as he could possibly assume, he saw his Sister, and told her, He had
gain'd an absolute Victory over his Heart; and desir'd, he might see
_Isabella_, only to convince, both her, and _Katteriena_, that he was no
longer a Lover of that fair Creature, that had so lately charm'd him;
that he had set Five thousand Pounds a Year, against a fruitless
Passion, and found the solid Gold much the heavier in the Scale: And he
smil'd, and talk'd the whole Day of indifferent things, with his Sister,
and ask'd no more for _Isabella_; nor did _Isabella_ look, or ask, after
him, but in her Heart. Two Months pass'd in this Indifference, till it
was taken notice of, that Sister _Isabella_ came not to the _Grate_,
when _Henault_ was there, as she us'd to do; this being spoken to Dame
_Katteriena_, she told it to _Isabella_, and said, 'The _NUNS_ would
believe, there was some Cause for her Absence, if she did not appear
again': That if she could trust her Heart, she was sure she could trust
her Brother, for he thought no more of her, she was confident; this, in
lieu of pleasing, was a Dagger to the Heart of _Isabella_, who thought
it time to retrieve the flying Lover, and therefore told _Katteriena_,
She would the next Day entertain at the Low _Grate_, as she was wont to
do, and accordingly, as soon as any People of Quality came, she appear'd
there, where she had not been two Minutes, but she saw the lovely
_Henault_, and it was well for both, that People were in the Room, they
had else both sufficiently discover'd their Inclinations, or rather
their not to be conceal'd Passions; after the General Conversation was
over, by the going away of the Gentlemen that were at the _Grate_,
_Katteriena_ being employ'd elsewhere, _Isabella_ was at last left alone
with _Henault_; but who can guess the Confusion of these two Lovers, who
wish'd, yet fear'd, to know each others Thoughts? She trembling with a
dismal Apprehension, that he lov'd no more; and he almost dying with
fear, she should Reproach or Upbraid him with his Presumption; so that
both being possess'd with equal Sentiments of Love, Fear, and Shame,
they both stood fix'd with dejected Looks and Hearts, that heav'd with
stifled Sighs. At last, _Isabella_, the softer and tender-hearted of the
two, tho' not the most a Lover perhaps, not being able to contain her
Love any longer within the bounds of Dissimulation or Discretion, being
by Nature innocent, burst out into Tears, and all fainting with pressing
Thoughts within, she fell languishly into a Chair that stood there,
while the distracted _Henault_, who could not come to her Assistance,
and finding Marks of Love, rather than Anger or Disdain, in that
Confusion of _Isabella's_, throwing himself on his Knees at the _Grate_,
implor'd her to behold him, to hear him, and to pardon him, who dy'd
every moment for her, and who ador'd her with a violent Ardor; but yet,
with such an one, as should (tho' he perish'd with it) be conformable to
her Commands; and as he spoke, the Tears stream'd down his dying Eyes,
that beheld her with all the tender Regard that ever Lover was capable
of; she recover'd a little, and turn'd her too beautiful Face to him,
and pierc'd him with a Look, that darted a thousand Joys and Flames into
his Heart, with Eyes, that told him her Heart was burning and dying for
him; for which Assurances, he made Ten thousand Asseverations of his
never-dying Passion, and expressing as many Raptures and Excesses of
Joy, to find her Eyes and Looks confess, he was not odious to her, and
that the knowledge he was her Lover, did not make her hate him: In fine,
he spoke so many things all soft and moving, and so well convinc'd her
of his Passion, that she at last was compell'd by a mighty force,
absolutely irresistible, to speak.
'Sir, (said she) perhaps you will wonder, where I, a Maid, brought up in
the simplicity of Virtue, should learn the Confidence, not only to hear
of Love from you, but to confess I am sensible of the most violent of
its Pain my self; and I wonder, and am amazed at my own Daring, that I
should have the Courage, rather to speak, than dye, and bury it in
silence; but such is my Fate. Hurried by an unknown Force, which I have
endeavoured always, in vain, to resist, I am compell'd to tell you,
I love you, and have done so from the first moment I saw you; and you
are the only Man born to give me Life or Death, to make me Happy or
Blest; perhaps, had I not been confin'd, and, as it were, utterly forbid
by my Vow, as well as my Modesty, to tell you this, I should not have
been so miserable to have fallen thus low, as to have confess'd my
Shame; but our Opportunities of Speaking are so few, and Letters so
impossible to be sent without discovery, that perhaps this is the only
time I shall ever have to speak with you alone.' And, at that word the
Tears flow'd abundantly from her Eyes, and gave _Henault_ leave to
speak. 'Ah Madam! (said he) do not, as soon as you have rais'd me to the
greatest Happiness in the World, throw me with one word beneath your
Scorn, much easier 'tis to dye, and know I am lov'd, than never, never,
hope to hear that blessed sound again from that beautiful Mouth: Ah,
Madam! rather let me make use of this one opportunity our happy Luck has
given us, and contrive how we may for ever see, and speak, to each
other; let us assure one another, there are a thousand ways to escape a
place so rigid, as denies us that Happiness; and denies the fairest Maid
in the World, the privilege of her Creation, and the end to which she
was form'd so Angelical.' And seeing _Isabella_ was going to speak, lest
she should say something, that might dissuade from an Attempt so
dangerous and wicked, he persu'd to tell her, it might be indeed the
last moment Heaven would give 'em, and besought her to answer him what
he implor'd, whether she would fly with him from the _Monastery_? At
this Word, she grew pale, and started, as at some dreadful Sound, and
cry'd, 'Hah! what is't you say? Is it possible, you should propose a
thing so wicked? And can it enter into your Imagination, because I have
so far forget my Virtue, and my Vow, to become a Lover, I should
therefore fall to so wretched a degree of Infamy and Reprobation? No,
name it to me no more, if you would see me; and if it be as you say,
a Pleasure to be belov'd by me; for I will sooner dye, than yield to
what . . . Alas! I but too well approve!' These last words, she spoke
with a fainting Tone, and the Tears fell anew from her fair soft Eyes.
'If it be so,' said he, (with a Voice so languishing, it could scarce be
heard) 'If it be so, and that you are resolv'd to try, if my Love be
eternal without Hope, without expectation of any other Joy, than seeing
and adoring you through the _Grate_; I am, and must, and will be
contented, and you shall see, I can prefer the Sighing to these cold
Irons, that separate us, before all the Possessions of the rest of the
World; that I chuse rather to lead my Life here, at this cruel Distance
from you, for ever, than before the Embrace of all the Fair; and you
shall see, how pleas'd I will be, to languish here; but as you see me
decay, (for surely so I shall) do not triumph o're my languid Looks, and
laugh at my Pale and meager Face; but, Pitying, say, How easily I might
have preserv'd that Face, those Eyes, and all that Youth and Vigour, now
no more, from this total Ruine I now behold it in, and love your Slave
that dyes, and will be daily and visibly dying, as long as my Eyes can
gaze on that fair Object, and my Soul be fed and kept alive with her
Charming Wit and Conversation; if Love can live on such Airy Food, (tho'
rich in it self, yet unfit, alone, to sustain Life) it shall be for ever
dedicated to the lovely _ISABELLA_: But, oh! that time cannot be long!
Fate will not lend her Slave many days, who loves too violently, to be
satisfy'd to enjoy the fair Object of his Desires, no otherwise than at
a _Grate_.'
He ceas'd speaking, for Sighs and Tears stopt his Voice, and he begg'd
the liberty to sit down; and his Looks being quite alter'd, _ISABELLA_
found her self touch'd to the very Soul, with a concern the most tender,
that ever yielding Maid was oppress'd with: She had no power to suffer
him to Languish, while she by one soft word could restore him, and being
about to say a thousand things that would have been agreeable to him,
she saw herself approach'd by some of the _Nuns_, and only had time to
say, 'If you love me, live and hope.' The rest of the _Nuns_ began to
ask _Henault_ of News, for he always brought them all that was Novel in
the Town, and they were glad still of his Visits, above all other, for
they heard, how all Amours and Intrigues pass'd in the World, by this
young Cavalier. These last words of _Isabella's_ were a Cordial to his
Soul, and he, from that, and to conceal the present Affair, endeavour'd
to assume all the Gaity he could, and told 'em all he could either
remember, or invent, to please 'em, tho' he wish'd them a great way off
at that time.
Thus they pass'd the day, till it was a decent hour for him to quit the
_Grate_, and for them to draw the Curtain; all that Night did _Isabella_
dedicate to Love, she went to Bed, with a Resolution, to think over all
she had to do, and to consider, how she should manage this great Affair
of her Life: I have already said, she had try'd all that was possible in
Human Strength to perform, in the design of quitting a Passion so
injurious to her Honour and Virtue, and found no means possible to
accomplish it: She had try'd Fasting long, Praying fervently, rigid
Penances and Pains, severe Disciplines, all the Mortification, almost to
the destruction of Life it self, to conquer the unruly Flame; but still
it burnt and rag'd but the more; so, at last, she was forc'd to permit
that to conquer her, she could not conquer, and submitted to her Fate,
as a thing destin'd her by Heaven it self; and after all this
opposition, she fancy'd it was resisting even Divine Providence, to
struggle any longer with her Heart; and this being her real Belief, she
the more patiently gave way to all the Thoughts that pleas'd her.
As soon as she was laid, without discoursing (as she us'd to do) to
_Katteriena_, after they were in Bed, she pretended to be sleepy, and
turning from her, setled her self to profound Thinking, and was resolv'd
to conclude the Matter, between her Heart, and her Vow of Devotion, that
Night, and she, having no more to determine, might end the Affair
accordingly, the first opportunity she should have to speak to
_Henault_, which was, to fly, and marry him; or, to remain for ever
fix'd to her Vow of Chastity. This was the Debate; she brings Reason on
both sides: Against the first, she sets the Shame of a Violated Vow, and
considers, where she shall shew her Face after such an Action; to the
Vow, she argues, that she was born in Sin, and could not live without
it; that she was Human, and no Angel, and that, possibly, that Sin might
be as soon forgiven, as another; that since all her devout Endeavours
could not defend her from the Cause, Heaven ought to execute the Effect;
that as to shewing her Face, so she saw that of _Henault_ always turned
(Charming as it was) towards her with love; what had she to do with the
World, or car'd to behold any other?
Some times, she thought, it would be more Brave and Pious to dye, than
to break her Vow; but she soon answer'd that, as false Arguing, for
Self-Murder was the worst of Sins, and in the Deadly Number. She could,
after such an Action, live to repent, and, of two Evils, she ought to
chuse the least; she dreads to think, since she had so great a
Reputation for Virtue and Piety, both in the _Monastery_, and in the
World, what they both would say, when she should commit an Action so
contrary to both these, she posest; but, after a whole Night's Debate,
Love was strongest, and gain'd the Victory. She never went about to
think, how she should escape, because she knew it would be easy, the
keeping of the Key of the _Monastery_, [was] often intrusted in her
keeping, and was, by turns, in the hands of many more, whose Virtue and
Discretion was Infallible, and out of Doubt; besides, her Aunt being the
Lady _Abbess_, she had greater privilege than the rest; so that she had
no more to do, she thought, than to acquaint _Henault_ with her Design,
as soon as she should get an opportunity. Which was not quickly; but, in
the mean time, _Isabella's_ Father dy'd, which put some little stop to
our Lover's Happiness, and gave her a short time of Grief; but Love,
who, while he is new and young, can do us Miracles, soon wip'd her Eyes,
and chas'd away all Sorrows from her Heart, and grew every day more and
more impatient, to put her new Design in Execution, being every day more
resolv'd. Her Father's Death had remov'd one Obstacle, and secur'd her
from his Reproaches; and now she only wants Opportunity, first, to
acquaint _Henault_, and then to fly.
She waited not long, all things concurring to her desire; for
_Katteriena_ falling sick, she had the good luck, as she call'd it then,
to entertain _Henault_ at the _Grate_ oftentimes alone; the first moment
she did so, she entertain'd him with the good News, and told him, She
had at last vanquish'd her Heart in favour of him, and loving him above
all things, Honour, her Vow or Reputation, had resolv'd to abandon her
self wholly to him, to give her self up to love and serve him, and that
she had no other Consideration in the World; but _Henault_, instead of
returning her an Answer, all Joy and Satisfaction, held down his Eyes,
and Sighing, with a dejected Look, he cry'd, 'Ah, Madam! Pity a Man so
wretched and undone, as not to be sensible of this Blessing as I ought.'
She grew pale at this Reply, and trembling, expected he would proceed:
''Tis not (continued he) that I want Love, tenderest Passion, and all
the desire Youth and Love can inspire; But, Oh, Madam! when I consider,
(for raving mad in Love as I am for your sake, I do consider) that if I
should take you from this Repose, Nobly Born and Educated, as you are;
and, for that Act, should find a rigid Father deprive me of all that
ought to support you, and afford your Birth, Beauty, and Merits, their
due, what would you say? How would you Reproach me?' He sighing,
expected her Answer, when Blushes overspreading her Face, she reply'd,
in a Tone all haughty and angry, 'Ah, _Henault_! Am I then refus'd,
after having abandon'd all things for you? Is it thus, you reward my
Sacrific'd Honour, Vows, and Virtue? Cannot you hazard the loss of
Fortune to possess _Isabella_, who loses all for you!' Then bursting
into Tears, at her misfortune of Loving, she suffer'd him to say, 'Oh,
Charming fair one! how industrious is your Cruelty, to find out new
Torments for an Heart, already press'd down with the Severities of Love?
Is it possible, you can make so unhappy a Construction of the tenderest
part of my Passion? And can you imagin it want of Love in me, to
consider, how I shall preserve and merit the vast Blessing Heaven has
given me? Is my Care a Crime? And would not the most deserving Beauty of
the World hate me, if I should, to preserve my Life, and satisfy the
Passion of my fond Heart, reduce her to the Extremities of Want and
Misery? And is there any thing, in what I have said, but what you ought
to take for the greatest Respect and tenderness!' 'Alas! (reply'd
_Isabella_ sighing) young as I am, all unskilful in Love I find, but
what I feel, that Discretion is no part of it; and Consideration,
inconsistent with the Nobler Passion, who will subsist of its own
Nature, and Love unmixed with any other Sentiment? And 'tis not pure, if
it be otherwise: I know, had I mix'd Discretion with mine, my Love must
have been less, I never thought of living, but my Love; and, if I
consider'd at all, it was, that Grandure and Magnificence were useless
Trifles to Lovers, wholly needless and troublesom. I thought of living
in some loanly Cottage, far from the noise of crowded busie Cities, to
walk with thee in Groves, and silent Shades, where I might hear no Voice
but thine; and when we had been tir'd, to sit us done by some cool
murmuring Rivulet, and be to each a World, my Monarch thou, and I thy
Sovereign Queen, while Wreaths of Flowers shall crown our happy Heads,
some fragrant Bank our Throne, and Heaven our Canopy: Thus we might
laugh at Fortune, and the Proud, despise the duller World, who place
their Joys in mighty Shew and Equipage. Alas! my Nature could not bear
it, I am unus'd to Wordly Vanities, and would boast of nothing but my
_Henault_; no Riches, but his Love; no Grandure, but his Presence.' She
ended speaking, with Tears, and he reply'd, 'Now, now, I find, my
_Isabella_ loves indeed, when she's content to abandon the World for my
sake; Oh! thou hast named the only happy Life that suits my quiet
Nature, to be retir'd, has always been my Joy! But to be so with thee!
Oh! thou hast charm'd me with a Thought so dear, as has for ever
banish'd all my Care, but how to receive thy Goodness! Please think no
more what my angry Parent may do, when he shall hear, how I have
dispos'd of my self against his Will and Pleasure, but trust to Love and
Providence; no more! be gone all Thoughts, but those of _Isabella_!'
As soon as he had made an end of expressing his Joy, he fell to
consulting how, and when, she should escape; and since it was uncertain,
when she should be offer'd the Key, for she would not ask for it, she
resolv'd to give him notice, either by word of Mouth, or a bit of Paper
she would write in, and give him through the _Grate_ the first
opportunity; and, parting for that time, they both resolv'd to get up
what was possible for their Support, till Time should reconcile Affairs
and Friends, and to wait the happy hour.
_Isabella's_ dead Mother had left Jewels, of the value of 2000_l._ to
her Daughter, at her Decease, which Jewels were in the possession, now,
of the Lady _Abbess_, and were upon Sale, to be added to the Revenue of
the _Monastery_; and as _Isabella_ was the most Prudent of her Sex, at
least, had hitherto been so esteem'd, she was intrusted with all that
was in possession of the Lady _Abbess_, and 'twas not difficult to make
her self Mistress of all her own Jewels; as also, some 3 or 400_l._ in
Gold, that was hoarded up in her Ladyship's Cabinet, against any
Accidents that might arrive to the _Monastery_; these _Isabella_ also
made her own, and put up with the Jewels; and having acquainted
_Henault_, with the Day and Hour of her Escape, he got together what he
could, and waiting for her, with his Coach, one Night, when no body was
awake but her self, when rising softly, as she us'd to do, in the Night,
to her Devotion, she stole so dexterously out of the _Monastery_, as no
body knew any thing of it; she carry'd away the Keys with her, after
having lock'd all the Doors, for she was intrusted often with all. She
found _Henault_ waiting in his Coach, and trusted none but an honest
Coachman that lov'd him; he receiv'd her with all the Transports of a
truly ravish'd Lover, and she was infinitely charm'd with the new
Pleasure of his Embraces and Kisses.
They drove out of Town immediately, and because she durst not be seen in
that Habit, (for it had been immediate Death for both) they drove into a
Thicket some three Miles from the Town, where _Henault_ having brought
her some of his younger Sister's Clothes, he made her put off her Habit,
and put on those; and, rending the other, they hid them in a Sand-pit,
covered over with Broom, and went that Night forty Miles from _Iper_, to
a little Town upon the River _Rhine_, where, changing their Names, they
were forthwith married, and took a House in a Country Village, a Farm,
where they resolv'd to live retir'd, by the name of _Beroone_, and drove
a Farming Trade; however, not forgetting to set Friends and Engines at
work, to get their Pardon, as Criminals, first, that had trangress'd the
Law; and, next, as disobedient Persons, who had done contrary to the
Will and Desire of their Parents: _Isabella_ writ to her Aunt the most
moving Letters in the World, so did _Henault_ to his Father; but she was
a long time, before she could gain so much as an answer from her Aunt,
and _Henault_ was so unhappy, as never to gain one from his Father; who
no sooner heard the News that was spread over all the Town and Country,
that young _Henault_ was fled with the so fam'd _Isabella_, a _Nun_, and
singular for Devotion and Piety of Life, but he immediately setled his
Estate on his younger Son, cutting _Henault_ off with all his
Birthright, which was 5000_l._ a Year. This News, you may believe, was
not very pleasing to the young Man, who tho' in possession of the
loveliest Virgin, and now Wife, that ever Man was bless'd with; yet when
he reflected, he should have children by her, and these and she should
come to want, (he having been magnificently Educated, and impatient of
scanty Fortune) he laid it to Heart, and it gave him a thousand
Uneasinesses in the midst of unspeakable Joys; and the more be strove to
hide his Sentiments from _Isabella_, the more tormenting it was within;
he durst not name it to her, so insuperable a Grief it would cause in
her, to hear him complain; and tho' she could live hardly, as being bred
to a devout and severe Life, he could not, but must let the Man of
Quality shew it self; even in the disguise of an humbler Farmer: Besides
all this, he found nothing of his Industry thrive, his Cattel still dy'd
in the midst of those that were in full Vigour and Health of other
Peoples; his Crops of Wheat and Barly, and other Grain, tho' manag'd by
able and knowing Husbandmen, were all, either Mildew'd, or Blasted, or
some Misfortune still arriv'd to him; his Coach-Horses would fight and
kill one another, his Barns sometimes be fir'd; so that it became a
Proverb all over the Country, if any ill Luck had arriv'd to any body,
they would say, 'They had Monsieur _BEROONE'S_ Luck.' All these
Reflections did but add to his Melancholy, and he grew at last to be in
some want, insomuch, that _Isabella_, who had by her frequent Letters,
and submissive Supplications, to her Aunt, (who lov'd her tenderly)
obtain'd her Pardon, and her Blessing; she now press'd her for some
Money, and besought her to consider, how great a Fortune she had brought
to the _Monastery_, and implor'd, she would allow her some Sallary out
of it, for she had been marry'd two Years, and most of what she had was
exhausted. The Aunt, who found, that what was done, could not be undone,
did, from time to time, supply her so, as one might have liv'd very
decently on that very Revenue; but that would not satisfy the great
Heart of _Henault_. He was now about three and twenty Years old, and
_Isabella_ about eighteen, too young, and too lovely a Pair, to begin
their Misfortunes so soon; they were both the most Just and Pious in the
World; they were Examples of Goodness, and Eminent for Holy Living, and
for perfect Loving, and yet nothing thriv'd they undertook; they had no
Children, and all their Joy was in each other; at last, one good Fortune
arriv'd to them, by the Solicitations of the Lady _Abbess_, and the
_Bishop_, who was her near Kinsman, they got a Pardon for _Isabella's_
quitting the _Monastery_, and marrying, so that she might now return
to her own Country again. _Henault_ having also his Pardon, they
immediately quit the place, where they had remain'd for two Years, and
came again into _Flanders_, hoping, the change of place might afford 'em
better Luck.
_Henault_ then began again to solicit his Cruel Father, but nothing
would do, he refus'd to see him, or to receive any Letters from him;
but, at last, he prevail'd so far with him, as that he sent a Kinsman to
him, to assure him, if he would leave his Wife, and go into the _French_
Campagn, he would Equip him as well as his Quality requir'd, and that,
according as he behav'd himself, he should gain his Favour; but if he
liv'd Idly at home, giving up his Youth and Glory to lazy Love, he would
have no more to say to him, but race him out of his Heart, and out of
his Memory.
He had setled himself in a very pretty House, furnished with what was
fitting for the Reception of any Body of Quality that would live a
private Life, and they found all the Respect that their Merits deserv'd
from all the World, every body entirely loving and endeavouring to serve
them; and _Isabella_ so perfectly had the Ascendent over her Aunt's
Heart, that she procur'd from her all that she could desire, and much
more than she could expect. She was perpetually progging and saving all
that she could, to enrich and advance her, and, at last, pardoning and
forgiving _Henault_, lov'd him as her own Child; so that all things
look'd with a better Face than before, and never was so dear and fond a
Couple seen, as _Henault_ and _Isabella_; but, at last, she prov'd with
Child, and the Aunt, who might reasonably believe, so young a Couple
would have a great many Children, and foreseeing there was no Provision
likely to be made them, unless he pleas'd his Father, for if the Aunt
should chance to dye, all their Hope was gone; she therefore daily
solicited him to obey his Father, and go to the Camp; and that having
atchiev'd Fame and Renown, he would return a Favourite to his Father,
and Comfort to his Wife: After she had solicited in vain, for he was not
able to endure the thought of leaving _Isabella_, melancholy as he was
with his ill Fortune; the _Bishop_, kinsman to _Isabella_, took him to
task, and urg'd his Youth and Birth, and that he ought not to wast both
without Action, when all the World was employ'd; and, that since his
Father had so great a desire he should go into a Campagn, either to
serve the _Venetian_ against the _Turks_, or into the _French_ Service,
which he lik'd best; he besought him to think of it; and since he had
satisfy'd his Love, he should and ought to satisfy his Duty, it being
absolutely necessary for the wiping off the Stain of his Sacrilege, and
to gain him the favour of Heaven, which, he found, had hitherto been
averse to all he had undertaken: In fine, all his Friends, and all who
lov'd him, joyn'd in this Design, and all thought it convenient, nor was
he insensible of the Advantage it might bring him; but Love, which every
day grew fonder and fonder in his Heart, oppos'd all their Reasonings,
tho' he saw all the Brave Youth of the Age preparing to go, either to
one Army, or the other.
At last, he lets _Isabella_ know, what Propositions he had made him,
both by his Father, and his Relations; at the very first Motion, she
almost fainted in his Arms, while he was speaking, and it possess'd her
with so intire a Grief, that she miscarry'd, to the insupportable
Torment of her tender Husband and Lover, so that, to re-establish her
Repose, he was forc'd to promise not to go; however, she consider'd all
their Circumstances, and weigh'd the Advantages that might redound both
to his Honour and Fortune, by it; and, in a matter of a Month's time,
with the Persuasions and Reasons of her Friends, she suffer'd him to
resolve upon going, her self determining to retire to the _Monastery_,
till the time of his Return; but when she nam'd the _Monastery_, he grew
pale and disorder'd, and obliged her to promise him, not to enter into
it any more, for fear they should never suffer her to come forth again;
so that he resolv'd not to depart, till she had made a Vow to him, never
to go again within the Walls of a Religious House, which had already
been so fatal to them. She promis'd, and he believ'd.
_Henault_, at last, overcame his Heart, which pleaded so for his Stay,
and sent his Father word, he was ready to obey him, and to carry the
first Efforts of his Arms against the common Foes of Christendom, the
_Turks_; his Father was very well pleas'd at this, and sent him Two
thousand Crowns, his Horses and Furniture sutable to his Quality, and a
Man to wait on him; so that it was not long e're he got himself in order
to be gone, after a dismal parting.
He made what hast he could to the _French_ Army, then under the Command
of the Monsignior, the Duke of _Beaufort_, then at _Candia_, and put
himself a Voluntier under his Conduct; in which Station was _Villenoys_,
who, you have already heard, was so passionate a Lover of _Isabella_,
who no sooner heard of _Henault's_ being arriv'd, and that he was
Husband to _Isabella_, but he was impatient to learn, by what strange
Adventure he came to gain her, even from her Vow'd Retreat, when he,
with all his Courtship, could not be so happy, tho' she was then free in
the World, and Unvow'd to Heaven.
As soon as he sent his Name to _Henault_, he was sent for up, for
_Henault_ had heard of _Villenoys_, and that he had been a Lover of
_Isabella_; they receiv'd one another with all the endearing Civility
imaginable for the aforesaid Reason, and for that he was his
Country-man, tho' unknown to him, _Villenoys_ being gone to the Army,
just as _Henault_ came from the _Jesuits_ College. A great deal of
Endearment pass'd between them, and they became, from that moment, like
two sworn Brothers, and he receiv'd the whole Relation from _Henault_,
of his Amour.
It was not long before the Siege began anew, for he arriv'd at the
beginning of the Spring, and, as soon as he came, almost, they fell to
Action; and it happen'd upon a day, that a Party of some Four hundred
Men resolv'd to sally out upon the Enemy, as, when ever they could, they
did; but as it is not my business to relate the History of the War,
being wholly unacquainted with the Terms of Battels, I shall only say,
That these Men were led by _Villenoys_, and that _Henault_ would
accompany him in this Sally, and that they acted very Noble, and great
Things, worthy of a Memory in the History of that Siege; but this day,
particularly, they had an occasion to shew their Valour, which they did
very much to their Glory; but, venturing too far, they were ambush'd, in
the persuit of the Party of the Enemies, and being surrounded,
_Villenoys_ had the unhappiness to see his gallant Friend fall, fighting
and dealing of Wounds around him, even as he descended to the Earth, for
he fell from his Horse at the same moment that he kill'd a _Turk_; and
_Villenoys_ could neither assist him, nor had he the satisfaction to be
able to rescue his dead Body from under the Horses, but, with much ado,
escaping with his own Life, got away, in spite of all that follow'd him,
and recover'd the Town, before they could overtake him: He passionately
bewail'd the Loss of this brave young Man, and offer'd any Recompence to
those, that would have ventur'd to have search'd for his dead Body among
the Slain; but it was not fit to hazard the Living, for unnecessary
Services to the Dead; and tho' he had a great mind to have Interr'd him,
he rested content with what he wish'd to pay his Friends Memory, tho' he
could not: So that all the Service now he could do him, was, to write to
_Isabella_, to whom he had not writ, tho' commanded by her so to do, in
three Years before, which was never since she took Orders. He gave her
an Account of the Death of her Husband, and how Gloriously he fell
fighting for the Holy Cross, and how much Honour he had won, if it had
been his Fate to have outliv'd that great, but unfortunate, Day, where,
with 400 Men, they had kill'd 1500 of the Enemy. The General _Beaufort_
himself had so great a Respect and Esteem for this young Man, and
knowing him to be of Quality, that he did him the honour to bemoan him,
and to send a Condoling Letter to _Isabella_, how much worth her Esteem
he dy'd, and that he had Eterniz'd his Memory with the last Gasp of his
Life.
When this News arriv'd, it may be easily imagin'd, what Impressions, or
rather Ruins, it made in the Heart of this fair Mourner; the Letters
came by his Man, who saw him fall in Battel, and came off with those few
that escap'd with _Villenoys_; he brought back what Money he had, a few
Jewels, with _Isabella's_ Picture that he carry'd with him and had left
in his Chamber in the Fort at _Candia_, for fear of breaking it in
Action. And now _Isabella's_ Sorrow grew to the Extremity, she thought,
she could not suffer more than she did by his Absence, but she now found
a Grief more killing; she hung her Chamber with Black, and liv'd without
the Light of Day: Only Wax Lights, that let her behold the Picture of
this Charming Man, before which she sacrific'd Floods of Tears. He had
now been absent about ten Months, and she had learnt just to live
without him, but Hope preserv'd her then; but now she had nothing, for
which to wish to live. She, for about two Months after the News arriv'd,
liv'd without seeing any Creature but a young Maid, that was her Woman;
but extream Importunity oblig'd her to give way to the Visits of her
Friends, who endeavour'd to restore her Melancholy Soul to its wonted
Easiness; for, however it was oppress'd within, by _Henault's_ Absence,
she bore it off with a modest Chearfulness; but now she found, that
Fortitude and Virtue fail'd her, when she was assur'd, he was no more:
She continu'd thus Mourning, and thus inclos'd, the space of a whole
Year, never suffering the Visit of any Man, but of a near Relation; so
that she acquir'd a Reputation, such as never any young Beauty had, for
she was now but Nineteen, and her Face and Shape more excellent than
ever; she daily increas'd in Beauty, which, joyn'd to her Exemplary
Piety, Charity, and all other excellent Qualities, gain'd her a
wonderous Fame, and begat an Awe and Reverence in all that heard of her,
and there was no Man of any Quality, that did not Adore her. After her
Year was up, she went to the Churches, but would never be seen any where
else abroad, but that was enough to procure her a thousand Lovers; and
some, who had the boldness to send her Letters, which, if she receiv'd,
she gave no Answer to, and many she sent back unread and unseal'd: So
that she would encourage none, tho' their Quality was far beyond what
she could hope; but she was resolv'd to marry no more, however her
Fortune might require it.
It happen'd, that, about this time, _Candia_ being unfortunately taken
by the _Turks_, all the brave Men that escap'd the Sword, return'd,
among them, _Villenoys_, who no sooner arriv'd, but he sent to let
_Isabella_ know of it, and to beg the Honour of waiting on her; desirous
to learn what Fate befel her dear Lord, she suffer'd him to visit her,
where he found her, in her Mourning, a thousand times more Fair,
(at least, he fancy'd so) than ever she appear'd to be; so that if he
lov'd her before, he now ador'd her; if he burnt then, he rages now; but
the awful Sadness, and soft Languishment of her Eyes, hinder'd him from
the presumption of speaking of his Passion to her, tho' it would have
been no new thing; and his first Visit was spent in the Relation of
every Circumstance of _Henault's_ Death; and, at his going away, he
begg'd leave to visit her sometimes, and she gave him permission: He
lost no time, but made use of the Liberty she had given him; and when
his Sister, who was a great Companion of _Isabella's_, went to see her,
he would still wait on her; so that, either with his own Visits, and
those of his Sister's, he saw _Isabella_ every day, and had the good
luck to see, he diverted her, by giving her Relations of Transactions of
the Siege, and the Customs and Manners of the _Turks_: All he said, was
with so good a Grace, that he render'd every thing agreeable; he was,
besides, very Beautiful, well made, of Quality and Fortune, and fit to
inspire Love.
He made his Visits so often, and so long, that, at last, he took the
Courage to speak of his Passion, which, at first, _Isabella_ would by no
means hear of, but, by degrees, she yielded more and more to listen to
his tender Discourse; and he liv'd thus with her two Years, before he
could gain any more upon her Heart, than to suffer him to speak of Love
to her; but that, which subdu'd her quite was, That her Aunt, the Lady
_Abbess_, dy'd, and with her, all the Hopes and Fortune of _Isabella_,
so that she was left with only a Charming Face and Meen, a Virtue, and a
Discretion above her Sex, to make her Fortune within the World; into a
Religious House, she was resolv'd not to go, because her Heart deceiv'd
her once, and she durst not trust it again, whatever it promis'd.
The death of this Lady made her look more favourably on _Villenoys_; but
yet, she was resolv'd to try his Love to the utmost, and keep him off,
as long as 'twas possible she could subsist, and 'twas for Interest she
married again, tho' she lik'd the Person very well; and since she was
forc'd to submit her self to be a second time a Wife, she thought, she
could live better with _Villenoys_, than any other, since for him she
ever had a great Esteem; and fancy'd the Hand of Heaven had pointed out
her Destiny, which she could not avoid, without a Crime.
So that when she was again importun'd by her impatient Lover, she told
him, She had made a Vow to remain three Years, at least, before she
would marry again, after the Death of the best of Men and Husbands, and
him who had the Fruits of her early Heart; and, notwithstanding all the
Solicitations of _Villenoys_, she would not consent to marry him, till
her Vow of Widowhood was expir'd.
He took her promise, which he urg'd her to give him, and to shew the
height of his Passion in his obedience; he condescends to stay her
appointed time, tho' he saw her every day, and all his Friends and
Relations made her Visits upon this new account, and there was nothing
talk'd on, but this design'd Wedding, which, when the time was expir'd,
was perform'd accordingly with great Pomp and Magnificence, for
_Villenoys_ had no Parents to hinder his Design; or if he had, the
Reputation and Virtue of this Lady would have subdu'd them.
The Marriage was celebrated in this House, where she liv'd ever since
her Return from _Germany_, from the time she got her Pardon; and when
_Villenoys_ was preparing all things in a more magnificent Order at his
Villa, some ten Miles from the City, she was very melancholy, and would
often say, She had been us'd to such profound Retreat, and to live
without the fatigue of Noise and Equipage, that, she fear'd, she should
never endure that Grandeur, which was proper for his Quality; and tho'
the House, in the Country, was the most beautifully Situated in all
_Flanders_, she was afraid of a numerous Train, and kept him, for the
most part, in this pretty City Mansion, which he Adorn'd and Enlarg'd,
as much as she would give him leave; so that there wanted nothing, to
make this House fit to receive the People of the greatest Quality,
little as it was: But all the Servants and Footmen, all but one _Valet_,
and the Maid, were lodg'd abroad, for _Isabella_, not much us'd to the
sight of Men about her, suffer'd them as seldom as possible, to come in
her Presence, so that she liv'd more like a _Nun_ still, than a Lady of
the World; and very rarely any Maids came about her, but _Maria_, who
had always permission to come, when ever she pleas'd, unless forbidden.
As _Villenoys_ had the most tender and violent Passion for his Wife, in
the World, he suffer'd her to be pleas'd at any rate, and to live in
what Method she best lik'd, and was infinitely satisfy'd with the
Austerity and manner of her Conduct, since in his Arms, and alone, with
him, she wanted nothing that could Charm; so that she was esteemed the
fairest and best of Wives, and he the most happy of all Mankind. When
she would go abroad, she had her Coaches Rich and Gay, and her Livery
ready to attend her in all the Splendour imaginable; and he was always
buying one rich Jewel, or Necklace, or some great Rarity or other, that
might please her; so that there was nothing her Soul could desire, which
it had not, except the Assurance of Eternal Happiness, which she
labour'd incessantly to gain. She had no Discontent, but because she was
not bless'd with a Child; but she submits to the pleasure of Heaven, and
endeavour'd, by her good Works, and her Charity, to make the Poor her
Children, and was ever doing Acts of Virtue, to make the Proverb good,
_That more are the Children of the Barren, than the Fruitful Woman_. She
liv'd in this Tranquility, belov'd by all, for the space of five Years,
and Time (and perpetual Obligations from _Villenoys_, who was the most
indulgent and indearing Man in the World) had almost worn out of her
Heart the Thought of _Henault_, or if she remember'd him, it was in her
Prayers, or sometimes with a short sigh, and no more, tho' it was a
great while, before she could subdue her Heart to that Calmness; but she
was prudent, and wisely bent all her Endeavours to please, oblige, and
caress, the deserving Living, and to strive all she could, to forget the
unhappy Dead, since it could not but redound to the disturbance of her
Repose, to think of him; so that she had now transferr'd all that
Tenderness she had for him, to _Villenoys_.
_Villenoys_, of all Diversions, lov'd Hunting, and kept, at his Country
House, a very famous Pack of Dogs, which he us'd to lend, sometimes, to
a young Lord, who was his dear Friend, and his Neighbour in the Country,
who would often take them, and be out two or three days together, where
he heard of Game, and oftentimes _Villenoys_ and he would be a whole
Week at a time exercising in this Sport, for there was no Game near at
hand. This young Lord had sent him a Letter, to invite him fifteen Miles
farther than his own _Villa_, to hunt, and appointed to meet him at his
Country House, in order to go in search of this promis'd Game; So that
_Villenoys_ got about a Week's Provision, of what Necessaries he thought
he should want in that time; and taking only his _Valet_, who lov'd the
Sport, he left _Isabella_ for a Week to her Devotion, and her other
innocent Diversions of fine Work, at which she was Excellent, and left
the Town to go meet this young Challenger.
When _Villenoys_ was at any time out, it was the custom of _Isabella_ to
retire to her Chamber, and to receive no Visits, not even the Ladies, so
absolutely she devoted her self to her Husband: All the first day she
pass'd over in this manner, and Evening being come, she order'd her
Supper to be brought to her Chamber, and, because it was Washing-day the
next day, she order'd all her Maids to go very early to Bed, that they
might be up betimes, and to leave only _Maria_ to attend her; which was
accordingly done. This _Maria_ was a young Maid, that was very discreet,
and, of all things in the World, lov'd her Lady, whom she had liv'd
with, ever since she came from the _Monastery_.
When all were in Bed, and the little light Supper just carry'd up to the
Lady, and only, as I said, _Maria_ attending, some body knock'd at the
Gate, it being about Nine of the Clock at Night; so _Maria_ snatching up
a Candle, went to the Gate, to see who it might be; when she open'd the
Door, she found a Man in a very odd Habit, and a worse Countenance, and
asking, Who he would speak with? He told her, Her Lady: My Lady (reply'd
_Maria_) does not use to receive Visits at this hour; Pray, what is your
Business? He reply'd, That which I will deliver only to your Lady, and
that she may give me Admittance, pray, deliver her this Ring: And
pulling off a small Ring, with _Isabella's_ Name and Hair in it, he gave
it _Maria_, who, shutting the Gate upon him, went in with the Ring; as
soon as _Isabella_ saw it, she was ready to swound on the Chair where
she sate, and cry'd, Where had you this? _Maria_ reply'd, An old rusty
Fellow at the Gate gave it me, and desired, it might be his Pasport to
you; I ask'd his Name, but he said, You knew him not, but he had great
News to tell you. _Isabella_ reply'd, (almost swounding again) Oh,
_Maria!_ I am ruin'd. The Maid, all this while, knew not what she meant,
nor, that that was a Ring given to _Henault_ by her Mistress, but
endeavouring to recover her, only ask'd her, What she should say to the
old Messenger? _Isabella_ bid her bring him up to her, (she had scarce
Life to utter these last words) and before she was well recover'd,
_Maria_ enter'd with the Man; and _Isabella_ making a Sign to her, to
depart the Room, she was left alone with him.
_Henault_ (for it was he) stood trembling and speechless before her,
giving her leisure to take a strict Survey of him; at first finding no
Feature nor Part of _Henault_ about him, her Fears began to lessen, and
she hop'd, it was not he, as her first Apprehensions had suggested; when
he (with the Tears of Joy standing in his Eyes, and not daring suddenly
to approach her, for fear of encreasing that Disorder he saw in her pale
Face) began to speak to her, and cry'd, Fair Creature! is there no
Remains of your _Henault_ left in this Face of mine, all o'regrown with
Hair? Nothing in these Eyes, sunk with eight Years Absence from you, and
Sorrows? Nothing in this Shape, bow'd with Labour and Griefs, that can
inform you? I was once that happy Man you lov'd! At these words, Tears
stop'd his Speech, and _Isabella_ kept them Company, for yet she wanted
Words. Shame and Confusion fill'd her Soul, and she was not able to lift
her Eyes up, to consider the Face of him, whose Voice she knew so
perfectly well. In one moment, she run over a thousand Thoughts. She
finds, by his Return, she is not only expos'd to all the Shame
imaginable; to all the Upbraiding, on his part, when he shall know she
is marry'd to another; but all the Fury and Rage of _Villenoys_, and the
Scorn of the Town, who will look on her as an Adulteress: She sees
_Henault_ poor, and knew, she must fall from all the Glory and
Tranquility she had for five happy Years triumph'd in; in which time,
she had known no Sorrow, or Care, tho' she had endur'd a thousand with
_Henault_. She dyes, to think, however, that he should know, she had
been so lightly in Love with him, to marry again; and she dyes, to
think, that _Villenoys_ must see her again in the Arms of _Henault_;
besides, she could not recal her Love, for Love, like Reputation, once
fled, never returns more. 'Tis impossible to love, and cease to love,
(and love another) and yet return again to the first Passion, tho' the
Person have all the Charms, or a thousand times more than it had, when
it first conquer'd. This Mistery in Love, it may be, is not generally
known, but nothing is more certain. One may a while suffer the Flame to
languish, but there may be a reviving Spark in the Ashes, rak'd up, that
may burn anew; but when 'tis quite extinguish'd, it never returns or
rekindles.
'Twas so with the Heart of _Isabella_; had she believ'd, _Henault_ had
been living, she had lov'd to the last moment of their Lives; but, alas!
the Dead are soon forgotten, and she now lov'd only _Villenoys_.
After they had both thus silently wept, with very different sentiments,
she thought 'twas time to speak; and dissembling as well as she could,
she caress'd him in her Arms, and told him, She could not express her
Surprize and Joy for his Arrival. If she did not Embrace him heartily,
or speak so Passionately as she us'd to do, he fancy'd it her Confusion,
and his being in a condition not so fit to receive Embraces from her;
and evaded them as much as 'twas possible for him to do, in respect to
her, till he had dress'd his Face, and put himself in order; but the
Supper being just brought up, when he knock'd, she order'd him to sit
down and Eat, and he desir'd her not to let _Maria_ know who he was, to
see how long it would be, before she knew him or would call him to mind.
But _Isabella_ commanded _Maria_, to make up a Bed in such a Chamber,
without disturbing her Fellows, and dismiss'd her from waiting at Table.
The Maid admir'd, what strange, good, and joyful News, this Man had
brought her Mistress, that he was so Treated, and alone with her, which
never any Man had yet been; but she never imagin'd the Truth, and knew
her Lady's Prudence too well, to question her Conduct. While they were
at Supper, _Isabella_ oblig'd him to tell her, How he came to be
reported Dead; of which, she receiv'd Letters, both from Monsieur
_Villenoys_, and the Duke of _Beaufort_, and by his Man the News, who
saw him Dead? He told her, That, after the Fight, of which, first, he
gave her an account, he being left among the Dead, when the Enemy came
to Plunder and strip 'em, they found, he had Life in him, and appearing
as an Eminent Person, they thought it better Booty to save me,
(continu'd he) and get my Ransom, than to strip me, and bury me among
the Dead; so they bore me off to a Tent, and recover'd me to Life; and,
after that, I was recover'd of my Wounds, and sold, by the Soldier that
had taken me, to a Spahee, who kept me a Slave, setting a great Ransom
on me, such as I was not able to pay. I writ several times, to give you,
and my Father, an account of my Misery, but receiv'd no Answer, and
endur'd seven Years of Dreadful Slavery: When I found, at last, an
opportunity to make my Escape, and from that time, resolv'd, never to
cut the Hair of this Beard, till I should either see my dearest
_Isabella_ again, or hear some News of her. All that I fear'd, was, That
she was Dead; and, at that word, he fetch'd a deep Sigh; and viewing all
things so infinitely more Magnificent than he had left 'em, or,
believ'd, she could afford; and, that she was far more Beautiful in
Person, and Rich in Dress, than when he left her: He had a thousand
Torments of Jealousie that seiz'd him, of which, he durst not make any
mention, but rather chose to wait a little, and see, whether she had
lost her Virtue: He desir'd, he might send for a Barber, to put his Face
in some handsomer Order, and more fit for the Happiness 'twas that Night
to receive; but she told him, No Dress, no Disguise, could render him
more Dear and Acceptable to her, and that to morrow was time enough, and
that his Travels had render'd him more fit for Repose, than Dressing. So
that after a little while, they had talk'd over all they had a mind to
say, all that was very indearing on his side, and as much Concern as she
could force, on hers; she conducted him to his Chamber, which was very
rich, and which gave him a very great addition of Jealousie: However, he
suffer'd her to help him to Bed, which she seem'd to do, with all the
tenderness in the World; and when she had seen him laid, she said, She
would go to her Prayers, and come to him as soon as she had done, which
being before her usual Custom, it was not a wonder to him she stay'd
long, and he, being extreamly tir'd with his Journy, fell asleep. 'Tis
true, _Isabella_ essay'd to Pray, but alas! it was in vain, she was
distracted with a thousand Thoughts what to do, which the more she
thought, the more it distracted her; she was a thousand times about to
end her Life, and, at one stroke, rid her self of the Infamy, that, she
saw, must inevitably fall upon her; but Nature was frail, and the
Tempter strong: And after a thousand Convulsions, even worse than Death
it self, she resolv'd upon the Murder of _Henault_, as the only means of
removing all the obstacles to her future Happiness; she resolv'd on
this, but after she had done so, she was seiz'd with so great Horror,
that she imagin'd, if she perform'd it, she should run Mad; and yet, if
she did not, she should be also Frantick, with the Shames and Miseries
that would befal her; and believing the Murder the least Evil, since she
could never live with him, she fix'd her Heart on that; and causing her
self to be put immediately to Bed, in her own Bed, she made _Maria_ go
to hers, and when all was still, she softly rose, and taking a Candle
with her, only in her Night-Gown and Slippers, she goes to the Bed of
the Unfortunate _Henault_, with a Penknife in her hand; but considering,
she knew not how to conceal the Blood, should she cut his Throat, she
resolves to Strangle him, or Smother him with a Pillow; that last
thought was no sooner borne, but put in Execution; and, as he soundly
slept, she smother'd him without any Noise, or so much as his Strugling:
But when she had done this dreadful Deed, and saw the dead Corps of her
once-lov'd Lord, lye Smiling (as it were) upon her, she fell into a
Swound with the Horror of the Deed, and it had been well for her she had
there dy'd; but she reviv'd again, and awaken'd to more and new Horrors,
she flyes all frighted from the Chamber, and fancies, the Phantom of her
dead Lord persues her; she runs from Room to Room, and starts and
stares, as if she saw him continually before her. Now all that was ever
Soft and Dear to her, with him, comes into her Heart, and, she finds, he
conquers anew, being Dead, who could not gain her Pity, while Living.
While she was thus flying from her Guilt, in vain, she hears one knock
with Authority at the Door: She is now more affrighted, if possible, and
knows not whither to fly for Refuge; she fancies, they are already the
Officers of Justice, and that Ten thousand Tortures and Wrecks are
fastening on her, to make her confess the horrid Murder; the knocking
increases, and so loud, that the Laundry Maids believing it to be the
Woman that us'd to call them up, and help them to Wash, rose, and,
opening the Door, let in _Villenoys_; who having been at his Country
_Villa_, and finding there a Footman, instead of his Friend, who waited
to tell him, His Master was fallen sick of the Small Pox, and could not
wait on him, he took Horse, and came back to his lovely _Isabella_; but
running up, as he us'd to do, to her Chamber, he found her not, and
seeing a Light in another Room, he went in, but found _Isabella_ flying
from him, out at another Door, with all the speed she could, he admires
at this Action, and the more, because his Maid told him Her Lady had
been a Bed a good while; he grows a little Jealous, and persues her, but
still she flies; at last he caught her in his Arms, where she fell into
a swound, but quickly recovering, he set her down in a Chair, and,
kneeling before her, implor'd to know what she ayl'd, and why she fled
from him, who ador'd her? She only fix'd a ghastly Look upon him, and
said, She was not well: 'Oh! (said he) put not me off with such poor
Excuses, _Isabella_ never fled from me, when Ill, but came to my Arms,
and to my Bosom, to find a Cure; therefore, tell me, what's the matter?'
At that, she fell a weeping in a most violent manner, and cry'd, She was
for ever undone: He, being mov'd with Love and Compassion, conjur'd her
to tell what she ayl'd: 'Ah! (said she) thou and I, and all of us, are
undone!' At this, he lost all Patience and rav'd, and cry'd, Tell me,
and tell me immediately, what's the matter? When she saw his Face pale,
and his Eyes fierce, she fell on her knees, and cry'd, 'Oh! you can
never Pardon me, if I should tell you, and yet, alas! I am innocent of
Ill, by all that's good, I am.' But her Conscience accusing her at that
word, she was silent. If thou art Innocent, said _Villenoys_, taking her
up in his Arms, and kissing her wet Face, 'By all that's Good, I Pardon
thee, what ever thou hast done.' 'Alas! (said she) Oh! but I dare not
name it, 'till you swear.' 'By all that's Sacred, (reply'd he) and by
whatever Oath you can oblige me to; by my inviolable Love to thee, and
by thy own dear Self, I swear, whate're it be, I do forgive thee;
I know, thou art too good to commit a Sin I may not with Honour,
pardon.'
With this, and hearten'd by his Caresses, she told him, That _Henault_
was return'd; and repeating to him his Escape, she said, She had put him
to Bed, and when he expected her to come, she fell on her Knees at the
Bedside, and confess'd, She was married to _Villenoys_; at that word
(said she) he fetch'd a deep Sigh or two, and presently after, with a
very little struggling, dy'd; and, yonder, he lyes still in the Bed.
After this, she wept so abundantly, that all _Villenoys_ could do, could
hardly calm her Spirits; but after, consulting what they should do in
this Affair, _Villenoys_ ask'd her, Who of the House saw him? She said,
Only _Maria_, who knew not who he was; so that, resolving to save
_Isabella's_ Honour, which was the only Misfortune to come, _Villenoys_
himself propos'd the carrying him out to the Bridge, and throwing him
into the River, where the Stream would carry him down to the Sea, and
lose him; or, if he were found, none could know him. So _Villenoys_ took
a Candle, and went and look'd on him, and found him altogether chang'd,
that no Body would know who he was; he therefore put on his Clothes,
which was not hard for him to do, for he was scarce yet cold, and
comforting again _Isabella_, as well as he could, he went himself into
the Stable, and fetched a Sack, such as they us'd for Oats, a new Sack,
whereon stuck a great Needle, with a Pack-thread in it; this Sack he
brings into the House, and shews to _Isabella_, telling her, He would
put the Body in there, for the better convenience of carrying it on his
Back. _Isabella_ all this while said but little, but, fill'd with
Thoughts all Black and Hellish, she ponder'd within, while the Fond and
Passionate _Villenoys_ was endeavouring to hide her Shame, and to make
this an absolute Secret: She imagin'd, that could she live after a Deed
so black, _Villenoys_ would be eternal reproaching her, if not with his
Tongue, at least with his Heart, and embolden'd by one Wickedness, she
was the readier for another, and another of such a Nature, as has, in my
Opinion, far less Excuse, than the first; but when Fate begins to
afflict, she goes through stitch with her Black Work.
When _Villenoys_, who would, for the Safety of _Isabella's_ Honour, be
the sole Actor in the disposing of this Body; and since he was Young,
Vigorous, and Strong, and able to bear it, would trust no one with the
Secret, he having put up the Body, and ty'd it fast, set it on a Chair,
turning his Back towards it, with the more conveniency to take it upon
his Back, bidding _Isabella_ give him the two Corners of the Sack in his
Hands; telling her, They must do this last office for the Dead, more, in
order to the securing their Honour and Tranquility hereafter, than for
any other Reason, and bid her be of good Courage, till he came back, for
it was not far to the Bridge, and it being the dead of the Night, he
should pass well enough. When he had the Sack on his Back, and ready to
go with it, she cry'd, Stay, my Dear, some of his Clothes hang out,
which I will put in; and with that, taking the Pack-needle with the
Thread, sew'd the Sack, with several strong Stitches, to the Collar of
_Villenoy's_ Coat, without his perceiving it, and bid him go now; and
when you come to the Bridge, (said she) and that you are throwing him
over the Rail, (which is not above Breast high) be sure you give him a
good swing, least the Sack should hang on any thing at the side of the
Bridge, and not fall into the Stream; I'le warrant you, (said
_Villenoys_) I know how to secure his falling. And going his way with
it, Love lent him Strength, and he soon arriv'd at the Bridge; where,
turning his Back to the Rail, and heaving the Body over, he threw
himself with all his force backward, the better to swing the Body into
the River, whose weight (it being made fast to his Collar) pull'd
_Villenoys_ after it, and both the live and the dead Man falling into
the River, which, being rapid at the Bridge, soon drown'd him,
especially when so great a weight hung to his Neck; so that he dy'd,
without considering what was the occasion of his Fate.
_Isabella_ remain'd the most part of the Night sitting in her Chamber,
without going to Bed, to see what would become of her Damnable Design;
but when it was towards Morning, and she heard no News, she put herself
into Bed, but not to find Repose or Rest there, for that she thought
impossible, after so great a Barbarity as she had committed; No, (said
she) it is but just I should for ever wake, who have, in one fatal
Night, destroy'd two such Innocents. Oh! what Fate, what Destiny, is
mine? Under what cursed Planet was I born, that Heaven it self could not
divert my Ruine? It was not many Hours since I thought my self the most
happy and blest of Women, and now am fallen to the Misery of one of the
worst Fiends of Hell.
Such were her Thoughts, and such her Cryes, till the Light brought on
new Matter for Grief; for, about Ten of the Clock, News was brought,
that Two Men were found dead in the River, and that they were carry'd to
the Town-Hall, to lye there, till they were own'd: Within an hour after,
News was brought in, that one of these Unhappy Men was _Villenoys_; his
_Valet_, who, all this while, imagin'd him in Bed with his Lady, ran to
the Hall, to undeceive the People, for he knew, if his Lord were gone
out, he should have been call'd to Dress him; but finding it, as 'twas
reported, he fell a weeping, and wringing his Hands, in a most miserable
manner, he ran home with the News; where, knocking at his Lady's Chamber
Door, and finding it fast lock'd, he almost hop'd again, he was
deceiv'd; but _Isabella_ rising, and opening the Door, _Maria_ first
enter'd weeping, with the News, and then brought the _Valet_, to testify
the fatal Truth of it. _Isabella_, tho' it were nothing but what she
expected to hear, almost swounded in her Chair; nor did she feign it,
but felt really all the Pangs of Killing Grief; and was so alter'd with
her Night's Watching and Grieving, that this new Sorrow look'd very
Natural in her. When she was recover'd, she asked a thousand Questions
about him, and question'd the Possibility of it; for (said she) he went
out this Morning early from me, and had no signs, in his Face, of any
Grief or Discontent. Alas! (said the _Valet_) Madam, he is not his own
Murderer, some one has done it in Revenge; and then told her, how he was
found fasten'd to a Sack, with a dead strange Man ty'd up within it; and
every body concludes, that they were both first murder'd, and then drawn
to the River, and thrown both in. At the Relation of this Strange Man,
she seem'd more amaz'd than before, and commanding the _Valet_ to go to
the Hall, and to take Order about the Coroner's sitting on the Body of
_Villenoys_, and then to have it brought home: She called _Maria_ to
her, and, after bidding her shut the Door, she cry'd, Ah, _Maria_! I
will tell thee what my Heart imagins; but first, (said she) run to the
Chamber of the Stranger, and see, if he be still in Bed, which I fear he
is not; she did so, and brought word, he was gone; then (said she) my
Forebodings are true. When I was in Bed last night, with _Villenoys_
(and at that word, she sigh'd as if her Heart-Strings had broken) I told
him, I had lodg'd a Stranger in my House, who was by, when my first Lord
and Husband fell in Battel; and that, after the Fight, finding him yet
alive, he spoke to him, and gave him that Ring you brought me last
Night; and conjur'd him, if ever his Fortune should bring him to
_Flanders_, to see me, and give me that Ring, and tell me--(with that,
she wept, and could scarce speak) a thousand tender and endearing
things, and then dy'd in his Arms. For my dear _Henault's_ sake (said
she) I us'd him nobly, and dismiss'd you that Night, because I was
asham'd to have any Witness of the Griefs I paid his Memory: All this I
told to _Villenoys_ whom I found disorder'd; and, after a sleepless
Night, I fancy he got up, and took this poor Man, and has occasion'd his
Death: At that, she wept anew, and _Maria_, to whom, all that her
Mistress said, was Gospel, verily believ'd it so, without examining
Reason; and _Isabella_ conjuring her, since none of the House knew of
the old Man's being there, (for Old he appear'd to be) that she would
let it for ever be a Secret, and, to this she bound her by an Oath; so
that none knowing _Henault_, altho' his Body was expos'd there for three
Days to Publick View: When the Coroner had Set on the Bodies, he found,
they had been first Murder'd some way or other, and then afterwards
tack'd together, and thrown into the River, they brought the Body of
_Villenoys_ home to his House, where, it being laid on a Table, all the
House infinitely bewail'd it; and _Isabella_ did nothing but swound
away, almost as fast as she recover'd Life; however, she would, to
compleat her Misery, be led to see this dreadful Victim of her Cruelty,
and, coming near the Table, the Body, whose Eyes were before close shut,
now open'd themselves wide, and fix'd them upon _Isabella_, who, giving
a great Schreek, fell down in a swound, and the Eyes clos'd again; they
had much ado to bring her to Life, but, at last, they did so, and led
her back to her Bed, where she remain'd a good while. Different Opinions
and Discourses were made, concerning the opening of the Eyes of the Dead
Man, and viewing _Isabella_; but she was a Woman of so admirable a Life
and Conversation, of so undoubted a Piety and Sanctity of Living, that
not the least Conjecture could be made, of her having a hand in it,
besides the improbability of it; yet the whole thing was a Mystery,
which, they thought, they ought to look into: But a few Days after, the
Body of _Villenoys_ being interr'd in a most magnificent manner, and, by
Will all he had, was long since setled on _Isabella_, the World, instead
of Suspecting her, Ador'd her the more, and every Body of Quality was
already hoping to be next, tho' the fair Mourner still kept her Bed, and
Languish'd daily.
It happen'd, not long after this, there came to the Town a _French_
Gentleman, who was taken at the Siege of _Candia_, and was Fellow-Slave
with _Henault_, for seven Years, in _Turky_, and who had escap'd with
_Henault_, and came as far as _Liege_ with him, where, having some
Business and Acquaintance with a Merchant, he stay'd some time; but when
he parted with _Henault_, he ask'd him, Where he should find him in
_Flanders_? _Henault_ gave him a Note, with his Name, and Place of
Abode, if his Wife were alive; if not, to enquire at his Sister's, or
his Father's. This _French_ Man came at last, to the very House of
_Isabella_, enquiring for this Man, and receiv'd a strange Answer, and
was laugh'd at; He found, that was the House, and that the Lady; and
enquiring about the Town, and speaking of _Henault's_ Return, describing
the Man, it was quickly discover'd, to be the same that was in the Sack:
He had his Friend taken up (for he was buried) and found him the same,
and, causing a _Barber_ to Trim him, when his bushy Beard was off,
a great many People remember'd him; and the _French_ Man affirming, he
went to his own Home, all _Isabella's_ Family, and her self, were cited
before the Magistrate of Justice, where, as soon as she was accus'd, she
confess'd the whole Matter of Fact, and, without any Disorder, deliver'd
her self in the Hands of Justice, as the Murderess of two Husbands (both
belov'd) in one Night: The whole World stood amaz'd at this; who knew
her Life a Holy and Charitable Life, and how dearly and well she had
liv'd with her Husbands, and every one bewail'd her Misfortune, and she
alone was the only Person, that was not afflicted for her self; she was
Try'd, and Condemn'd to lose her Head; which Sentence, she joyfully
receiv'd, and said, Heaven, and her Judges, were too Merciful to her,
and that her Sins had deserv'd much more.
While she was in Prison, she was always at Prayers, and very Chearful
and Easie, distributing all she had amongst, and for the Use of, the
Poor of the Town, especially to the Poor Widows; exhorting daily, the
Young, and the Fair, that came perpetually to visit her, never to break
a Vow: for that was first the Ruine of her, and she never since
prosper'd, do whatever other good Deeds she could. When the day of
Execution came, she appear'd on the Scaffold all in Mourning, but with a
Meen so very Majestick and Charming, and a Face so surprizing Fair,
where no Languishment or Fear appear'd, but all Chearful as a Bride,
that she set all Hearts a flaming, even in that mortifying Minute of
Preparation for Death: She made a Speech of half an Hour long, so
Eloquent, so admirable a warning to the _Vow-Breakers_, that it was as
amazing to hear her, as it was to behold her.
After she had done with the help of _Maria_, she put off her Mourning
Vail, and, without any thing over her Face, she kneel'd down, and the
Executioner, at one Blow, sever'd her Beautiful Head from her Delicate
Body, being then in her Seven and Twentieth Year. She was generally
Lamented, and Honourably Bury'd.
_FINIS._
NOTES: The History of the Nun.
p. 262 _The Dutchess of Mazarine._ Hortense Mancini, niece of the great
Cardinal, was born at Rome in 1646. Her beauty and wit were such that
Charles II (whilst in exile) and other princes of royal blood sought her
hand. She married, however, 28 February, 1661, Armand-Charles de la
Meilleraye, said to be 'the richest subject in Europe'. The union was
unhappy, and in 1666 she demanded a judicial separation. Fearful,
however, lest this should be refused, she fled from Paris 13 June, 1668,
and, after several years of wandering, in 1675 came to London at the
invitation of Charles II, who assigned her a pension. Her gallantries,
her friendship with Saint-Evremond, her lavish patronage of the fine
arts and literature are well known. She died at her Chelsea house in the
summer of 1699. Her end is said to have been hastened by intemperance.
Evelyn dubs her 'the famous beauty and errant lady.'
* * * * *
* * * *
THE NUN: or, The Perjur'd Beauty.