Virtue, soft balm of every woe,
Of ev’ry grief the cure,
‘Tis thou alone that canst best bestow
Pleasures unmix’d and pure.
The shady wood, the verdant mead,
Are Virtue’s flow’ry road;
Nor painful are the steps which lead
To her divine abode.
‘Tis not in palaces of halls,
She or their train appear;
Far off she flies from pompous walls;
Virtue and Peace dwell here.
The queen was all attention, and at the end of the song she gazed around
her, in hopes of seeing the person whose enchanting voice she had been
so eagerly listening to, when she espied a young shepherdess, not
much older than the Princess Hebe, but possessed of such uncommon and
dazzling beauty, that it was some time before she could disengage her
eyes from so agreeable an object. As soon as the young shepherdess found
herself observed, she seemed modestly to offer to withdraw; but the
queen begged her not to go till she had informed them who she was, that,
with such a commanding aspect, had so much engaged them in her favour.
The shepherdess coming forward, with a bashful blush, and profound
obedience, answered, that her name was Rozella, and she was the daughter
of a neighbouring shepherd and shepherdess, who lived about a quarter of
a mile from thence; and, to confess the truth, she had wandered thither,
in hopes of seeing the young stranger, whose fame for beauty and wisdom
had filled all that country round.
The Princess Hebe, well knowing of whom she spoke, conceived from that
moment such an inclination fur her acquaintance, that she begged her to
stay and spend that whole day with them in Placid Grove. Here the queen
frowned upon her, for she had, by the fairy’s desire, charged her never
to bring any one, without her permission, into that peaceful grove.
The young Rozella answered, that nothing could be more agreeable to her
inclinations; but she must be at home by noon, for so in the morning
had her father commanded her, and never yet in her life had she either
disputed or disobeyed her parent’s commands. Here the young princess
looked on her mother with eyes expressive of her joy at finding a
companion, which she, and even the fairy herself, could not disapprove.
When Rozella took her leave, she begged the favour that the little Hebe
(for so she called her, not knowing her to be a princess) might come
to her father’s small cottage, and there partake such homely fare as it
afforded; a welcome, she said, she could insure her; and though poor,
yet from the honesty of her parents, who would be proud to entertain
so rare a beauty, she was certain no sort of harm could happen to the
pretty Hebe, from such a friendly visit; and she would be in the same
place again tomorrow, to meet her, in hopes, as she said, to conduct her
to her humble habitation.
When Rozella was gone, the queen, though highly possessed in her favour,
both by her beauty and modest behaviour, yet pondered some time on the
thought, whether or no she was a fit companion for her daughter. She
remembered what Sybella had told her, concerning Brunetta’s adorning
young shepherdesses with beauty, and other excellences, only to enable
them the better to allure and entice others into wickedness. Rozella’s
beginning her acquaintance too with the princess, by flattery, had no
good aspect; and the sudden effect it had upon her, so as to make her
forget, or wilfully disobey, her commands, by inviting Rozella to
Placid Grove, were circumstances which greatly alarmed her. But, by
the repeated entreaties of the princess, she gave her consent that she
should meet Rozella the next day, and walk with her in that meadow, and
in the wood, but upon no account should she go home with her, or
bring Rozella back with her. The queen then, in gentle terms, chid the
princess for her invitation to the young shepherdess, which was contrary
to an absolute command; and said, ‘You must, my dear Hebe, be very
careful to guard yourself extremely well against those temptations
which wear the face of virtue. I know that your sudden affection to this
apparent good girl, and your desire of her company, to partake with
you the innocent pleasures of this happy place, arise from a good
disposition; but where the indulgence of the most laudable passion, even
benevolence and compassion itself, interferes with, or runs counter to
your duty, you must endeavour to suppress it, or it will fare with you,
as it did with that hen, who, thinking that she heard the voice of a
little duckling in distress, flew from her young ones, to go and give it
assistance, and following the cry, came at last to a hedge, out of which
jumped a subtle and wicked fox, who had made that noise to deceive
her, and devoured her in an instant. A kite at the same time, taking
advantage of her absence, carried away, one by one, all her little
innocent brood, robbed of that parent who should have been their
protector.’ The princess promised her mother that she would punctually
obey all her commands, and be very watchful and observant of everything
Rozella said and did, till she had approved herself worthy of her
confidence and friendship.
The queen the next morning renewed her injunctions to her daughter, that
she should by no means go farther out of the wood than into the meadow,
where she was to meet Rozella, and that she should give her a faithful
account of all that should pass between them.
They met according to appointment, and the princess brought home so good
an account of their conversation, which the queen imagined would help to
improve, rather than seduce her child, that she indulged her in the same
pleasure as often as she asked it. They passed some hours every day
in walking round that delightful wood, in which were many small green
meadows, with little rivulets running through them, on the banks of
which, covered with primroses and violets, Rozella, by the side of her
sweet companion, used to sing the most enchanting songs in the world:
the words were chiefly in praise of innocence and a country life.
The princess came home every day more and more charmed with her young
shepherdess, and recounted, as near as she could remember, every word
that had passed between them. The queen very highly approved of their
manner of amusing themselves; but again enjoined her to omit nothing
that passed in conversation, especially if it had the least tendency
towards alluring her from her duty.
One day, as the princess Hebe and Rozella were walking alone, and
talking, as usual, of their own happy state, and the princess was
declaring how much her own happiness was owing to her thorough obedience
to her mother, Rozella, with a tone of voice as half in jest, said, ‘But
don’t you think, my little Hebe, that if I take a very great pleasure in
any thing that will do me no hurt, though it is forbidden, I may disobey
my parents in enjoying it, provided I don’t tell them of it to vex them
with the thought that I have disobeyed them? And then, my dear, what
harm is done?’
‘Great harm (answered the princess, looking grave and half angry): I am
ashamed to hear you talk so, Rozella. Are you not guilty of treachery,
as well as disobedience? Neither ought you to determine that no harm
is done, because you do not feel the immediate effects of your
transgression; for the consequence may be out of our narrow
inexperienced view; and I have been taught whenever my mother lays
any commands on me, to take it for granted, she has some reason for
so doing; and I obey her, without examining what those reasons are;
otherwise, it would not be obeying her, but setting up my own wisdom,
and doing what she bid me, only when I thought proper.’
They held a long argument on this head, in which Rozella made use of
many a fallacy to prove her point; but the princess, as she had not yet
departed from Truth, nor failed in her duty, could not be imposed upon.
Rozella, seeing every attempt to persuade her was in vain, turned all
her past discourse into a jest; said she had only a mind to try her; and
was overjoyed to find her so steady in the cause of truth and virtue.
The princess resumed her usual cheerfulness and good humour. Rozella
sung her a song in praise of constancy of mind; and they passed the rest
of the time they stayed together, as they used to do.
But, just before they parted, Rozella begged she would not tell her
mother of the first part of the conversation that had passed between
them. The princess replied, that it would be breaking through one of her
mother’s commands, and therefore she dared not grant her request. Then,
said Rozella, ‘Here I must for ever part with my dear little Hebe.
Your mother, not knowing the manner in which I spoke, will have an ill
opinion of me, and will never trust you again in my company. Thus will
you be torn from me; and loss will be irreparable.’ These words she
accompanied with a flood of tears, and such little tendernesses, as
quite melted the princess into tears also. But she still said, that she
could not dare to conceal from her mother anything that had happened,
though she could not but own, she believed their separation would be
the consequence. ‘Well then (cried Rozella) I will endeavour to be
contented, as our separation will give you less pain than what you call
this mighty breach of your duty: and though I would willingly undergo
almost any torments that could be invented, rather than be debarred one
moment the company of my dearest Hebe, yet I will not expect that she
should suffer the smallest degree of pain, or uneasiness, to save me
from losing what is the whole pleasure of my life.’
The princess could not bear the thought of appearing ungrateful to such
a warm friendship as Rozella expressed; and, without farther hesitation,
promised to conceal what she had said, and to undergo anything, rather
than lose so amiable a friend.
After this they parted. But when the princess entered the Grove, she did
not, as usual, run with haste and joy into the presence of her indulgent
mother; for her mind was disturbed: she felt a conscious shame on seeing
her, and turned away her face, as wanting to shun the piercing look of
that eye, which she imagined would see the secret lurking in her
bosom. Her mother observed with concern her downcast look, and want of
cheerfulness. And asking her what was the matter, she answered, her
walk had fatigued her, and she begged early to retire to rest. Her
kind mother consented; but little rest had the poor princess that whole
night, for the pain of having her mind touched with guilt, and the fear
she was under of losing her dear companion, kept her thoughts in one
continued tumult and confusion. The fairy’s gift now became her curse;
for the power of seeing what was right, as she had acted contrary to her
knowledge, only tormented her.
She hastened the next morning to meet Rozella, and told her all that had
passed in her own mind the preceding night; declaring that she would not
pass such another for the whole world; but yet would not dispense with
her promise to her, without her consent; and therefore came to ask her
leave to acquaint her good mother with all that had passed: ‘For (said
she) my dear Rozella, we must, if we would be happy, do always what is
right, and trust for the consequences.’ Here Rozella drew her features
into the most contemptuous sneer imaginable, and said, ‘Pray what are
all these mighty pains you have suffered? Are they not owing only to
your want of sense enough to know, that you can do your mother no harm,
by concealing from her this, or anything else that will vex her? and,
my dear girl (continued she) when you have once entered into this way of
thinking, and have put this blind duty out of your head, you will spend
no more such restless nights, which you must see was entirely owing to
your own imaginations.’
This startled the princess to such a degree, that she was breaking from
her, but, putting on a more tender air, Rozella cried, ‘And can
you then, my dear Hebe, determine to give me up for such a trifling
consideration?’ Then raising her voice again, in a haughty manner, she
said, ‘I ought to despise and laugh at you for your folly, or at best
pity your ignorance, rather than offer a sincere friendship to one so
undeserving.’
The princess, having once swerved from her duty, was now in the power of
every passion that should attack her.
Pride and indignation, at the thought of being despised, bore more sway
with her, than either her duty or affection to her fond mother; and she
was now determined, she said, to think for herself, and make use of her
own understanding, which she was convinced would always teach her what
was right. Upon this Rozella took her by the hand, and, with tears
of joy, said, ‘Now, my dearest girl, you are really wise, and cannot
therefore (according to your own rule) fail of being happy. But to show
that you are in earnest in this resolution, you shall this morning go
home with me to my father’s cot; it is not so far off, but you will be
back by the time your mother expects you; and as that will be obeying
the chief command, it is but concealing from her the thing that would
vex her, and there will be no harm done.’ Here a ray of truth broke in
upon our young princess; but as a false shame, and fear of being laughed
at, had now got possession of her, she, with a soft sigh, consented to
the proposal.
Rozella led the way. But just as they were turning round the walk, which
leads out of the wood, a large serpent darted from one side out of a
thicket, directly between them, and turning its hissing mouth towards
the princess, as seeming to make after her, she fled hastily back, and
ran with all her speed towards the grove, and panting for breath, flew
into the arms of her ever kind protectress.
Her mother was vastly terrified to see her tremble, and look so pale;
and as soon as she was a little recovered, asked her the occasion of her
fright, and added (with tears running down her cheeks) ‘I am afraid, my
dear Hebe, some sad disaster has befallen you, for, indeed, my child, I
but too plainly saw last night--’
Here the princess was so struck with true shame and confusion, for her
past behaviour, that she fell down upon her knees, confessed the whole
truth, and implored forgiveness for her fault.
The queen kindly raised her up, kissed and forgave her. ‘I am overjoyed,
my dear child (said she) at this your sweet repentance, though the
effect of mere accident, as it appears but sent, without doubt, by some
good fairy, to save you from destruction; and I hope you are thoroughly
convinced, that the serpent which drove you home, was not half so
dangerous as the false Rozella.’
The princess answered, that she was thoroughly sensible of the dangers
she had avoided, and hoped she never should again, by her own folly and
wickedness, deserve to be exposed to the danger from which she had so
lately escaped.
Some days passed, without the princess’s offering to stir out of the
grove; and in that time she gave a willing and patient ear to all her
mother’s instructions, and seemed thoroughly sensible of the great
deliverance she had lately experienced. But yet there appeared in her
countenance an uneasiness, which the queen wishing to remove, asked her
the cause of.
‘It is, dear madam,’ answered the princess, ‘because I have not yet had
it in my power to convince you of my repentance, which (though I know it
to be sincere) you have had no proof of, but in words only; and, indeed,
my heart longs for an occasion to show you, that I am now able to resist
any allurement which would tempt me from my duty; and I cannot be easy
till you have given me an opportunity of showing you the firmness of
my resolution; and if you will give me leave to take a walk in the
wood alone, this evening, I shall return to you with pleasure, and will
promise not to exceed any bounds that you shall prescribe.’
The queen was not much pleased with this request; but the princess was
so earnest with her to grant it, that she could not well refuse, without
seeming to suspect her sincerity; which she did not, but only feared for
her safety, and, giving her a strict charge, not to stir a step out of
the wood, or to speak to the false Rozella, if she came in her way, she
reluctantly gave her consent.
The princess walked through all the flowery labyrinths, in which she had
so often strayed with Rozella; but she was so shocked with the thoughts
of her wickedness, that she hardly gave a sigh for the loss of a
companion once so dear to her; and as a proof that her repentance
was sincere, though she heard Rozella singing in an arbour (purposely
perhaps to decoy her) she turned away without the least emotion, and
went quite to the other side of the wood; where looking into the meadow,
in which she first beheld that false friend, she saw a girl about her
own age, leaning against a tree, and crying most bitterly. But the
moment she came in sight, the young shepherdess (for such by her dress
she appeared to be) cried out, ‘O help, dear young lady, help me; for I
am tied here to this tree, by the spiteful contrivance of a wicked young
shepherdess called Rozella: my hands too, you see, are bound behind me,
so that I cannot myself unloose the knot; and if I am not released, here
must I lie all night and my wretched parents will break their hearts,
for fear some sad accident should have befallen their only child, their
poor unhappy Florimel!’
The Princess, hearing her speak of Rozella in that manner, had no
suspicion of her being one of that false girl’s deluding companions;
but rather thought that she was a fellow-sufferer with herself; and
therefore, without any consideration of the bounds prescribed, she
hastened to relieve her, and even thought that she should have great
pleasure in telling her mother, that she had saved a poor young
shepherdess from Rozella’s malice, and restored her to her fond parents.
But as soon as she had unloosed the girl from the tree, and unbound her
hands, instead of receiving thanks for what she had done, the wicked
Florimel burst into a laugh, and suddenly snatching from the Princess
Hebe’s side her father’s picture, which she always wore hanging in a
ribbon, she ran away with it, as fast as she could, over the meadow.
The Princess was so astonished at this strange piece of ingratitude
and treachery, and was so alarmed for fear of losing what she knew her
mother so highly valued, that hardly knowing what she was about, she
pursued Florimel with all her speed, begging and entreating her not to
bereave her so basely and ungratefully of that picture, which she would
not part with for the world: but it was all to no purpose for Florimel
continued her flight, and the princess her pursuit, till they arrived
at Brunetta’s castle-gate; where the fairy herself appeared dressed and
adorned in the most becoming manner, and, with the most bewitching smile
that can come from dazzling beauty, invited the princess to enter her
castle (into which Florimel was run to hide herself) and promised her,
on that condition, to make the idle girl restore the picture.
It was now so late, that it was impossible for the princess to think
of returning home that night; and the pleasing address of Brunetta,
together with the hopes of having her picture restored, soon prevailed
with her to accept of the fairy’s invitation.
The castle glittered with gaudy furniture; sweet music was heard in
every room; the whole company, who were all of the most beautiful forms
that could be conceived, strove who should be most obliging to this
their new guest. They omitted nothing that could amuse and delight the
senses. And the Princess Hebe was so entranced with joy and rapture,
that she had not time for thought, or for the least serious reflection;
and she now began to think, that she had attained the highest happiness
upon earth.
After they had kept her three days in this round of pleasure and
delight, they began to pull of the mask; nothing was heard but quarrels,
jars, and galling speeches. Instead of sweet music, the apartments were
filled with screams and howling; for every one giving way to the most
outrageous passions, they were always doing each other some malicious
turn, and only universal horror and confusion reigned.
The princess was hated by all, and was often asked, with insulting
sneers, why she did not return to her peaceful grove, and condescending
mother? But her mind having been thus turned aside from what was right,
could not bear the thoughts of returning; and though by her daily tears,
she showed her repentance, shame prevented her return: but this again
was not the right sort of shame; for then she would humbly have taken
the punishment due to her crime; and it was rather a stubborn pride,
which, as she knew herself so highly to blame, would not give her leave
to suffer the confusion of again confessing her fault; and till she
could bring herself to such a state of mind, there was no remedy for her
misery.
Just as Miss Jenny had read these words, Mrs. Teachum remembering some
orders necessary to give in her family, left them, but bid them go on,
saying she would return again in a quarter of an hour. But she was no
sooner gone from them, than our little company, hearing the sound of
trumpets and kettle-drums, which seemed to be playing at some little
distance from Mrs. Teachum’s house, suddenly started from their seats,
running directly to the terrace; and, looking over the garden wall,
they saw a troop of soldiers riding by, with these instruments of music
playing before them.
They were highly delighted with the gallant and splendid appearance of
these soldiers, and watched them till they were out of sight, and were
then returning to their arbour, where Miss Jenny had been reading; but
Miss Nanny Spruce espied another such troop coming out of the lane from
whence the first had issued, and cried out, ‘O! here is another fine
sight; let us stay, and see these go by too.’ ‘Indeed (said Miss Dolly
Friendly) I am in such pain for the poor princess Hebe, while she is in
that sad castle, that I had rather hear how she escaped (for that I hope
she will) than see all the soldiers in the world; and besides, it is but
seeing the same thing we have just looked at before.’ Here some were for
staying, and others for going back; but as Miss Dolly’s party was the
strongest, the few were ashamed to avow their inclinations; and they
were returning to the arbour, when they met Mrs. Teachum, who informed
them their dancing master was just arrived, and they must attend him;
but in the evening they might finish their story.
They were so curious (and especially Miss Dolly Friendly) to know what
was to become of the princess, that they could have wished not to have
been interrupted; but yet, without one word of answer, they complied
with what their governess thought most proper; and in the evening,
hastening to their arbour, Mrs. Teachum herself being present, Miss
Jenny went on in the following manner: