INTRODUCTION.

Although _The Fair Jilt_ was published in 1688, it is interesting to

note that ten years earlier, Michaelmas Term, 1678, there is advertised

for R. Tonson _The Amorous Convert; being a true Relation of what

happened in Holland_, which may very well be the first sketch of Mrs.

Behn's maturer novel. The fact that she does not 'pretend here to

entertain you with a feign'd story,' but on the contrary, 'every

circumstance to a tittle is truth', and that she expressly asserts, 'To

a great part of the main I myself was an eye-witness', aroused

considerable suspicion in Bernbaum as to the veracity of her narration,

a suspicion which, when he gravely discovers history to know no such

person as her 'Prince Tarpuin of the race of the last Kings of Rome', is

resolved into a certainty that she is romancing fully and freely

throughout. It is surely obvious that such a point does not so much

demonstrate Mrs. Behn's untruthfulness as her consummate art. With all

the nice skill of a born novelist she has so mingled fact and fancy,

what did occur and what might have been, that any attempt to disentangle

the twain would be idle indeed. The passages where she is most insistent

upon the due sequence of events, most detailed in observation are not

impossibly purely fictional, the incidents related without stress or

emphatic assertions are probably enough the plain unvarnished happenings

as she witnessed them. That the history is mainly true admits of little

question; that Mrs. Behn has heightened and coloured the interest is

equally certain.

_The Fair Jilt_ must be allowed to stand in the very first rank amongst

her novels. It has been aptly compared to a novella by Bandello, and is

indeed more than worthy of the pen of the good Dominican Bishop of Agen.

In all its incidents and motives the story is eternally true. The

fateful beauty, playing now the part of Potiphar's wife, and now the yet

commoner role of an enchantress whose charms drive men to madness and

crime, men who adore her even from their prison cell and are glad to go

to a shameful death for her sake, appears in all history, in all

literature, nay, in the very newspaper scandals and police courts of

to-day. As a picture of untrammelled passion, culpable and corrupt, but

yet terribly fascinating in her very recklessness and abandon, Miranda

is indeed a powerful study. Always guilty, she is always excused, or if

punished but sparingly and little, whilst the friar languishes in a foul

dungeon, the page-boy is hanged, her husband stands upon the public

scaffold. And then in the end, 'very penitent for her life past', she is

received with open arms by Tarquin's old father, who looks upon her as a

very angel, and retiring to the tranquility of a country-house she

passes her days in 'as perfect a state of happiness as this troublesome

world can afford'.

To

HENRY PAIN, ESQ;

Sir,

Dedications are like Love, and no Man of Wit or Eminence escapes them;

early or late, the Affliction of the Poet's Complement falls upon him;

and Men are oblig'd to receive 'em as they do their Wives; _For better,

for worse_; at lest with a feign'd Civility.

It was not Want of Respect, but Fear, that has hitherto made us keep

clear of your Judgment, too piercing to be favourable to what is not

nicely valuable. We durst not awaken your Criticism; and by begging your

Protection in the Front of a Book, give you an Occasion to find nothing

to deserve it. Nor can this little History lay a better Claim to that

Honour, than those that have not pretended to it; which has but this

Merit to recommend it, That it is Truth: Truth, which you so much

admire. But 'tis a Truth that entertains you with so many Accidents

diverting and moving, that they will need both a Patron, and an Assertor

in this incredulous World. For however it may be imagin'd that Poetry

(my Talent) has so greatly the Ascendant over me, that all I write must

pass for Fiction, I now desire to have it understood that this is

Reality, and Matter of Fact, and acted in this our latter Age: And that

in the person of _Tarquin_, I bring a Prince to kiss your Hands, who

own'd himself, and was receiv'd, as the last of the Race of the _Roman_

Kings; whom I have often seen, and you have heard of; and whose Story is

so well known to your self, and many Hundreds more: Part of which I had

from the Mouth of this unhappy great Man, and was an Eye-Witness to the

rest.

'Tis true, Sir, I present you with a Prince unfortunate, but still the

more noble Object for your Goodness and Pity; who never valu'd a brave

Man the less for being unhappy. And whither shou'd the Afflicted flee

for Refuge but to the Generous? Amongst all the Race, he cannot find a

better Man, or more certain Friend: Nor amongst all his Ancestors, match

your greater Soul, and Magnificence of Mind. He will behold in one

_English_ Subject, a Spirit as illustrious, a Heart as fearless, a Wit

and Eloquence as excellent, as _Rome_ it self cou'd produce. Its Senate

scarce boasted of a better States-man, nor Augustus of a more faithful

Subject; as your Imprisonment and Sufferings, through all the Course of

our late National Distractions, have sufficiently manifested; But

nothing cou'd press or deject your great Heart; you were the same Man

still, unmov'd in all Turns, easie and innocent; no Persecution being

able to abate your constant good Humour, or wonted Gallantry.

If, Sir, you find here a Prince of less Fortitude and Vertue than your

self, charge his Miscarriages on Love: a Weakness of that Nature you

will easily excuse, (being so great a Friend to the Fair;) though

possibly, he gave a Proof of it too Fatal to his Honour. Had I been to

have form'd his Character, perhaps I had made him something more worthy

of the Honour of your Protection: But I was oblig'd to pursue the Matter

of Fact, and give a just Relation of that part of his Life which,

possibly, was the only reproachful part of it. If he be so happy, as to

entertain a Man of Wit and Business, I shall not fear his Welcome to the

rest of the World: And 'tis only with your Passport he can hope to

be so.

The particular Obligations I have to your Bounty and Goodness, O Noble

Friend, and Patron of the _Muses_! I do not so much as pretend to

acknowledge in this little Present; those being above the Poet's Pay,

which is a sort of Coin, not currant in this Age: though perhaps may be

esteem'd as Medals in the Cabinets of Men of Wit. If this be so happy to

be of that Number, I desire no more lasting a Fame, that it may bear

this Inscription, that I am,

SIR,

Your most Obliged, and

Most Humble Servant,

_A. BEHN_.

THE _FAIR JILT_: or, The Amours of Prince _Tarquin_ and _Miranda_.

As Love is the most noble and divine Passion of the Soul, so it is that

to which we may justly attribute all the real Satisfactions of Life; and

without it Man is unfinish'd and unhappy.

There are a thousand things to be said of the Advantages this generous

Passion brings to those, whose Hearts are capable of receiving its soft

Impressions; for 'tis not every one that can be sensible of its tender

Touches. How many Examples, from History and Observation, could I give

of its wondrous Power; nay, even to a Degree of Transmigration! How many

Idiots has it made wise! How many Fools eloquent! How many home-bred

Squires accomplish'd! How many Cowards brave! And there is no sort of

Species of Mankind on whom it cannot work some Change and Miracle, if it

be a noble well-grounded Passion, except on the Fop in Fashion, the

harden'd incorrigible Fop; so often wounded, but never reclaim'd: For

still, by a dire Mistake, conducted by vast Opiniatrety, and a greater

Portion of Self-love, than the rest of the Race of Man, he believes that

Affectation in his Mein and Dress, that Mathematical Movement, that

Formality in every Action, that a Face manag'd with Care, and soften'd

into Ridicule, the languishing Turn, the Toss, and the Back-shake of the

Periwig, is the direct Way to the Heart of the fine Person he adores;

and instead of curing Love in his Soul, serves only to advance his

Folly; and the more he is enamour'd, the more industriously he assumes

(every Hour) the Coxcomb. These are Love's Play-things, a sort of

Animals with whom he sports; and whom he never wounds, but when he is in

good Humour, and always shoots laughing. 'Tis the Diversion of the

little God, to see what a Fluttering and Bustle one of these Sparks,

new-wounded, makes; to what fantastick Fooleries he has Recourse: The

Glass is every Moment call'd to counsel, the Valet consulted and plagu'd

for new Invention of Dress, the Footman and Scrutore perpetually

employ'd; _Billet-doux_ and _Madrigals_ take up all his Mornings, till

Play-time in dressing, till Night in gazing; still, like a Sun-flower,

turn'd towards the Beams of the fair Eyes of his _Caelia_, adjusting

himself in the most amorous Posture he can assume, his Hat under his

Arm, while the other Hand is put carelesly into his Bosom, as if laid

upon his panting Heart; his Head a little bent to one Side, supported

with a World of Cravat-string, which he takes mighty Care not to put

into Disorder; as one may guess by a never-failing and horrid Stiffness

in his Neck; and if he had any Occasion to look aside, his whole Body

turns at the same Time, for Fear the Motion of the Head alone should

incommode the Cravat or Periwig: And sometimes the Glove is well

manag'd, and the white Hand display'd. Thus, with a thousand other

little Motions and Formalities, all in the common Place or Road of

Foppery, he takes infinite Pains to shew himself to the Pit and Boxes,

a most accomplish'd Ass. This is he, of all human Kind, on whom Love can

do no Miracles, and who can no where, and upon no Occasion, quit one

Grain of his refin'd Foppery, unless in a Duel, or a Battle, if ever his

Stars should be so severe and ill-manner'd, to reduce him to the

Necessity of either: Fear then would ruffle that fine Form he had so

long preserv'd in nicest Order, with Grief considering, that an unlucky

Chance-wound in his Face, if such a dire Misfortune should befal him,

would spoil the Sale of it for ever.

Perhaps it will be urg'd, that since no Metamorphosis can be made in a

Fop by Love, you must consider him one of those that only talks of Love,

and thinks himself that happy Thing, a Lover; and wanting fine Sense

enough for the real Passion, believes what he feels to be it. There are

in the Quiver of the God a great many different Darts; some that wound

for a Day, and others for a Year; they are all fine, painted, glittering

Darts, and shew as well as those made of the noblest Metal; but the

Wounds they make reach the Desire only, and are cur'd by possessing,

while the short-liv'd Passion betrays the Cheat. But 'tis that refin'd

and illustrious Passion of the Soul, whose Aim is Virtue, and whose end

is Honour, that has the Power of changing Nature, and is capable of

performing all those heroick Things, of which History is full.

How far distant Passions may be from one another, I shall be able to

make appear in these following Rules. I'll prove to you the strong

Effects of Love in some unguarded and ungovern'd Hearts; where it rages

beyond the Inspirations of _a God all soft and gentle_, and reigns more

like _a Fury from Hell_.

I do not pretend here to entertain you with a feign'd Story, or any

Thing piec'd together with romantick Accidents; but every Circumstance,

to a Tittle, is Truth. To a great Part of the Main I myself was an

Eye-witness; and what I did not see, I was confirm'd of by Actors in the

Intrigue, Holy Men, of the Order of St. _Francis_: But for the Sake of

some of her Relations, I shall give my _Fair Jilt_ a feign'd Name, that

of _Miranda_; but my Hero must retain his own, it being too illustrious

to be conceal'd.

You are to understand, that in all the Catholick Countries, where Holy

Orders are establish'd, there are abundance of differing Kinds of

Religious, both of Men and Women. Amongst the Women, there are those we

call _Nuns_, that make solemn Vows of perpetual Chastity; There are

others who make but a simple Vow, as for five or ten Years, or more or

less; and that time expir'd, they may contract anew for longer time, or

marry, or dispose of themselves as they shall see good; and these are

ordinarily call'd _Galloping Nuns_: Of these there are several Orders;

as _Canonesses_, _Begines_, _Quests_, _Swart-Sisters_, and

_Jesuitesses_, with several others I have forgot. Of those of the

_Begines_ was our _Fair Votress_.

These Orders are taken up by the best Persons of the Town, young Maids

of Fortune, who live together, not inclos'd, but in Palaces that will

hold about fifteen hundred or two thousand of these _Filles Devotes_;

where they have a regulated Government, under a sort of _Abbess_, or

_Prioress_, or rather a _Governante_. They are oblig'd to a Method of

Devotion, and are under a sort of Obedience. They wear a Habit much like

our Widows of Quality in _England_, only without a _Bando_; and their

Veil is of a thicker Crape than what we have here, thro' which one

cannot see the Face; for when they go abroad, they cover themselves all

over with it; but they put 'em up in the Churches, and lay 'em by in the

Houses. Every one of these have a Confessor, who is to 'em a sort of

Steward: For, you must know, they that go into these Places, have the

Management of their own Fortunes, and what their Parents design 'em.

Without the Advice of this Confessor, they act nothing, nor admit of a

Lover that he shall not approve; at least, this Method ought to be

taken, and is by almost all of 'em; tho' _Miranda_ thought her Wit above

it, as her Spirit was.

But as these Women are, as I said, of the best Quality, and live with

the Reputation of being retir'd from the World a little more than

ordinary, and because there is a sort of Difficulty to approach 'em,

they are the People the most courted, and liable to the greatest

Temptations; for as difficult as it seems to be, they receive Visits

from all the Men of the best Quality, especially Strangers. All the Men

of Wit and Conversation meet at the Apartments of these fair _Filles

Devotes_, where all Manner of Gallantries are perform'd, while all the

Study of these Maids is to accomplish themselves for these noble

Conversations. They receive Presents, Balls, Serenades, and Billets; All

the News, Wit, Verses, Songs, Novels, Musick, Gaming, and all fine

Diversion, is in their Apartments, they themselves being of the best

Quality and Fortune. So that to manage these Gallantries, there is no

sort of Female Arts they are not practis'd in, no Intrigue they are

ignorant of, and no Management of which they are not capable.

Of this happy Number was the fair _Miranda_, whose Parents being dead,

and a vast Estate divided between her self and a young Sister, (who

liv'd with an unmarry'd old Uncle, whose Estate afterwards was all

divided between 'em) she put her self into this uninclos'd religious

House; but her Beauty, which had all the Charms that ever Nature gave,

became the Envy of the whole _Sisterhood_. She was tall, and admirably

shaped; she had a bright Hair, and Hazle-Eyes, all full of Love and

Sweetness: No Art could make a Face so fair as hers by Nature, which

every Feature adorn'd with a Grace that Imagination cannot reach: Every

Look, every Motion charm'd, and her black Dress shew'd the Lustre of her

Face and Neck. She had an Air, though gay as so much Youth could

inspire, yet so modest, so nobly reserv'd, without Formality, or

Stiffness, that one who look'd on her would have imagin'd her Soul the

Twin-Angel of her Body; and both together made her appear something

divine. To this she had a great deal of Wit, read much, and retain'd all

that serv'd her Purpose. She sung delicately, and danc'd well, and

play'd on the Lute to a Miracle. She spoke several Languages naturally;

for being Co-heiress to so great a Fortune, she was bred with the nicest

Care, in all the finest Manners of Education; and was now arriv'd to her

Eighteenth Year.

'Twere needless to tell you how great a Noise the Fame of this young

Beauty, with so considerable a Fortune, made in the World: I may say,

the World, rather than confine her Fame to the scanty Limits of a Town;

it reach'd to many others: And there was not a Man of any Quality that

came to _Antwerp_, or pass'd thro' the City, but made it his Business to

see the lovely _Miranda_, who was universally ador'd: Her Youth and

Beauty, her Shape, and Majesty of Mein, and Air of Greatness, charm'd

all her Beholders; and thousands of People were dying by her Eyes, while

she was vain enough to glory in her Conquests, and make it her Business

to wound. She lov'd nothing so much as to behold sighing Slaves at her

Feet, of the greatest Quality; and treated them all with an Affability

that gave them Hope. Continual Musick, as soon as it was dark, and Songs

of dying Lovers, were sung under her Windows; and she might well have

made herself a great Fortune (if she had not been so already) by the

rich Presents that were hourly made her; and every body daily expected

when she would make some one happy, by suffering her self to be

conquer'd by Love and Honour, by the Assiduities and Vows of some one of

her Adorers. But _Miranda_ accepted their Presents, heard their Vows

with Pleasure, and willingly admitted all their soft Addresses; but

would not yield her Heart, or give away that lovely Person to the

Possession of one, who could please it self with so many. She was

naturally amorous, but extremely inconstant: She lov'd one for his Wit,

another for his Face, and a third for his Mein; but above all, she

admir'd Quality: Quality alone had the Power to attach her entirely; yet

not to one Man, but that Virtue was still admir'd by her in all:

Where-ever she found that, she lov'd, or at least acted the Lover with

such Art, that (deceiving well) she fail'd not to compleat her Conquest;

and yet she never durst trust her fickle Humour with Marriage. She knew

the Strength of her own Heart, and that it could not suffer itself to be

confin'd to one Man, and wisely avoided those Inquietudes, and that

Uneasiness of Life she was sure to find in that married State, which

would, against her Nature, oblige her to the Embraces of one, whose

Humour was, to love all the Young and the Gay. But Love, who had

hitherto only play'd with her Heart, and given it nought but pleasing

wanton Wounds, such as afforded only soft Joys, and not Pains, resolv'd,

either out of Revenge to those Numbers she had abandon'd, and who had

sigh'd so long in vain, or to try what Power he had upon so fickle a

Heart, to send an Arrow dipp'd in the most tormenting Flames that rage

in Hearts most sensible. He struck it home and deep, with all the Malice

of an angry God.

There was a Church belonging to the _Cordeliers_, whither _Miranda_

often repair'd to her Devotion; and being there one Day, accompany'd

with a young Sister of the Order, after the Mass was ended, as 'tis the

Custom, some one of the Fathers goes about the Church with a Box for

Contribution, or Charity-Money: It happen'd that Day, that a young

Father, newly initiated, carried the Box about, which, in his Turn, he

brought to _Miranda_. She had no sooner cast her Eyes on this young

Friar, but her Face was overspread with Blushes of Surprize: She beheld

him stedfastly, and saw in his Face all the Charms of Youth, Wit, and

Beauty; he wanted no one Grace that could form him for Love, he appear'd

all that is adorable to the Fair Sex, nor could the mis-shapen Habit

hide from her the lovely Shape it endeavour'd to cover, nor those

delicate Hands that approach'd her too near with the Box. Besides the

Beauty of his Face and Shape, he had an Air altogether great, in spite

of his profess'd Poverty, it betray'd the Man of Quality; and that

Thought weigh'd greatly with _Miranda_. But Love, who did not design she

should now feel any sort of those easy Flames, with which she had

heretofore burnt, made her soon lay all those Considerations aside,

which us'd to invite her to love, and now lov'd she knew not why.

She gaz'd upon him, while he bow'd before her, and waited for her

Charity, till she perceiv'd the lovely Friar to blush, and cast his Eyes

to the Ground. This awaken'd her Shame, and she put her Hand into her

Pocket, and was a good while in searching for her Purse, as if she

thought of nothing less than what she was about; at last she drew it

out, and gave him a Pistole; but with so much Deliberation and Leisure,

as easily betray'd the Satisfaction she took in looking on him; while

the good Man, having receiv'd her Bounty, after a very low Obeysance,

proceeded to the rest; and _Miranda_ casting after him a Look all

languishing, as long as he remain'd in the Church, departed with a Sigh

as soon as she saw him go out, and returned to her Apartment without

speaking one Word all the Way to the young _Fille Devote_, who attended

her; so absolutely was her Soul employ'd with this young Holy Man.

_Cornelia_ (so was this Maid call'd who was with her) perceiving she was

so silent, who us'd to be all Wit and good Humour, and observing her

little Disorder at the Sight of the young Father, tho' she was far from

imagining it to be Love, took an Occasion, when she was come home, to

speak of him. 'Madam, _said she_, did you not observe that fine young

_Cordelier_, who brought the Box?' At a Question that nam'd that Object

of her Thoughts, _Miranda_ blush'd; and she finding she did so,

redoubled her Confusion, and she had scarce Courage enough to

say,--_Yes, I did observe him_: And then, forcing herself to smile a

little, continu'd, 'And I wonder'd to see so jolly a young Friar of an

Order so severe and mortify'd.--Madam, (_reply'd +Cornelia+_) when you

know his _Story_, you will not wonder.' _Miranda_, who was impatient to

know all that concern'd her new Conqueror, obliged her to tell his

Story; and _Cornelia_ obey'd, and proceeded.

_The Story of Prince +Henrick+._

'You must know, Madam, that this young Holy Man is a Prince of

_Germany_, of the House of ----, whose Fate it was, to fall most

passionately in Love with a fair young Lady, who lov'd him with an

Ardour equal to what he vow'd her. Sure of her Heart, and wanting only

the Approbation of her Parents, and his own, which her Quality did not

suffer him to despair of, he boasted of his Happiness to a young Prince,

his elder Brother, a Youth amorous and fierce, impatient of Joys, and

sensible of Beauty, taking Fire with all fair Eyes: He was his Father's

Darling, and Delight of his fond Mother; and, by an Ascendant over both

their Hearts, rul'd their Wills.

'This young Prince no sooner saw, but lov'd the fair Mistress of his

Brother; and with an Authority of a Sovereign, rather than the Advice of

a Friend, warn'd his Brother _Henrick_ (this now young Friar) to

approach no more this Lady, whom he had seen; and seeing, lov'd.

'In vain the poor surpriz'd Prince pleads his Right of Love, his

Exchange of Vows, and Assurance of a Heart that could never be but for

himself. In vain he urges his Nearness of Blood, his Friendship, his

Passion, or his Life, which so entirely depended on the Possession of

the charming Maid. All his Pleading serv'd but to blow his Brother's

Flame; and the more he implores, the more the other burns; and while

_Henrick_ follows him, on his Knees, with humble Submissions, the other

flies from him in Rages of transported Love; nor could his Tears, that

pursu'd his Brother's Steps, move him to Pity: Hot-headed,

vain-conceited of his Beauty, and greater Quality as elder Brother, he

doubts not of Success, and resolv'd to sacrifice all to the Violence of

his new-born Passion.

'In short, he speaks of his Design to his Mother, who promis'd him her

Assistance; and accordingly proposing it first to the Prince her

Husband, urging the Languishment of her Son, she soon wrought so on him,

that a Match being concluded between the Parents of this young Beauty,

and _Henrick's_ Brother, the Hour was appointed before she knew of the

Sacrifice she was to be made. And while this was in Agitation, _Henrick_

was sent on some great Affairs, up into _Germany_, far out of the Way;

not but his boding Heart, with perpetual Sighs and Throbs, eternally

foretold him his Fate.

'All the Letters he wrote were intercepted, as well as those she wrote

to him. She finds herself every Day perplex'd with the Addresses of the

Prince she hated; he was ever sighing at her Feet. In vain were all her

reproaches, and all her Coldness, he was on the surer Side; for what he

found Love would not do, Force of Parents would.

'She complains, in her Heart, of young _Henrick_, from whom she could

never receive one Letter; and at last could not forbear bursting into

Tears, in spite of all her Force, and feign'd Courage, when, on a Day,

the Prince told her, that _Henrick_ was withdrawn to give him Time to

court her; to whom he said, he confess'd he had made some Vows, but did

repent of 'em, knowing himself too young to make 'em good: That it was

for that Reason he brought him first to see her; and for that Reason,

that after that, he never saw her more, nor so much as took Leave of

her; when, indeed, his Death lay upon the next Visit, his Brother having

sworn to murder him; and to that End, put a Guard upon him, till he was

sent into _Germany_.

'All this he utter'd with so many passionate Asseverations, Vows, and

seeming Pity for her being so inhumanly abandon'd, that she almost gave

Credit to all he had said, and had much ado to keep herself within the

Bounds of Moderation, and silent Grief. Her Heart was breaking, her Eyes

languish'd, and her Cheeks grew pale, and she had like to have fallen

dead into the treacherous Arms of him that had reduc'd her to this

Discovery; but she did what she could to assume her Courage, and to shew

as little Resentment as possible for a Heart, like hers, oppress'd with

Love, and now abandon'd by the dear Subject of its Joys and Pains.

'But, Madam, not to tire you with this Adventure, the Day arriv'd

wherein our still weeping Fair Unfortunate was to be sacrific'd to the

Capriciousness of Love; and she was carry'd to Court by her Parents,

without knowing to what End, where she was even compell'd to marry the

Prince.

'_Henrick_, who all this While knew no more of his Unhappiness, than

what his Fears suggested, returns, and passes even to the Presence of

his Father, before he knew any Thing of his Fortune; where he beheld his

Mistress and his Brother, with his Father, in such a Familiarity, as he

no longer doubted his Destiny. 'Tis hard to judge, whether the Lady, or

himself, was most surpriz'd; she was all pale and unmoveable in her

Chair, and _Henrick_ fix'd like a Statue; at last Grief and Rage took

Place of Amazement, and he could not forbear crying out, _Ah, Traytor!

Is it thus you have treated a Friend and Brother? And you, O perjur'd

Charmer! Is it thus you have rewarded all my Vows?_ He could say no

more; but reeling against the Door, had fallen in a Swoon upon the

Floor, had not his Page caught him in his Arms, who was entring with

him. The good old Prince, the Father, who knew not what all this meant,

was soon inform'd by the young weeping Princess; who, in relating the

Story of her Amour with _Henrick_, told her Tale in so moving a Manner,

as brought Tears to the Old Man's Eyes, and Rage to those of her

Husband; he immediately grew jealous to the last Degree: He finds

himself in Possession ('tis true) of the Beauty he ador'd, but the

Beauty adoring another; a Prince young and charming as the Light, soft,

witty, and raging with an equal Passion. He finds this dreaded Rival in

the same House with him, with an Authority equal to his own; and

fancies, where two Hearts are so entirely agreed, and have so good an

Understanding, it would not be impossible to find Opportunities to

satisfy and ease that mutual Flame, that burnt so equally in both; he

therefore resolved to send him out of the World, and to establish his

own Repose by a Deed, wicked, cruel, and unnatural, to have him

assassinated the first Opportunity he could find. This Resolution set

him a little at Ease, and he strove to dissemble Kindness to _Henrick_,

with all the Art he was capable of, suffering him to come often to the

Apartment of the Princess, and to entertain her oftentimes with

Discourse, when he was not near enough to hear what he spoke; but still

watching their Eyes, he found those of _Henrick_ full of Tears, ready to

flow, but restrain'd, looking all dying, and yet reproaching, while

those of the Princess were ever bent to the Earth, and she as much as

possible, shunning his Conversation. Yet this did not satisfy the

jealous Husband; 'twas not her Complaisance that could appease him; he

found her Heart was panting within, whenever _Henrick_ approach'd her,

and every Visit more and more confirmed his Death.

'The Father often found the Disorders of the Sons; the Softness and

Address of the one gave him as much Fear, as the angry Blushings, the

fierce Looks, and broken Replies of the other, whenever he beheld

_Henrick_ approach his Wife; so that the Father, fearing some ill

Consequence of this, besought _Henrick_ to withdraw to some other

Country, or travel into _Italy_, he being now of an Age that required a

View of the World. He told his Father, That he would obey his Commands,

tho' he was certain, that Moment he was to be separated from the Sight

of the fair Princess, his Sister, would be the last of his Life; and, in

fine, made so pitiful a Story of his suffering Love, as almost moved the

old Prince to compassionate him so far, as to permit him to stay; but he

saw inevitable Danger in that, and therefore bid him prepare for his

Journey.

'That which pass'd between the Father and _Henrick_, being a Secret,

none talked of his departing from Court; so that the Design the Brother

had went on; and making a Hunting-Match one Day, where most young People

of Quality were, he order'd some whom he had hired to follow his

Brother, so as if he chanced to go out of the Way, to dispatch him; and

accordingly, Fortune gave 'em an Opportunity; for he lagg'd behind the

Company, and turn'd aside into a pleasant Thicket of Hazles, where

alighting, he walk'd on Foot in the most pleasant Part of it, full of

Thought, how to divide his Soul between Love and Obedience. He was

sensible that he ought not to stay; that he was but an Affliction to the

young Princess, whose Honour could never permit her to ease any Part of

his Flame; nor was he so vicious to entertain a Thought that should

stain her Virtue. He beheld her now as his Brother's Wife, and that

secured his Flame from all loose Desires, if her native Modesty had not

been sufficient of itself to have done it, as well as that profound

Respect he paid her; and he consider'd, in obeying his Father, he left

her at Ease, and his Brother freed of a thousand Fears; he went to seek

a Cure, which if he could not find, at last he could but die; and so he

must, even at her Feet: However, that it was more noble to seek a Remedy

for his Disease, than expect a certain Death by staying. After a

thousand Reflections on his hard Fate, and bemoaning himself, and

blaming his cruel Stars, that had doom'd him to die so young, after an

Infinity of Sighs and Tears, Resolvings and Unresolvings, he, on the

sudden, was interrupted by the trampling of some Horses he heard, and

their rushing through the Boughs, and saw four Men make towards him: He

had not time to mount, being walk'd some Paces from his Horse. One of

the Men advanced, and cry'd, _Prince, you must die_--_I do believe

thee_, (reply'd _Henrick_) _but not by a Hand so base as thine_: And at

the same Time drawing his Sword, run him into the Groin. When the Fellow

found himself so wounded, he wheel'd off and cry'd, _Thou art a Prophet,

and hast rewarded my Treachery with Death._ The rest came up, and one

shot at the Prince, and shot him in the Shoulder; the other two hastily

laying hold (but too late) on the Hand of the Murderer, cry'd, _Hold,

Traytor; we relent, and he shall not die._ He reply'd, _'Tis too late,

he is shot; and see, he lies dead. Let us provide for ourselves, and

tell the Prince, we have done the Work; for you are as guilty as I am._

At that they all fled, and left the Prince lying under a Tree, weltering

in his Blood.

'About the Evening, the Forester going his Walks, saw the Horse, richly

caparison'd, without a Rider, at the Entrance of the Wood; and going

farther, to see if he could find its Owner, found there the Prince

almost dead; he immediately mounts him on the Horse, and himself behind,

bore him up, and carry'd him to the Lodge; where he had only one old

Man, his Father, well skilled in Surgery, and a Boy. They put him to

Bed; and the old Forester, with what Art he had, dress'd his Wounds, and

in the Morning sent for an abler Surgeon, to whom the Prince enjoin'd

Secrecy, because he knew him. The Man was faithful, and the Prince in

Time was recover'd of his Wound; and as soon as he was well, he came to

_Flanders_, in the Habit of a Pilgrim, and after some Time took the

Order of St. _Francis_, none knowing what became of him, till he was

profess'd; and then he wrote his own Story to the Prince his Father, to

his Mistress, and his ungrateful Brother. The young Princess did not

long survive his Loss, she languished from the Moment of his Departure;

and he had this to confirm his devout Life, to know she dy'd for him.

'My Brother, Madam, was an Officer under the Prince his Father, and knew

his Story perfectly well; from whose Mouth I had it.'

_What!_ (reply'd _Miranda_ then) _is Father +Henrick+ a Man of Quality_?

_Yes, Madam_, (said _Cornelia_) _and has changed his Name to

+Francisco+._ But _Miranda_, fearing to betray the Sentiments of her

Heart, by asking any more Questions about him, turned the Discourse; and

some Persons of Quality came in to visit her (for her Apartment was

about six o'Clock, like the Presence-Chamber of a Queen, always filled

with the greatest People): There meet all the _Beaux Esprits_, and all

the Beauties. But it was visible _Miranda_ was not so gay as she used to

be; but pensive, and answering _mal a propos_ to all that was said to

her. She was a thousand times going to speak, against her Will,

something of the charming Friar, who was never from her Thoughts; and

she imagined, if he could inspire Love in a coarse, grey, ill-made

Habit, a shorn Crown, a Hair-cord about his Waist, bare-legg'd, in

Sandals instead of Shoes; what must he do, when looking back on Time,

she beholds him in a Prospect of Glory, with all that Youth, and

illustrious Beauty, set off by the Advantage of Dress and Equipage? She

frames an Idea of him all gay and splendid, and looks on his present

Habit as some Disguise proper for the Stealths of Love; some feigned

put-on Shape, with the more Security to approach a Mistress, and make

himself happy; and that the Robe laid by, she has the Lover in his

proper Beauty, the same he would have been, if any other Habit (though

ever so rich) were put off: In the Bed, the silent gloomy Night, and the

soft Embraces of her Arms, he loses all the Friar, and assumes all the

Prince; and that aweful Reverence, due alone to his Holy Habit, he

exchanges for a thousand Dalliances, for which his Youth was made; for

Love, for tender Embraces, and all the Happiness of Life. Some Moments

she fancies him a Lover, and that the fair Object that takes up all his

Heart, has left no Room for her there; but that was a Thought that did

not long perplex her, and which, almost as soon as born, she turned to

her Advantage. She beholds him a Lover, and therefore finds he has a

Heart sensible and tender; he had Youth to be fir'd, as well as to

inspire; he was far from the loved Object, and totally without Hope; and

she reasonably consider'd, that Flame would of itself soon die, that had

only Despair to feed on. She beheld her own Charms; and Experience, as

well as her Glass, told her, they never failed of Conquest, especially

where they designed it: And she believed _Henrick_ would be glad, at

least, to quench that Flame in himself, by an Amour with her, which was

kindled by the young Princess of ---- his Sister.

These, and a thousand other Self-flatteries, all vain and indiscreet,

took up her waking Nights, and now more retired Days; while Love, to

make her truly wretched, suffered her to sooth herself with fond

Imaginations; not so much as permitting her Reason to plead one Moment

to save her from undoing: She would not suffer it to tell her, he had

taken Holy Orders, made sacred and solemn Vows of everlasting Chastity,

that it was impossible he could marry her, or lay before her any

Argument that might prevent her Ruin; but Love, mad malicious Love, was

always called to Counsel, and, like easy Monarchs, she had no Ears, but

for Flatterers.

Well then, she is resolv'd to love, without considering to what End, and

what must be the Consequence of such an Amour. She now miss'd no Day of

being at that little Church, where she had the Happiness, or rather the

Misfortune (so Love ordained) to see this Ravisher of her Heart and

Soul; and every Day she took new Fire from his lovely Eyes. Unawares,

unknown, and unwillingly, he gave her Wounds, and the Difficulty of her

Cure made her rage the more: She burnt, she languished, and died for the

young Innocent, who knew not he was the Author of so much Mischief.

Now she resolves a thousand Ways in her tortur'd Mind, to let him know

her Anguish, and at last pitch'd upon that of writing to him soft

Billets, which she had learn'd the Art of doing; or if she had not, she

had now Fire enough to inspire her with all that could charm and move.

These she deliver'd to a young Wench, who waited on her, and whom she

had entirely subdu'd to her Interest, to give to a certain Lay-Brother

of the Order, who was a very simple harmless Wretch, and who served in

the Kitchen, in the Nature of a Cook, in the Monastery of _Cordeliers_.

She gave him Gold to secure his Faith and Service; and not knowing from

whence they came (with so good Credentials) he undertook to deliver the

Letters to Father _Francisco_; which Letters were all afterwards, as you

shall hear, produced in open Court. These Letters failed not to come

every Day; and the Sense of the first was, to tell him, that a very

beautiful young Lady, of a great Fortune, was in love with him, without

naming her; but it came as from a third Person, to let him know the

Secret, that she desir'd he would let her know whether she might hope

any Return from him; assuring him, he needed but only see the fair

Languisher, to confess himself her Slave.

This Letter being deliver'd him, he read by himself, and was surpriz'd

to receive Words of this Nature, being so great a Stranger in that

Place; and could not imagine or would not give himself the Trouble of

guessing who this should be, because he never designed to make Returns.

The next Day, _Miranda_, finding no Advantage from her Messenger of

Love, in the Evening sends another (impatient of Delay) confessing that

she who suffer'd the Shame of writing and imploring, was the Person

herself who ador'd him. 'Twas there her raging Love made her say all

Things that discover'd the Nature of its Flame, and propose to flee with

him to any Part of the World, if he would quit the Convent; that she had

a Fortune considerable enough to make him happy; and that his Youth and

Quality were not given him to so unprofitable an End as to lose

themselves in a Convent, where Poverty and Ease was all the Business. In

fine, she leaves nothing unurg'd that might debauch and invite him; not

forgetting to send him her own Character of Beauty, and left him to

judge of her Wit and Spirit by her Writing, and her Love by the

Extremity of Passion she profess'd. To all which the lovely Friar made

no Return, as believing a gentle Capitulation or Exhortation to her

would but inflame her the more, and give new Occasions for her

continuing to write. All her Reasonings, false and vicious, he despis'd,

pity'd the Error of her Love, and was Proof against all she could plead.

Yet notwithstanding his Silence, which left her in Doubt, and more

tormented her, she ceas'd not to pursue him with her Letters, varying

her Style; sometimes all wanton, loose and raving; sometimes feigning a

Virgin-Modesty all over, accusing her self, blaming her Conduct, and

sighing her Destiny, as one compell'd to the shameful Discovery by the

Austerity of his Vow and Habit, asking his Pity and Forgiveness; urging

him in Charity to use his Fatherly Care to persuade and reason with her

wild Desires, and by his Counsel drive the God from her Heart, whose

Tyranny was worse than that of a Fiend; and he did not know what his

pious Advice might do. But still she writes in vain, in vain she varies

her Style, by a Cunning, peculiar to a Maid possess'd with such a sort

of Passion.

This cold Neglect was still Oil to the burning Lamp, and she tries yet

more Arts, which for want of right Thinking were as fruitless. She has

Recourse to Presents; her Letters came loaded with Rings of great Price,

and Jewels, which Fops of Quality had given her. Many of this Sort he

receiv'd, before he knew where to return 'em, or how; and on this

Occasion alone he sent her a Letter, and restor'd her Trifles, as he

call'd them: But his Habit having not made him forget his Quality and

Education, he wrote to her with all the profound Respect imaginable;

believing by her Presents, and the Liberality with which she parted with

'em, that she was of Quality. But the whole Letter, as he told me

afterwards, was to persuade her from the Honour she did him, by loving

him; urging a thousand Reasons, solid and pious, and assuring her, he

had wholly devoted the rest of his Days to Heaven, and had no Need of

those gay Trifles she had sent him, which were only fit to adorn Ladies

so fair as herself, and who had Business with this glittering World,

which he disdain'd, and had for ever abandon'd. He sent her a thousand

Blessings, and told her, she should be ever in his Prayers, tho' not in

his Heart, as she desir'd: And abundance of Goodness more he express'd,

and Counsel he gave her, which had the same Effect with his Silence; it

made her love but the more, and the more impatient she grew. She now had

a new Occasion to write, she now is charm'd with his Wit; this was the

new Subject. She rallies his Resolution, and endeavours to re-call him

to the World, by all the Arguments that human Invention is capable of.

But when she had above four Months languish'd thus in vain, not missing

one Day, wherein she went not to see him, without discovering herself to

him; she resolv'd, as her last Effort, to shew her Person, and see what

that, assisted by her Tears, and soft Words from her Mouth, could do, to

prevail upon him.

It happen'd to be on the Eve of that Day when she was to receive the

Sacrament, that she, covering herself with her Veil, came to _Vespers_,

purposing to make Choice of the conquering Friar for her Confessor.

She approach'd him; and as she did so, she trembled with Love. At last

she cry'd, _Father, my Confessor is gone for some Time from the Town,

and I am obliged To-morrow to receive, and beg you will be pleas'd to

take my Confession._

He could not refuse her; and let her into the _Sacristy_, where there is

a Confession-Chair, in which he seated himself; and on one Side of him

she kneel'd down, over-against a little Altar, where the Priests Robes

lye, on which were plac'd some lighted Wax-Candles, that made the little

Place very light and splendid, which shone full upon _Miranda_.

After the little Preparation usual in Confession, she turn'd up her

Veil, and discover'd to his View the most wondrous Object of Beauty he

had ever seen, dress'd in all the Glory of a young Bride; her Hair and

Stomacher full of Diamonds, that gave a Lustre all dazling to her

brighter Face and Eyes. He was surpriz'd at her amazing Beauty, and

question'd whether he saw a Woman, or an Angel at his Feet. Her Hands,

which were elevated, as if in Prayer, seem'd to be form'd of polish'd

Alabaster; and he confess'd, he had never seen any Thing in Nature so

perfect and so admirable.

He had some Pain to compose himself to hear her Confession, and was

oblig'd to turn away his Eyes, that his Mind might not be perplex'd with

an Object so diverting; when _Miranda_, opening the finest Mouth in the

World, and discovering new Charms, began her Confession.

'Holy Father (_said she_) amongst the Number of my vile Offences, that

which afflicts me to the greatest Degree, is, that I am in love: Not

(_continued she_) that I believe simple and virtuous Love a Sin, when

'tis plac'd on an Object proper and suitable; but, my dear Father,

(_said she, and wept_) I love with a Violence which cannot be contain'd

within the Bounds of Reason, Moderation, or Virtue. I love a Man whom I

cannot possess without a Crime, and a Man who cannot make me happy

without being perjur'd. Is he marry'd? (_reply'd the Father._) No;

(_answer'd +Miranda+._) Are you so? (_continued he._) Neither, (_said

she._) Is he too near ally'd to you? (_said +Francisco+:_) a Brother, or

Relation? Neither of these, (_said she._) He is unenjoy'd, unpromis'd;

and so am I: Nothing opposes our Happiness, or makes my Love a Vice, but

you--'Tis you deny me Life: 'Tis you that forbid my Flame: 'Tis you will

have me die, and seek my Remedy in my Grave, when I complain of

Tortures, Wounds, and Flames. O cruel Charmer! 'tis for you I languish;

and here, at your Feet, implore that Pity, which all my Addresses have

fail'd of procuring me.'--

With that, perceiving he was about to rise from his Seat, she held him

by his Habit, and vow'd she would in that Posture follow him, where-ever

he flew from her. She elevated her Voice so loud, he was afraid she

might be heard, and therefore suffer'd her to force him into his Chair

again; where being seated, he began, in the most passionate Terms

imaginable, to dissuade her; but finding she the more persisted in

Eagerness of Passion, he us'd all the tender Assurance that he could

force from himself, that he would have for her all the Respect, Esteem

and Friendship that he was capable of paying; that he had a real

Compassion for her: and at last she prevail'd so far with him, by her

Sighs and Tears, as to own he had a Tenderness for her, and that he

could not behold so many Charms, without being sensibly touch'd by 'em,

and finding all those Effects, that a Maid so fair and young causes in

the Souls of Men of Youth and Sense: But that, as he was assured, he

could never be so happy to marry her, and as certain he could not grant

any Thing but honourable Passion, he humbly besought her not to expect

more from him than such. And then began to tell her how short Life was,

and transitory its Joys; how soon she would grow weary of Vice, and how

often change to find real Repose in it, but never arrive to it. He made

an End, by new Assurance of his eternal Friendship, but utterly forbad

her to hope.

Behold her now deny'd, refus'd and defeated, with all her pleading

Youth, Beauty, Tears, and Knees, imploring, as she lay, holding fast his

_Scapular_, and embracing his Feet. What shall she do? She swells with

Pride, Love, Indignation and Desire; her burning Heart is bursting with

Despair, her Eyes grow fierce, and from Grief she rises to a Storm; and

in her Agony of Passion, with Looks all disdainful, haughty, and full of

Rage, she began to revile him, as the poorest of Animals; tells him his

Soul was dwindled to the Meanness of his Habit, and his Vows of Poverty

were suited to his degenerate Mind. 'And (_said she_) since all my

nobler Ways have fail'd me; and that, for a little Hypocritical

Devotion, you resolve to lose the greatest Blessings of Life, and to

sacrifice me to your Religious Pride and Vanity, I will either force you

to abandon that dull Dissimulation, or you shall die, to prove your

Sanctity real. Therefore answer me immediately, answer my Flame, my

raging Fire, which your Eyes have kindled; or here, in this very Moment,

I will ruin thee; and make no Scruple of revenging the Pains I suffer,

by that which shall take away your Life and Honour.'

The trembling young Man, who, all this While, with extreme Anguish of

Mind, and Fear of the dire Result, had listen'd to her Ravings, full of

Dread, demanded what she would have him do? When she reply'd--'Do that

which thy Youth and Beauty were ordain'd to do:--this Place is private,

a sacred Silence reigns here, and no one dares to pry into the Secrets

of this Holy Place: We are as secure from Fears and Interruption, as in

Desarts uninhabited, or Caves forsaken by wild Beasts. The Tapers too

shall veil their Lights, and only that glimmering Lamp shall be Witness

of our dear Stealths of Love--Come to my Arms, my trembling, longing

Arms; and curse the Folly of thy Bigotry, that has made thee so long

lose a Blessing, for which so many Princes sigh in vain.'

At these Words she rose from his Feet, and snatching him in her Arms, he

could not defend himself from receiving a thousand Kisses from the

lovely Mouth of the charming Wanton; after which, she ran herself, and

in an Instant put out the Candles. But he cry'd to her, 'In vain, O too

indiscreet Fair One, in vain you put out the Light; for Heaven still has

Eyes, and will look down upon my broken Vows. I own your Power, I own I

have all the Sense in the World of your charming Touches; I am frail

Flesh and Blood, but--yet--yet I can resist; and I prefer my Vows to all

your powerful Temptations.--I will be deaf and blind, and guard my Heart

with Walls of Ice, and make you know, that when the Flames of true

Devotion are kindled in a Heart, it puts out all other Fires; which are

as ineffectual, as Candles lighted in the Face of the Sun.--Go, vain

Wanton, and repent, and mortify that Blood which has so shamefully

betray'd thee, and which will one Day ruin both thy Soul and Body.'--

At these Words _Miranda_, more enrag'd, the nearer she imagin'd her self

to Happiness, made no Reply; but throwing her self, in that Instant,

into the Confessing-Chair, and violently pulling the young Friar into

her Lap, she elevated her Voice to such a Degree, in crying out, _Help,

Help! A Rape! Help, Help!_ that she was heard all over the Church, which

was full of People at the Evening's Devotion; who flock'd about the Door

of the _Sacristy_, which was shut with a Spring-Lock on the Inside, but

they durst not open the Door.

'Tis easily to be imagin'd, in what Condition our young Friar was, at

this last devilish Stratagem of his wicked Mistress. He strove to break

from those Arms that held him so fast; and his Bustling to get away, and

her's to retain him, disorder'd her Hair and Habit to such a Degree, as

gave the more Credit to her false Accusation.

The Fathers had a Door on the other Side, by which they usually enter'd,

to dress in this little Room; and at the Report that was in an Instant

made 'em, they hasted thither, and found _Miranda_ and the good Father

very indecently struggling; which they mis-interpreted, as _Miranda_

desir'd; who, all in Tears, immediately threw her self at the Feet of

the Provincial, who was one of those that enter'd; and cry'd, 'O holy

Father! revenge an innocent Maid, undone and lost to Fame and Honour, by

that vile Monster, born of Goats, nurs'd by Tygers, and bred up on

savage Mountains, where Humanity and Religion are Strangers. For, O holy

Father, could it have enter'd into the Heart of Man, to have done so

barbarous and horrid a Deed, as to attempt the Virgin-Honour of an

unspotted Maid, and one of my Degree, even in the Moment of my

Confession, in that holy Time, when I was prostrate before him and

Heaven, confessing those Sins that press'd my tender Conscience; even

then to load my Soul with the blackest of Infamies, to add to my Number

a Weight that must sink me to Hell? Alas! under the Security of his

innocent Looks, his holy Habit, and his aweful Function, I was led into

this Room to make my Confession; where, he locking the Door, I had no

sooner began, but he gazing on me, took fire at my fatal Beauty; and

starting up, put out the Candles and caught me in his Arms; and raising

me from the Pavement, set me in the Confession-Chair; and then--Oh,

spare me the rest.'

With that a Shower of Tears burst from her fair dissembling Eyes, and

Sobs so naturally acted, and so well manag'd, as left no doubt upon the

good Men, but all she had spoken was Truth.

'--At first, (_proceeded she_) I was unwilling to bring so great a

Scandal on his Order, to cry out; but struggled as long as I had Breath;

pleaded the Heinousness of the Crime, urging my Quality, and the Danger

of the Attempt. But he, deaf as the Winds, and ruffling as a Storm,

pursu'd his wild Design with so much Force and Insolence, as I at last,

unable to resist, was wholly vanquish'd, robb'd of my native Purity.

With what Life and Breath I had, I call'd for Assistance, both from Men

and Heaven; but oh, alas! your Succours came too late:--You find me here

a wretched, undone, and ravish'd Maid. Revenge me, Fathers; revenge me

on the perfidious Hypocrite, or else give me a Death that may secure

your Cruelty and Injustice from ever being proclaim'd over the World; or

my Tongue will be eternally reproaching you, and cursing the wicked

Author of my Infamy.'

She ended as she began, with a thousand Sighs and Tears; and received

from the Provincial all Assurances of Revenge.

The innocent betray'd Victim, all the while she was speaking, heard her

with an Astonishment that may easily be imagined; yet shew'd no

extravagant Signs of it, as those would do, who feign it, to be thought

innocent; but being really so, he bore with an humble, modest, and

blushing Countenance, all her Accusations; which silent Shame they

mistook for evident Signs of his Guilt.

When the Provincial demanded, with an unwonted Severity in his Eyes and

Voice, what he could answer for himself? calling him Profaner of his

Sacred Vows, and Infamy to the Holy Order; the injur'd, but innocently

accus'd, only reply'd: 'May Heaven forgive that bad Woman, and bring her

to Repentance! For his Part, he was not so much in Love with Life, as to

use many arguments to justify his Innocence; unless it were to free that

Order from a Scandal, of which he had the Honour to be profess'd. But as

for himself, Life or Death were Things indifferent to him, who heartily

despis'd the World.'

He said no more, and suffer'd himself to be led before the Magistrate;

who committed him to Prison, upon the Accusation of this implacable

Beauty; who, with so much feign'd Sorrow, prosecuted the Matter, even to

his Tryal and Condemnation; where he refus'd to make any great Defence

for himself. But being daily visited by all the Religious, both of his

own and other Orders, they oblig'd him (some of 'em knowing the

Austerity of his Life, others his Cause of Griefs that first brought him

into Orders, and others pretending a nearer Knowledge, even of his Soul

it self) to stand upon his Justification, and discover what he knew of

that wicked Woman; whose Life had not been so exemplary for Virtue, not

to have given the World a thousand Suspicions of her Lewdness and

Prostitutions.

The daily Importunities of these Fathers made him produce her Letters:

But as he had all the Gown-men on his Side, she had all the Hats and

Feathers on her's; all the Men of Quality taking her Part, and all the

Church-men his. They heard his daily Protestations and Vows, but not a

Word of what passed at Confession was yet discover'd: He held that as a

Secret sacred on his Part; and what was said in Nature of a Confession,

was not to be revealed, though his Life depended on the Discovery. But

as to the Letters, they were forc'd from him, and expos'd; however,

Matters were carry'd with so high a Hand against him, that they serv'd

for no Proof at all of his Innocence, and he was at last condemn'd to be

burn'd at the Market-Place.

After his Sentence was pass'd, the whole Body of Priests made their

Addresses to the Marquis _Castel Roderigo_, the then Governor of

_Flanders_, for a Reprieve; which, after much ado, was granted him for

some Weeks, but with an absolute Denial of Pardon: So prevailing were

the young Cavaliers of his Court, who were all Adorers of this Fair

Jilt.

About this time, while the poor innocent young _Henrick_ was thus

languishing in Prison, in a dark and dismal Dungeon, and _Miranda_,

cured of her Love, was triumphing in her Revenge, expecting and daily

giving new Conquests; and who, by this time, had re-assum'd all her

wonted Gaiety; there was a great Noise about the Town, that a Prince of

mighty Name, and fam'd for all the Excellencies of his Sex, was arriv'd;

a Prince young, and gloriously attended, call'd Prince _Tarquin_.

We had often heard of this great Man, and that he was making his Travels

in _France_ and _Germany_: And we had also heard, that some Years

before, he being about Eighteen Years of Age, in the Time when our King

_Charles_, of blessed Memory, was in _Brussels_, in the last Year of his

Banishment, that all on a sudden, this young Man rose up upon 'em like

the Sun, all glorious and dazling, demanding Place of all the Princes in

that Court. And when his Pretence was demanded, he own'd himself Prince

_Tarquin_, of the Race of the last Kings of _Rome_, made good his Title,

and took his Place accordingly. After that he travell'd for about six

Years up and down the World, and then arriv'd at _Antwerp_, about the

Time of my being sent thither by King _Charles_.

Perhaps there could be nothing seen so magnificent as this Prince: He

was, as I said, extremely handsome, from Head to Foot exactly form'd,

and he wanted nothing that might adorn that native Beauty to the best

Advantage. His Parts were suitable to the rest: He had an Accomplishment

fit for a Prince, an Air haughty, but a Carriage affable, easy in

Conversation, and very entertaining, liberal and good-natur'd, brave and

inoffensive. I have seen him pass the Streets with twelve Footmen, and

four Pages; the Pages all in green Velvet Coats lac'd with Gold, and

white Velvet Tunicks; the Men in Cloth, richly lac'd with Gold; his

Coaches, and all other Officers, suitable to a great Man.

He was all the Discourse of the Town; some laughing at his Title, others

reverencing it: Some cry'd, that he was an Imposter; others, that he had

made his Title as plain, as if _Tarquin_ had reign'd but a Year ago.

Some made Friendships with him, others would have nothing to say to him:

But all wonder'd where his Revenue was, that supported this Grandeur;

and believ'd, tho' he could make his Descent from the _Roman_ Kings very

well out, that he could not lay so good a Claim to the _Roman_ Land.

Thus every body meddled with what they had nothing to do; and, as in

other Places, thought themselves on the surer Side, if, in these

doubtful Cases, they imagin'd the worst.

But the Men might be of what Opinion they pleas'd concerning him; the

Ladies were all agreed that he was a Prince, and a young handsome

Prince, and a Prince not to be resisted: He had all their Wishes, all

their Eyes, and all their Hearts. They now dress'd only for him; and

what Church he grac'd, was sure, that Day, to have the Beauties, and all

that thought themselves so.

You may believe, our amorous _Miranda_ was not the least Conquest he

made. She no sooner heard of him, which was as soon as he arriv'd, but

she fell in love with his very Name. _Jesu!_--A young King of _Rome!_

Oh, it was so novel, that she doated on the Title; and had not car'd

whether the rest had been Man or Monkey almost: She was resolved to be

the _Lucretia_ that this young _Tarquin_ should ravish.

To this End, she was no sooner up the next Day, but she sent him a

_Billet Doux_, assuring him how much she admired his Fame; and that

being a Stranger in the Town, she begged the Honour of introducing him

to all the _Belle_ Conversations, _&c._ which he took for the Invitation

of some Coquet, who had Interest in fair Ladies; and civilly return'd

her an Answer, that he would wait on her. She had him that Day watched

to Church; and impatient to see what she heard so many People flock to

see, she went also to the same Church; those sanctified Abodes being too

often profaned by such Devotees, whose Business is to ogle and ensnare.

But what a Noise and Humming was heard all over the Church, when

_Tarquin_ enter'd! His Grace, his Mein, his Fashion, his Beauty, his

Dress, and his Equipage surprized all that were present: And by the good

Management and Care of _Miranda_, she got to kneel at the Side of the

Altar, just over against the Prince, so that, if he would, he could not

avoid looking full upon her. She had turned up her Veil, and all her

Face and Shape appear'd such, and so inchanting, as I have described;

and her Beauty heighten'd with Blushes, and her Eyes full of Spirit and

Fire, with Joy, to find the young _Roman_ Monarch so charming, she

appear'd like something more than mortal, and compelled his Eyes to a

fixed gazing on her Face: She never glanc'd that Way, but she met them;

and then would feign so modest a Shame, and cast her Eyes downwards with

such inviting Art, that he was wholly ravished and charmed, and she

over-joy'd to find he was so.

The Ceremony being ended, he sent a Page to follow that Lady Home,

himself pursuing her to the Door of the Church, where he took some holy

Water, and threw upon her, and made her a profound Reverence. She forc'd

an innocent Look, and a modest Gratitude in her Face, and bow'd, and

passed forward, half assur'd of her Conquest; leaving her, to go home to

his Lodging, and impatiently wait the Return of his Page. And all the

Ladies who saw this first Beginning between the Prince and _Miranda_,

began to curse and envy her Charms, who had deprived them of half their

Hopes.

After this, I need not tell you, he made _Miranda_ a Visit; and from

that Day never left her Apartment, but when he went home at Nights, or

unless he had Business; so entirely was he conquer'd by this Fair One.

But the Bishop, and several Men of Quality, in Orders, that profess'd

Friendship to him, advised him from her Company; and spoke several

Things to him, that might (if Love had not made him blind) have

reclaimed him from the Pursuit of his Ruin. But whatever they trusted

him with, she had the Art to wind herself about his Heart, and make him

unravel all his Secrets; and then knew as well, by feign'd Sighs and

Tears, to make him disbelieve all; so that he had no Faith but for her;

and was wholly inchanted and bewitch'd by her. At last, in spite of all

that would have opposed it, he marry'd this famous Woman, possess'd by

so many great Men and Strangers before, while all the World was pitying

his Shame and Misfortunes.

Being marry'd, they took a great House; and as she was indeed a great

Fortune, and now a great Princess, there was nothing wanting that was

agreeable to their Quality; all was splendid and magnificent. But all

this would not acquire them the World's Esteem; they had an Abhorrence

for her former Life, and despised her; and for his espousing a Woman so

infamous, they despised him. So that though they admir'd, and gazed upon

their Equipage, and glorious Dress, they foresaw the Ruin that attended

it, and paid her Quality little Respect.

She was no sooner married, but her Uncle died; and dividing his Fortune

between _Miranda_ and her Sister, leaves the young Heiress, and all her

Fortune, entirely in the Hands of the Princess.

We will call this Sister _Alcidiana_; she was about fourteen Years of

Age, and now had chosen her Brother, the Prince, for her Guardian. If

_Alcidiana_ were not altogether so great a Beauty as her Sister, she had

Charms sufficient to procure her a great many Lovers, though her Fortune

had not been so considerable as it was; but with that Addition, you may

believe, she wanted no Courtships from those of the best Quality; tho'

every body deplor'd her being under the Tutorage of a Lady so expert in

all the Vices of her Sex, and so cunning a Manager of Sin, as was the

Princess; who, on her Part, failed not, by all the Caresses, and

obliging Endearments, to engage the Mind of this young Maid, and to

subdue her wholly to her Government. All her Senses were eternally

regaled with the most bewitching Pleasures they were capable of: She saw

nothing but Glory and Magnificence, heard nothing but Musick of the

sweetest Sounds; the richest Perfumes employ'd her Smelling; and all she

eat and touch'd was delicate and inviting; and being too young to

consider how this State and Grandeur was to be continu'd, little

imagined her vast Fortune was every Day diminishing, towards its

needless Support.

When the Princess went to Church, she had her Gentleman bare before her,

carrying a great Velvet Cushion, with great Golden Tassels, for her to

kneel on, and her Train borne up a most prodigious Length, led by a

Gentleman Usher, bare; follow'd by innumerable Footmen, Pages, and

Women. And in this State she would walk in the Streets, as in those

Countries it is the Fashion for the great Ladies to do, who are well;

and in her Train two or three Coaches, and perhaps a rich Velvet Chair

embroider'd, would follow in State.

It was thus for some time they liv'd, and the Princess was daily press'd

by young sighing Lovers, for her Consent to marry _Alcidiana_; but she

had still one Art or other to put them off, and so continually broke all

the great Matches that were proposed to her, notwithstanding their

Kindred and other Friends had industriously endeavour'd to make several

great Matches for her; but the Princess was still positive in her

Denial, and one Way or other broke all. At last it happened, there was

one proposed, yet more advantageous, a young Count, with whom the young

Maid grew passionately in Love, and besought her Sister to consent that

she might have him, and got the Prince to speak in her Behalf; but he

had no sooner heard the secret Reasons _Miranda_ gave him, but (entirely

her Slave) he chang'd his Mind, and suited it to hers, and she, as

before, broke off that Amour: Which so extremely incensed _Alcidiana_,

that she, taking an Opportunity, got from her Guard, and ran away,

putting her self into the Hands of a wealthy Merchant, her Kinsman, and

one who bore the greatest Authority in the City; him she chuses for her

Guardian, resolving to be no longer a Slave to the Tyranny of her

Sister. And so well she ordered Matters, that she writ this young

Cavalier, her last Lover, and retrieved him; who came back to _Antwerp_

again, to renew his Courtship.

Both Parties being agreed, it was no hard Matter to persuade all but the

Princess. But though she opposed it, it was resolved on, and the Day

appointed for Marriage, and the Portion demanded; demanded only, but

never to be paid, the best Part of it being spent. However, she put them

off from Day to Day, by a thousand frivolous Delays; and when she saw

they would have Recourse to Force, and all that her Magnificence would

be at an End, if the Law should prevail against her; and that without

this Sister's Fortune, she could not long support her Grandeur; she

bethought herself of a Means to make it all her own, by getting her

Sister made away; but she being out of her Tuition, she was not able to

accomplish so great a Deed of Darkness. But since it was resolved it

must be done, she contrives a thousand Stratagems; and at last pitches

upon an effectual one.

She had a Page call'd _Van Brune_, a Youth of great Address and Wit, and

one she had long managed for her Purpose. This Youth was about seventeen

Years of Age, and extremely beautiful; and in the Time when _Alcidiana_

lived with the Princess, she was a little in Love with this handsome

Boy; but it was checked in its Infancy, and never grew up to a Flame:

Nevertheless, _Alcidiana_ retained still a sort of Tenderness for him,

while he burn'd in good Earnest with Love for the Princess.

The Princess one Day ordering this Page to wait on her in her Closet,

she shut the Door; and after a thousand Questions of what he would

undertake to serve her, the amorous Boy finding himself alone, and

caress'd by the fair Person he ador'd, with joyful Blushes that

beautify'd his Face, told her, 'There was nothing upon Earth, he would

not do, to obey her least Commands.' She grew more familiar with him, to

oblige him; and seeing Love dance in his Eyes, of which she was so good

a Judge, she treated him more like a Lover, than a Servant; till at last

the ravished Youth, wholly transported out of himself, fell at her Feet,

and impatiently implor'd to receive her Commands quickly, that he might

fly to execute them; for he was not able to bear her charming Words,

Looks, and Touches, and retain his Duty. At this she smil'd, and told

him, the Work was of such a Nature, as would mortify all Flames about

him; and he would have more Need of Rage, Envy, and Malice, than the

Aids of a Passion so soft as what she now found him capable of. He

assur'd her, he would stick at nothing, tho' even against his Nature, to

recompense for the Boldness he now, through his Indiscretion, had

discover'd. She smiling, told him, he had committed no Fault; and that

possibly, the Pay he should receive for the Service she required at his

Hands, should be--what he most wish'd for in the World. At this he bow'd

to the Earth; and kissing her Feet, bad her command: And then she boldly

told him, _'Twas to kill her Sister_ Alcidiana. The Youth, without so

much as starting or pausing upon the Matter, told her, _It should be

done_; and bowing low, immediately went out of the Closet. She call'd

him back, and would have given him some Instruction; but he refused it,

and said, 'The Action and the Contrivance should be all his own.' And

offering to go again, she--again recalled him; putting into his Hand a

Purse of a hundred Pistoles, which he took, and with a low Bow departed.

He no sooner left her Presence, but he goes directly, and buys a Dose of

Poison, and went immediately to the House where _Alcidiana_ lived; where

desiring to be brought to her Presence, he fell a weeping; and told her,

his Lady had fallen out with him, and dismissed him her Service, and

since from a Child he had been brought up in the Family, he humbly

besought _Alcidiana_ to receive him into hers, she being in a few Days

to be marry'd. There needed not much Intreaty to a Thing that pleased

her so well, and she immediately received him to Pension: And he waited

some Days on her, before he could get an Opportunity to administer his

devilish Potion. But one Night, when she drank Wine with roasted Apples,

which was usual with her; instead of Sugar, or with the Sugar, the

baneful Drug was mixed, and she drank it down.

About this Time, there was a great Talk of this Page's coming from one

Sister, to go to the other. And Prince _Tarquin_, who was ignorant of

the Design from the Beginning to the End, hearing some Men of Quality at

his Table speaking of _Van Brune's_ Change of Place (the Princess then

keeping her Chamber upon some trifling Indisposition) he answer'd, 'That

surely they were mistaken, that he was not dismissed from the Princess's

Service:' And calling some of his Servants, he asked for _Van Brune_;

and whether any Thing had happen'd between her Highness and him, that

had occasion'd his being turned off. They all seem'd ignorant of this

Matter; and those who had spoken of it, began to fancy there was some

Juggle in the Case, which Time would bring to Light.

The ensuing Day 'twas all about the Town, that _Alcidiana_ was poison'd;

and though not dead, yet very near it; and that the Doctors said, she

had taken Mercury. So that there was never so formidable a Sight as this

fair young Creature; her Head and Body swoln, her Eyes starting out, her

Face black, and all deformed: So that diligent Search was made, who it

should be that did this; who gave her Drink and Meat. The Cook and

Butler were examined, the Footman called to an Account; but all

concluded, she received nothing but from the Hand of her new Page, since

he came into her Service. He was examined, and shew'd a thousand guilty

Looks: And the Apothecary, then attending among the Doctors, proved he

had bought Mercury of him three or four Days before; which he could not

deny; and making many Excuses for his buying it, betray'd him the more;

so ill he chanced to dissemble. He was immediately sent to be examined

by the Margrave or Justice, who made his _Mittimus_, and sent him to

Prison.

'Tis easy to imagine, in what Fears and Confusion the Princess was at

this News: She took her Chamber upon it, more to hide her guilty Face,

than for any Indisposition. And the Doctors apply'd such Remedies to

_Alcidiana_, such Antidotes against the Poison, that in a short Time she

recover'd; but lost the finest Hair in the World, and the Complexion of

her Face ever after.

It was not long before the Trials for Criminals came on; and the Day

being arrived, _Van Brune_ was try'd the first of all; every Body having

already read his Destiny, according as they wished it; and none would

believe, but just indeed as it was: So that for the Revenge they hoped

to see fall upon the Princess, every one wished he might find no Mercy,

that she might share of his Shame and Misery.

The Sessions-House was filled that Day with all the Ladies, and chief of

the Town, to hear the Result of his Trial; and the sad Youth was

brought, loaded with Chains, and pale as Death; where every Circumstance

being sufficiently proved against him, and he making but a weak Defence

for himself, he was convicted, and sent back to Prison, to receive his

Sentence of Death on the Morrow; where he owned all, and who set him on

to do it. He own'd 'twas not Reward of Gain he did it for, but Hope he

should command at his Pleasure the Possession of his Mistress, the

Princess, who should deny him nothing, after having entrusted him with

so great a Secret; and that besides, she had elevated him with the

Promise of that glorious Reward, and had dazzled his young Heart with so

charming a Prospect, that blind and mad with Joy, he rushed forward to

gain the desired Prize, and thought on nothing but his coming Happiness:

That he saw too late the Follies of his presumptuous Flame, and cursed

the deluding Flatteries of the fair Hypocrite, who had soothed him to

his Undoing: That he was a miserable Victim to her Wickedness; and hoped

he should warn all young Men, by his Fall, to avoid the Dissimulation of

the deceiving Fair: That he hoped they would have Pity on his Youth, and

attribute his Crime to the subtle Persuasions alone of his Mistress the

Princess: And that since _Alcidiana_ was not dead, they would grant him

Mercy, and permit him to live to repent of his grievous Crime, in some

Part of the World, whither they might banish him.

He ended with Tears, that fell in abundance from his Eyes; and

immediately the Princess was apprehended, and brought to Prison, to the

same Prison where yet the poor young Father _Francisco_ was languishing,

he having been from Week to Week reprieved, by the Intercession of the

Fathers; and possibly she there had Time to make some Reflections.

You may imagine _Tarquin_ left no Means unessay'd, to prevent the

Imprisonment of the Princess, and the publick Shame and Infamy she was

likely to undergo in this Affair: But the whole City being over-joy'd

that she should be punished, as an Author of all this Mischief, were

generally bent against her, both Priests, Magistrates and People; the

whole Force of the Stream running that Way, she found no more Favour

than the meanest Criminal. The Prince therefore, when he saw 'twas

impossible to rescue her from the Hands of Justice, suffer'd with Grief

unspeakable, what he could not prevent, and led her himself to the

Prison, follow'd by all his People, in as much State as if he had been

going to his Marriage; where, when she came, she was as well attended

and served as before, he never stirring one Moment from her.

The next Day, she was tried in open and common Court; where she appeared

in Glory, led by _Tarquin_, and attended according to her Quality: And

she could not deny all the Page had alledged against her, who was

brought thither also in Chains; and after a great many Circumstances,

she was found Guilty, and both received Sentence; the Page to be hanged

till he was dead, on a Gibbet in the Market-Place; and the Princess to

stand under the Gibbet, with a Rope about her Neck, the other End of

which was to be fastned to the Gibbet where the Page was hanging; and to

have an Inscription, in large Characters, upon her Back and Breast, of

the Cause why; where she was to stand from ten in the Morning to twelve.

This Sentence, the People with one Accord, believed too favourable for

so ill a Woman, whose Crimes deserved Death, equal to that of _Van

Brune_. Nevertheless, there were some who said, it was infinitely more

severe than Death it self.

The following _Friday_ was the Day of Execution, and one need not tell

of the Abundance of People, who were flocked together in the

Market-Place: And all the Windows were taken down, and filled with

Spectators, and the Tops of Houses; when at the Hour appointed, the

fatal Beauty appear'd. She was dress'd in a black Velvet Gown, with a

rich Row of Diamonds all down the fore Part of her Breast, and a great

Knot of Diamonds at the Peak behind; and a Petticoat of flower'd Gold,

very rich, and laced; with all Things else suitable. A Gentleman carry'd

her great Velvet Cushion before her, on which her Prayer-Book,

embroider'd, was laid; her Train was borne up by a Page, and the Prince

led her, bare; followed by his Footmen, Pages, and other Officers of his

House.

When they arrived at the Place of Execution, the Cushion was laid on the

Ground, upon a _Portugal_ Mat, spread there for that Purpose; and the

Princess stood on the Cushion, with her Prayer-Book in her Hand, and a

Priest by her Side; and was accordingly tied up to the Gibbet.

She had not stood there ten Minutes, but she had the Mortification

(at least one would think it so to her) to see her sad Page, _Van

Brune_, approach, fair as an Angel, but languishing and pale. That Sight

moved all the Beholders with as much Pity, as that of the Princess did

with Disdain and Pleasure.

He was dressed all in Mourning, and very fine Linen, bare-headed, with

his own Hair, the fairest that could be seen, hanging all in Curls on

his Back and Shoulders, very long. He had a Prayer-Book of black Velvet

in his Hand, and behaved himself with much Penitence and Devotion.

When he came under the Gibbet, he seeing his Mistress in that Condition,

shew'd an infinite Concern, and his fair Face was cover'd over with

Blushes; and falling at her Feet, he humbly ask'd her Pardon for having

been the Occasion of so great an Infamy to her, by a weak Confession,

which the Fears of Youth, and Hopes of Life, had obliged him to make, so

greatly to her Dishonour; for indeed he wanted that manly Strength, to

bear the Efforts of dying, as he ought, in Silence, rather than of

commiting so great a Crime against his Duty, and Honour itself; and that

he could not die in Peace, unless she would forgive him. The Princess

only nodded her Head, and cried, _I do_--

And after having spoken a little to his Father-Confessor, who was with

him, he chearfully mounted the Ladder, and in Sight of the Princess he

was turned off, while a loud Cry was heard thro' all the Market-Place,

especially from the Fair Sex; he hanged there till the Time the Princess

was to depart; and then she was put into a rich embroider'd Chair, and

carry'd away, _Tarquin_ going into his, for he had all that Time stood

supporting the Princess under the Gallows, and was very weary. She was

sent back, till her Releasement came, which was that Night about seven

o'Clock; and then she was conducted to her own House in great State,

with a Dozen White Wax Flambeaux about her Chair.

If the Guardian of _Alcidiana_, and her Friends, before were impatient

of having the Portion out of the Hands of these Extravagants, it is not

to be imagined, but they were now much more so; and the next Day they

sent an Officer, according to Law, to demand it, or to summon the Prince

to give Reasons why he would not pay it. The Officer received for

Answer, That the Money should be call'd in, and paid in such a Time,

setting a certain Time, which I have not been so curious as to retain,

or put in my Journal-Observations; but I am sure it was not long, as may

be easily imagin'd, for they every Moment suspected the Prince would

pack up, and be gone, some time or other, on the sudden; and for that

Reason they would not trust him without Bail, or two Officers to remain

in his House, to watch that nothing should be remov'd or touch'd. As for

Bail, or Security, he could give none; every one slunk their Heads out

of the Collar, when it came to that: So that he was oblig'd, at his own

Expence, to maintain Officers in his House.

The Princess finding her self reduced to the last Extremity, and that

she must either produce the Value of a hundred thousand Crowns, or see

the Prince her Husband lodged for ever in a Prison, and all their Glory

vanish; and that it was impossible to fly, since guarded; she had

Recourse to an Extremity, worse than the Affair of _Van Brune_. And in

order to this, she first puts on a world of Sorrow and Concern, for what

she feared might arrive to the Prince: And indeed, if ever she shed

Tears which she did not dissemble, it was upon this Occasion. But here

she almost over-acted: She stirred not from her Bed, and refused to eat,

or sleep, or see the Light; so that the Day being shut out of her

Chamber, she lived by Wax-lights, and refus'd all Comfort and

Consolation.

The Prince, all raving with Love, tender Compassion and Grief, never

stirred from her Bed-side, nor ceas'd to implore, that she would suffer

herself to live. But she, who was not now so passionately in Love with

_Tarquin_, as she was with the Prince; nor so fond of the Man as his

Titles, and of Glory; foresaw the total Ruin of the last, if not

prevented by avoiding the Payment of this great Sum; which could not

otherwise be, than by the Death of _Alcidiana_: And therefore, without

ceasing, she wept, and cry'd out, 'She could not live, unless

_Alcidiana_ died. This _Alcidiana_ (_continued she_) who has been the

Author of my Shame; who has expos'd me under a Gibbet, in the Publick

Market-Place--Oh!--I am deaf to all Reason, blind to natural Affection.

I renounce her, I hate her as my mortal Foe, my Stop to Glory, and the

Finisher of my Days, e'er half my Race of Life be run.'

Then throwing her false, but snowy, charming Arms about the Neck her

Heart-breaking Lord, and Lover, who lay sighing, and listening by her

Side, he was charmed and bewitch'd into saying all Things that appeased

her; and lastly, told her, '_Alcidiana_ should be no longer any Obstacle

to her Repose; but that, if she would look up, and cast her Eyes of

Sweetness and Love upon him, as heretofore; forget her Sorrow, and

redeem her lost Health; he would take what Measures she should propose

to dispatch this fatal Stop to her Happiness, out of the Way.'

These Words failed not to make her caress him in the most endearing

Manner that Love and Flattery could invent; and she kiss'd him to an

Oath, a solemn Oath, to perform what he had promised; and he vow'd

liberally. And she assumed in an Instant her Good-Humour, and suffer'd a

Supper to be prepared, and did eat; which in many Days before she had

not done: So obstinate and powerful was she in dissembling well.

The next Thing to be consider'd was, which Way this Deed was to be done;

for they doubted not, but when it was done, all the World would lay it

upon the Princess, as done by her Command: But she urged, Suspicion was

no Proof; and that they never put to Death any one, but when they had

great and certain Evidence who were the Offenders. She was sure of her

own Constancy, that Racks and Tortures should never get the Secret from

her Breast; and if he were as confident on his Part, there was no

Danger. Yet this Preparation she made towards laying the Fact on others,

that she caused several Letters to be wrote from _Germany_, as from the

Relations of _Van Brune_, who threaten'd _Alcidiana_ with Death, for

depriving their Kinsman (who was a Gentleman) of his Life, though he had

not taken away hers. And it was the Report of the Town, how this young

Maid was threaten'd. And indeed, the Death of the Page had so afflicted

a great many, that _Alcidiana_ had procured her self abundance of

Enemies upon that Account, because she might have saved him if she had

pleased; but, on the contrary, she was a Spectator, and in full Health

and Vigour, at his Execution: And People were not so much concerned for

her at this Report, as they would have been.

The Prince, who now had, by reasoning the Matter soberly with _Miranda_,

found it absolutely necessary to dispatch _Alcidiana_, resolved himself,

and with his own Hand, to execute it; not daring to trust to any of his

most favourite Servants, though he had many, who possibly would have

obey'd him; for they loved him as he deserved, and so would all the

World, had he not been so purely deluded by this fair Enchantress. He

therefore, as I said, resolved to keep this great Secret to himself; and

taking a Pistol, charged well with two Bullets, he watch'd an

Opportunity to shoot her as she should go out or into her House, or

Coach, some Evening.

To this End he waited several Nights near her Lodgings, but still,

either she went not out, or when she return'd, she was so guarded with

Friends, her Lover, and Flambeaux, that he could not aim at her without

endangering the Life of some other. But one Night above the rest, upon a

_Sunday_, when he knew she would be at the Theatre, for she never missed

that Day seeing the Play, he waited at the Corner of the Stadt-House,

near the Theatre, with his Cloak cast over his Face, and a black

Periwig, all alone, with his Pistol ready cock'd; and remain'd not very

long but he saw her Kinsman's Coach come along; 'twas almost dark, Day

was just shutting up her Beauties, and left such a Light to govern the

World, as serv'd only just to distinguish one Object from another, and a

convenient Help to Mischief. He saw alight out of the Coach only one

young Lady, the Lover, and then the destin'd Victim; which he (drawing

near) knew rather by her Tongue than Shape. The Lady ran into the

Play-House, and left _Alcidiana_ to be conducted by her Lover into it:

Who led her to the Door, and went to give some Order to the Coachman; so

that the Lover was about twenty Yards from _Alcidiana_; when she stood

the fairest Mark in the World, on the Threshold of the Entrance of the

Theatre, there being many Coaches about the Door, so that hers could not

come so near. _Tarquin_ was resolved not to lose so fair an Opportunity,

and advanc'd, but went behind the Coaches; and when he came over-against

the Door, through a great booted Velvet Coach, that stood between him

and her, he shot; and she having the Train of her Gown and Petticoat on

her Arm, in great Quantity, he missed her Body, and shot through her

Clothes, between her Arm and her Body. She, frighten'd to find something

hit her, and to see the Smoke, and hear the Report of the Pistol;

running in, cried, _I am shot, I am dead._

This Noise quickly alarm'd her Lover; and all the Coachmen and Footmen

immediately ran, some one Way, and some another. One of 'em seeing a Man

haste away in a Cloak; he being a lusty, bold _German_, stopped him; and

drawing upon him, bad him stand, and deliver his Pistol, or he would run

him through.

_Tarquin_ being surprised at the Boldness of this Fellow to demand his

Pistol, as if he positively knew him to be the Murderer (for so he

thought himself, since he believed _Alcidiana_ dead) had so much

Presence of Mind as to consider, if he suffered himself to be taken, he

should poorly die a publick Death; and therefore resolv'd upon one

Mischief more, to secure himself from the first: And in the Moment that

the _German_ bad him deliver his Pistol, he cried, _Though I have no

Pistol to deliver, I have a Sword to chastise thy Insolence_. And

throwing off his Cloak, and flinging his Pistol from him, he drew, and

wounded, and disarmed the Fellow.

This Noise of Swords brought every body to the Place; and immediately

the Bruit ran, _The Murderer was taken, the Murderer was taken_; Tho'

none knew which was he, nor as yet so much as the Cause of the Quarrel

between the two fighting Men; for it was now darker than before. But at

the Noise of the Murderer being taken, the Lover of _Alcidiana_, who by

this Time found his Lady unhurt, all but the Trains of her Gown and

Petticoat, came running to the Place, just as _Tarquin_ had disarm'd the

_German_, and was ready to kill him; when laying hold of his Arm, they

arrested the Stroke, and redeemed the Footman.

They then demanded who this Stranger was, at whose Mercy the Fellow lay;

but the Prince, who now found himself venturing for his last Stake, made

no Reply; but with two Swords in his Hands went to fight his Way through

the Rabble; And tho' there were above a hundred Persons, some with

Swords, others with long Whips, (as Coachmen) so invincible was the

Courage of this poor unfortunate Gentleman at that Time, that all these

were not able to seize him; but he made his Way through the Ring that

encompassed him, and ran away; but was, however, so closely pursued, the

Company still gathering as they ran, that toiled with fighting,

oppressed with Guilt, and Fear of being taken, he grew fainter and

fainter, and suffered himself, at last, to yield to his Pursuers, who

soon found him to be Prince _Tarquin_ in Disguise: And they carry'd him

directly to Prison, being _Sunday_, to wait the coming Day, to go before

a Magistrate.

In an Hour's Time the whole fatal Adventure was carried all over the

City, and every one knew that _Tarquin_ was the intended Murderer of

_Alcidiana_; and not one but had a real Sorrow and Compassion for him.

They heard how bravely he had defended himself, how many he had wounded

before he could be taken, and what numbers he had fought through: And

even those that saw his Valour and Bravery, and who had assisted at his

being seiz'd, now repented from the Bottom of their Hearts their having

any Hand in the Ruin of so gallant a Man; especially since they knew the

Lady was not hurt. A thousand Addresses were made to her, not to

prosecute him; but her Lover, a hot-headed Fellow, more fierce than

brave, would by no Means be pacified, but vowed to pursue him to the

Scaffold.

The _Monday_ came, and the Prince being examined, confessed the Matter

of Fact, since there was no Harm done; believing a generous Confession

the best of his Game: But he was sent back to closer Imprisonment,

loaded with Irons, to expect the next Sessions. All his Household-Goods

were seiz'd, and all they could find, for the Use of _Alcidiana_. And

the Princess, all in Rage, tearing her Hair, was carried to the same

Prison, to behold the cruel Effects of her hellish Designs.

One need not tell here how sad and horrid this Meeting appear'd between

her Lord and her: Let it suffice, it was the most melancholy and

mortifying Object that ever Eyes beheld. On _Miranda's_ Part, 'twas

sometimes all Rage and Fire, and sometimes all Tears and Groans; but

still 'twas sad Love, and mournful Tenderness on his. Nor could all his

Sufferings, and the Prospect of Death itself, drive from his Soul one

Spark of that Fire the obstinate God had fatally kindled there: And in

the midst of all his Sighs, he would re-call himself, and cry,--_I have

+Miranda+ still._

He was eternally visited by his Friends and Acquaintance; and this last

Action of Bravery had got him more than all his former Conduct had lost.

The Fathers were perpetually with him; and all join'd with one common

Voice in this, That he ought to abandon a Woman so wicked as the

Princess; and that however Fate dealt with him, he could not shew

himself a true Penitent, while he laid the Author of so much Evil in his

Bosom: That Heaven would never bless him, till he had renounced her: And

on such Conditions he would find those that would employ their utmost

Interest to save his Life, who else would not stir in this Affair. But

he was so deaf to all, that he could not so much as dissemble a

Repentance for having married her.

He lay a long Time in Prison, and all that Time the poor Father

_Francisco_ remained there also: And the good Fathers who daily visited

these two amorous Prisoners, the Prince and Princess; and who found, by

the Management of Matters, it would go very hard with _Tarquin_,

entertained 'em often with holy Matters relating to the Life to come;

from which, before his Trial, he gathered what his Stars had appointed,

and that he was destin'd to die.

This gave an unspeakable Torment to the now repenting Beauty, who had

reduced him to it; and she began to appear with a more solid Grief:

Which being perceived by the good Fathers, they resolved to attack her

on the yielding Side; and after some Discourse upon the Judgment for

Sin, they came to reflect on the Business of Father _Francisco_; and

told her, she had never thriven since her accusing of that Father, and

laid it very home to her Conscience; assuring her that they would do

their utmost in her Service, if she would confess that secret Sin to all

the World, so that she might atone for the Crime, by the saving that

good Man. At first she seemed inclined to yield; but Shame of being her

own Detector, in so vile a Matter, recalled her Goodness, and she

faintly persisted in it.

At the End of six Months, Prince _Tarquin_ was called to his Tryal;

where I will pass over the Circumstances, which are only what is usual

in such criminal Cases, and tell you, that he being found guilty of the

Intent of killing _Alcidiana_, was condemned to lose his Head in the

Market-Place, and the Princess to be banished her Country.

After Sentence pronounced, to the real Grief of all the Spectators, he

was carry'd back to Prison, and now the Fathers attack her anew; and

she, whose Griefs daily encreased, with a Languishment that brought her

very near her Grave, at last confess'd all her Life, all the Lewdness of

her Practices with several Princes and great Men, besides her Lusts with

People that served her, and others in mean Capacity: And lastly, the

whole Truth of the young Friar; and how she had drawn the Page, and the

Prince her Husband, to this design'd Murder of her Sister. This she

signed with her Hand, in the Presence of the Prince, her Husband, and

several Holy Men who were present. Which being signify'd to the

Magistrates, the Friar was immediately deliver'd from his Irons (where

he had languished more than two whole Years) in great Triumph, with much

Honour, and lives a most exemplary pious Life, as he did before; for he

is now living in _Antwerp_.

After the Condemnation of these two unfortunate Persons, who begot such

different Sentiments in the Minds of the People (the Prince, all the

Compassion and Pity imaginable; and the Princess, all the Contempt and

Despite;) they languished almost six Months longer in Prison; so great

an Interest there was made, in order to the saving his Life, by all the

Men of the Robe. On the other side, the Princes, and great Men of all

Nations, who were at the Court of _Brussels_, who bore a secret Revenge

in their Hearts against a Man who had, as they pretended, set up a false

Title, only to take Place of them; who indeed was but a Merchant's Son

of _Holland_, as they said; so incens'd them against him, that they were

too hard at Court for the Church-men. However, this Dispute gave the

Prince his Life some Months longer than was expected; which gave him

also some Hope, that a Reprieve for ninety Years would have been

granted, as was desired. Nay, Father _Francisco_ so interested himself

in this Concern, that he writ to his Father, and several Princes of

_Germany_, with whom the Marquis _Castel Roderigo_ was well acquainted,

to intercede with him for the saving of _Tarquin_; since 'twas more by

his Persuasions, than those of all who attacked her, that made _Miranda_

confess the Truth of her Affair with him. But at the End of six Months,

when all Applications were found fruitless and vain, the Prince receiv'd

News, that in two Days he was to die, as his Sentence had been before

pronounced, and for which he prepared himself with all Chearfulness.

On the following _Friday_, as soon as it was light, all People of any

Condition came to take their Leaves of him; and none departed with dry

Eyes, or Hearts unconcern'd to the last Degree: For _Tarquin_, when he

found his Fate inevitable bore it with a Fortitude that shewed no Signs

of Regret; but address'd himself to all about him with the same

chearful, modest, and great Air, he was wont to do in his most

flourishing Fortune. His Valet was dressing him all the Morning, so many

Interruptions they had by Visitors; and he was all in Mourning, and so

were all his Followers; for even to the last he kept up his Grandeur, to

the Amazement of all People. And indeed, he was so passionately belov'd

by them, that those he had dismiss'd, serv'd him voluntarily, and would

not be persuaded to abandon him while he liv'd.

The Princess was also dress'd in Mourning, and her two Women; and

notwithstanding the unheard-of Lewdness and Villanies she had confess'd

of her self, the Prince still ador'd her; for she had still those Charms

that made him first do so; nor, to his last Moment, could he be brought

to wish, that he had never seen her; but on the contrary, as a Man yet

vainly proud of his Fetters, he said, 'All the Satisfaction this short

Moment of Life could afford him, was, that he died in endeavouring to

serve _Miranda_, his adorable Princess.'

After he had taken Leave of all, who thought it necessary to leave him

to himself for some Time, he retir'd with his Confessor; where they were

about an Hour in Prayer, all the Ceremonies of Devotion that were fit to

be done, being already past. At last the Bell toll'd, and he was to take

Leave of the Princess, as his last Work of Life, and the most hard he

had to accomplish. He threw himself at her Feet, and gazing on her as

she sat more dead than alive, overwhelm'd with silent Grief, they both

remain'd some Moments speechless; and then, as if one rising Tide of

Tears had supply'd both their Eyes, it burst out in Streams at the same

Instant: and when his Sighs gave Way, he utter'd a thousand Farewels, so

soft, so passionate, and moving, that all who were by were extremely

touch'd with it, and said, _That nothing could be seen more deplorable

and melancholy_. A thousand Times they bad Farewel, and still some

tender Look, or Word, would prevent his going; then embrace, and bid

Farewel again. A thousand Times she ask'd his Pardon for being the

Occasion of that fatal Separation; a thousand Times assuring him, she

would follow him, for she could not live without him. And Heaven knows

when their soft and sad Caresses would have ended, had not the Officers

assur'd him 'twas Time to mount the Scaffold. At which Words the

Princess fell fainting in the Arms of her Woman, and they led _Tarquin_

out of Prison.

When he came to the Market-Place, whither he walked on Foot, follow'd by

his own Domesticks, and some bearing a black Velvet Coffin with Silver

Hinges; the Head's-man before him with his fatal Scimiter drawn, his

Confessor by his Side, and many Gentlemen and Church-men, with Father

_Francisco_ attending him, the People showring Millions of Blessings on

him, and beholding him with weeping Eyes, he mounted the Scaffold; which

was strewed with some Saw-dust, about the Place where he was to kneel,

to receive the Blood: For they behead People kneeling, and with the

Back-Stroak of a Scimiter; and not lying on a Block, and with an Axe, as

we in _England_. The Scaffold had a low Rail about it, that every body

might more conveniently see. This was hung with black, and all that

State that such a Death could have, was here in most decent Order.

He did not say much upon the Scaffold: The Sum of what he said to his

Friends was, to be kind, and take Care of the poor Penitent his Wife: To

others, recommending his honest and generous Servants, whose Fidelity

was so well known and commended, that they were soon promised

Preferment. He was some time in Prayer, and a very short time in

speaking to his Confessor; then he turned to the Head's-man, and desired

him to do his Office well, and gave him twenty _Louis d'Ors_; and

undressing himself with the Help of his Valet and Page, he pull'd off

his Coat, and had underneath a white Sattin Waistcoat: He took off his

Periwig, and put on a white Sattin Cap, with a Holland one done with

Point under it, which he pulled over his Eyes; then took a chearful

Leave of all, and kneel'd down, and said, 'When he lifted up his Hands

the third Time, the Head's-man should do his Office.' Which accordingly

was done, and the Head's-man gave him his last Stroke, and the Prince

fell on the Scaffold. The People with one common Voice, as if it had

been but one entire one, pray'd for his Soul; and Murmurs of Sighs were

heard from the whole Multitude, who scrambled for some of the bloody

Saw-dust, to keep for his Memory.

The Head's-man going to take up the Head, as the Manner is, to shew it

to the People, he found he had not struck it off, and that the Body

stirr'd; with that he stepped to an Engine, which they always carry with

'em, to force those who may be refractory; thinking, as he said, to have

twisted the Head from the Shoulders, conceiving it to hang but by a

small Matter of Flesh. Tho' 'twas an odd Shift of the Fellow's, yet

'twas done, and the best Shift he could suddenly propose. The Margrave,

and another Officer, old Men, were on the Scaffold, with some of the

Prince's Friends, and Servants; who seeing the Head's-man put the Engine

about the Neck of the Prince, began to call out, and the People made a

great Noise. The Prince, who found himself yet alive; or rather, who was

past thinking but had some Sense of Feeling left, when the Head's-man

took him up, and set his Back against the Rail, and clapp'd the Engine

about his Neck, got his two Thumbs between the Rope and his Neck,

feeling himself press'd there; and struggling between Life and Death,

and bending himself over the Rail backward, while the Head's-man pulled

forward, he threw himself quite over the Rail, by Chance, and not

Design, and fell upon the Heads and Shoulders of the People, who were

crying out with amazing Shouts of Joy. The Head's-man leap'd after him,

but the Rabble had lik'd to have pull'd him to Pieces: All the City was

in an Uproar, but none knew what the Matter was, but those who bore the

Body of the Prince, whom they found yet living; but how, or by what

strange Miracle preserv'd, they knew not, nor did examine; but with one

Accord, as if the whole Crowd had been one Body, and had had but one

Motion, they bore the Prince on their Heads about a hundred Yards from

the Scaffold, where there is a Monastery of Jesuits; and there they

secur'd him. All this was done, his beheading, his falling, and his

being secur'd, almost in a Moment's Time; the People rejoiceing, as at

some extraordinary Victory won. One of the Officers being, as I said, an

old timorous Man, was so frighten'd at the Accident, the Bustle, the

Noise, and the Confusion, of which he was wholly ignorant, that he dy'd

with Amazement and Fear; and the other was fain to be let blood.

The Officers of Justice went to demand the Prisoner, but they demanded

in vain; the Jesuits had now a Right to protect him, and would do so.

All his overjoy'd Friends went to see in what Condition he was, and all

of Quality found Admittance: They saw him in Bed, going to be dress'd by

the most skilful Surgeons, who yet could not assure him of Life. They

desired no body should speak to him, or ask him any Questions. They

found that the Head's-man had struck him too low, and had cut him into

the Shoulder-bone. A very great Wound, you may be sure; for the Sword,

in such Executions, carries an extreme Force: However, so great Care was

taken on all Sides, and so greatly the Fathers were concern'd for him,

that they found an Amendment, and Hopes of a good Effect of their

incomparable Charity and Goodness.

At last, when he was permitted to speak, the first News he ask'd was

after the Princess. And his Friends were very much afflicted to find,

that all his Loss of Blood had not quenched that Flame, not let out that

which made him still love that bad Woman. He was sollicited daily to

think no more of her: And all her Crimes are laid so open to him, and so

shamefully represented; and on the other Side, his Virtues so admir'd;

and which, they said, would have been eternally celebrated, but for his

Folly with this infamous Creature; that at last, by assuring him of all

their Assistance if he abandon'd her; and to renounce him, and deliver

him up, if he did not; they wrought so far upon him, as to promise, he

would suffer her to go alone into Banishment, and would not follow her,

or live with her any more. But alas! this was but his Gratitude that

compell'd this Complaisance, for in his Heart he resolv'd never to

abandon her; nor was he able to live, and think of doing it: However,

his Reason assur'd him, he could not do a Deed more justifiable, and one

that would regain his Fame sooner.

His Friends ask'd him some Questions concerning his Escape; and since he

was not beheaded, but only wounded, why he did not immediately rise up?

But he replied, he was so absolutely prepossessed, that at the third

lifting up his Hands he should receive the Stroke of Death, that at the

same Instant the Sword touch'd him, he had no Sense; nay, not even of

Pain, so absolutely dead he was with Imagination; and knew not that he

stirr'd, as the Head's-man found he did; nor did he remember any Thing,

from the lifting up of his Hands, to his fall; and then awaken'd, as out

of a Dream, or rather a Moment's Sleep without Dream, he found he liv'd,

and wonder'd what was arriv'd to him, or how he came to live; having

not, as yet, any Sense of his Wound, tho' so terrible an one.

After this, _Alcidiana_, who was extremely afflicted for having been the

Prosecutor of this great Man; who, bating this last Design against her,

which she knew was at the Instigation of her Sister, had oblig'd her

with all the Civility imaginable; now sought all Means possible of

getting his Pardon, and that of her Sister; tho' of an hundred thousand

Crowns, which she should have paid her, she could get but ten thousand;

which was from the Sale of her rich Beds, and some other Furniture. So

that the young Count, who before should have marry'd her, now went off

for want of Fortune; and a young Merchant (perhaps the best of the two)

was the Man to whom she was destin'd.

At last, by great Intercession, both their Pardons were obtain'd; and

the Prince, who would be no more seen in a Place that had prov'd every

way so fatal to him, left _Flanders_, promising never to live with the

Fair Hypocrite more; but e'er he departed, he wrote her a Letter,

wherein he order'd her, in a little Time, to follow him into _Holland_;

and left a Bill of Exchange with one of his trusty Servants, whom he had

left to wait upon her, for Money for her Accommodation; so that she was

now reduced to one Woman, one Page, and this Gentleman. The Prince, in

this Time of his Imprisonment, had several Bills of great Sums from his

Father, who was exceeding rich, and this all the Children he had in the

World, and whom he tenderly loved.

As soon as _Miranda_ was come into _Holland_, she was welcom'd with all

imaginable Respect and Endearment by the old Father; who was impos'd

upon so, as that he knew not she was the fatal Occasion of all these

Disasters to his Son; but rather look'd on her as a Woman, who had

brought him an hundred and fifty thousand Crowns, which his Misfortunes

had consum'd. But, above all, she was receiv'd by _Tarquin_ with a Joy

unspeakable; who, after some Time, to redeem his Credit, and gain

himself a new Fame, put himself into the _French_ Army, where he did

Wonders; and after three Campaigns, his Father dying, he return'd home,

and retir'd to a Country-House; where, with his Princess, he liv'd as a

private Gentleman, in all the Tranquillity of a Man of good Fortune.

They say _Miranda_ has been very penitent for her Life past, and gives

Heaven the Glory for having given her these Afflictions that have

reclaim'd her, and brought her to as perfect a State of Happiness, as

this troublesome World, can afford.

Since I began this Relation, I heard that Prince _Tarquin_, dy'd about

three Quarters of a Year ago.

NOTES: The Fair Jilt.

p. 70 _To Henry Pain, Esq._ Henry Neville Payne, politician and author,

was a thorough Tory and an ardent partisan of James II. Downes ascribes

to him three plays: _The Fatal Jealousy_, produced at Dorset Garden in

the winter of 1672, a good, if somewhat vehement, tragedy (4to, 1673);

_Morning Ramble; or, Town Humours_, produced at the same theatre in 1673

(4to, 1673), which, though lacking in plot and quick incident, is far

from a bad comedy; and _The Siege of Constantinople_, acted by the

Duke's company in 1674 (4to, 1675), a tragedy which very sharply lashes

Shaftesbury as the Chancellor, especially in Act II, when Lorenzo, upon

his patron designing a frolic, says:--

My Lord, you know your old house, Mother Somelie's,

You know she always fits you with fresh girls.

Mother Somelie is, of course, the notorious Mother Mosely.

Henry Payne wrote several loyal pamphlets, and after the Revolution he

became, according to Burnet, 'the most active and determined of all King

James' agents.' He is said to have been the chief instigator of the

Montgomery plot in 1690, and whilst in Scotland was arrested. 10 and 11

December of that year he was severely tortured under a special order of

William III, but nothing could be extracted from him. This is the last

occasion on which torture was applied in Scotland. After being treated

with harshest cruelty by William III, Payne was finally released from

prison in December, 1700, or January, 1701, as the Duke of Queensbury,

recognizing the serious illegalities of the whole business, urgently

advised his liberation. Payne died in 1710. As Macaulay consistently

confounds him with a certain Edward Neville, S.J., the statements of

this historian with reference to Henry Neville Payne must be entirely

disregarded.

p. 72 _The Fair Jilt._ Editio princeps, 'London. Printed by _R. Holt_

for _Will. Canning_, at his Shop in the _Temple-Cloysters_' (1688),

'Licensed 17 April, 1688. _Ric. Pocock_', has as title: _The Fair Jilt;

or, The History of Prince Tarquin and Miranda_. As half-title it prints:

_The Fair Hypocrite; or, The Amours of Prince Tarquin and Miranda_. All

subsequent editions, however, give: _The Fair Jilt; or, The Amours of

Prince Tarquin and Miranda_. The Dedication only occurs in the first

edition.

p. 73 _Scrutore._ Escritoire, cf. Sir T. Herbert, _Trav._ (1677): 'There

they sell . . . Scrutores or Cabinets of Mother of Pearl.'

p. 75 _Canonesses, Begines, Quests, Swart-Sisters and Jesuitesses._

_Canonesses_ are very ancient in history. The most important

Congregations are the Sepulchrines or Canonesses of the Holy Sepulchre,

and the Lateran Canonesses. There was an old community of French

Hospitaller Canonesses of Saint-Esprit. Thomassin tells us that the

Beguines were canonesses, and that their name is derived from S. Begghe

(_ob._ 689), who founded the Canonesses of Andenne. There are also

Chapters of secular canonesses, nearly all Benedictine in origin. Many

of these only admitted ladies of the highest rank. The French Revolution

swept away a great number of these institutions, and some were

suppressed by Joseph II of Austria. Premonstratensian (white) Canonesses

were common in Belgium.

_Begines._ Either founded by S. Begghe, or their name is derived from

Lambert de Begue, a priest of Liege, in 1177. Some place their

foundation at the beginning of the eleventh century in the Netherlands

or Germany. After three years women who are enrolled are entitled to a

little house. No vows are taken, but they assist in choir thrice daily.

There are several hundreds at Ghent, and the Beguinage (ten Wijngaarde)

of Bruges is famous.

_Quests._ Queteuses. Extern Sisters, Poor Clares and Colettines; Lay

Sisters, Dominicanesses, who go out and beg for the community. 'To

quest' is to go alms-begging. The Sisters of Charity are of later

foundation. cf. Translation, D'Emilliane's _Frauds of Romish Monks_

(1691): 'The Farmer [of Purgatory Money] sends some of his Emissaries

into the Fields to carry on the Quest there for the said Souls'; and

_Earthquake . . . Peru_, iii, 303 (1748): 'If the Friars go into the

Country a questing for their Monastery.'

_Swart-Sisters._ Black Nuns. Dominicanesses, a feature of whose dresses

is the cappa, a large black cloak and hood, worn from All Saints' Day

till the 'Gloria' on Easter Eve, and on all great solemnities.

_Jesuitesses._ A common misnomer for the original Congregation founded

by Mary Ward (_ob._ 1645), and named by her 'The Institute of Mary'. It

was not until 1703 that they were fully approved by Clement XI.

p. 78 _Cordeliers._ Observant Franciscans, who follow the strict Rule of

Poverty and observe all the fasts and austerities of the Order. This

name was first given them in France, where later they were known as

Recollects.

* * * * *

* * * *