fall

at the King’s feet and confess all: others there were, that left the

Court and town upon it. In fine, the face of things seemed extremely

altered, while the Prince bore himself like a person who had the

misfortune justly to lie beneath the exclamations of a disobliged

multitude, as they at least imagined and bore all, as if their fears

had been true, without so much as offering at his justification, to

confirm His Majesty’s good opinion of him: he added to his pardon, a

present of twenty thousand crowns, half of it being paid the next day

after his coming to Court. And in short, my lord, His Majesty grew so

fond of the Prince, he could not endure to suffer him out of his

presence, and was never satisfied with seeing him: he carried him the

next day to the public _theatre_ with him, to shew the world he was

reconciled. But by this time he had all confirmed, and grew impatient

to declare himself to his friends, whom he would not have remain long

in their ill opinion of him. It happened the third day of his coming

to Court, (in returning some of those visits he had received from all

the great persons) he went to wait upon the Duchess of ---- a lady,

who had ever had a tender respect for the Prince: in the time of this

visit, a young lady of quality happened to come in; one whom your

lordship knows, a great wit, and much esteemed at Court, _Mademoiselle

Mariana_: by this lady he found himself welcomed to Court, with all

the demonstrations of joy; as also by the old Duchess, who had divers

times heretofore persuaded the Prince to leave the _Huguenots_, and

return to the King and Court: she used to tell him he was a handsome

youth, and she loved his mother well; that he danced finely, and she

had rather see him in a ball at Court, than in rebellion in the field;

and often to this purpose her love would rally him; and now shewed no

less concern of joy for his reconciliation; and looking on him as a

true convert, fell a railing, with all the malice and wit she could

invent, at those public-spirited knaves who had seduced him. She

railed on, and cursed those politics which had betrayed him to almost

ruin itself.

’.he Prince heard her with all the patience he could for some time,

but when he found her touch him so tenderly, and name his friends as

if he had owned any such ill counsellors, his colour came in his face,

and he could not forbear defending us with all the force of

friendship. He told her, he knew of no such seducers, no villains of

the party, nor of any traitorous design, that either himself, or any

man in _France_, had ever harboured: at which, she going to upbraid

him in a manner too passionate, he thought it decent to end his visit,

and left her very abruptly. At his going out, he met with the Duke of

---- brother to the Duchess, going to visit her: _en passant_, a very

indifferent ceremony passed on both sides, for this Duke never had

entertained a friendship, or scarce a respect for _Cesario_; but going

into his sister’s the Duchess, her chamber, he found her all in a rage

at the Prince’s so public defence of the _Huguenots_ and their allies;

and the Duke entering, they told him what had passed. This was a very

great pleasure to him, who had a mortal hate at this time to the

Prince. He made his visit very short, hastens to Court, and went

directly to the King, and told him how infinitely he found His Majesty

mistaken in the imagined penitence of the Prince; and then told him

what he had said at the Duchess of ---- lodgings, and had disowned, he

ever confessed any treasonable design against His Majesty, and gave

them the lie, who durst charge him with any such villainy. The King,

who was unwilling to credit what he wished not true, plainly told the

Duke he could not believe it, but that it was the malice of his

enemies, who had forged this: the Duke replied, he would bring those

to His Majesty that heard the words: immediately thereupon dispatched

away his page to beg the Duchess would come to Court, with

_Mademoiselle Mariana_. The Duchess suspecting the truth of the

business, and unwilling to do the Prince an ill office, excused

herself by sending word she was ill of the colic. But _Mariana_, who

loved the King’s interest, and found the ingratitude, as she called

it, of the Prince, hastened in her chair to Court, and justified all

the Duke had said; who being a woman of great wit and honour, found

that credit which the Duke failed of, as an open enemy to the Prince.

About an hour after, the Prince appeared at Court, and found the face

of things changed extremely; and those, who before had kissed his

hand, and were proud of every smile from him, now beheld him with

coldness, and scarce made way as he passed. However, he went to the

Presence, and found the King, whose looks were also very much changed;

who taking him into the bed-chamber, shewed him his whole confession,

drawn up ready for him to sign, as he had promised, though he never

intended any such thing; and now resolved to die rather than do it, he

took it in his hand, while the King cried--“Here keep your word, and

sign your narrative--” “Stay, sir,” replied the Prince, “I have the

counsel of my friends to ask in so weighty an affair.” The King,

confirmed in all he had heard, no longer doubted but he had been too

cunning for him; and going out in a very great discontent, he only

cried--“Sir, if you have any better friends than myself, I leave you

to them;----” and with this left him. The Prince was very glad he had

got the confession-paper, hoping it would never come to light again;

the King was the only person to whom he had made the confession, and

he was but one accuser; and him he thought the party could at any time

be too powerful to oppose, all being easily believed on their side,

and nothing on that of the Court. After this, in the evening, the King

going to visit Madam the Duchess of----for whom he had a very great

esteem, and whither every day the whole Court followed him; the

Prince, with all the assurance imaginable, made his Court there also;

but he was no sooner come into the Presence, but he perceived anger in

the eyes of that monarch, who had indeed a peculiar greatness and

fierceness there, when angry: a minute after, he sent Monsieur----to

the Prince, with a command to leave the Court; and without much

ceremony he accordingly departed, and went directly to _Hermione_, who

with all the impatience of love expected him; nor was much surprised

to find him banished the Court: for he made her acquainted with his

most secret designs; who having made all his interests her own,

espoused whatever related to him, and was capable of retaining all

with great fidelity: nor had he quitted her one night, since his

coming to Court; and he hath often with rapture told me, _Hermione_

was a friend, as well as a mistress, and one with whom, when the first

play was ended, he could discourse with of useful things of State as

well as love; and improve in both the noble mysteries by her charming

conversation. The night of this second disgrace I went to _Hermione_’.

to visit him, where we discoursed what was next to be done. He did not

think his pardon was sufficient to secure him, and he was not willing

to trust a King who might be convinced, that that tenderness he had

for him, was absolutely against the peace and quiet of all _France_. I

was of this opinion, so that upon farther debate, we thought it

absolutely necessary to quit _France_, till the Court’s heat should be

a little abated; and that the King might imagine himself by his

absence, in more tranquillity than he really is. In order to this, he

made me take my flight into _Flanders_, here to provide all things

necessary against his coming, and I received his command to seek you

out, and beg you would attend his coming hither. I expect him every

day. He told me at parting, he longed to consult with you, how next to

play this mighty game, on which so many kingdoms are staked, and which

he is resolved to win, or be nothing.’ ‘An imperfect relation,’

replied _Philander_, ‘we had of this affair, but I never could learn

by what artifice the Prince brought about his good fortune at Court;

but of your own escape I have heard nothing, pray oblige me with the

relation of it.’ ‘Sir,’ said _Tomaso_, ‘there is so little worthy the

trouble you will take in hearing it, that you may spare yourself the

curiosity.’ ‘Sir,’ replied Philander, ‘I always had too great a share

in what concerned you, not to be curious of the story.’ ‘In which,’

replied _Tomaso_, ‘though there be nothing novel, I will satisfy you.’

’.e pleased to know, my lord, that about a week before our design was

fully discovered by some of our own under-rogues, I had taken a great

house in _Faubourg St Germain_, for my mistress, whom you know, my

lord, I had lived with the space of a year. She was gone to drink the

waters of _Bourbon_, for some indisposition, and I had promised her

all things should be fitted against her return, agreeable to her

humour and desire; and indeed, I spared no cost to make her apartment

magnificent: and I believe few women of quality could purchase one so

rich; for I loved the young woman, who had beauty and discretion

enough to charm, though the _Parisians_ of the royal party called her

_Nicky Nacky_, which was given her in derision to me, not to her, for

whom every body, for her own sake, had a considerable esteem. Besides,

my lord, I had taken up money out of the Orphans’ and Widows’ Bank,

from the Chamber of _Paris_, and could very well afford to be lavish,

when I spent upon the public stock. While I was thus ordering all

things, my valet came running out of breath, to tell me, that being at

the _Louvre_, he saw several persons carried to the secretary’s

office, with messengers; and that inquiring who they might be, he

found they were two _Parisians_, who had offered themselves to the

messengers to be carried to be examined about a plot, the Prince

_Cesario_ and those of the Reformed Religion, had to surprise His

Majesty, kill Monsieur his brother, and set all _Paris_ in a flame:

and as to what particularly related to myself, he said, that I was

named as the person designed to seize upon the King’s guards, and

dispatch Monsieur. This my own conscience told me was too true, for me

to make any doubt but I was discovered: I therefore left a servant in

the house, and in a hackney-coach took my flight. I drove a little out

of _Paris_ till night, and then returned again, as the surest part of

the world where I could conceal myself: I was not long in studying who

I should trust with my life and safety, but went directly to the

palace of Madam, the Countess of----who you know, my lord, was a

widow, and a woman who had, for a year past, a most violent passion

for me; but she being a lady, who had made many such gallantries, and

past her youth, I had only a very great respect and acknowledgement

for her, and her quality, and being obliged to her, for the effects of

her tenderness, shewn upon several occasions, I could not but acquit

myself like a _cavalier_ to her, whenever I could possibly; and which,

though I have a thousand times feigned great business to prevent, yet

I could not always be ungrateful; and when I paid her my services, it

was ever extremely well received, and because of her quality, and

setting up for a second marriage, she always took care to make my

approaches to her, in as concealed a manner as possible; and only her

porter, one page, and one woman, knew this secret amour; and for the

better carrying it on, I ever went in a hackney-coach, lest my livery

should be seen at her gate: and as it was my custom at other times,

so I now sent the porter, (who, by my bounty, and his lady’s, was

entirely my own creature) for the page to come to me, who immediately

did, and I desired him to let his lady know, I waited her commands;

that was the word: he immediately brought me answer, that by good

fortune his lady was all alone, and infinitely wishing she knew

where to send him for me: and I immediately, at that good news, ran

up to her chamber; where I was no sooner come, but desiring me to

sit, she ordered her porter to be called, and gave orders, upon pain

of life, not to tell of my being in the house, whatever inquiry

should be made after me; and having given the same command to her

page, she dismissed them, and came to me with all the fear and

trembling imaginable. “Ah Monsieur,” cried she, falling on my

neck, “we are undone--” I, not imagining she had heard the news

already, cried, “Why, is my passion discovered?” “Ah,” replied she in

tears, “I would to heaven it were no worse! would all the earth had

discovered that, which I should esteem my glory--But it is, my

charming monsieur,” continued she, “your treasons and not amour, whose

discovery will be so fatal to me.” At this I seemed amazed, and begged

her, to let me understand her: she told me what I have said before;

and moreover, that the Council had that very evening issued out

warrants for me, and she admired how I escaped. After a little

discourse of this kind, I asked her, what she would advise me to do?

for I was very well assured, the violent hate the King had

particularly for me, would make him never consent I should live on any

terms: and therefore it was determined I should not surrender myself;

and she resolved to run the risk of concealing me; which, in fine, she

did three days, furnishing me with money and necessaries for my

flight. In this time a proclamation came forth, and offered five

hundred crowns for my head, or to seize me alive, or dead. This sum so

wrought with the slavish minds of men, that no art was left unassayed

to take me: they searched all houses, all hackney-coaches that passed

by night; and did all that avarice could inspire to take me, but all

in vain: at last, this glorious sum so dazzled the mind of Madam the

Countess’s porter, that he went to a captain of the Musketeers, and

assured him, if the King would give him the aforesaid sum, he would

betray me, and bring him the following night to surprise me, without

any resistance: the captain, who thought, if the porter should have

all the sum, he should get none; and every one hoping to be the happy

man, that should take me, and win the prize, could not endure another

should have the glory of both, and so never told the King of the offer

the porter had made. But however secret, one may imagine an amour to

be kept, yet in so busy a place as _Paris_ and the apartments of the

Court-coquets, this of ours had been discoursed, and the intrigue more

than suspected: whether this, or the captain, before named, imagined

to find me at the house of the Countess, because the porter had made

such an offer; I say, however it was, the next morning, upon a

_Sunday_, the guards broke into several chambers, and missing me, had

the insolence to come to the door of that of the Countess; and she had

only time to slip on her night-gown, and running to the door besought

them to have respect to her sex and quality, while I started from my

bed, which was the same from whence the Countess rose; and not knowing

where to hide, or what to do, concealing my clothes between the

sheets, I mounted from the table to a great silver sconce that was

fastened to the wall by the bed-side, and from thence made but one

spring up to the tester of the bed; which being one of those raised

with strong wood-work and japan, I could easily do; or, rather it was

by miracle I did it; and laid myself along the top, while my back

touched the ceiling of the chamber; by this time, when no entreaties

could prevail, they had burst open the chamber-door, and running

directly to the bed, they could not believe their eyes: they saw no

person there, but the plain print of two, with the pillows for two

persons. This gave them the curiosity to search farther, which they

did, with their swords, under the bed, in every corner, behind every

curtain, up the chimney, felt all about the wainscot and hangings for

false doors or closets; surveyed the floor for a trap-door: at last

they found my fringed gloves at the window, and the sash a little up,

and then they concluded I had made my escape out at that window: this

thought they seemed confirmed in, and therefore ran to the garden,

where they thought I had descended, and with my gloves, which they

bore away as the trophies of their almost gained victory, they

searched every hedge and bush, arbour, grotto, and tree; but not being

able to find what they sought, they concluded me gone, and told all

the town, how very near they were to seizing me. After this, the very

porter and page believed me escaped out of that window, and there was

no farther search made after me: but the Countess was amazed, as much

as any of the soldiers, to find which way I had conveyed myself, when

I came down and undeceived her; but when she saw from whence I came,

she wondered more than before how I could get up so high; when trying

the trick again, I could not do it, if I might have won never so

considerable a wager upon it, without pulling down the sconce, and the

tester also.

’.fter this, I remained there undiscovered the whole time the Prince

was at _Hermione_’., till his coming to Court, when I verily believed

he would have gained me my pardon, with his own; but the King had

sworn my final destruction, if he ever got me in his power; and

proclaiming me a traitor, seized all they could find of mine. It was

then that I believed it high time to take my flight; which, as soon as

I heard the Prince again in disgrace, I did, and got safely into

_Holland_, where I remained about six weeks. But, oh! what is woman!

The first news I heard, and that was while I remained at the

Countess’s that my mistress, for whom I had taken such cares and who

had professed to love me above all things, no sooner heard I was fled

and proscribed, but retiring to a friend’s house, (for her own was

seized for mine) and the officers imagining me there too, they came to

search; and a young _cavalier_, of a noble aspect, great wit and

courage, and indeed a very fine gentleman, was the officer that

entered her chamber, to search for me; who, being at first sight

surprised with her beauty, and melting with her tears, fell most

desperately in love with her, and after hearing how she had lost all

her money, plate, and jewels, and rich furniture, offered her his

service to retrieve them, and did do it; and from one favour to

another, continued so to oblige the fair fickle creature, that he won,

with that and his handsome mien, a possession of her heart, and she

yielded in a week’s time to my most mortal enemy. And the Countess,

who at my going from her, swooned, and bathed me all in tears, making

a thousand vows of fidelity, and never to favour mankind more: this

very woman, sir, as soon as my back was turned, made new advances to a

young lord, who, believing her to be none of the most faithful, would

not trust her under matrimony: he being a man of no great fortune, and

she a mistress of a very considerable one, his standing off on these

terms inflames her the more; and I have advice, that she is very much

in love with him, and it is believed will do what he desires of her:

so that I was no sooner abandoned by fortune, but fickle woman

followed her example, and fled me too. Thus, my lord, you have the

history of my double unhappiness: and I am waiting here a fate which

no human wit can guess at: the arrival of the Prince will give a

little life to our affair; and I yet have hope to see him in _Paris_,

at the head of forty thousand _Huguenots_, to revenge all the

insolences we have suffered.’

After discoursing of several things, and of the fate of several

persons, it was bed-time; and they taking leave, each man departed to

his chamber.

_Philander_, while he was undressing, being alone with _Brilliard_,

began to discourse of _Sylvia_, and to take some care of letting her

know, he was arrived at _Brussels_; and for her convoy thither.

_Brilliard_, who even yet retained some unaccountable hope, as lovers

do, of one day being happy with that fair one; and believing he could

not be so, with so much felicity, while she was in the hands of

_Octavio_ as those of _Philander_, would never tell his lord his

sentiments of her conduct, nor of her love to _Octavio_, and those

other passages that had occurred in _Holland_: he only cried, he

believed she might be overcome, being left to herself and by the

merits and good fashion of _Octavio_; but would not give his master an

absolute fear, or any account of truth, that he might live with her

again, if possible, as before; and that she might hold herself so

obliged to him for silence in these affairs, as might one day render

him happy. These were the unweighed reasons he gave for deluding his

lord into a kind opinion to the fickle maid: but ever when he named

_Sylvia_, _Philander_ could perceive his blushes rise, and from them

believed there was something behind in his thought, which he had a

mind to know: he therefore pressed him to the last degree,--and

cried--’Come--confess to me, _Brilliard_, the reason of your blushes:

I know you are a lover, and I was content to suffer you my rival,

knowing your respect to me.’ This, though he spoke smiling, raised a

greater confusion in _Brilliard_’. heart. ‘I own, my lord,’ said he,

’.hat I have, in spite of that respect, and all the force of my soul,

had the daring to love her whom you loved; but still the consideration

of my obligations to your lordship surmounted that saucy flame,

notwithstanding all the encouragement of your inconstancy, and the

advantage of the rage it put Sylvia in against you.’ ‘How,’ cried

_Philander_, ‘does _Sylvia_ know then of my falseness, and is it

certain that _Octavio_ has betrayed me to her?’ With that _Brilliard_

was forced to advance, and with a design of some revenge upon

_Octavio_, (who, he hoped, would be challenged by his lord, where one,

or both might fall in the rencounter, and leave him master of his

hopes) he told him all that had passed between them, all but real

possession, which he only imagined, but laid the whole weight on

_Octavio_, making _Sylvia_ act but as an incensed woman, purely out of

high revenge and resentment of so great an injury as was done her

love. He farther told him, how, in the extravagancy of her rage, she

had resolved to marry _Octavio_, and how he prevented it by making a

public declaration she was his wife already; and for which _Octavio_

procured the _States_ to put him in prison; but by an accident that

happened to the uncle of _Octavio_, for which he was forced to fly,

the _States_ released him, when he came to his lord: ‘How,’ cried

_Philander_, ‘and is the traitor _Octavio_ fled from _Holland_, and

from the reach of my chastisement?’ ‘Yes,’ replied _Brilliard_; ‘and

not to hold you longer from the truth, has forced _Sylvia_ away with

him.’ At this _Philander_ grew into a violent rage, sometimes against

_Octavio_ for his treasons against friendship; sometimes he felt the

old flame revive, raised and blown jealousy, and was raving to imagine

any other should possess the lovely _Sylvia_. He now beholds her with

all those charms that first fired him, and thinks, if she be criminal,

it was only the effects of the greatest love, which always hurries

women on to the highest revenges. In vain he seeks to extinguish his

returning flame by the thought of _Calista_; yet, at that thought, he

starts like one awakened from a dream of honour, to fall asleep again,

and dream of love. Before it was rage and pride, but now it was

tenderness and grief, softer passions, and more insupportable. New

wounds smart most, but old ones are most dangerous. While he was thus

raging, walking, pausing, and loving, one knocked at his chamber-door.

It was _Sylvia_’. page, who had waited all the evening to speak to

him, and could not till now be admitted. _Brilliard_ was just going to

tell him he was there before, when he arrived now again: _Philander_

was all unbuttoned, his stockings down, and his hair under his cap,

when the page, being let in by _Brilliard_, ran to his lord, who knew

him and embraced him: and it was a pretty while they thus caressed

each other, without the power of speaking; he of asking a question,

and the boy of delivering his message; at last, he gave him _Sylvia_’.

billet, which was thus--

_To_ PHILANDER.

False and perjured as you are, I languish for a sight of you, and

conjure you to give it me, as soon as this comes to your hands.

Imagine not, that I have prepared those instruments of revenge that

are so justly due to your perfidy; but rather, that I have yet too

tender sentiments for you, in spite of the outrage you have done my

heart; and that for all the ruin you have made, I still adore you: and

though I know you now another’s slave, yet I beg you would vouchsafe

to behold the spoils you have made, and allow me this recompense for

all, to say--Here was the beauty I once esteemed, though now she is no

more _Philander_’.

SYLVIA.

’.ow,’ cried he out, ‘No more _Philander_’. _Sylvia_! By heaven, I had

rather be no more _Philander_!’ And at that word, without considering

whether he were in order for a visit or not, he advancing his joyful

voice, cried out to the page, ‘Lead on, my faithful boy, lead on to

_Sylvia_.’ In vain _Brilliard_ beseeches him to put himself into a

better equipage; in vain he urges to him, the indecency of making a

visit in that posture; he thought of nothing but _Sylvia_; however he

ran after him with his hat, cloak, and comb, and as he was in the

chair dressed his hair, and suffered the page to conduct him where he

pleased: which being to _Sylvia_’., lodgings, he ran up stairs, and

into her chamber, as by instinct of love, and found her laid on her

bed, to which he made but one step from the door; and catching her in

his arms, as he kneeled upon the carpet, they both remained unable to

utter any thing but sighs: and surely _Sylvia_ never appeared more

charming; she had for a month or two lived at her ease, and had

besides all the advantage of fine dressing which she had purposely put

on, in the most tempting fashion, on purpose to engage him, or rather

to make him see how fine a creature his perfidy had lost him: she

first broke silence, and with a thousand violent reproaches, seemed as

if she would fain break from those arms, which she wished might be too

strong for her force; while he endeavours to appease her as lovers do,

protesting a thousand times that there was nothing in that history of

his amour with _Calista_, but revenge on _Octavio_, who he knew was

making an interest in her heart, contrary to all the laws of honour

and friendship, (for he had learned, by the reproaches of the Lady

Abbess, that _Calista_ was sister to _Octavio_). ‘He has had the

daring to confess to me his passion,’ said he, ‘for you, and could I

do less in revenge, than to tell him I had one for his sister? I knew

by the violent reproaches I ever met with in your letters, though they

were not plainly confessed, that he had played me foul, and discovered

my feigned intrigue to you; and even this I suffered, to see how far

you could be prevailed with against me. I knew _Octavio_ had charms of

youth and wit, and that you had too much the ascendant over him, to be

denied any secret you had a mind to draw from him; I knew your nature

too curious, and your love too inquisitive, not to press him to a

sight of my letters, which seen must incense you; and this trial I

designedly made of your faith, and as a return to _Octavio_.’ Thus he

flatters, and she believes, because she has a mind to believe; and

thus by degrees he softens the listening _Sylvia_; swears his faith

with sighs, and confirms it with his tears, which bedewed her fair

bosom, as they fell from his bright dissembling eyes; and yet so well

he dissembled, that he scarce knew himself that he did so: and such

effects it wrought on _Sylvia_, that in spite of all her honour and

vows engaged to _Octavio_, and horrid protestations never to receive

again the fugitive to her arms, she suffers all he asks, gives herself

up again to love, and is a second time undone. She regards him as one

to whom she had a peculiar right as the first lover: she was married

to his love, to his heart; and _Octavio_ appeared the intruding

gallant, that would, and ought to be content with the gleanings of the

harvest, _Philander_ should give him the opportunity to take up: and

though, if she had at this very time been put to her sober choice,

which she would have abandoned, it would have been _Philander_, as not

in so good circumstances at that time to gratify all her extravagances

of expense; but she would not endure to think of losing either: she

was for two reasons covetous of both, and swore fidelity to both,

protesting each the only man; and she was now contriving in her

thoughts, how to play the jilt most artificially; a help-meet, though

natural enough to her sex, she had not yet much essayed, and never to

this purpose: she knew well she should have need of all her cunning in

this affair; for she had to do with men of quality and honour, and too

much wit to be grossly imposed upon. She knew _Octavio_ loved so well,

it would either make her lose him by death, or resenting pride, if she

should ever be discovered to him to be untrue; and she knew she should

lose _Philander_ to some new mistress, if he once perceived her false.

He asked her a thousand questions concerning _Octavio_, and she seemed

to lavish every secret of her soul to her lover; but like a right

woman, so ordered her discourse, as all that made for her advantage

she declared, and all the rest she concealed. She told him, that those

hopes which her revenge had made her give _Octavio_, had obliged him

to present her with such and such fine jewels, such plate, such sums;

and in fine, made him understand that all her trophies from the

believing lover should be laid at his feet, who had conquered her

heart: and that now, having enriched herself, she would abandon him

wholly to despair. This did not so well satisfy Philander, but that he

needed some greater proofs of her fidelity, fearing all these rich

presents were not for a little hope alone; and she failed not giving

what protestations he desired.

Thus the night passed away, and in the morning, she knowing he was not

very well furnished with money, gave him the key of her cabinet, where

she bid him furnish himself with all he wanted; which he did, and left

her, to go take orders about his horses, and other affairs, not so

absolutely satisfied of her virtue, but he feared himself put upon,

which the advantage he was likely to reap by the deceit, made him less

consider, than he would perhaps otherwise have done. He had all the

night a full possession of _Sylvia_, and found in the morning he was

not so violently concerned as he was over night: it was but a

repetition of what he had been feasted with before; it was no new

treat, but, like matrimony, went dully down: and now he found his

heart warm a little more for _Calista_, with which little impatience

he left _Sylvia_.

That morning a lady having sent to _Octavio_, to give her an

assignation in the park; though he were not curious after beauty, yet

believing there might be something more in it than merely a lady, he

dressed himself and went, which was the reason he made not his visit

that morning, as he used to do, to _Sylvia_, and so was yet ignorant

of her ingratitude; while she, on the other side, finding herself more

possessed with vanity than love; for having gained her end, as she

imagined, and a second victory over his heart, in spite of all

_Calista_’. charms, she did not so much consider him as before; nor

was he so dear to her as she fancied he would have been, before she

believed it possible to get him any more to her arms; and she found it

was pride and revenge to _Calista_, that made her so fond of endearing

him, and that she should thereby triumph over that haughty rival, who

pretended to be so sure of the heart of her hero: and having satisfied

her ambition in that point, she was more pleased than she imagined she

should be, and could now turn her thoughts again to _Octavio_, whose

charms, whose endearments, and lavish obligations, came anew to her

memory, and made him appear the most agreeable to her genius and

humour, which now leaned to interest more than love; and now she

fancies she found _Philander_ duller in her arms than _Octavio_; that

he tasted of _Calista_, while _Octavio_ was all her own entirely,

adoring and ever presenting; two excellencies, of which _Philander_

now had but part of one. She found _Philander_ now in a condition to

be ever taking from her, while _Octavio_’. was still to be giving;

which was a great weight in the scale of love, when a fair woman

guides the balance: and now she begins to distrust all that

_Philander_ had said of his innocence, from what she now remembers she

heard from _Calista_ herself, and reproaches her own weakness for

believing: while her penitent thoughts were thus wandering in favour

of _Octavio_, that lover arrived, and approached her with all the joy

in his soul and eyes that either could express. ‘It is now, my fair

charmer,’ said he, ‘that I am come to offer you what alone can make me

more worthy of you----’ And pulling from his pocket the writings and

inventories of all his own and his uncle’s estate--’See here,’ said

he, ‘what those mighty powers that favour love have done for _Sylvia_.

It is not,’ continued he, ‘the trifle of a million of money, (which

these amount to) that has pleased me, but because I am now able to lay

it without control at your feet.’ If she were before inclined to

receive him well, what was she now, when a million of money rendered

him so charming? She embraced his neck with her snowy arms, laid her

cheeks to his ravished face, and kissed him a thousand welcomes; so

well she knew how to make herself mistress of all this vast fortune.

And I suppose he never appeared so fine, as at this moment. While she

thus caressed him, he could not forbear sighing, as if there were yet

something behind to complete his happiness: for though Octavio were

extremely blinded with love, he had abundance of wit, and a great many

doubts, (which were augmented by the arrival of _Philander_) and he

was, too wise and too haughty, to be imposed upon, at least as he

believed: and yet he had so very good an opinion of _Sylvia_’. honour

and vows, which she had engaged to him, that he durst hardly name his

fears, when by his sighs she found them: and willing to leave no

obstacle unremoved, that might hinder her possessing this fortune, she

told him; ‘My dear _Octavio_--I am sensible these sighs proceed from

some fears you have of _Philander_’. being in _Brussels_, and

consequently that I will see him, as heretofore; but be assured, that

that false man shall no more dare to pretend to me; but, on the

contrary, I will behold him as my mortal enemy, the murderer of my

fame and innocence, and as the most ungrateful and perfidious man that

ever lived.’ This she confirmed with oaths and tears, and a thousand

endearing expressions. So that establishing his heart in a perfect

tranquillity, and he leaving his writings and accounts with her, he

told her he was obliged to dine with the advocates, who had acted for

him in _Holland_, and could not stay to dine with her.