‘All that your worship hath told is very true,’ answered the young man;

‘but the end of the business was quite the reverse of what you

imagined.’—‘How! the reverse!’ cried the knight; ‘has not the peasant

paid thee thy wages?’—‘Far from paying me my wages,’ said Andrew, ‘your

worship was no sooner out of the wood, and we by ourselves again, than

he bound me a second time to the same oak, and lashed me so severely,

that I remained like St. Bartholomew, flayed alive, and at every stripe

he jeered and scoffed, and made game of your worship in such a manner,

that if it had not been for the excessive pain I felt, I could not have

refrained from laughing at what he said. In short, he treated me so

cruelly, that till this very day, I have been in the hospital, for the

cure of the wounds I received from that mischievous farmer; and truly

your worship was the cause of all that I suffered; for if you had

followed your own road, without going where nobody called you, or

meddling with other people’s affairs, my master would have been

satisfied with giving me a cool dozen or two, and then loosed and paid

me my due. But when your worship abused him so unseasonably, and called

him so many bad names, his choler was inflamed; and, as he could not be

revenged upon you, as soon as you was gone, he discharged the storm of

his wrath upon me, in such a manner that I shall never be my own man

again.’

‘The misfortune,’ said the knight, ‘was in my leaving him before I had

seen thee paid; for I ought to have known by long experience, that no

peasant will keep his word, if he thinks it his interest to break it.

But thou mayest remember, Andrew, that I swore if he did not perform his

promise, I would return and search for him, until he should be found,

even if he should hide himself in the whale’s belly.’—‘Very true,’

replied Andrew; ‘but that threat signified nothing.’—‘Thou shalt

presently see what it signifies!’ resumed Don Quixote; who, getting up

hastily, ordered Sancho to bridle Rozinante, who was following their

example in refreshing himself with grass.

When Dorothea asked what he intended to do, he replied, he was going in

quest of the peasant, to chastise him for his villainous behaviour, and

make him pay Andrew to the last farthing, in despite and defiance of all

the rusticks upon earth. To this declaration, she answered, by desiring

him to consider, that according to the promised boon, he could not

engage in any enterprize, until her affair should be finished; and since

this stipulation was known to himself better than to any other person,

she intreated him to repress his resentment till his return from her

kingdom. ‘That is very true,’ resumed the knight, ‘and Andrew must wait

with patience for my return, as your majesty observes; but I repeat my

oath and my promise, never to desist until I shall have seen his wages

paid, and his injuries revenged.’—‘I don’t trust to those oaths,’ said

Andrew, ‘and would rather, at present, have wherewithal to bear my

expences to Seville, than all the revenge in the world; be so good, if

you have any victuals, to give me something to eat upon my journey, and

the Lord be with your worship and all knights-errant, who, I wish, may

always err as much in their own affairs, as they have done in mine.’

Sancho, taking a luncheon of bread and cheese from the store, gave it to

the young man, saying, ‘Here, brother Andrew, take this; and now we have

all shared in your misfortune.’ When Andrew asked what share of it had

fallen to him, he replied, ‘That share of bread and cheese, which I have

given you; and God knows whether I shall not feel the loss of it; for

you must know, friend, that we squires of knights-errant are subject to

many a hungry belly, with other misfortunes which are more easily felt

than described.’

Andrew accepted of the bread and cheese, and seeing that nobody offered

him any thing else, made his bows, and as the saying is, took his foot

in his hand[90]. True it is, before he departed, he addressed himself to

Don Quixote, saying, ‘For the love of God! Sir knight-errant, if ever

you meet me again, spare yourself the trouble of coming to my

assistance, even though you should see me cut into minced meat, but

leave me to my misfortune, which cannot be so great but that it may be

increased by the succour of your worship, whom God confound, together

with all the knights errant that ever were born.’ Don Quixote started

up, in order to chastise him, but he ran away with such nimbleness, that

nobody attempted to pursue him; and the knight was so ashamed of his

exploit, that the company were at great pains to contain their laughter,

to prevent his being quite out of countenance.

Footnote 89:

Literally, Sleeves are good even after Easter; i. e. Though a good

thing comes late, it is never unseasonable.

Footnote 90:

Literally, “Took the road in his hands.”

CHAP. V.

WHICH TREATS OF WHAT HAPPENED TO DON QUIXOTE AND HIS COMPANY

AT THE INN.

Their sumptuous meal being ended, they saddled their beasts, and without

meeting any thing worthy of mention, arrived next day at the very inn

which was so much the dread and terror of Sancho; but, unwilling as he

was to enter, he could not avoid going into it. The innkeeper, his wife,

daughter, and Maritornes, seeing Don Quixote and Sancho at the gate,

went out to receive them, with great demonstrations of joy; and the

knight returned their compliments with grave deportment and solemn

approbation, desiring them to prepare a better bed for him than that

which he had occupied before. To this demand, the landlady answered,

that, provided he would pay better than he did before, he should lie

like a prince; he promised to see her satisfied, and they immediately

made up a tolerable bed, in the same garret where he had formerly

lodged, in which he laid himself down, very much disordered, both in

body and mind. He was no sooner locked up in his chamber, than the

landlady attacked the barber, and seizing him by the beard, cried, ‘By

my faith! you shall no longer use my tail for a beard. Give me my tail,

I say; for it is a shame to see how my husband’s thing is bandied about

for want of it; I mean the comb that he used to stick in my tail.’ But

the barber would not part with it, for all her tugging, until the priest

desired him to restore it: because there was no farther occasion for the

disguise, as he might now appear in his own shape, and tell the knight,

that after he had been robbed by the galley-slaves, he had fled to that

inn; and if he should enquire for the princess’s gentleman usher, they

would tell him, she had dispatched him away before her, to advertise her

friends and subjects, that she was upon the road, accompanied by the

deliverer of them all. Thus satisfied, the barber willingly restored the

landlady’s tail, and every thing else they had borrowed with a view of

disengaging Don Quixote from the mountain; and all the people of the inn

were astonished at the beauty of Dorothea, as also at the genteel mien

of the swain Cardenio. The curate ordered them to get ready something to

eat; and the innkeeper, in hope of being well paid, dressed, with all

dispatch, a pretty reasonable dinner; but they did not think proper to

waken Don Quixote, who, they believed, stood at that time more in need

of sleep than of food.

The discourse at table, in presence of the innkeeper, his wife,

daughter, Maritornes, and all the other lodgers, happening to turn upon

the uncommon madness of the knight, and the condition in which they

found him; the hostess recounted to them, what had happened in her house

between him and the carrier; then looking round the room, and seeing

Sancho was not present, she told the whole story of the blanketting, to

the no small entertainment of the company. The curate observing that Don

Quixote’s understanding was disordered by the books of chivalry he had

read, the innkeeper replied, ‘I cannot conceive how that is possible;

for, really, in my opinion, they are the best reading in the world: I

have now in my custody two or three of them, together with some other

papers, which, I verily believe, have preserved not only my life, but

also that of many others; for, in harvest-time, a great number of

reapers come hither, to pass the heat of the day; and there being always

one among them who can read, he takes up a book, and we, to the number

of thirty or more, forming a ring about him, listen with such pleasure,

as were enough to make an old man grow young again; at least, I can say

for myself; when I hear him read of those furious and terrible strokes

that have been given by certain knights, I am seized with the desire of

being at it myself, and could listen to such stories whole nights and

days without ceasing.’—‘I wish you would, with all my heart,’ replied

the wife; ‘for, I am sure, I never enjoy a quiet minute in the house,

except when they are reading, and then you are so bamboozled with what

you hear, you forget to scold for that time.’—‘That is the very truth of

the matter,’ said Maritornes; ‘in good faith, I myself am hugely

diverted, when I hear those things; they are so clever, especially when

they tell us how yon t’other lady lay among orange trees, in the

embraces of her knight, while a duenna, half dead with envy and

surprize, kept sentry over them; odd! all these things make my chops

water.’

‘And what is your opinion of the matter, my young mistress?’ said the

priest to the innkeeper’s daughter. ‘Truly, Signior, I don’t well know,’

she replied; ‘but listen among the rest; and really, though I do not

understand it, I am pleased with what I hear; yet I take no delight in

those strokes that my father loves; but, in the lamentations made by the

knights, when they are absent from their mistresses, which in good

sooth, often make me weep with compassion.’—‘Then you would soon give

them relief, if they mourned for you, my pretty maid?’ said Dorothea. ‘I

don’t know what I should do,’ answered the girl; ‘but, this I know, that

some of those ladies are so cruel, their knights call them lions,

tygers, and a thousand other reproachful names. Jesus! I can’t conceive

what sort of folks those must be, who are so hard-hearted and

unconscionable as to let a man of honour die, or lose his senses, rather

than take the least notice of him; why should they be so coy? If their

suitors court them in an honest way, let them marry, and that is all the

men desire.’—‘Hold your peace, child,’ said the landlady; ‘methinks, you

are too well acquainted with these things; young maidens, like you,

should neither know nor speak so much.’ The daughter said, as the

gentleman asked her the question, she could do no less than answer him:

and the curate demanding a sight of the books, ‘With all my heart,’

replied the innkeeper, who, going to his own chamber, brought out an old

portmanteau secured with a chain, which being opened, the priest found

in it three large volumes and some manuscripts written in a very fair

character.

The first book they opened appeared to be Don Cirongilio of Thrace; the

second, Felixmarte of Hyrcania; and the third, was the history of that

great Captain Gonçalo Hernandes de Cordova, with the life of Diego

Garcia de Paredes. The curate having read the titles of the two first,

turned to the barber, saying, ‘We now want our friend’s housekeeper and

cousin.’—‘Not at all,’ answered Mr. Nicholas, ‘I myself can convey them

to the yard, or rather to the chimney, where there is actually a special

good fire.’—‘What! you intend to burn these books, then?’ said the

innkeeper. ‘Only these two,’ answered the curate, pointing to Don

Cirongilio and Felixmarte. ‘I suppose, then,’ resumed the landlord, ‘my

books are heretick and flegmatick?’—‘You mean schismatick, honest

friend, and not flegmatick,’ said the barber. ‘Even so,’ replied the

landlord; ‘but, if any of them be burnt, let it be the history of that

great captain, together with Diego Garcia; for, I would rather suffer

you to commit my son to the flames, than to burn e’er a one of the

rest.’—‘Heark ye, brother,’ said the curate, ‘these two books are

stuffed with lyes, vanity and extravagance; but that of the great

captain is a true history, containing the exploits of Gonçalo Hernandez

de Cordova, who, by his numerous and valiant atchievements, acquired,

all the world over, the epithet of the Great Captain, a renowned and

splendid appellation, merited by him alone; and that Diego Garcia de

Paredes was a noble cavalier, born in the city of Truxillo in

Estremadura, a most valiant soldier, and endowed with such bodily

strength, that with a single finger he could stop a mill-wheel in the

heat of its motion; and being once posted at the end of a bridge, with a

two-handed sword, he alone prevented a vast army from passing over it;

he performed a great many actions of the same kind, which he himself

hath recounted with all the modesty of a gentleman who writes his own

memoirs; whereas, had they been committed to writing by any other free

and dispassionate author, they would have eclipsed all the Hectors,

Achilles’, and Orlandos, that ever lived.’—‘You may tell such stuff to

my grannam,’ said the inn-keeper. ‘Lord! how you are surprized at the

stopping of a mill-wheel! before God, I advise your worship to read, as

I have done[91], the history of Felixmarte of Hyrcania, who, with a

single back-stroke, cut five giants through the middle, as easily as if

they had been made of beans, like the figures with which the boys divert

themselves. Another time, he engaged a most infinite and powerful army,

consisting of a million and six hundred thousand soldiers, all armed

cap-a-pee, whom he totally routed, as if they had been flocks of sheep.

Then what shall we say of the most excellent Don Cirongilio of Thrace,

who was so valiant and courageous, as may be seen in the book of his

history, that while he was sailing on the river, a fiery serpent rose

above the water, which he no sooner saw, than leaping on its back, he

fastened himself astride upon its scaly shoulders, and seized if by the

throat, with both hands, so forcibly, that the serpent feeling itself

well-nigh strangled, could find no other remedy but dive into the

profound, with the knight, who would not quit his hold; and when he

descended to the bottom, he found himself in a palace situated in the

midst of a garden that was wonderfully pleasant; and then the serpent

turned itself into an ancient man, who told him such things as you would

rejoice to hear. Say no more, Signior; if you was to hear it, you would

run stark mad for joy; so that, a fig for your great captain, and that

same Diego Garcia you talk of!’

Dorothea hearing this harangue, whispered to Cardenio, ‘Our host wants

not much to make the second edition of Don Quixote.’—‘I think so too,’

answered Cardenio; ‘for, by his discourse, he seems to take it for

granted, that every thing which is recounted in these books, is neither

more nor less than the truth; and all the capuchins in Spain will not be

able to alter his belief.’—‘Consider, brother,’ resumed the curate,

‘that there never was upon earth such a person as Felixmarte of

Hyrcania, nor Don Cirongilio of Thrace, nor any other of such knights as

are celebrated in books of chivalry. The whole is a fiction composed by

idle persons of genius, for the very purpose you mentioned, namely

pastime, which was the aim of your reapers; for, I swear to you, no such

knights ever existed, nor were any such exploits and extravagancies ever

performed in this world.’—‘You must throw that bone to some other dog!’

replied the landlord: ‘as if I did not know that two and three make

five; or where my own shoe pinches. Your worship must not think to feed

me with pap, for egad I am no such suckling! A good joke, faith! You

would make me believe that all the contents of these books are madness

and lyes, although they are printed by licence from the king’s council;

as if they were persons who would wink at the printing of such lyes,

battles, and inchantments, as turn people’s brains.’—‘Friend,’ replied

the curate, ‘I have already told you, that they are designed for the

amusement of our idle hours; and, as in every well-governed

commonwealth, the games of chess, billiards, and tennis, are licensed

for the entertainment of those who neither can nor ought to work; in

like manner, those books are allowed to be printed, on the supposition,

that no body is so ignorant as to believe a syllable of what they

contain; and if I was now permitted, or the company required it, I could

give some hints towards the improvements of books of chivalry, which

perhaps might be both serviceable and entertaining; but, I hope, the

time will come, when I may have an opportunity of imparting my

suggestions to those who can convert them to general use: meanwhile, Mr.

Publican, you may depend upon the truth of what I have said; take your

books away, and settle the affair of their truth or falshood, just as

your own comprehension will permit; much good may they do you, and God

grant that you may never halt on the same foot on which your lodger Don

Quixote is lame!’—‘I hope,’ answered the innkeeper, ‘I shall never be

mad enough to turn knight-errant, as I can easily perceive that the

customs now-a-days are quite different from those in times past, when,

as it is reported, those famous heroes travelled about the world.’

Sancho, who had come into the room, about the middle of this

conversation, was very much confounded and perplexed, when he heard them

observe, that there was no such thing as knight-errantry in the present

age, and that all the books of chivalry were filled with extravagance

and fiction; he therefore determined within himself, to wait the issue

of his master’s last undertaking; and if it should not succeed as

happily as he expected, to leave him, and return, with his wife and

children, to his former labour.

When the innkeeper took up the portmanteau with the books, in order to

carry them away, ‘Stay,’ said the curate, ‘until I examine these papers

which are written in such a fair character.’ The landlord accordingly

pulled out a manuscript, consisting of eight sheets of paper, intitled,

in large letters, ‘The Novel of the Impertinent Curiosity[92].’ The

priest having read three or four lines to himself, said, ‘Really the

title of this novel pleases me so much, that I have a strong inclination

to peruse the whole.’ To this observation, the innkeeper replied, ‘Then

your reverence may read it aloud; for, you must know, the reading of it

hath given great satisfaction to several lodgers at this inn, who have

earnestly begged the copy; but that request I would not comply with,

because I think of restoring it to the right owner, as I expect that the

person who left the portmanteau with the books and papers, in a mistake,

will return, on purpose to fetch them; or, you know, he may chance to

travel this way on, other business; and though I should miss them

heavily, in faith they shall be restored; for, though an innkeeper, I am

still a Christian.’—‘Friend,’ said the curate, ‘you are very much in the

right; but, for all that, if I like the novel, you shall give me leave

to transcribe it.’—‘With all my heart,’ replied the landlord. While this

discourse passed between them, Cardenio having taken up the manuscript,

and began to read, was of the curate’s opinion, and intreated him to

read it aloud, that the whole company might hear it. ‘I will,’ answered

the priest, ‘if you think we had not better spend the time in sleeping

than in reading.’—‘For my own part,’ said Dorothea, ‘it will be a

sufficient refreshment for me to listen to some entertaining story; for

my mind is not composed enough to let me sleep, even if I stood in need

of repose.’—‘If that be the case,’ resumed the curate, ‘I will read it

out of curiosity, at a venture, and perhaps it will yield us some

entertainment into the bargain.’ Master Nicholas earnestly joined in the

request, and Sancho himself expressed a desire of hearing it; upon which

the licentiate finding he should please the whole company as well as

himself, ‘Well, then,’ said he, ‘listen with attention, for the novel

begins in this manner.’

Footnote 91:

It will appear in the sequel, that the landlord could not read at all;

nevertheless, he might boast of what he could not do.

Footnote 92:

The original, which is _curioso impertinente_, signifies one who is

impertinently curious, not a curious impertinent.

CHAP. VI.

THE NOVEL OF THE IMPERTINENT CURIOSITY.

‘In Florence, a rich and celebrated city of Italy, situated in the

province called Tuscany, lived Anselmo and Lothario, two wealthy and

noble cavaliers, so strictly united in the bands of amity, that every

body who knew them, called them by way of excellence and epithet, the

Two Friends; and, indeed, being both batchelors, and their age and

education so much alike, it was not to be wondered at if a reciprocal

affection sprung up between them; true it is, Anselmo was rather more

addicted to amorous pastime than Lothario, whose chief delight was in

hunting; yet, upon occasion, Anselmo could quit his own amusements to

pursue those of his friend; and Lothario could postpone his favourite

diversion, in order to practise that of Anselmo; in this manner their

inclinations proceeded so mutually, that no clock ever went with more

regularity. Anselmo happened to fall desperately in love with a young

lady of rank and beauty in the same city, descended from such a noble

family, and so amiable in herself, that he determined, with the

approbation of his friend, without which he did nothing, to demand her

of her parents in marriage; and accordingly put his resolution in

practice. Lothario was intrusted with the message, and concluded the

affair so much to the satisfaction of his friends, that in a very little

time Anselmo saw himself in possession of his heart’s desire; and

Camilla thought herself so happy in having obtained such a husband, that

she was incessant in her acknowledgments to Heaven and Lothario, by

whose mediation her happiness was effected.

‘During the first two days after marriage, which are commonly spent in

feasting and mirth, Lothario, as usual, frequented the house of his

friend, with a view of honouring his nuptials, and endeavouring, as much

as in him lay, to promote the joy and festivity attending all such

occasions; but the wedding being over, and the frequency of visits and

congratulations abated, he began carefully and gradually to absent

himself from Anselmo’s house, thinking, as every prudent person would

naturally conclude, that a man ought not to visit and frequent the house

of a friend after he is married, in the same manner as he had practised

while he was single; for, though suspicion should never find harbour

with true and virtuous friendship, yet the honour of a married man is so

delicate, as to be thought subject to injury, not only from a friend,

but even from a brother. Anselmo perceived Lothario’s remissness, and

complained of it loudly; saying, that if he had thought his marriage

would have impaired their former correspondence, he never would have

altered his condition; and begged, that as by the mutual friendship

which inspired them while he was single, they had acquired such an

agreeable title as that of the Two Friends, he would not now suffer that

endearing and celebrated name to be lost, by a scrupulous adherence to

mere form and punctilio. He therefore entreated him, if he might be

allowed to use the expression, to be master of his house, and to come in

and go out as formerly, assuring him that the inclinations of Camilla,

in that respect, were exactly conformable to his own; and that knowing

the perfect friendship which subsisted between them, she was extremely

mortified at his late shyness.

‘To these and many other arguments used by Anselmo, to persuade his

friend to frequent his house as usual, Lothario answered with such

prudence, force, and discernment, that the other was convinced of his

discreet conduct; and it was agreed betwixt them, that Lothario should

dine with him twice a week, besides holidays; but, notwithstanding this

agreement, he resolved to comply with it no farther than he should see

convenient for the honour of Anselmo, which was dearer to him than his

own. He said, and his observation was just, that a man on whom Heaven

hath bestowed a beautiful wife, should be as cautious of the men he

brings home to his house, as careful in observing the female friends

with whom his spouse converses abroad; for that which cannot be

performed nor concerted in the street or the church, or at public shows

and diversions, with which a husband must sometimes indulge his wife,

may be easily transacted in the house of a female friend or relation, in

whom his chief confidence is reposed. Wherefore, Lothario observed, that

every married man had occasion for some friend to apprize him of any

omission in her conduct; for it often happens that he is too much in

love with his wife, to observe, or too much afraid of offending her, to

prescribe limits to her behaviour, in those things, the following or

eschewing of which may tend to his honour or reproach, whereas that

inconvenience might be easily amended by the advice of a friend. But

where shall we find such a zealous, discreet, trusty friend, as is here

required? I really know not, except in Lothario himself, who, consulting

the honour of Anselmo, with the utmost care and circumspection, was at

great pains to contract, abridge, and diminish, the number of the days

on which he had agreed to frequent his house; that the idle vulgar, and

prying eyes of malice, might not indulge their love of slander, when

they perceived a genteel young man of such birth, fortune, and

accomplishments as he knew himself possessed of, go into the house of

such a celebrated beauty as Camilla; for, although his virtue and honour

might be a sufficient check, to the most malevolent tongue, he would not

expose his own character, or that of his friend, to the smallest

censure; and therefore employed the greatest part of those days on which

he had agreed to visit Anselmo, in such things as he pretended were

indispensible; so that when they were present, a great deal of time was

consumed by the complaints of the one, and excuses of the other. One

day, however, as they were walking through a meadow, near the suburbs of

the city, Anselmo addressed himself to Lothario in these terms.

‘“You believe, my friend Lothario, that I can never be thankful enough

to Heaven for the blessings I enjoy, not only in the most indulgent

parents, and in the abundance of those things which are called the goods

of nature and fortune, but also in a friend like you, and a wife like

Camilla, two pledges which I esteem, if not as highly as I ought, at

least as much as I can. Yet, though I possess all those benefits which

usually constitute the happiness of mankind, I find myself one of the

most disgusted and discontented men alive. I have been for these many

days so harrassed and fatigued with such an odd unaccountable desire,

that I cannot help being amazed at my infatuation, for which I often

blame and rebuke myself, endeavouring to suppress and conceal it from my

own reflection; but I find it as impossible to keep the secret, as if I

had industriously published it to the whole world, and since it must

actually be disclosed to somebody, I would have it deposited in the most

secret archives of your heart, in full confidence, that by the diligence

which you as a trusty friend will exert in my behalf, when you know it,

I shall soon see myself delivered from that anxiety to which it hath

reduced me, and by your assiduity be raised to a pitch of joy equal to

the degree of vexation which my own folly hath intailed upon me.”

‘Lothario was astonished at this discourse of Anselmo, as he could not

comprehend the meaning of such a long preface and preamble, and

endeavoured, by revolving every thing in his imagination, to find out

what this desire could be, that preyed so much upon the spirits of his

friend; but, finding himself always wide of the mark, he was willing to

ease himself immediately of the excessive pain his suspence occasioned;

and with this view told Anselmo, that he did a manifest injury to the

warmth of his friendship, in going about the bush, seeking indirect

methods to impart his most secret thoughts, since he was well assured

that he might entirely depend upon him, either for advice to suppress,

or assistance to support them. “I am well convinced of the truth of what

you say,” answered Anselmo, “and in that confidence will tell you, my

friend, that the desire with which I am possessed, is to be certain,

whether or not my wife Camilla is as virtuous and perfect as I believe

her to be; and this truth I shall never be fully persuaded of, until the

perfection of her nature appear upon trial, as pure gold is proved by

fire; for it is my opinion, that there is no woman virtuous, but in

proportion to the solicitation she hath withstood; and that she only is

chaste, who hath not yielded to the promises, presents, tears, and

continual importunities of persevering lovers. And pray where is the

merit of a woman’s being chaste, when nobody ever courted her to be

otherwise? what wonder that she should be reserved and cautious, who has

no opportunity of indulging loose inclinations, and who knows her

husband would immediately put her to death should he once catch her

tripping? Wherefore I can never entertain the same degree of esteem for

a woman who is chaste out of fear, or want of opportunity, as I would

for her who hath triumphed over perseverance of solicitation; so that

for these, and many other reasons I could urge to sanction and enforce

my opinion, I desire that my wife Camilla may undergo the test, and be

refined in the fire of importunate addresses, by one possessed of

sufficient accomplishments to inspire a woman with love; and if she

comes off, as I believe she will, victorious in the trial, I shall think

my own happiness unparalleled. I shall then be able to say that my

wishes are fulfilled, and that she hath fallen to my lot, of whom the

wise man saith, ‘_Who hath found her?_’ And even if the contrary of what

I expect should happen, the satisfaction of seeing my opinion confirmed,

will help me to bear with patience that which would otherwise prove such

a costly experiment. Supposing, then, that nothing you can say, in

opposition to this desire of mine, can avail in diverting me from my

purpose, I expect and entreat that you, my friend Lothario, will

condescend to be the instrument with which I execute this work of my

inclination. I will give you proper opportunities, and supply you with

every thing I see necessary for soliciting a woman of virtue, honour,

and disinterested reserve; and what among other things induces me to

intrust you with this enterprize, is the consideration, that should

Camilla’s scruples be overcome, you will not pursue your conquest to the

last circumstance of rigour, but only suppose that done, which, for good

reason, ought to remain undone; so that I shall be injured by her

inclination alone, and my wrongs lie buried in the virtue of your

silence, which I know, in whatever concerns my welfare, will be eternal

as that of death. Wherefore, if you would have me enjoy what deserves to

be called life, you will forthwith undertake this amorous contest, not

with lukewarmness and languor, but with that eagerness and diligence

which corresponds with my wish, and the confidence in which I am secured

by your friendship.”

‘Such was the discourse of Anselmo; to which Lothario listened so

attentively, that except what he is already said to have uttered, he did

not open his lips, until his friend had finished his proposal: but

finding he had nothing more to alledge, after having for some time gazed

upon him as an object hitherto unseen, that inspired him with

astonishment and surprize, “I cannot be persuaded, Anselmo,” said he,

“but what you have said was spoke in jest; for, had I thought you in

earnest, I should not have suffered you to proceed so far; but, by

refusing to listen, have prevented such a long harangue. Without doubt,

you must either mistake my disposition, or I be utterly unacquainted

with yours; and yet I know you to be Anselmo, and you must be sensible

that I am Lothario; the misfortune is, I no longer find you the same

Anselmo you was wont to be, nor do I appear to you the same Lothario as

before; your discourse favours not of that Anselmo who was my friend,

nor is what you ask a thing to be demanded of that Lothario who shared

your confidence. Good men, as a certain poet observes, may try and avail

themselves of their friends, _usque ad aras_; I mean, not presume upon

their friendship, in things contrary to the decrees of Heaven. Now, if a

heathen entertained such ideas of friendship, how much more should they

be cherished by a Christian, who knows, that no human affection ought to

interfere with our love to God; and, when a person stretches his

connections so far as to lay aside all respect for Heaven, in order to

manifest his regard for a friend, he ought not to be swayed by trifles

or matters of small consequence, but by those things only on which the

life and honour of a friend depend. Tell me then, Anselmo, which of

these is in danger, before I venture to gratify your wish, by complying

with the detestable proposal you have made? Surely, neither; on the

contrary, if I conceive you aright, you are desirous that I should

indefatigably endeavour to deprive you, and myself also, of that very

life and honour which it is my duty to preserve; for if I rob you of

honour, I rob you of life; since a man without honour, is worse than

dead, and I being the instrument, as you desire I should be, that

entails such a curse upon you, shall not I be dishonoured, and of

consequence dead to all enjoyment and fame. Listen with patience, my

friend Anselmo, and make no answer until I shall have done with

imparting the suggestions of my mind, concerning the strange proposal

you have made; for there will be time enough for you to reply, and me to

listen in my turn.”—“With all my heart,” cried Anselmo; “you may speak

as long as you please.”

‘Accordingly, Lothario proceeded, saying, “In my opinion, Anselmo, your

disposition is at present like that of the Moors, who will not suffer

themselves to be convicted of the errors of their sect, by quotations

from the Holy Scripture, nor with arguments founded on speculation, or

the articles of faith; but must be confuted or convinced by examples

that are palpable, easy, familiar, and subject to the certainty of

mathematical demonstration; for instance, if from equal parts, we take

equal parts, those that remain are equal. And if they do not understand

this proposition verbally, as is frequently the case, it must be

explained and set before their eyes by manual operation, which is also

insufficient to persuade them of the truth of our holy religion. The

self-same method must I practise with you, whole desire deviates so far

from every thing that bears the least shadow of reason, that I should

look upon it as time misspent, to endeavour to convince you of your

folly, which is the only name your intention seems to deserve. Nay, I am

even tempted to leave you in your extravagancy, as a punishment for your

preposterous desire; but I am prevented from using such rigour by my

friendship, which will not permit me to desert you in such manifest

danger of perdition. But, to make this affair still more plain, tell me,

Anselmo, did not you desire me to solicit one that was reserved, seduce

one that was chaste, make presents to one that was disinterested, and

assiduously court one that was wise? Yes, such was your demand. If you

are apprized, then, of the reserve, virtue, disinterestedness, and

prudence of your wife, pray what is your aim? If you believe that she

will triumph over all my assaults, as undoubtedly she will, what fairer

titles can you bestow upon her, than those she possesses already? or how

will she be more perfect after that trial, than she is at present? You

either do not believe she is so virtuous as you have represented her, or

know not the nature of your demand. If you think she is not so chaste as

you have described her, you should not hazard the trial; but rather,

according to the dictates of your own prudence, treat her as a vicious

woman: if you are satisfied of her virtue, it would be altogether

impertinent to make trial of that truth, which, from the test, can

acquire no additional esteem. From whence we may reasonably conclude,

that for men to execute designs which are clearly productive of more

hurt than benefit, is the province of madness and temerity; especially,

when they are not incited or compelled to these designs by any sort of

consideration; but, on the contrary, may at a greater distance perceive

the manifest madness of their intention. Difficulties are undertaken,

either for the sake of God, of this world, or of both. The first are

incurred by holy men, who live the life of angels here on earth; the

second, by those who traverse the boundless ocean, visiting such a

diversity of climates and nations, with a view of acquiring what are

called the goods of fortune; and such undertakings as equally regard God

and man, fall to the share of those valiant soldiers, who no sooner

behold, in the wall of an adverse city, a breach, though no bigger than

that which is made by a single cannon ball, than laying aside all fear,

and overlooking with unconcern the manifest danger that menaces them,

winged with desire of signalizing their valour in behalf of their king,

country, and religion, throw themselves, with the utmost intrepidity,

into the midst of a thousand deaths that oppose and await them. These

are the enterprizes which are generally undertaken, and though full of

peril and inconvenience, attended with glory, honour, and advantage; but

that which you have planned, and purpose to put in execution, neither

tends to your acquiring the approbation of God, the goods of fortune,

nor the applause of mankind; for, granting that the experiment should

succeed to your wish, it will make you neither more happy, rich, or

respected than you are; and should it turn out contrary to your

expectation, you will find yourself the most miserable of all mortals.

It will then give you little ease to reflect, that your misfortune is

unknown; for, the bare knowing it yourself, will be sufficient to plunge

you in affliction and despair. As a confirmation of this truth, you must

give me leave to repeat the following stanza, written by the celebrated

poet Lewis Tansilo, at the end of the first part of the tears of St.

Peter.

‘“When Peter saw the approach of rosy morn,

His soul with sorrow and remorse was torn;

For, though from ev’ry mortal eye conceal’d,

The guilt to his own bosom stood reveal’d:

The candid breast will self-accusing, own

Each conscious fault, though to the world unknown,

Nor will th’ offender ’scape internal shame,

Tho’ unimpeach’d by justice or by fame.”

‘“Wherefore, secresy will never assuage your grief; but, on the

contrary, you will incessantly weep, not tears from your eyes, but drops

of blood from your heart, like that simple doctor, whom our poet

mentions[93], who made trial of the vessel, which the prudent Rinaldo,

with more discretion, refused to touch; and although this be a poetical

fiction, it nevertheless contains a well couched moral, worthy of

notice, study and imitation; especially, as what I am going to say,

will, I hope, bring you to a due sense of the great error you want to

commit.

‘“Tell me, Anselmo, if Heaven or good fortune had made you master and

lawful possessor of an exquisite diamond, the brilliancy of which was

admired by all the lapidaries who had seen it, and unanimously allowed

to be the most perfect of its kind; an opinion, which, as you knew

nothing to the contrary, was exactly conformable to your own; would it

be wise or pardonable in you, to put that jewel betwixt an anvil and a

hammer, and by mere dint of blows and strength of arm, try if it was as

hard and perfect as it had been pronounced? for, supposing that the

diamond should resist the force of this foolish experiment, it would

thereby acquire no addition of value or fame; and, if it should be broke

to pieces, a thing that might easily happen, would not all be lost? Yes,

for certain; and the owner be universally deemed a fool. Consider, then,

my friend, that Camilla is an exquisite diamond, not only in your

estimation, but in that of every one who knows her; and it would be

highly unreasonable to expose her to the least possibility of being

broke; for, even should she remain intire, her reputation will receive

no increase; but, should she fail in the trial, reflect upon what you

must feel, and the reason you will then have to complain of yourself,

for having been the fatal cause of her perdition and your own despair.

Consider, that no jewel upon earth is comparable to a woman of virtue

and honour; and, that the honour of the sex consists in the fair

characters they maintain. Since, therefore, the reputation of your wife

is already as high as it possibly can be, why would you bring this truth

into question? Remember, my friend, that woman is an imperfect creature;

and that, far from laying blocks in her way, over which she might

stumble and fall, we ought to remove them with care, and clear her paths

from all obstructions, that she may, without trouble, proceed smoothly,

in attaining to that perfection which she may still want, namely,

immaculate virtue. We are informed by naturalists, that the ermin is a

little animal, covered with a furr of excessive whiteness, and that the

hunters use this artifice to catch it: being well acquainted with the

places through which it chuses to pass in its flight, they daub them all

over with mud, and as soon as they get sight of the creature, drive it

directly thither. The ermin finding himself thus barricadoed, stands

still, and is taken; chusing captivity, rather than, by passing through

the filth, to stain and sully the whiteness of its furr, which it prizes

above liberty, and even life itself. A chaste and virtuous wife is like

the ermin, her character being more pure and white than drifted snow;

but he, who would guard and preserve it, must use a method quite

different from that which is practised upon the little animal, and

beware of clogging her way with the mud of entertainments, and the

addresses of importunate lovers; lest, perhaps, (nay, without a perhaps)

she should not possess such virtue and resolution as are sufficient of

themselves to surmount those obstructions. It is therefore necessary to

remove them, and place before her the purity of virtue, and the beauty

of an unblemished reputation. A virtuous woman also resembles a bright

transparent mirror, which is liable to be stained and obscured by the

breath of those who approach too near it. A virtuous woman, like

relicks, ought to be adored at a distance. She ought to be preserved and

esteemed as a beautiful garden, full of flowers and roses, the owner of

which will suffer nobody to handle them or pass through it, permitting

them only to enjoy its fragrance and beauty afar off, through the iron

rails that surround it. In fine, I will repeat a few verses that I just

now recollect, from a modern comedy, because they seem to have been

composed upon the very subject of our present discourse. A sage old man

advising his friend, who is blessed with a handsome daughter, to lock

her up, and watch over her with the utmost vigilance and care, among

other reasons, cautions him with these—

I.

“Woman is form’d of brittle ware;

Then, wherefore rashly seek to know

What force, unbroken, she will bear,

And strike, perhaps, some fatal blow.

II.

“Though easily to fragments tore,

’Twere equally absurd and vain,

To dash in pieces on the floor,

What never can be join’d again.

III.

“This maxim, then, by facts assur’d,

Should henceforth be espous’d by all;

Where’er a Danæ lies immur’d,

The tempting show’r of gold will fall.”

‘“All that I have hitherto suggested, Anselmo, regards yourself; and now

it is but reasonable you should hear something that concerns me; and if

I should be prolix in my observations, you must excuse me, because it is

absolutely necessary to expatiate on the subject, in order to extricate

you from the labyrinth in which you are involved, and from which you

desire to be disengaged by my assistance. You consider me as a friend,

and yet seek to deprive me of my honour; a desire opposite to all

friendship or regard; nay, even endeavour to make me rob you of your

own. That you want to destroy mine, is plain; for Camilla, finding

herself exposed to my solicitations, as you desire, will certainly look

upon me as a man void of all principle and honour; because I attempt to

succeed in a design so contrary to the dignity of my own character, and

the friendship subsisting between us. That you desire I should rob you

of yours, is not to be doubted; because, Camilla, seeing herself

importuned by my addresses, will think I must have observed some levity

in her conduct, which hath encouraged me to disclose my vicious

inclinations, and think herself dishonoured accordingly; so that you

will be as much concerned in her dishonour, as if it was your own. Hence

springs the common observation, that the husband of a lewd woman, though

he neither knows, nor hath given the least occasion for the misconduct

of his wife, and though his misfortune was neither owing to his want of

prudence or care, is, notwithstanding, pointed at, and distinguished by

a name of scandal and reproach; being looked upon, by those who know the

frailty of his wife, with an eye of disdain, instead of compassion,

which he certainly deserves, as his disgrace proceeds not from any fault

of his, but from the loose inclinations of his worthless spouse. I will

now explain the reason, why the husband of a bad woman is justly

dishonoured, though he neither knows, nor hath been in any shape

accessary to her backslidings; and you must hear me with patience,

because my remarks will, I hope, redound to your own advantage.

‘“When God created our first parent in the terrestrial paradise, we are

told, by the holy Scripture, that he was thrown into a deep sleep,

during which, the Almighty took a rib from his left side, and of this

Eve being formed, Adam no sooner awoke and beheld her, than he cried,

‘_This creature is flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone._’ Nay, God

himself pronounced, ‘_For this shall a man leave father and mother, and

they two shall be one flesh._’ Then was instituted the divine sacrament

of marriage, consisting of such ties as death alone can unbind; and

endowed with such miraculous virtue and power, as to unite two different

persons in one flesh; nay, what is still more wonderful, to combine two

souls, so as to produce but one will; provided the union be happily

effected. From hence it follows, that the flesh of the wife being the

same with that of the husband, whatever stains or blemishes are imbibed

by the first, must equally affect the other, although, as I have already

observed, he is in no manner accessary to the misfortune. Wherefore, as

the whole person is affected by the pain of the foot or any other member

of the human body; and the head, though no way concerned in the cause,

be a fellow-sufferer with the ancle when it is hurt; by the same rule,

an husband, being a part of the same whole, must bear a share of his

wife’s dishonour; for, as all the honours and disgraces of this life

proceed from flesh and blood; the infamy of a vicious woman, being of

the same origin, must be shared by her husband, who ought to be looked

upon as a dishonoured person, though he be utterly ignorant of the

guilt. Reflect, therefore, Anselmo, on the danger into which you bring

yourself, by seeking to disturb the peace and tranquillity of your

virtuous wife. Reflect upon the vanity and impertinence of that

curiosity, which prompts you to awaken and stir up those humours, that

now lie tamed and quiet in the bosom of your chaste spouse. Consider,

that in this rash adventure, your gain must be very small, but your loss

may be so great, that I leave it unmentioned, because I want words to

express its estimation. On the whole, if what I have said be

insufficient to divert you from your mischievous design, I desire you

will chuse some other instrument of your misfortune and disgrace; for I

will not undertake the office, though, by my refusal, I should even lose

your friendship, which is dearer to me than any thing upon earth.”

‘Here the virtuous and prudent Lothario left off speaking, and Anselmo

remained in such confusion and perplexity, that, for some time, he could

not answer one word; at length, however, he broke silence, saying, “I

have listened, my friend Lothario, as you may have perceived, with great

attention to all you had to say, and by your arguments, examples, and

comparisons, am fully convinced, not only of your great discretion, but

also of that perfection of friendship to which you have attained: I see

also, and own, that in refusing your counsel, and following my own, I

avoid the good and pursue the evil. This truth being acknowledged, you

must consider me as a person afflicted with that infirmity, which

induces some women to swallow earth, chalk, coals, and other things of a

worse nature, which, if loathsome to the sight, how much more

disagreeable must they be to the taste. Wherefore, there is an absolute

necessity for using some method of cure, which you may easily effect, by

beginning to solicit the love of Camilla, though coldly and feignedly;

and, sure, she cannot be so frail as to surrender her virtue at the

first encounter. With this slight attempt I shall rest satisfied, and

you fulfil the duty of friendship, not only in giving me new life, but

also in dissuading me from being the cause of my own dishonour. Nay, you

are obliged to comply with my request, by this other consideration,

that, determined as I am to put my design in execution, you ought not to

allow me to communicate this extravagant resolution to any other person,

lest I run the risk of losing that honour which you endeavour to

preserve; and, as to your suffering in the opinion of Camilla, by

attempting to seduce her, that is a reflection of small importance,

because, when her integrity is proved, you can soon inform her of our

whole contrivance; consequently, regain and repossess the former place

you held in her esteem. Since, therefore, by adventuring so little, it

is in your power to give me so much satisfaction; I hope, you will not

refuse the office, even if it was attended with more inconvenience; for,

I have already told you, that I shall look upon the affair as concluded,

whenever you shall have made the first attempt.”

‘Lothario seeing him fixed in his resolution, even after he had

exhausted all his rhetorick to dissuade him from it; and fearing he

would execute his threat of imparting his unhappy design to some other

person, determined to prevent a greater misfortune, by complying with

his desire; purposing, however, to manage the business in such a manner,

as to satisfy Anselmo, without altering the sentiment of his wife. With

this view, he told Anselmo that he should have no occasion to

communicate his intention to any other man; for he, Lothario, would

undertake the affair, and begin when he pleased. Anselmo, embracing his

friend with great tenderness and affection, thanked him as much for his

compliance, as if he had granted him some vast favour; and it was

concerted between them, that Lothario should begin the enterprize the

very next day, when Anselmo would give him time and opportunity of being

alone with Camilla, that he might speak to her with freedom; and also

supply him with money and jewels, that with such presents he might

promote his suit; he, moreover, advised, him to attempt her by musick,

and write verses in her praise; or, if that would be too much trouble

for the gallant, he himself would compose them for the purpose. Lothario

undertook every thing, but with a very different intention from what

Anselmo supposed; and the agreement being made, they returned to the

house of this last, where they found Camilla waiting with great anxiety,

for her husband, who had that day tarried longer than usual abroad.

Lothario soon after went home to his own lodgings, leaving his friend as

happy as himself was perplexed how to contrive a scheme for bringing

this affair to a fortunate issue; but that night he fell upon an

expedient to deceive Anselmo, without giving offence to his wife.

‘Next day he went to dine with his friend, and was very kindly received

by Camilla, who entertained him with great cordiality, as her husband’s

intimate companion. Dinner being ended, and the table withdrawn, Anselmo

rising up, desired Lothario to stay with Camilla till his return from an

indispensable piece of business, that would detain him an hour and a

half. Camilla intreated him to defer it until another time, and Lothario

offered to go along with him; but he was deaf to both, pressing Lothario

to let him go, while he should wait at his house till he came back, for

he wanted to talk with him upon a subject of the last importance; at the

same time, desiring Camilla to keep Lothario company till his return; in

short, he so well feigned the necessity, or rather folly of his absence,

that nobody could have suspected the deceit. He accordingly went out,

and left Camilla and his friend by themselves, for the rest of the

family had gone to dinner; so that Lothario seeing himself within the

lists, according to Anselmo’s desire, with his fair enemy, whose beauty

alone was powerful enough to overcome a whole squadron of armed knights,

it may be easily conceived what reason he had to fear, yet all he did

was to lean his head on his hand, while his elbow rested upon the arm of

the chair in which he sat, and after having begged pardon for his

ill-manners, to tell Camilla he would take a nap till Anselmo’s return.

She said he would be more at his ease in a couch than in the chair, and

advised him to walk into a chamber where he would find one. This offer,

however, he declined, and slept where he was till the return of his

friend, who finding Camilla in her own apartment, and Lothario asleep,

concluded that by his long stay he had given them time not only to

speak, but also to take their repose, and was impatient for Lothario’s

waking, that he might carry him out to walk, and enquire about his own

fortune.

‘Every thing succeeded to his wish; when his friend awoke, they went

forth together, and he put every question to him that his curiosity

suggested. Lothario answered, that thinking it improper to explain

himself on the first occasion, he had done nothing but praised Camilla’s

beauty, which, together with her discretion, he told her engrossed the

conversation of the whole city; this he imagined was the most prudent

beginning, as it might prepossess her in his favour, and dispose her to

listen to him another time with pleasure; being the same artifice which

is practised by the devil, who, when he would seduce those who are on

their guard, transforms himself from an imp of darkness into an angel of

light, and flattering them with specious appearances, at length

discovers his cloven foot, and succeeds in his design, provided his

deceit be not detected in the beginning. This declaration was altogether

satisfactory to Anselmo, who said he would give him the same opportunity

every day, without quitting the house, in which he would employ himself

so artfully, that Camilla should never suspect his design. Many days

passed, in which, though Lothario never opened his mouth on the subject

to Camilla, he told Anselmo that he had made many efforts, but could

never perceive in her the least tendency to weakness, or obtain the

least shadow of hope; on the contrary, that she had threatened, if he

did not lay aside the wicked design, to disclose the whole affair to her

husband. “Very well,” said Anselmo, “hitherto she is proof against

words, we must now try whether or not she can resist works also.

Tomorrow you shall have two thousand crowns in gold, for a present to

her; and as much more to purchase jewels, for a bait; these are things

with which all beautiful women are captivated; for, be they ever so

chaste, they love finery and gay apparel, if she withstands that

temptation, I will rest satisfied and give you no farther trouble.”

‘Lothario promised to go through with the enterprize, now that he had

begun, though he was persuaded he should be fatigued and baffled in the

execution. Next day he received four thousand crowns, and as many

perplexities along with them; for he did not know what lye he should

next invent; however, he determined to tell his friend, that Camilla was

as invincible to presents as to words, and that he should give himself

no farther vexation, since all his endeavours were thrown away to no

purpose: but fortune, which conduced matters in another manner, ordained

that Anselmo, one day, after having, according to custom, left Lothario

and his wife by themselves, and gone to his own chamber, should peep

through the key-hole, and listen to their conversation, it was then he

perceived, that in half an hour and more, Lothario did not speak one

word, neither would he have opened his mouth, had he remained a whole

age in the same situation. From hence he concluded, that every thing his

friend had told him of Camilla’s replies, was mere fiction; but, to be

still more assured, he came out of his chamber, and calling Lothario

aside, asked what news he had, and how Camilla stood affected to him? He

replied, that he was resolved to drop the business entirely, for she had

checked him with such bitterness and indignation, that he had no mind to

return to the charge. “Ah, Lothario! Lothario!” said Anselmo, “how much

you have failed in the duty of friendship, and abused the confidence I

have reposed in your affection! I have been all this time looking

through the key-hole of that door, and perceived that you have not

spoken one word to Camilla, from whence I suspect that your first

declaration is yet to come; and if that be the case, as without doubt it

is, wherefore have you thus deceived me; and in so doing, prevented me

from other means to satisfy my desire?” He said no more, but this was

sufficient to cover Lothario with shame and confusion; who, thinking his

honour concerned in being convicted of a lye, swore to Anselmo, he would

from that moment take the charge of giving him the satisfaction he

required, without the least equivocation, as he might perceive by

watching him narrowly; though there would be no occasion for using such

diligence, because his future behaviour in that affair would acquit him

of all suspicion.

‘Anselmo gave credit to his protestation; and, that his opportunities

might be more secure, and less subject to interruption, resolved to

absent himself from his own house for eight days, during which he

proposed to visit a friend who lived in a village not far from the city;

and whom he desired to invite him to his house with the most earnest

intreaties, that he might excuse himself to Camilla for his absence.

Unfortunate and imprudent Anselmo! what art thou doing? what art thou

contriving and concerting? Consider that thou art acting against

thyself, planning thy own dishonour and perdition. Your wife Camilla is

virtuous and sober, and you possess her at present in quiet, enjoying

uninterrupted pleasure; her inclinations never ramble beyond the walls

of your own house; you are her paradise upon earth, the goal of her

desires, the accomplishment of her wishes, and the standard by which she

measures her will, adjusting it in all respects according to your

pleasure and the directions of Heaven. Since the mine of her honour,

beauty, modesty, and virtue, yields thee, without trouble, all the

riches which it contains, or thou canst desire; why wouldst thou, by

digging in search of a new and unheard-of treasure, risk the fall or

destruction of the whole, which is sustained by the feeble props of

female constancy? Remember it is but just, that he who builds on

impossibilities should be denied the privilege of any other foundation;

as the poet hath better expressed it in the following couplets—

‘“In death I sought new life to find,

And health, where pale distemper pin’d:

I look’d for freedom in the gaol,

And faith, where perjuries prevail;

But Fate supreme, whose stern decree

To sorrow match’d my destiny,

All possible relief withdrew,

Because th’impossible I kept in view.”

‘Next day Anselmo went to the country, after having told Camilla, that

in his absence Lothario would take charge of the family, and dine with

her every day; he therefore desired her to treat him with all the

respect due to his own person. Camilla, being a woman of honour and

discretion, was disgusted at this order, and bade him consider how

unseemly it was for another man to sit at the head of his table in his

absence; at the same time begging, that if his directions proceeded from

his diffidence in her capacity, he would for once put her management to

the trial, and be convinced by experience, that she was equal to a more

important charge. Anselmo replied, that such was his pleasure, and her

province was to bow the head and obey; upon which, she, though

unwillingly, submitted. Next day he set out accordingly, and Lothario

went to his house, where he met with a very kind and honourable

reception from Camilla, who never gave him an opportunity of being alone

with her, but was always surrounded by her servants, generally attended

by her own maid, whose name was Leonela, for whom her mistress had a

particular affection, because they had been brought up together from

their infancy, in the house of Camilla’s parents; and when she married

Anselmo, she accompanied her to his house in quality of waiting-woman.

‘During the first three days Lothario did not declare himself, although

he had opportunities immediately after the table was uncovered, while

the servants were at dinner, which Camilla always ordered them to finish

with all expedition. Nay, she gave directions to Leonela, to dine every

day before the cloth was laid for herself, that she might always be in

waiting; but her maid’s thoughts were too much engrossed by her own

amusements, the enjoyment of which required such time and opportunity,

as often hindered her from obeying the commands of her mistress, so that

she frequently behaved as if she had received orders to leave them

alone; but the dignified presence of Camilla, the gravity of her

countenance, and awfulness of person, were such as effectually bridled

Lothario’s tongue: yet the energy of virtue, in having this very effect,

redounded the more to the disadvantage of them both; for, though his

tongue was restricted, his thoughts had a full and free opportunity of

contemplating at leisure the charms both of her mind and person, which

were sufficient to captivate not only an heart of flesh, but even a

statue of stone.

‘Lothario, by gazing at her during those opportunities, beheld how

worthy she was to be beloved; and this conviction began gradually to sap

his regard for his friend, so that he made a thousand resolutions to

quit the city, and go where he should never more be seen by Anselmo, or

be exposed to danger from the beauty of his wife; but all these were

baffled by the pleasure he had already felt, in seeing and admiring her

charms; he constrained himself, and combated his own inclinations, in

order to expel and efface that satisfaction: when he was alone he

condemned his own madness, and reproached himself as a false friend and

worthless Christian; he made a thousand reflections and comparisons

between himself and Anselmo; and they all terminated in this conclusion,

that the madness and rash confidence of his friend greatly exceeded his

own infidelity, and that if he could excuse himself to Heaven, for what

he intended to do, as easily as to mankind, he had no reason to dread

any punishment for the crime. In short, the beauty and other

accomplishments of Camilla, together with the opportunity which the

ignorant husband put into his hands, entirely overthrew the integrity of

Lothario; who, giving way at once to the dictates of his passion, began

at the end of three days, during which he had been at continual war with

his desires, to address himself to Camilla with such disorder and

amorous discourse, that she was utterly astonished, and rising up went

to her own chamber without answering one word. But this coyness did not

abate Lothario’s hope, which always increases with a man’s love; on the

contrary, he redoubled his efforts: while she, perceiving him behave so

wide of expectation, did not well know what conduct to espouse; but,

thinking it would be both unseemly and unsafe in her, to grant him

another opportunity, she determined that very night to send a message to

her husband, and actually dispatched a servant to him with the following

letter.

Footnote 93:

Ludovico Ariosto, author of Orlando Furioso, to which poem Cervantes

frequently alludes. Here, however, he seems to have forgot the passage

he meant to cite; for the person who proffered the cup to Rinaldo, was

no doctor. In Canto 43, of the Orlando Furioso, mention is made,

indeed, of one Anselmo, who was a Doctor of Law, but not at all

concerned in the inchanted cup: yet it must be owned, that Dr. Anselmo

had recourse to an astrologer, in order to know whether his wife

preserved her chastity in his absence.

CHAP. VII.

THE CONTINUATION OF THE NOVEL CALLED THE IMPERTINENT CURIOSITY.

‘“It is a common observation, that an army without a general, and a

garrison without a chief, make but a very indifferent appearance; but I

say, that a young married woman without a husband makes a worse,

especially when his absence is not the effect of absolute necessity; for

my own part, I find myself so uneasy, and unable to support our

separation, that if you do not return immediately, I must go and pass my

time at my father’s house, though I should leave yours without a guard;

for I believe he that you left, if he was designed for that purpose,

hath more regard to his own pleasure than to your advantage; and since

you are wise, I have nothing more to say, nor is it proper I should.”

‘When Anselmo received this letter, he was convinced that Lothario had

began the enterprize, and that his wife had behaved according to his

wish; rejoiced beyond measure at this information, he answered by a

verbal message, that she should by no means leave the house, for he

would return in a very little time. Camilla was astonished at this

reply, which perplexed her more than ever, as she durst neither stay in

her own house, nor go to her father’s; for, in staying at home, she

endangered her honour, and in going to her parents she transgressed the

commands of her husband. In fine, she resolved upon that which was worst

of all, namely to remain where she was, determined not to avoid

Lothario, that the servants might not observe her situation; and she was

already sorry for what she had written to Anselmo, being afraid he would

imagine Lothario had perceived some levity in her conduct, which

encouraged him to lay aside the decorum he ought to have preserved.

Confident of her own virtue, she trusted to God and her conscious

prudence, by the help of which she thought she could in silence refill

all the felicitations of Lothario, without giving her husband any

farther information, lest it should involve him in some trouble or

dangerous dispute; nay, she was even industrious in inventing some

excuse for Lothario, in case Anselmo should ask the reason that induced

her to write such a letter.

‘With these sentiments, which were more honourable than prudent and

advantageous, she next day sat listening to Lothario, who exerted

himself in such a manner, as to shake her fortitude, which, with all her

virtue, was barely sufficient to hinder her eyes from giving manifest

indications of the amorous compassion that his tears and addresses had

awakened in her breast. All this tenderness, which Lothario observed,

inflamed his passion the more; and thinking there was a necessity for

shortening the siege, while this opportunity of Anselmo’s absence

lasted, he assaulted her pride with the praises of her beauty; for

nothing sooner succeeds in overthrowing the embattled towers of female

vanity, than vanity itself, employed by the tongue of adulation: in

short, he so assiduously undermined the fortress of her virtue, and

plied it with such irresistible engines, that though she had been made

of brass, she must have surrendered at mercy. He wept, intreated,

promised, flattered, feigned, and importuned, with such earnest

expressions of love, as conquered all her reserve; at last he obtained a

compleat triumph, which, though what he least expected, was what of all

things he most ardently desired; she yielded—the chaste Camilla yielded!

But what wonder? since even Lothario’s friendship gave way: a clear and

incontestible proof, that love is to be conquered by flight alone; and

that no person whatever ought to engage such a powerful adversary, hand

to hand, because nothing but force divine can subdue that human power.

‘Leonela alone was privy to the weakness of her mistress, which the two

new lovers and false friends could not possibly conceal from her

knowledge; and Lothario did not chuse to tell Camilla the contrivance of

Anselmo, who had given him the opportunity of accomplishing his design;

that she might not undervalue his love, by supposing that he courted her

by accident, without being at first really enamoured of her charms.

Anselmo returning in a few days, did not perceive the loss of that,

which, though he preserved with the least care, he prized above all

other possessions; but going in quest of Lothario, whom he found in his

own lodging, after a mutual embrace, he desired he would tell him the

news that must determine his life or death. “The news which I have to

give you, my friend,” said Lothario, “are these; you have a wife who

truly deserves to be the pattern and queen of all good women. The

expressions I used to her were spent in the air, my promises were

despised, my presents rejected, and some tears that I feigned, most

heartily ridiculed; in short, Camilla is the sum of all beauty, and the

casket in which are deposited honour, affability, modesty, and all the

qualifications that dignify and adorn a woman of virtue. Here, take back

your money, which I have had no occasion to use: the chastity of your

spouse is not to be shaken by such mean considerations as those of

promises and presents; be satisfied, Anselmo, and make no more

unprofitable trials; since you have dry-shod crossed the sea of those

doubts and suspicions which are and may be entertained of women, seek

not to plunge yourself anew into the dangerous gulf of fresh

difficulties, by using another pilot to make a second trial of the

strength and tightness of the vessel which you have received from Heaven

to perform the voyage of this life, but consider yourself as in a safe

harbour, where you ought to secure yourself with the anchor of sound

reflection, and remain until you are called upon to pay that tax from

which no human rank can exempt you.”

‘Anselmo was infinitely rejoiced at this information of Lothario, which

he believed as implicitly as if it had been pronounced by an oracle;

but, nevertheless, he besought him to continue his addresses, merely for

curiosity and amusement, though not with the same eagerness and

diligence which he had used before; he desired him to write verses in

praise of Camilla, under the name of Chloris, promising to tell his

wife, that he, Lothario, was in love with a lady whom he celebrated

under that fictitious name, in order to preserve the decorum due to her

character; and he assured him, that if Lothario did not chuse to take

the trouble of making verses, he himself would compose them for the

occasion. “You shall not need,” said Lothario; “the muses are not quite

so averse, but they visit me sometimes: you may tell Camilla what you

have mentioned, concerning my pretended love; and as for the verses, if

not adequate to the subject, they shall at all events be the best I can

make.”

‘This agreement being concerted between the impertinent husband and

treacherous friend, Anselmo returned to his own house, and asked

Camilla, what she wondered he had not mentioned before; namely, the

meaning of that letter which she had dispatched to him in the country.

She answered, that she then fancied Lothario looked at her with more

freedom than he used to take when Anselmo was at home: but now she was

undeceived, and convinced of it’s being no more than mere imagination,

for he had of late avoided all occasions of being alone with her.

Anselmo said she might make herself entirely easy, from that quarter;

for he knew that Lothario was in love with a lady of fashion in the

city, whom he celebrated under the name of Chloris; and even, if he was

free of any such engagements, there was nothing to be feared from the

honour of Lothario, and the friendship subsisting between them. If

Camilla had not been previously advertised by her secret gallant, of

this supposed love of Chloris, with which he intended to hoodwink her

husband, that he might sometimes indulge himself in her own praise,

under the cover of that name, she would, without doubt, have been

distracted with jealousy; but thus instructed, she heard him without

surprize or concern.

‘Next day, while they were at dinner, Anselmo intreated his friend to

repeat some of the verses he had composed in praise of Chloris, who

being utterly unknown to Camilla, he might securely say what he pleased.

“Tho’ she were of her acquaintance,” answered Lothario, “I should not

think myself bound to conceal my passion; for, when a lover praises the

beauty, and at the same time bewails the cruelty of his mistress, her

reputation can suffer no prejudice; but, be that as it will, I own, I

yesterday wrote a song on the ingratitude of Chloris, which you shall

hear.

I.

“When night extends her silent reign,

”And sleep vouchsafes the world to bless,

“To Heav’n and Chloris I complain

”Of dire and affluent distress.

II.

“When Phœbus, led by rosy morn,

”At first, his radiant visage shews,

“With tears, and sighs, and groans forlorn,

”My soul the bitter plaint renews.

III.

“When from his bright meridian throne,

”The dazzling rays descend amain,

“With aggravated grief I moan,

”And night brings back the woeful strain,

“Thus, to my vows and pray’rs, I find,

”My Chloris deaf, and Heav’n unkind.“

‘The song was approved by Camilla, and much more so by her husband, who

applauded it to the skies, and observed that the lady must be

excessively cruel, who could resist such a true and pathetick complaint.

“What!” said Camilla, “is every thing true that we are told by the poets

when they are in love?”—“What they rehearse as poets,” answered

Lothario, “is not always truth; but what they affirm as lovers, is

always from the heart.”—“You are certainly in the right,” replied

Anselmo, with a view of supporting and giving sanction to Lothario’s

sentiments, in the opinion of Camilla, whose indifference about her

husband’s artifice was now equal to her love for his pretended friend.

Pleased therefore with his performances, because she very well knew that

his inclinations and compositions were inspired by, and addressed to

her, who was the true Chloris, she desired him, if he had any more songs

or verses, to repeat them. “I have another,” said Lothario, “but I

believe it is not so good; or, rather, it is less tolerable than the

last. However, you shall judge for yourself; here it is.”

I.

“Yes, cruel maid! I welcome death,

”And tho’ I perish undeplor’d,

“Thy beauty with my latest breath,

”Shall be applauded and ador’d.

II.

“Tho’ lost in dark oblivion’s shade,

”Bereft of favour, life, and fame,

“My faithful heart, when open laid,

”Will shew thine image and thy name.

III.

“These reliques I preserve with care,

”My comfort in disastrous fate;

“For, steel’d and whetted by despair,

”My love new force acquires from hate.

“Unhappy those! who, darkling, sail

”Where stars, and ports, and pilots sail.“

‘This song was commended as much as the first, by Anselmo, who in this

manner added link to link of the chain with which he enslaved himself,

and secured his own dishonour: for then Lothario disgraced him most,

when he thought himself most honoured, and every step that Camilla

descended towards the very center of contempt, she, in the opinion of

her husband, mounted to the very summit of virtuous reputation. About

this time, happening to be alone with her maid, “I am ashamed, dear

Leonela,” said she, “when I consider how I have undervalued myself; for

I ought to have made Lothario employ a great deal of time in purchasing

the entire possession of my favours, which I so willingly surrendered at

once; and I am afraid that he will look upon my sudden yielding as the

effect of levity, without reflecting upon the violence of his own

addresses, which it was impossible to resist.”—“Let not that give you

the least disturbance, Madam,” answered Leonela, “for there is no reason

why a thing should lose its estimation, by being freely given, if it is

actually good in its kind and worthy of esteem; nay, it is a common

saying, That he who gives freely, gives twice.”—“There is also another

common observation,” replied Camilla, “That which is easily got is

little valued.”—“You are not at all affected by that observation,”

resumed Leonela, “for love, they say, sometimes flies, sometimes walks,

runs with one, creeps with another, warms a third, burns a fourth,

wounding some, and slaying others. In one moment it begins, performs,

and concludes its career; lays siege in the morning to a fortress, which

is surrendered before night, there being no fortress that can withstand

its power. This being the case, what cause have you to be alarmed or

afraid? This was the power that assisted Lothario, by making use of my

master’s absence, as the instrument of his success; and what love had

determined, must of necessity have been concluded during that period,

before Anselmo could, by his return, prevent the perfection of the work.

Opportunity is the best minister for executing the designs of love; and

is employed in all his undertakings, especially in the beginning of

them. This I know to be true, more by experience than hearsay; and I

shall one day tell you, Madam, that I am a girl of flesh and blood, as

well as your ladyship. Besides, your ladyship did not yield until you

had discerned in the looks, sighs, protestations, promises, and presents

of Lothario, his whole soul undisguised, and adorned with such virtues

as rendered him worthy of your love. Let not, therefore, these

scrupulous and whining reflections harrass your imagination; but assure

yourself, that Lothario’s love and yours are mutual: so that you may

think yourself extremely happy, in being caught in the amorous snare by

a man of worth and honour, who not only possesses the four qualities

beginning with S[94], which ought to be the case of all true lovers, but

also a whole alphabet of accomplishments. Listen, and you shall hear how

cleverly I will recount them. He is, in my simple opinion, amiable,

benevolent, courageous, diverting, enamoured, firm, gay, honourable,

illustrious, loyal, mettlesome, noble, obedient, princely, qualified,

rich, and the S. S. as I have already observed. Then, he is trusty,

vigilant; the X does not suit him, because it is a harsh letter; Y

stands for youth, and Z for zeal, in his attachment to you.”

‘Camilla laughed at the alphabet of her maid, whom she found more

knowing in the affairs of love than she pretended to be; and this

knowledge indeed she confessed, disclosing to her mistress an intrigue

that she carried on with a young man of a good family in town. Camilla

was disturbed at this information, fearing that her honour ran some risk

from their correspondence; and when she pressed her to confess, whether

or not it had been brought to the last extremity, she, without the least

symptom of shame, answered in the affirmative; for, it is very certain,

that the failings of mistresses divest their servants of all modesty;

because, seeing their ladies trip, they think themselves intitled to

halt, without being at the trouble to conceal their defect. Camilla,

thus circumstanced, could fall upon no other expedient than that of

cautioning her maid against betraying her to the person who was her

gallant, and beseeching her to keep her own intrigue secret, that it

might not fall under the observation of Anselmo and Lothario.

‘Leonela promised to be upon her guard, but managed her affairs with so

little discretion, that she confirmed Camilla in the apprehension of

losing her reputation by the carelessness of her maid; for the bold and

immodest Leonela, seeing that her lady’s conduct was not the same as

formerly, had the assurance to introduce and conceal her lover in the

house, conscious, that although her mistress should perceive, she durst

not detect him in that situation. Among other disadvantages incurred by

these slips of women of fashion, they become slaves to their own

servants, and find themselves obliged to connive at their impudence and

vice.

‘This was the very case of Camilla, who, though she more than once

observed Leonela engaged with her gallant, in one of the chambers, far

from reprimanding her on that score, she gave opportunities of

concealing him, and did all she could to prevent his being seen by her

husband. But all their caution could not screen him from the notice of

Lothario; who, perceiving him come out of the house, one morning at

break of day, and not knowing who he was, at first mistook him for a

phantom; but seeing him run away, and seek to hide himself with care and

concern, he soon changed that simple opinion for another, which would

have ruined them all, had not Camilla found out an expedient to prevent

their destruction. He was so far from thinking, that this man whom he

saw coming out of Anselmo’s house, at such an unseasonable hour, had

gone in on Leonela’s account, that he did not even remember there was

such a person in the world; on the contrary, he was firmly persuaded,

that Camilla, who yielded so easily to his addresses, had acted in the

same manner to some other person; for this additional misfortune attends

a loose woman, that she loses her credit even with the man by whose

importunities and intreaties her honour has subdued. Nay, he believes,

that she will be more easily won by another than by him, and implicitly

credits every suspicion that may arise from that unjust inference. On

this occasion, Lothario’s good sense failed, and all his caution seemed

to vanish; since, regardless of every thing that was right or

reasonable, without farther examination, he hied him to Anselmo before

he was up, where, impatient and blind with the jealous fury that preyed

upon his entrails, and inflamed with the desire of being revenged upon

Camilla, who had given him no offence, he expressed himself thus.

‘“You must know, Anselmo, that for some days past, I have had a

continual struggle with myself, endeavouring to suppress that which I no

longer either can or ought to conceal from your knowledge. The fortress

of Camilla is at last surrendered, and submitted entirely to the

dominion of my will. This I have delayed imparting to you, until I

should be certain whether her compliance was owing to some transient

flash of affection, or to the desire of trying the sincerity of those

addresses which, by your own direction, were carried on; and I likewise

concluded, that if she was a woman of honour and virtue as we both

imagined, she would ere now have given you an account of my

solicitation. But finding that still undone, I take it for granted she

means to keep her promise of giving me an interview in the wardrobe, the

very next time you go to the country; (and here it was where Camilla

actually used to entertain him) but I should not wish that you would run

precipitately into any scheme of vengeance. However, as the crime is

committed in thought only, before an opportunity offers of performing

that promise, Camilla may change her mind, and repent of her weakness.

Wherefore, as you have hitherto, in whole or in part, followed my

advice, I hope you will treasure up and observe one which I shall now

offer, that you may, without the least possibility of being deceived,

carefully and cautiously satisfy yourself, so as to take such measures

as your prudence shall suggest. You may pretend that you are going, as

usual, for two or three days to the country, and in the mean time

conceal yourself in the wardrobe, where you will find tapestry and

plenty of other things for the purpose; from thence you, with your own

eyes, as I with mine, will observe the conduct of Camilla, and if

unhappily you should find more cause to fear than to hope, you may in

person revenge your own wrongs, with silence, safety, and discretion.”

‘Anselmo was thunderstruck at this declaration of Lothario, which came

upon him when he least expected it; for he already looked upon Camilla

as a conqueror in the fictitious assaults of his friend, and had

actually began to enjoy the glory of her triumph. After having stood

silent for a long time, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, “Lothario,”

said he, “you have acted up to the expectation of my friendship: I will

adhere to your advice in every thing; do what you please; I hope you

will keep this unexpected affair as secret as the nature of it

requires.”

‘His false friend promised to observe the caution; but soon as he

quitted the apartment, repented of every thing he had said, reflecting

how foolishly he had proceeded, and that he might have punished Camilla

by means less cruel and dishonourable. He cursed his own folly,

condemned his precipitation, and endeavoured to find out some expedient

to undo what he had done, or at least bring it to some favourable issue.

At length, he resolved to disclose the whole to Camilla, as there wanted

not opportunities of being with her alone; and that very day being

together, she made use of the first that happened, addressing herself to

him in this manner. “Know, my dear Lothario, that my heart is ready to

burst with one affliction, which is so grievous that it will be a wonder

if I survive it: Leonela is arrived to such a pitch of impudence, that

every night she introduces a gallant into the house, and remains with

him till morning, very much at the expence of my reputation, as the

field is left open for any malicious construction, upon seeing a man

come out of my house at such unseasonable hours; and the misfortune is,

I dare neither chide nor chastise her for her audacity; for her being

privy to our correspondence puts a bridle in my mouth, obliging me to be

silent on the subject of her folly, from which I fear some mischance

will befal us.”

‘When Camilla began this discourse, Lothario imagined it was an artifice

to deceive and persuade him that the man he had seen coming out of the

house had been there on Leonela’s account only; but, seeing his mistress

weep, and in the utmost affection entreat him to find out some remedy

for this inconvenience, he was convinced of the truth, and covered with

shame and remorse for what he had done; nevertheless, he desired Camilla

to make herself easy, and promised to fall upon some method to curb

Leonela’s insolence. He then told her what, instigated by the rage of

jealousy, he had disclosed to Anselmo, who by his appointment was to

conceal himself in the wardrobe, that he might have an incontestible

proof of her infidelity: he begged pardon for his madness, with advice

how to remedy it, and to extricate himself from the labyrinth in which

he was involved by his own imprudence. Camilla was astonished at the

discourse of Lothario, whom she chid and reprimanded with great reason

and resentment, for the groundless suspicion which had driven him to

such a mad and mischievous resolution; but women having naturally more

invention than men can boast of, either for a good or bad occasion,

though sometimes they fail in premeditated schemes, Camilla instantly

thought of a cure for this seemingly incurable dilemma, and bade

Lothario prevail upon her husband to conceal himself in the appointed

place, the very next day; for she hoped to reap such advantage from his

concealment, as that for the future they should enjoy each other without

the least fear or interruption. She, therefore, without disclosing to

her lover the whole of her plan, desired him to take care, when Anselmo

was hid, to come at Leonela’s call, and answer every question she should

ask, in the same manner as he would reply if he did not know that her

husband was within hearing. Lothario insisted upon knowing the

particulars of her scheme, that he might with more security and success

perform his cue; but Camilla assured him he had nothing to do but answer

her questions with truth and sincerity; being unwilling to make him

previously acquainted with her design, lest he should disapprove of that

which to her seemed so necessary, and recommend another which perhaps

she might not think so effectual. Accordingly, Lothario took his leave,

and next day Anselmo, under pretence of going to his friend’s

country-house, set out, but soon returned to his hiding-place; Camilla

and her maid having purposely given him an opportunity of getting in

unseen. There he remained in a state of perturbation, which may be

easily conceived to harrass the breast of a man who expected to see with

his own eyes the bowels of his honour dissected, and found himself on

the brink of losing that supreme bliss which he thought he possessed in

his beloved Camilla.

‘She and her maid, by this time, certified of his being there, went to

the wardrobe, which Camilla no sooner entered, than heaving a profound

sigh, “Dear Leonela,” said she, “rather than execute the design which I

conceal from your knowledge, that you may not endeavour to prevent it,

would it not be better for you to take this poignard of Anselmo, and

plunge it in my unfortunate bosom? Yet do not, Leonela; for it were

unreasonable that I should be punished for another’s crime; I want first

to know what the daring and licentious eyes of Lothario have discerned

in my conduct, that should encourage him to declare a passion so guilty

as that which he hath owned, so much to my dishonour and the prejudice

of his friend. Go to that window, Leonela, and beckon to him, for

doubtless he is now in the street, expecting to succeed in his wicked

intention; but I shall first execute mine, which is equally honourable

and severe.”—“Alas, Madam!” answered the cunning and well-instructed

Leonela, “how do you intend to use that fatal poignard? are you

determined to take away your own life, or that of Lothario? by

sacrificing either the one or the other, you will entirely ruin your own

reputation. You should rather stifle your wrongs, than give that wicked

wretch an opportunity of finding us here alone; consider, Madam, that we

are but weak women, and he a determined man, who, blinded by his guilty

passion, may by force deprive you of that which you value more than

life, before you can execute your purpose upon him. A plague upon my

master Anselmo, for allowing that impudent fellow to be so free in his

house! besides, Madam, should you kill him, as I believe you intend to

do, what shall we do with him after he is dead?”—“Nothing, my friend,”

replied Camilla, “but let Anselmo bury him; for he ought to take

pleasure in the task of interring his own infamy. Go and beckon to him,

I say, for every moment I delay my just revenge seems to injure afresh

that fidelity which I owe to my husband.”

‘All this conversation was overheard by Anselmo, whose sentiments were

entirely changed by what Camilla said; and when he understood that she

intended to kill Lothario, he was inclined to come out and discover

himself, in order to prevent the deed; but he was diverted from that

resolution by the desire of seeing the issue of his wife’s gallant and

virtuous determination; purposing, however, to appear seasonably enough

for the safety of his friend.

‘About this time Camilla throwing herself upon a couch, was seized with

a violent fit, during which Leonela wept bitterly, exclaiming, “Ah, woe

is me! must I then see, expiring in these unfortunate arms, the flower

of human virtue, the queen of excellent wives, the pattern of chastity!”

with other epithets of the same kind, which nobody could have heard,

without esteeming her the most faithful and afflicted damsel upon earth,

and her mistress another persecuted Penelope. Camilla, having soon

recovered from her fit, said to her woman, “Why don’t you go and call

this the most faithful friend that ever was seen by the day, or shrouded

by the night? Make haste; go, run, fly; let not the fire of my rage be

consumed by your delay, and the just vengeance I mean to take evaporate

in curses and unsubstantial threats.”—“I go,” answered Leonela, “but you

must first give me that poignard, lest, in my absence, you do a deed to

make all those who love you weep to the end of their lives.”—“Go, dear

Leonela,” replied her mistress, “and fear nothing; for although, in your

opinion, I may be rash and even unreasonable, in thus resenting the

affront upon my honour; I shall not behave like that Lucretia, who, ’tis

said, killed herself, though innocent, without having first punished the

villainous cause of her misfortune. If I must die, I will at least fall

fully revenged of him who is the occasion of my being here, to bewail

his audacious behaviour, which, I am sure, proceeded from no misconduct

of mine.”

‘Many intreaties did she use, before Leonela would go and call Lothario,

but at length she prevailed; the maid went out to seek him, and, in her

absence, Camilla uttered the following soliloquy. “Good Heaven! would it

not have been more prudent to dismiss Lothario as usual, than to give

him this occasion of thinking me vicious and immodest, even though that

opinion can only last until I have an opportunity of undeceiving him?

Yes, certainly; but I shall not think myself revenged, nor the honour of

my husband sufficiently vindicated, if he escapes so smooth and clean

from this snare into which his wicked inclinations have decoyed him. Let

the traitor pay with his life for the enterprize of his lascivious

desire; the world shall know, if even the affair be made publick, that

Camilla not only preserved her affection for her husband inviolate, but

also took vengeance on the man who thought to impair it. Yet, methinks,

I ought to disclose the whole to Anselmo; but I have already touched

upon the subject, in the letter I sent to him when he was in the

country; and his omitting to apply a remedy to the evil I then hinted

at, must certainly be owing to his own integrity and unsuspecting heart,

which would not suffer him to believe, that the breast of such a

constant friend could harbour one thought to the prejudice of his

honour; indeed, this was my own opinion, until his behaviour became

intolerably licentious, and his presents, promises, and tears, fully

manifested his guilty purpose. But, wherefore these reflections? does a

gallant resolution stand in need of hesitating advice? No! traitor,

avaunt! hither vengeance! enter, thou false, perfidious wretch, come,

quick, be speedy, die, and let the consequence be what it will! Pure and

unspotted I came into the possession of him whom Heaven appointed to be

my husband and my lord, and equally pure shall I leave his embrace,

though bathed in my own chaste blood, and embrued in the tainted gore of

the falsest friend that ever friendship saw!” So saying, she brandished

the drawn dagger in her hand, and stalked across the room with such

disordered steps and violent gestures, that she seemed to have lost her

senses, and looked more like a desperate ruffian than a delicate wife.

‘All this transport and agitation was perceived, with astonishment, by

Anselmo, where he stood concealed behind the tapestry; he thought he had

now seen and heard enough to dispel suspicions of a stronger kind than

those he entertained; and even wished that the proof might proceed no

farther, by Lothario’s failing to keep the appointment; for he was

afraid that some sudden unlucky accident might happen. Being therefore

on the point of shewing himself, and running to embrace and undeceive

his wife, he was prevented by seeing Leonela return with his friend,

whom Camilla no sooner beheld, than drawing a line before her, with the

dagger, she said, “Take notice, Lothario, if you attempt to pass this

line, or even approach it, the moment I perceive your intention, I will

plunge the poignard in my breast. Without offering the least reply,

therefore, to this declaration, I desire you will listen to some

questions I mean to ask, which you may answer as you shall think proper;

in the first place, tell me, Lothario, if you know my husband Anselmo,

and what station he maintains in your opinion? and then be as explicit

in your sentiments of me; answer without perturbation or difficulty, for

the questions I ask are easily solved.”

‘Lothario was not so ignorant, but that he had conceived her design,

from the moment of her desiring him to advise Anselmo to conceal

himself; and therefore his replies were so seasonable, and corresponded

so exactly with her aim, that this fiction had all the air of the most

genuine truth. “Beauteous Camilla,” said he, “I did not imagine you had

sent for me with a view of asking questions so foreign to the purpose

for which I come; if you meant to delay the promised bliss, you might

have protracted the assignation to a more distant term; for, the nearer

the prospect of enjoyment is, the more grievous will the disappointment

be: but that you may have no cause to complain of my refusing to answer

your demands, I will own that I know your husband Anselmo, with whom I

have been intimate from our most tender years. Of the friendship (as you

know) subsisting between us, I will say nothing, that I may not bear

witness to the wrong which love, the powerful excuse of greater crimes,

compels me to commit: you too I know, and rate as high as you can

possibly be in his esteem; for a prize of less value I should not have

acted so unbecoming my own character, or transgressed those laws of

perfect friendship, which I have broken and violated, at the instigation

of that mischievous and irresistible power.”

‘“Since thou art self-convicted so far,” replied Camilla, “thou mortal

enemy to all that merits love! with what face darest thou appear before

her who is the mirror that reflects him, and in which thou oughtest to

have seen how little reason and encouragement thou hadst to wrong his

honour; but, unfortunate that I am! I have found out the cause that

induced thee to forget thyself so far; it must have been some lightness

of carriage in me; immodesty I will not call it, because it could not be

the effect of deliberate determination, but must have proceeded from a

neglect of some of those forms which women often inadvertently omit

before those whom they think they can entertain without ceremony.

Otherwise, tell me, traitor, when did I ever answer thy addresses with

any word or sign that could awaken in thy breast the least glimpse of

hope to accomplish thy infamous aim? Did I not always reject and reprove

thy amorous protestations with rigour and severity? and when were thy

promises and presents believed and accepted? But, as I think no person

could long persevere in such a flagitious intention, without being

supported by some sort of hope, I am willing to lay the blame of your

impertinence at my own door; since, without doubt, some failure of care

in me, hath enabled you to exert yours so long; and therefore, I will

inflict upon myself the punishment that your crime deserves; but that

you may see, in being thus inhuman to myself, it was impossible for me

to deal mildly by you, I have invited you hither, to be witness of the

sacrifice I mean to offer to the injured honour of my noble husband,

whom you have aggrieved to the utmost of your power, I myself being

accessary to the wrong, because I have not industriously enough avoided

all occasion, if I gave you any, of favouring and countenancing your

wicked inclinations. I say, the suspicion I have, that some levity of

mine engendered such frantick sentiments in your bosom, gives me the

utmost pain, and prompts me to chastise my indiscretion with my own

hands, rather than make my fault more publick, by submitting to another

executioner; but, if I must perish, my fall shall be accompanied with

the death of him whose blood will satisfy the vengeance which I already

in some measure enjoy, when I consider that wheresoever I go, I shall

have before mine eyes, the victim I offered to the most disinterested

justice, in punishing the wretch who hath reduced me to this despair.”

‘So saying, she assaulted Lothario with incredible force and agility,

manifesting such eagerness to plunge the poignard in his breast, that he

himself doubted whether her endeavours were feigned or real; and was

actually obliged to exert his whole strength in defending himself from

Camilla, who acted this strange imposture so much to the life, that, in

order to give it the greater appearance of truth, she resolved to colour

it with her own blood; for seeing, or feigning, that she could not touch

Lothario, she cried, “Though fate denies me the full satisfaction of my

just desire, it cannot rob me of one part of my revenge.” With these

words, struggling to disengage her dagger-hand, which was held by

Lothario, she at last succeeded, and directing her poignard to a part of

her body, which she thought she might slightly wound without danger, she

sheathed it between her shoulder and left-breast, and fell upon the

floor as in a swoon.

‘Leonela and Lothario were astonished and confounded at this event, and

still dubious whether or not Camilla was in earnest, when they saw her

stretched upon the ground, and bathed in her own blood. Lothario ran, in

the utmost fright and consternation, to draw forth the dagger; but

perceiving what a superficial wound she had made, he recovered of the

terror which had began to seize him, and could not help admiring anew,

the uncommon sagacity, prudence, and discretion, of the beautiful

Camilla; that he might therefore proceed in the part he had to act, he

began to make long and sorrowful lamentation over the body, as if she

had been really dead, imprecating a thousand curses, not only upon

himself, but also upon him who was the original cause of this disaster;

and as he knew that Anselmo was listening, said such melancholy things,

that whosoever had heard him, would have pitied his case, as much as

that of Camilla, though they had believed her actually dead.

‘Leonela lifted her up, and laying her on the bed, earnestly entreated

Lothario to find some person who would cure her privately; and begged he

would advise her, with regard to what she should tell Anselmo, about her

lady’s wound, in case he should return before she was cured: he said she

might tell him what she pleased, for he was then in no condition to give

any profitable advice about the matter; he only desired her to fall upon

some method of staunching the blood, and declared that for his own part

he would go where man should never see him. He accordingly departed with

the appearance of infinite grief and anxiety, and when he found himself

alone, in a private place, crossed himself with amazement at the

invention of Camilla, and the artful behaviour of her maid. He could

easily conceive that Anselmo was by this time thoroughly convinced of

his having a second Portia for his wife; and was impatient to see him,

that they might together extol her behaviour, which, though imposture,

had more appearance of truth than any thing of the same kind that had

ever been practised.

‘Leonela, as she was desired, stopped her lady’s blood, of which there

was just enough to give credit to her artifice; and washing the wound

with a little wine, bound it up as well as she could, uttering such

sorrowful expressions all the time, as would have been sufficient,

without any previous lamentation, to persuade Anselmo that his wife was

the mirror of chastity. Leonela’s complaints were joined by those of her

mistress, who taxed herself with cowardice and pusillanimity, in having

lost the best opportunity she should ever have of parting with that life

which she abhorred. She consulted her maid about disclosing the whole

affair to her beloved spouse; but this scheme Leonela opposed, observing

that it would lay her master under an obligation of taking vengeance on

Lothario; a satisfaction he could not enjoy without exposing himself to

great danger; and that a virtuous woman, far from seeking to involve her

husband in quarrels, was in duty bound to keep him free of all such

disputes, by every method in her power. Camilla seemed to approve of her

maid’s prudence, and promised to follow her advice; but said it would be

necessary at all events to invent some excuse to Anselmo about the

wound, which he could not fail of observing. Leonela assuring her, that

they could never tell a lye even in jest, the mistress replied, “What

shall I do then, child? for I would not attempt to frame and maintain a

falshood, even though my life depended upon it; since, therefore, we

know not how to extricate ourselves otherwise, we must e’en discover the

naked truth, rather than run the risk of being detected in a

lye.”—“Don’t give yourself any farther uneasiness, Madam,” said Leonela;

“by to-morrow morning I shall have found some expedient; perhaps the

wound being where it is, may be concealed from his view, and Heaven

vouchsafe to favour our upright and honourable intention. Compose

yourself, dear Madam, endeavour to calm the perturbation of your

spirits, that my master may not perceive your disorder, and leave the

consequence to my care and that of Heaven, which never fails to favour

the righteous design.”

‘Anselmo listened with the utmost attention to this tragedy of the death

of his honour, which was represented with such exquisite and surprizing

address, that the actors seemed really transformed into the very

characters they feigned; he longed impatiently for night, and an

opportunity of escaping unseen, that he might fly to his worthy friend

Lothario, and receive his congratulation upon the precious jewel he had

found in this vindication of his wife’s virtue; they took care to

furnish him with the occasion he wanted; and he, without letting it

slip, ran immediately in quest of Lothario. It would be difficult to

describe the eagerness of his embraces at meeting, or to recount the

expressions he used in the overflowings of his satisfaction, and the

extravagant praises he bestowed on Camilla. All these Lothario heard,

without being able to manifest the least signs of joy; his reflections

taxed him with the deceit he had practised, and the injury he had done

his unsuspecting friend. Anselmo took notice that he did not seem to

participate in his pleasure, but believed his concern proceeded from the

thoughts of having been the occasion of Camilla’s wound: he therefore,

among other things, told him to make himself easy on that score, for the

hurt must certainly have been very slight, as they had agreed to conceal

it from his knowledge; and since there was no bad consequence to be

apprehended, he hoped for the future to enjoy, in mirth and good-humour,

the friendship of his dear Lothario, by whose industry and mediation he

now saw himself raised to the most sublime pitch of human felicity; at

the same time he signified, that his desire and design was to pursue no

other amusement than that of composing verses in praise of Camilla, that

should transmit to latest posterity the remembrance of her worth.

‘Lothario commended his laudable determination, and promised to

contribute all that lay in his power towards the rearing of such an

illustrious edifice; so that Anselmo being the most agreeably deceived

of any man that ever lived, led by the hand to his own house, the very

man who, though in his opinion the instrument of his glory, was the

total perdition of his fame. Camilla received him with a countenance

expressing resentment, but a soul brimful of joy; and their secret

correspondence continued uninterrupted for a few months, at the end of

which the wheel of fortune having performed a full circle, the intrigue,

which had been hitherto so artfully concealed, was discovered, and

Anselmo’s Impertinent Curiosity cost him his life.’

Footnote 94:

_Sensato, secreto, sobrepusado, senzero_; Sensible, secret,

surpassing, and sincere.

CHAP. VIII.

THE CONCLUSION OF THE IMPERTINENT CURIOSITY.

A little more of this novel remained to be read, when Sancho came

running in great confusion, from the garret where his master Don Quixote

lay, bawling aloud, ‘Come hither, gentlemen! make haste to the

assistance of my master, who is this precious minute engaged and

grappled in the toughest battle that ever my eyes beheld! Egad, he has

given that same giant, the enemy to my Lady the princess of Micomicona,

such a back-stroke, as hath sliced off his head as smooth and clean as

the skin of a turnip.’—‘What do you mean, brother?’ said the curate,

closing the book; ‘are you in your right wits, Sancho? How the devil can

your master be fighting with a giant who is two thousand leagues from

hence?’

That instant they heard a great noise in the apartment, and Don Quixote

proclaiming aloud, ‘Stay, villain! robber! caitiff! here I have thee,

and thy scymitar shall not avail.’ Then he began to strike furiously at

the walls; and Sancho exclaimed, ‘Don’t stand here listening, but go in

and part the fray, or lend your assistance to my master, though I

believe that will be needless by this time, for the giant is certainly

dead, and giving an account to God of his wicked and misspent life: nay,

I saw, with my own eyes, his blood running about the floor, and his head

cut off, laying on one side, as a large wine bag.’—‘May I be hanged,’

cried the innkeeper, at these words, ‘if this Don Quixote, or Don Devil,

has not cut open one of the skins filled with red wine, that stood at

his bed’s head, and the wine that ran out is mistaken by this simple

fellow for blood!’

So saying, he rushed into the apartment with the whole company at his

heels, and found the knight in a very ludicrous situation; he appeared

in his shirt, which was too scanty before to cover his thighs, and still

shorter behind, by six inches at least, and displayed a pair of long

lank legs, imbrowned with hair, and not extremely clean; his head was

covered with a little, red, greasy night-cap, belonging to the landlord;

round his left-arm he had wrapped the blanket of his bed, to which

Sancho, for good reasons known to himself, bore an inveterate grudge;

and in his right, he wielded his drawn sword, with which he laid about

him at a furious rate, talking as if he was actually at blows with the

giant; but, what was very surprizing, his eyes were shut all the time,

and he was fast asleep, dreaming of this encounter; for his imagination

was so much engrossed by the adventure he had undertaken to atchieve, as

to make him dream that he was already arrived in the kingdom of

Micomicon, and engaged in single combat with his gigantick adversary;

instead of whom, he hacked the wine-bags so furiously, that the whole

room was afloat with their contents.

The innkeeper no sooner perceived this havock, than incensed to the last

degree, he assaulted Don Quixote with his clenched fists, and began to

pummel him so severely, that if the curate and Cardenio had not

interposed, he would soon have put an end to the adventure of the giant;

yet, for all that, the poor knight did not awake until the barber

fetching a kettle of cold water from the well, soused him all over; even

then, though sleep forsook him, he did not recollect the situation he

was in; and Dorothea, seeing him so slight and airily equipped, did not

chuse to be a spectator of the combat between her adversary and

protector. Meanwhile, Sancho went about the room, prying into every

corner, and searching for the giant’s head; which when he could not

find, ‘I know,’ said he, ‘that every thing goes by inchantment in this

house: the last time I was in this very spot, I received a great many

thwacks and thumps without seeing a soul, or being able to guess from

whence they came; and now this head is vanished, though I saw it cut off

with mine own eyes, and the blood spout out of the body, like water from

a fountain.’—‘What! dost thou talk of blood and fountains, thou enemy of

God and his saints!’ cried the inn-keeper; ‘don’t you see, rascal, that

there is no blood or fountain, but the skins that are pierced, and the

red wine that swims about the room? I hope the soul of him who pierced

them, will swim in hell!’—‘I know nothing of the matter,’ replied

Sancho; ‘but that, on account of my not finding the head, I shall see my

earldom dissolve like salt in water.’

Thus the squire, though awake, was more extravagant than Don Quixote in

his dream; such an impression had his master’s promises made upon his

imagination. The phlegmatick temper of the squire, together with the

mischievous disposition of the knight, well-nigh distracted the

landlord, who swore, that they should not now, as formerly, go away

without paying; and that all the privilege of their errantry should not

exempt them from paying both reckonings to the last farthing, for the

damage they had done, even to the bits of leather for patching the

wine-skins that were cut. The curate, by this time, had got hold of the

hands of Don Quixote, who, believing he had now finished the adventure,

and was in presence of the Princess Micomicona, fell upon his knees

before the priest, saying, ‘Renowned princess, your highness may

henceforth live secure of what that misbegotten wretch can do; and I,

from this day forward, am acquitted of my promise, which is now, by the

assistance of Heaven above, and the favour of her for whom I live and

breathe, happily and fully performed.’—‘Did not I tell you so?’ cried

Sancho, hearing these words. ‘You see I am not drunk, and may take

notice that my master hath put the giant in pickle: the holidays will

certainly come round, and the earldom fit me to a hair.’

Who could refrain from laughing at the follies of the master and man?

they occasioned abundance of mirth to every one present, except the

landlord, who cursed himself to the devil. At length the barber, curate,

and Cardenio, with no small difficulty, put the knight to bed again,

where he fell fast asleep in an instant, like one who had been

excessively fatigued; they left him to his repose, and went out to

console Sancho for his disappointment in losing the giant’s head; but

they found it a harder task to pacify the innkeeper, who was driven

almost to despair, by the sudden death of his wine-bags; besides, the

landlady began to cry, in a whimpering tone, ‘In an unlucky minute and

evil hour did this knight-errant enter my doors! for I am sure, I never

beheld him without paying dearly for the sight! The last time he was

here, he refused to defray a whole night’s expence of supper, lodging,

straw, and barley, for himself and his squire, his horse and his ass;

saying that he was a knight-errant, forsooth: (God send him and all

other knights-errant upon errands that will tend to their sorrow!) and

therefore, was not obliged to pay for any thing, because it was not

ordained in the registers of chivalry; then, this gentleman coming after

him t’other day, borrowed my tail, and though I have got it again, it is

a good penny the worse for the wearing, the hair being plucked off in

such a manner as makes it unfit for my husband’s purpose; and to finish

and conclude the whole, my bags are broke, and my wine spilt; (would I

could see his heart’s blood in the same condition!) but he must not

think to get off so easily, for by the bones of my father, and my

mother’s soul! they shall pay for every thing upon the nail; or, may I

never be called by my own name again, or believed to be my father’s own

child!’

These, and other expressions of the same kind, were uttered, with great

bitterness, by the landlady; and her faithful servant Maritornes joined

in the exclamation; while the daughter held her peace, and, from time to

time, smiled at their indignation, which at last was appeased by the

curate, who promised to give them satisfaction, to the best of his

power, for the loss they had sustained in bags and wine, and, in

particular, for the damage done to the tail, which they valued so

highly; and Dorothea comforted Sancho, by telling him, that as soon as

ever it should appear that his master had actually cut off the giant’s

head, and she should find herself in quiet possession of her kingdom,

she would bestow upon him the best earldom in her gift. The squire was

consoled by this promise, and assured the princess, that he was certain

he had seen the giant’s head, by the same token that he had a huge beard

that flowed down to his middle; and that the whole was now vanished,

because every thing in that house was performed by inchantment, as he

had found by woeful experience, the last time he had lodged in that

apartment. Dorothea said she was of the same opinion, desiring he would

give himself no uneasiness, for every thing would be for the best, and

succeed to his heart’s content. The quiet of the house being thus

re-established, the curate wanted to read the remaining part of the

novel, which he perceived already drew near a close; and Cardenio,

Dorothea, and the rest, intreating him to finish the story, he, with a

view of pleasing them as well as himself, proceeded in these words.

‘Anselmo being now satisfied of his wife’s virtue, enjoyed himself

without the least disturbance or care; while Camilla, in order to

disguise her real sentiments, affected always to frown upon Lothario,

who, as a farther sanction to this stratagem, desired Anselmo to excuse

him from coming to his house, since it was plain that Camilla was

disgusted at his presence: but the infatuated Anselmo would by no means

comply with this request; so that this unhappy husband was, in a

thousand shapes, the author of his own dishonour, while, in his own

opinion, he was laying up a store of happiness and reputation.

‘About this time Leonela’s desire of gratifying her own loose wishes,

carried her to such a pitch of imprudence, that she gave her wantonness

the rein without the least caution; conscious that her mistress would

conceal her conduct, and even advise her how to carry on the intrigue

without the least danger of being detected. At length, however, Anselmo,

one night heard somebody walking in her apartment, and endeavouring to

get in and see who it was, found the door shut against him. This

circumstance increased his desire, he made a violent effort, and the

door flew open, upon which he entered, and seeing a man leap out of the

window into the street, ran hastily to lay hold or get sight of him; but

he was disappointed in both by Leonela, who hanging upon her master,

cried, “Hold, dear Sir! be not surprized, nor seek to pursue the person

who is fled; he was here on my account, and is as good as my wedded

husband.”

‘Anselmo would give no credit to her words, but, blinded with passion,

drew his poignard to stab Leonela, whom he commanded to reveal the truth

on pain of immediate death. She, terrified by his threats, answered,

without knowing what she said, “Spare my life, good Sir, and I will

disclose things of greater importance than you imagine.”—“Speak, then,”

cried Anselmo, “or thou shalt instantly die.”—“At present,” replied

Leonela, “I am in such perturbation, that I cannot possibly make a

distinct confession; delay your vengeance till to-morrow morning, and

then you shall hear something that will strike you with astonishment:

meanwhile, be assured, that he who leaped out of the window, is a young

man of this city, who has given me a promise of marriage.”

‘Anselmo being somewhat pacified by this declaration, resolved to grant

the respite she demanded; though he never dreamed of hearing any thing

to the prejudice of Camilla, of whose virtue he was satisfied and

secure; he therefore quitted the room, in which however he locked up

Leonela, telling her she must continue in that place, until she should

have made this promised discovery; then going to Camilla, informed her

of every thing that had passed, together with the promise her maid had

made of discovering things of great importance. It is almost needless to

say that Camilla was disturbed at this information: the terror that took

possession of her was such, that believing, with good reason too,

Leonela would actually disclose to Anselmo every circumstance of her

infidelity, she had not resolution enough to wait the issue of her

suspicion; but that very night, while her husband was asleep, collected

the best of her jewels, with some money, and getting out of the house,

without being perceived, fled to Lothario, and recounted what had

happened, at the same time beseeching him to put her in a place of

safety, or accompany her to some retreat, where they should be secure

from the search of Anselmo.

‘Such was the confusion of Lothario, at the news of this unexpected

event, that he could not answer one syllable, nor for some time resolve

upon what was to be done. At length he proposed to carry Camilla to a

monastery, the abbess of which was his first cousin; and his mistress

consenting to the proposal, he conducted her thither with all the

dispatch which the nature of the case required, and leaving her to the

care of his relation, quitted the city that very night, without

imparting the cause of his absence to any living soul.

‘Next morning, soon as it was day, Anselmo, without perceiving that

Camilla was gone, so eagerly did he long to hear this confession of her

maid, arose and went directly to the room in which he had confined her;

but he no sooner opened the door, and entered the apartment, than he

perceived the sheets of the bed tied together, hanging out of the

window; a manifest proof that Leonela had lowered herself down into the

street, by means of that contrivance: he then returned, with a good deal

of chagrin, to communicate his disappointment to Camilla, whom when he

could not find, he was seized with the utmost consternation, especially

as none of the servants could give the least account of her departure;

but chancing, in the course of his enquiry, to find the coffers open,

and the best part of her jewels carried off, he began to comprehend his

disgrace; and concluded that Leonela was not the cause of his

misfortune.