A1r

Love in Excess,

or the
Fatal Enquiry.

A1v library stampomitted A2r

Love in Excess,

or, the
Fatal Enquiry.

A
Novel.

The Third and Last Part.

“Success can then alone your Vows attend, When Worth’s the Motive, Constancy the End.” Epilogue to the Spartan Dame.

By Mrs. Haywood.

A portrait of a man wearing a laurel crown and a toga inside an oval surrounded by flowers

London:

Printed for W. Chetwood, at Cato’s-Head, (the
Post-Office) in Great Russel-Street, Covent-Garden,
and Sold by J. Robert’s, at the Oxford-Arms in
Warwick-Lane. 1720MDCCXX.
Price Two Shillings.
Where may be had the First and Second Part.

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Love in Excess:
or, the
Fatal Enquiry.
The Third and Last Part.

Tho’ Count D’Elmont never
had any great tenderness for Alovysa,
and her extravagance of
Rage and Jealousy, joyn’d to his
Passion for Melliora had every
Day abated it, yet the manner of her Death
was too great a shock to the sweetness of his
disposition to be easily worn off; he cou’d not
remember her Uneasiness, without reflecting
that it sprung only from her too violent
Affection for him; and tho’ there was no possibility
of living happily with her, when he consider’d
that she dy’d, not only for him, but by
his Hand, his Compassion for the Cause, and
Horror for the Unwish’d, as well as Undesign’d
Event, drew Lamentations from him, more B sincere B1v 2
sincere, perhaps, then some of those Husbands,
who call themselves very Loving ones, wou’d
make.

To alleviate the troubles of his Mind, he
had endeavour’d all he cou’d, to perswade
Melliora to continue in his House; but
that afflicted Lady was not to be prevail’d upon,
she look’d on her self, as, in a manner, accessary
to Alovysa’s Death, and thought the
least she ow’d to her Reputation was to see the
Count no more, and tho’ in the forming this
Resolution, she felt Torments unconceivable,
yet the strength of her Virtue enabled her to
keep it, and she return’d to the Monastery,
where she had been Educated, carrying with
her nothing of that Peace of Mind with which
she left it.

Not many Days pass’d between her Departure,
and the Count’s; he took his way towards
Italy, by the perswasions of his Brother,
who, since he found him bent to Travel, hop’d
that Garden of the World might produce something
to divert his Sorrows; he took but two
Servants with him, and those rather for Conveniency
than State: Ambition, once his darling
Passion, was now wholly extinguish’d in him
by those Misfortunes, and he no longer thought
of making a Figure in the World; but his Love
nothing cou’d abate, and ’tis to be believed that
the violence of that wou’d have driven him to
the use of some fatal Remedy, if the Chevalier
Brillian
, to whom he left the Care of
Melliora’s and her Brother’s Fortune as well as B2r 3
as his own, had not, tho’ with much difficulty,
obtain’d a Promise from her of Conversing with
him by Letters.

This was all he had to keep Hope alive,
and indeed it was no inconsiderable Consolation,
for she that allows a Correspondence of that
Kind with a Man that has any Interest in her
Heart, can never persuade herself, while she
does so, to make him become indifferent to her.
When we give our selves the liberty of even
talking of the Person we have once lov’d, and
find the least pleasure in that Discourse, ’tis ridiculous
to imagine we are free from that Passion,
without which, the mention of it would be
but insipid to our Ears, and the remembrance to
our Minds, tho’ our Words are never so Cold,
they are the effects of a secret Fire, which burns
not with less Strength for not being Dilated.
The Count had too much Experience of all
of this, if Melliora had endeavour’d to
disguise her Sentiments, but she went not so
far, she thought it a sufficient vindication of
her Virtue to withhold the rewarding of his
Love, without feigning a Coldness to which
she was a stranger, and he had the satisfaction
to observe a tenderness in her Stile, which assur’d
him that her Heart was unalterably his,
and very much strength’d his Hopes that one
day her Person might be so too, when time had
a little effac’d the memory of those Circumstances,
which had obliged her to put this constraint
on her Inclinations!

B2 He B2v 4

He wrote to her from every Post-Town, and
waited till he receiv’d her Answer, by this
means his Journey was extreamly tedious, but
no Adventures of any moment, falling in his
way ’till he came to Rome, I shall not trouble
my Readers with a recital of Particulars which
cou’d be no way Entertaining.

But, how strangely do they deceive themselves,
who fancy that they are Lovers, yet
on every little Turn of Fortune, or Change
of Circumstance, are agitated, with any Vehemence,
by Cares of a far different Nature? Love
is too jealous, too arbitrary a Monarch to suffer
any other Passion to equalize himself in that
Heart where he has fix’d his Throne. When once
enter’d, he becomes the whole Business of our
Lives, we Think---we Dream of nothing else, nor
have a Wish not inspir’d by him: Those who have
the Power to apply themselves so seriously to any
other Consideration as to forget him, tho’ but
for a Moment, are but Lovers in Conceit, and
have entertain’d Desire but as an agreeable Amusement,
which they may without much difficulty
shake off. Such a sort of Passion may be properly
enough call’d “Liking”, but falls widely
short of “Love”. “Love”, is what we can neither
resist, expel, nor even alleviate, if we should
never so vigorously attempt it; and tho’ some
have boasted, “Thus far will I yield and no farther”,
they have been convinc’d of the vanity of
forming such Resolutions by the impossibility
of keeping them. “Liking” is a flashy Flame,
which is to be kept alive only by ease and delight.light, B3r 5
Love, needs not this sewel to maintain
its Fire, it survives in Absence, and Disappointments,
it endures, unchill’d, the wintry Blasts
of cold Indifference and Neglect, and continues
its Blaze, even in a storm of Hatred and Ingratitude,
and Reason, Pride, or a just sensibility
of conscious Worth, in vain Oppose it. Liking,
plays gayly round, feeds on the Sweets in gross,
but is wholly insensible of the Thorns which
guard the nicer, and more refin’d Delicacies of
Desire, and can consequently give neither Pain,
nor Pleasure in any superlative degree. Love
creates intollerable Torments! unspeakable
Joys! raises us to the highest Heaven of Happiness,
or sinks us to the lowest Hell of Misery.

Count D’elmont experienc’d the Truth
of this Assertion; for neither his just concern
for the manner of Alovysa’s Death cou’d
curb the Exuberance of his Joy, when he consider’d
himself belov’d by Melliora; nor
any Diversion, of which Rome afforded great
Variety, be able to make him support being
absent from her with Moderation. There are I
believe, but few modern Lovers, how Passionate
and Constant soever they pretend to be, who wou’d not in the Count’s Circumstances have
found some matter of Consolation; but he seem’d
wholly dead to Gaiety. In vain, all the Roman
Nobility courted his Acquaintance; in vain the
Ladies made use of their utmost Artifice to engage
him: He prefer’d a solitary Walk, a lonely
Shade, or the Bank of some purling Stream,
where he undisturb’d might contemplate on his
Belov’d Melliora, to all the noisy PleasuresB3 sures B3v 6
of the Court, or the endearments of the
inviting Fair. In fine, he shun’d as much as
possible all Conversation with the Men, or Correspondence
with the Women; returning all
their Billet-Deux, of which scarce a Day past
without his receiving some, unanswer’d.

This manner of Behaviour in a little time
deliver’d him from the Persecutions of the Discreet;
but having receiv’d one Letter which he
had us’d as he had done the rest, it was immediately
seconded by another; both which contain’d
as follows:

“Letter I. To the never Enough Admir’d
Count D’elmont.
In your Country, where Women are allow’d the
previledge of being seen and Address’d to, it
wou’d be a Crime unpardonable to Modesty, to make
the first Advances. But here, where rigid Rules are
Bar’s, as well to Reason, as to Nature: It wou’d
be as great a one, to feign an Insensibility of your
Merit. I say, feign, for I look on it, as an impossibility
really to Behold you with Indifferency:
But, if I cou’d believe that any of my Sex were
in good earnest so dull, I must confess, I shou’d
Envy that happy Stupidity, which wou’d secure me
from the Pains such a Passion as you create must Inflict;
unless, from the Millions whom your Charms have B4r 7
have reach’d; you have yet a corner of your Heart
Unprepossess’d; and an Inclination willing to receive
the Impression of,
Your most Passionate and Tender,
(but ’till she receives a favourable
Answer) Your Unknown Adorer.
Letter II. To the Ungrateful D’elmont. Unworthy of the Happiness design’d you! is it
thus, That you return the Condescention of
a Lady? How fabulous is Report, which speaks those
of your Country, warm and full of amorous Desires?
—Thou, sure, ar’t colder than the bleak northern
Islanders—Dull, stupid Wretch! insensible of every
Passion which give Lustre to the Soul, and differ
Man, from Brute!—Without Desire—Dead, even to Curiosity!
—How I cou’d dispise Thee for this narrowness
of Mind, were there not something in thy
Eyes and Mein which assure me, that this negligent
Behaviour is but affected; and that there are within
thy Breast, some Seeds of hidden Fire, which want
but the Influence of Charms, more potent perhaps,
then you have yet beheld, to kindle into Blaze:
Make hast then to be Enliven’d, for I flatter my self
’tis in my Power to work this wonder, and long to
inspire so Lonely a Form with Sentiments only worthy
of it.—The Bearer of this, is a Person who I B4 dare B4v 8
dare Confide in—Delay not to come with him, for
when once you are Taught what ’tis to Love; you’ll
not be Ignorant that doubtful Expectation is the
worst of Racks, and from your own Experience.
Pity what I feel, thus chill’d with Doubt, yet burning
with Desire.
Yours, Impatiently.”

The Count was pretty much surpriz’d
at the odd Turn of this Billet; but being willing
to put an end to the Ladies Trouble, as well
as his own; sat down, and without giving himself
much Time to Think, writ these Lines in
Answer to Hers.

“To the Fair Incognita. Madam, If you have no other design in Writing to me,
than your Diversion, methinks my Mourning
Habit, to which my Countenance and Behaviour are
no way Uncomfortable, might inform you, I am little
dispos’d for Raillery. If in Earnest you can
find any thing in me which pleases you, I must confess
my self entirely unworthy of the Honour, not
only by my personal Demerits, but by the Resolution
I have made of Conversing with none of your Sex
while I continue in Italy. I shou’d be sorry however
to incurr the Aspersion of an unmannerly Contemner
of Favours, which tho’ I do not desire, I
pretend not to deserve. I therefore beg you will believe
that I return this, as I did your Former, only
to let you see, that since I decline making any use B5r 9
use of your Condescentions to my Advantage; I am
not ungenerous enough to do so to your Prejudice,
and to all Ladies deserving the regard of a Disinterested
Well-wisher shall be an,
Humble Servant, D’Elmont.”

The Count order’d one of his Servants
to deliver this Letter to the Person who brought
the other; but he return’d immediately with it
in his Hand, and told his Lordship that he cou’d
not prevail on the Fellow to take it; that he
said he had business with the Count, and must
needs see him, and was so Importunate, that he
seem’d rather to Demand than Entreat a Grant
of his Request. D’elmont was astonish’d,
as well he might, but commanded he should be
admitted.

Nothing cou’d be more Comical than
the appearance of this Fellow, he seem’d to be
about threescore Years of Age, but Time had
not been the greatest Enemy to his Face, for the
Number of Scars, was far exceeding that of Wrincles,
he was Tall above the common Stature, but
so lean, that, till he spoke, he might have been
taken for one of those Wretches who have pass’d
the Hands of the Anatomists, nor wou’d his
Walk have disipated that Opinion, for all his
Motions, as he enter’d the Chamber, had more
of the Air of Clockwork, than of Nature; his
Dress was not less particular, he had on a Suit
of Cloaths, which might perhaps have been
good in the Days of his Great Grand-father, but
the Person who they fitted must have been five times B5v 10
times larger about the Body than him who wore
them, a large broad buff Belt however remedy’d
that Inconvenience, and girt them close about
his Waste, in which hung a Fauchion, two Daggers,
and a Sword of a more than ordinary Extent;
the rest of his Equipage was a Cloak,
which buttoning round his Neck fell not so low
as his Hips, a Hat, which in rainy weather kept
his Shoulders dry much better than an Indian
Umberrello, one Glove, and a formidable pair
of Whiskers. As soon as he saw the Count,
“my Lord,” said he, with a very impudent Air,
“my Orders were to bring your self not a Letter
from you, nor do I use to be employ’d in Affairs
of this Nature, but to serve one of the
Richest, and most Beautiful Ladys in Rome,
who I assure you; it will be dangerous to disoblige.”
D’elmont eye’d him intentively all
the time he spoke, and cou’d scarce, notwithstanding
his Chagreen, forbear Laughing at the
Figure he made, and the manner of his Salutation.
“I know not,” answer’d he, Ironically,
“what Employments you have been us’d to, but
certainly you appear to me, one of the most
unfit Persons in the World for what you now
undertake, and if the Contents of the Paper
you brought me had not inform’d me of your
Abilities this Way, I should never have suspected
you for one of Cupid’s Agents:”
“You are
merry, my Lord,”
reply’d the other, “but I must
tell you I am a Man of Family and Honour,
and shall not put up an Affront; but,”
continued
he, shaking the few Hairs which frequent
Skirmishes had left upon his Head, “I shall deferr
my own Satisfaction ’till I have procur’d the Ladies B6r 11
Ladies; therefore, if your Lordship will prepare
to follow, I shall walk before, at a perceivable
Distance, and without St. Peter’s Key
open the Gate of Heaven.”
“I should be apt” (said
the Count, not able to keep his Countenance
at these Words) “rather to take it for the other
Place; but be it as it will, I have not the least
Inclination to make the Experiment, therefore,
you may walk as soon as you please without expecting
me to accompany you.”
“Then you absolutely
refuse to go”
(cry’d the Fellow, clapping
his Hand on his Forehead, and staring at him, as
if he meant to scare him into Complyance!) “Yes”
(answer’d the Count laughing more and more)
“I shall neither go, nor waste any farther time
or Words with you, so wou’d advise you not to
be saucy, or tarry till my Anger gets the better
of my Mirth, but take the Letter and be
gone, and trouble me no more.”
The other, at
these Words laid his Hand on his Sword, and
was about to make some very impudent Reply,
when D’elmont, growing weary of his Impertinence,
made a Sign to his Servants, that
they should turn him out, which he perceiving,
took up the Letter without being bid a second
time, and muttering some unintelligible Curses
between his Teeth, march’d out, in the same
affected Strutt, with which he enter’d.

This Adventure, tho’ surprizing enough to
a Person so entirely unacquainted with the
Character and Behaviour of these Bravo’s as
D’elmont was, gave him but very little
matter of Reflection, and it being the time for Even- B6v 12
Evening Service at St. Peter’s, he went, according
to his Custom to hear Vesper’s there.

Nothing is more Common than for the
Nobility, and Gentry of Rome to divert themselves
with Walking, and Talking to one another
in the Collonade after Mass, and the Count,
tho’ averse to all other publick Assemblies,
wou’d sometimes spend an Hour or two there.

As he was walking there this Evening, a Lady
of a very gallant Mein pass’d swiftly by him,
and flurting out her Handkerchief with a careless
Air, as it were by Chance, drop’d an Agnus
Dei
set round with Diamonds at his Feet, he
had too much Complaisance to neglect endeavouring
to overtake the Lady, and prevent the
Pain he imagin’d she wou’d be in, when she
shou’d miss so rich a Jewel: But she, who knew
well enough what she had done, left the Walk
where the Company were, and cross’d over to
the Fountain, which being more retir’d was the
most proper for her Design: She stood looking
on the Water, in a thoughtful Posture, when
the Count came up to her, and bowing, with
an Air peculiar to himself, and which all his
Chagreen could not deprive of an irresistable
Power of attraction, Presented the Agnus Dei to
her. “I think my self, Madam,” said he, “highly
indebted to Fortune, for making me the means
of your recovering a Jewel, the Loss of which
wou’d certainly have given you some disquiet:”

“Oh Heavens!” cry’d she, receiving it with an
affected Air of Surprize, “could a Trifle like this
which I knew not that I had let fall, nor perhapshaps B7r 13
shou’d have thought on more, cou’d this,
and belonging to a Woman too, meet the Regard
of him, who prides in his Insensibility?
Him! who has no Eyes for Beauty, nor no
Heart for Love!”
As she spoke these Words she
contriv’d to let her Vail fall back as if by Accident,
and discover’d a Face, Beautiful even to
Perfection! Eyes black and sparkling, a Mouth
form’d to Invite, a Skin dazlingly white, thro’
which a most delightful Bloom diffus’d a chearful
Warmth, and glow’d in amorous Blushes on
her Cheeks. The Count could not forbear
gazing on her with Admiration, and perhaps,
was, for a Moment, pretty near receeding from
that Insensibility she had reproach’d him with;
but the Image of Melliora, yet unenjoy’d,
all ravishingly Kind and Tender, rose presently
in his Soul, fill’d all his Faculties, and left
no Passage free for rival Charms. “Madam,” said
he after a little Pause, “the Italian Ladies take
care to skreen their too dazling Lustre behind a
Cloud, and, if I durst take that Liberty, have
certainly reason to Tax your Accusation of Injustice;
he, on whom the Sun has never vouchsafed
to shine, ought not to be condemn’d for
not acknowledging its brightness; yours is the
first Female Face I have beheld, since my Arrival
here, and it wou’d have been as ridiculous
to have feign’d my self susceptible of Charms
which I had never seen, as it wou’d be Stupidity,
not to confess those I now do, worthy Adoration.”
“Well,” resum’d she smiling, “if not the
Lover’s, I find, you know to act the Courtier’s
Part; but”
continued she, looking languishingly
on him, “all you can say, will scarce make me believe B7v 14
believe, that there requires not a much brighter
Sun than mine, to Thaw a certain Frozen
Resolution, you pretend to have made.”
There
needed no more to confirm the Count in
the Opinion he had before conceiv’d, that this
was the Lady from whom he had receiv’d the
two Letters that day, and thought he had now
the fairest Opportunity in the World to put an
End to her Passion, by assuring her how impossible
it was for him ever to return it, and was
forming an Answer to that purpose; when a
pretty deal of Company coming toward them,
she drew her Vail over her Face, and turning
hastily from him, mingled with some Ladies,
who seem’d to be of her Acquaintance.

The Count knew by experience, the
unutterable Perturbations of Suspence, and what
agonizing Tortures rend an amorous Soul, divided
betwixt Hope and Fear: Dispair itself
is not so Cruel as Uncertainty, and in all Ills,
especially in those of Love, it is less Misery to
Know, than Dread the worst. The Remembrance
of what he had suffer’d thus agitated, in the Beginning
of his Passion for Melliora, made
him extreamly pity the unknown Lady, and
regret her sudden Departure; because it had prevented
him from letting her into so much of his
Circumstances, as he believ’d were necessary to
induce her to recall her Heart. But when he
consider’d how much he had struggled, and how
far he had been from being able to repell Desire,
he began to wonder that it cou’d ever enter
into his Thoughts that there was even a
possibility for Woman, so much stronger in her Fancy, B8r 15
Fancy, and weaker in her Judgment, to suppress
the Influence of that powerful Passion; against
which, no Laws, no Rules, no Force of
Reason, or Philosophy, are sufficient Guards.

These Reflections gave no small Addition to
his Melancholy; Amena’s Retirement from
the World; Alovysa’s Jealousy and Death;
Melliora’s Peace of Mind and Reputation,
and the Despair of several, whom he was sensible,
the Love of him, had rendred miserable,
came fresh into his Memory, and he look’d on
himself as most unhappy, in being the Occasion
of making others so.

The Night which succeeded this Day of Adventures,
chancing to be abroad pretty late; as
he was passing thro’ a Street, he heard a Clashing
of Swords, and going nearer to the place
where the Noise was, he perceiv’d by some
Lights which glimmer’d from a distant Door, a
Gentleman defending himself with much Bravery
against Three, who seem’d eager for his
Death. D’Elmont was mov’d to the highest
Indignation at the Sight of such Baseness; and
Drawing his Sword, flew furiously on the Assassins,
just as one of them was about to run his
Sword into the Breast of the Gentleman; who,
by the breaking of his own Blade, was left unarm’d.
“Turn Villain,” cry’d D’Elmont, “or
while you are acting that Inhumanity, receive the
just Reward of it from me.”
The Ruffian fac’d
about immediately, and made a Pass at him,
while one of his Comrades did the same on the
other side; and the third was going to execute on B8v 16
on the Gentleman, what his fellows Surprize had
made him leave undone: But he had now gain’d
Time to pull a Pistol out of his Pocket, with
which shehe shot him in a Moment dead; and
snatching his Sword from him as he fell, ran
to assist the Count, who ’tis likely wou’d
have stood in need of it, being engag’d with
two, and those the most Desperate sort of Bravo’s,
Villains that make a Trade of Death. But
the Noise of the Pistol made them apprehensive
there was a farther Rescue, and put ’em to flight.
The Gentleman seem’d agitated with a more
than ordinary Fury; and instead of staying to
Thank the Count, or enquire how he had
escap’d, ran in pursuit of those who had assaulted
him, so swiftly, that it was in vain for the
Count, not being well acquainted with the
Turnings of the Streets, to attempt to follow
him, if he had a Mind to it: But seeing
there was a Man kill’d, and not knowing either
the Persons who fought, or the Occasion of their
Quarrel, he rightly judg’d, that being a Stranger
in the place, his Word wou’d not be very readily
taken in his own Vindication; therefore
thought his wisest Course wou’d be to make
off, with what Speed he cou’d, to his Lodging.
While he was Considering, he saw something
on the Ground which glitter’d extreamly; and
taking it up, found that it was part of the
Sword which the assaulted Gentleman had the
Misfortune to have broke: The Hilt was of a
fine Piece of Agat, set round on the Top with
Diamonds, which made him believe the Person
whom he had perserv’d, was of considerable
Quality, as well as Bravery.

He C1r 17

He had not gone many Paces from the place
where the Skirmish hapned, before a Cry of
Murder met his Ears, and a great Concourse of
People his Eyes: He had receiv’d two or three
slight Wounds, which tho’ not much more than
Skin-deep, had made his Linnen bloody, and
he knew wou’d be sufficient to make him be apprehended,
if he were seen, which it was very
difficult to avoid: He was in a narrow Street,
which had no Turning, and the Crowd was very
near him; when looking round him with a good
deal of Vexation in his Thoughts, he discern’d
a Wall, which in one part of it seem’d pretty
low: He presently resolv’d to climb it, and
trust to Fortune for what might befall him on
the other side, rather than stay to be expos’d to
the Insults of the Outrageous Mob; who, ignorant
of his Quality, and looking no farther than
the Outside of Things, wou’d doubtless have
consider’d him, no otherwise, than a Midnight
Rioter.

When he was got over the Wall, he found
himself in a very fine Garden, adorn’d with
Fountains, Statues, Groves, and every Ornament,
that Art, or Nature, cou’d produce for
the Delight of the Owner: At the upper End
there was a Summer-house, into which he went,
designing to stay there ’till the Search was over.

But He had not been many Moments in his
Concealment before he saw a Door open from
the House, and two Women come out; they
walk’d directly up to the place where he was; C he C1v 18
he made no doubt but that they design’d to enter,
and retir’d into the farthest Corner of it:
As they came pretty near, he found they were
earnest in Discourse, but cou’d understand nothing
of what they said, ’till she, who seem’d
to be the Chief, raising her Voice a little higher
than she had done: “Talk no more, Brione,”
said she, “if e’re thy Eyes are Blest to see this
Charmer of my Soul, thou wil’t cease to wonder
at my Passion; great as it is, ’tis wanting of his
Merit.—Oh! He is more than Raptur’d Poets
feign, or Fancy can invent!”
“Suppose Him so,”
(cry’d the other,) “yet still he wants that Charm
which shou’d Endear the others to you—Softness
—Heavens! to Return your Letters! to Insult
your Messenger! to slight such Favours as
any Man of Soul wou’d dye to obtain! Methinks
such Usage shou’d make him odious to
you,—even I shou’d scorn so spiritless a Wretch.”

“Peace, thou Prophaner,” said the Lady in an angry
Tone
, such Blasphemy deserves a Stab—But
thou hast never heard his Voice, nor seen his
Eyes, and I forgive Thee.”
“Have you then spoke
to him,”
interrupted the Confident? “Yes,” answer’d
the Lady
, “and by that Conversation, am more
undone than ever; it was to tell thee this Adventure,
I came to Night into this agreeable
Solitude.”
With these Words they came into
the Summer-house, and the Lady, seating her
self on a Bench; “Thou know’st,” resum’d she, “I
went this Evening to Saint Peter’s, there I saw
the glorious Man; saw him in all his Charms;
and while I bow’d my Knee, in show to Heaven,
my Soul was prostrate only to him. When the
Ceremony was over, perceiving he stay’d in the Collonade, C2r 19
Collonade, I had no power to leave it, but stood,
regardless who observ’d me, gazing on him with
Transports, which only those who Love like me,
can guess!—God! with what an Air he walk’d!
What new Attractions dwelt in every Motion—
And when he return’d the Salutes of any that
pass’d by him; how graceful was his Bow! How
loftly his Mein, and yet, how affable!—A
sort of an inexpressible awful Grandeur, blended
with tender Languishments, strikes the amaz’d
Beholder at once with Fear and Joy!—
Something beyond Humanity shines round him!
Such Looks descending Angels wear, when sent
on Heavenly Embassies to some Favorite Mortal!
Such is their Form! Such Radient Beams
they dart; and with such Smiles they temper
their Divinity with Softness!—Oh! with what
Pain did I restrain my self from flying to him!
from rushing into his Arms! from hanging on
his Neck, and wilding uttering all the furious
Wishes of my burning Soul!—I trembled—
panted—rag’d with inward Agonies: Nor was
all the Reason I cou’d muster up, sufficient to
bear me from his Sight, without having first
spoke to him. To that End I ventur’d to pass
by him, and drop’d an Agnus Dei at his Feet,
believing that wou’d give him an Occasion of
following me, which he did immediately, and
returning it to me, discover’d a new Hoard of
unimagin’d Charms—All my fond Soul confess’d
before of his Perfections were mean, to
what I now beheld! Had’st thou but seen how
he approach’d me—with what an awful Reverence
—with what a soft beseeching, yet commanding
Air, he kiss’d the happy Trifle, as he C2 gave C2v 20
gave it me, thou would’st have envy’d it as well
as I! At last he spoke, and with an Accent so
Divine, that if the sweetest Musick were compar’d
to the more Celestial Harmony of his
Voice, it wou’d only serve to prove how vastly
Nature do’s excell all Art.”
“But, Madam,” cry’d
the other
, “I am impatient to know the End of
this Affair; for I presume you discover’d to him
both what, and who you were?”
“My Face only,”
reply’d the Lady, “for e’re I had opportunity to
do more, that malicious Trifler, Violetta,
perhaps envious of my Happiness, came torward
us with a Crowd of Impertinents at her Heels.
Curse on the Interruption, and Broke off our
Conversation; just at that Blest, but Irrecoverable
Moment, when I perceiv’d in my Charming
Conqueror’s Eyes, a growing Tenderness,
sufficient to encourage me to reveal my own.
Yes, Brione, those lovely Eyes, while fix’d on
mine, shone, with a Lustre, uncommon, even to
themselves—A livelier Warmth o’respread his
Cheeks—Pleasure sat smiling on his Lips—
those Lips, my Girl, which even when they are
silent, speak; but when unclos’d, and the sweet
Gales of balmy Breath blow on you, he kills
you in a Sigh; each hurry’d Sence is ravish’d,
and your Soul glows with Wonder and Delight.
Oh! to be forc’d to leave him in this Crisis,
when new-desire began to dawn; when Love in
its most lively Symptoms was apparent, and
seem’d to promise all my Wishes Covet, what
Separation ever was so cruel?”
“Compose your
self, dear Madam,”
said Brione, “if he be really
in Love; as who so senseless as not to be so
that once has seen your Charms? That Love will C3r 21
will teach him speedily to find out an opportunity
as favourable as that which you have lately
miss’d; or, if he shou’d want Contrivance to
procure his own Happiness, ’tis but your writing
to appoint a Meeting.”
“He must—He shall be
mine!”
cry’d the Lady in a Rapture, “My Love,
fierce as it was before, from Hope receives Addition
to its Fury; I rave—I burn—I am
mad with wild Desires—I dye, Brione, if I
not possess him.”
In speaking these Words, she
threw her self down on a Carpet which was
spread upon the Floor; and after sighing two
or three times, continued to discover the Violence
of her impatient Passion in this manner:
“Oh that this Night,” said she, “were past,—the
Blissful Expectation of to-morrows Joys, and
the distracting Doubts of Disappointment, swell
my unequal beating Heart by Turns, and rack
me with Vicissitudes of Pain—I cannot live
and bear it—Soon as the Morning breaks, I’ll
know my Doom—I’ll send to him—But ’tis
an Age till then—Oh that I cou’d sleep—
Sleep might perhaps anticipate the Blessing, and
bring him in Idea to my Arms—But ’tis in
vain to hope one Moment’s cool Serenity in
Love like mine—My anxious Thoughts hurry
my Sences in Eternal Watchings!—Oh
D’Elmont! D’Elmont! Tranquill, Cold, and
Calm D’Elmont! Little doest thou guess the
Tempest thou hast rais’d within my Soul, nor
know’st to pity these consuming Fires!”

The Count list’ned to all this Discourse
with a World of Uneasiness and Impatience;
and tho’ at first he fancy’d he remember’d the C3 Voice, C3v 22
Voice, and had Reason enough from the beginning,
especially when the Agnus Dei was
mention’d, to believe it cou’d be no other than
himself, who the Lady had so passionately describ’d;
yet he had not Confidence to appear
till she had nam’d him; but then, no Consideration
was of force to make him neglect this opportunity
of undeceiving her; his good Sence,
as well as good Nature, kept him from that Vanity,
too many of his Sex imitate the weaker
in, of being pleas’d that it was in his Power to
create Pains, which it was not in his Power, so
devoted as he was, to Ease.

He stept from his Retirement as softly as he
cou’d, because he was loath to alarm them with
any Noise, ’till they shou’d discover who it was
that made it, which they might easily do, in his
advancing toward them never so little, that part
of the Bower being much lighter than that
where he had stood; but with his over-caution
in sliding his Feet along, to prevent being heard,
one of them tangled in the Corner of the Carpet,
which happened not to lie very smooth, and
not being sensible presently what it was that
Embarrass’d him: He fell with part of his Body
cross the Lady, and his Head in Brione’s Lap,
who was sitting on the Ground by her. The
Manner of his Fall was lucky enough, for it
hinder’d either of them from rising, and running
to alarm the Family, as certainly in such
a fright they wou’d have done, if his Weight
had not detain’d them; they both gave a great
Shriek, but the House being at a good distance,
they cou’d not easily be heard; and he immediatelydiately C4r 23
recovering himself, beg’d Pardon for the
Terror he had occasion’d them; and addressing
to the Lady, who at first was dying with her
Fears, and now with Consternation: “D’Elmont
Madam,”
said he, “cou’d not have had the
Assurance to appear before you, after hearing
those undeserv’d Praises your Excess of Goodness
has been pleas’d to bestow upon him, but
that his Soul wou’d have reproach’d him of the
highest Ingratitude, in permitting you to continue
longer in an Error, which may involve
you in the greatest of Misfortunes, at least
I am―”
As he was speaking, three or four
Servants with Lights came running from the
House; and the Lady, tho’ in more Confusion
than can be well exprest, had yet Presence of
Mind enough to bid the Count retire to the
place where he had stood before, while she and
Brione went out of the Summer-house to learn
the Cause of this Interruption: “Madam,” cry’d
one of the Servants, as soon as he saw her, “the
Officers of Justice are within; who being rais’d
by an Alarm of Murther, come to beg your
Ladyships Permission to search your Garden,
being, as they say, inform’d that the Offender
made his Escape over this Wall.”
“’Tis very improbable,”
reply’d the Lady, “for I have been
here a considerable Time, and have neither
heard the least Noise, nor seen any Body: However,
they may search, and satisfy themselves---
go you, and tell them so.”
Then turning to the
Count, when she had dismiss’d her Servants;
“My Lord,” said she Trembling, “I know not what
strange Adventure brought you here to Night,
or whether you are the Person for whom the C4 Search C4v 24
Search is made; but am sensible, if you are
found here, it will be equally injurious to your
Safety, and my Reputation; I have a Backdoor,
thro’ which you may pass in Security: But,
if you have Honour,”
continued she Sighing, “Gratitude,
or good Nature, you will let me see you
to-morrow Night.”
“Madam,” reply’d he, “assure
your self that there are not many things I more
earnestly desire than an opportunity to convince
you, how sensibly I am touch’d with your
Favours, and how much I regret my want of
Power to”
“you,” interrupted she, “can want nothing
but the Will to make me the happiest of my
Sex—But this is no Time for you to Give, or
me to Receive any Proofs of that Return which
I expect—Once more I conjure you to be here
to-morrow Night at Twelve, where the Faithful
Brione shall attend to admit you. Farewell--
be punctual and sincere—’Tis all I ask”
--- “When
I am not,”
answer’d he, “may all my Hopes forsake
me.”
By this time they were come to the
Door, which Brione opening softly, let him
out, and shut it again immediately.

The Count took care to Remark the place
that he might know it again, resolving nothing
more than to make good his Promise at the appointed
Hour, but cou’d not help being extreamly
troubled, when he consider’d how unwelcome
his Sincerity wou’d be, and the Confusion he
must give the Lady, when instead of those Raptures
the Violence of her mistaking Passion made
her hope she should meet with only cold Civility,
and the killing History of the Pre-engagement
of his Heart. In these and the like melancholylancholy C5r 25
Reflections he spent the Night; and
when Morning came, receiv’d the severest
Augmentation of them, which Fate cou’d load
him with.

It was scarce full Day when a Servant came
into his Chamber to acquaint him, that a young
Gentleman, a Stranger, desir’d to be admitted,
and seem’d so impatient till he was: “That,” said
the Fellow, “not knowing of what Consequence
his Business may be, I thought it better to Riscue
your Lordship’s Displeasure for this early
Disturbance, than by dismissing him, fill you
with an unsatisfy’d Curiosity.”
The Count
was far from being Angry, and commanded that
the Gentleman should be brought up, which Order
being immediately obey’d, and the Servant
with-drawn out of Respect. Putting his Head
out of the Bed, he was surpriz’d with the Appearance
of one of the most beautiful Chevaliers
he had ever beheld, and in whose Face, he imagin’d
he trac’d some Features not Unknown
to him. “Pardon, me Sir,” said he, throwing
the Curtains more back than they were before,
“that I receive the Honour you do me, in this
manner—But being Ignorant of your Name,
Quality, the Reason of your desire to see me,
or any thing but your Impatience to do so, in
Gratifying that, I fear, I have injur’d the Respect,
which, I believe, is Due; and which, I
am sure, my Heart is inclinable to pay to you.”

“Visits, like mine,” reply’d the Stranger, “require
but little Ceremony, and I shall easily
remit that Respect you talk of, while I am
Unknown to you, provided you will give me one C5v 26
one Mark of it, that I shall ask of you, when you
do.”
“There are very few,” reply’d D’Elmont,
“that I cou’d refuse to one, whose Aspect Promises
to deserve so many.”
“First then,” cry’d the
other pretty warmly, “I demand a Sister of you,
and not only her, but a Reparation of her Honour,
which can be done no otherwise than by
your Blood.”
It is impossible to represent the
Count’s astonishment at these Words, but
conscious of his Innocence in any such Affair:
“I shou’d be sorry Signior,” said he cooly, “that Precipitation
should hurry you to do any Action,
you wou’d afterwards Repent; you must certainly
be mistaken in the Person to whom you
are Talking—Yet, if I were Rash like you,
what fatal Consequences might ensue; but there
is something in your Countenance which engages
me to wish a more friendly Interview than
what you speak of: Therefore wou’d persuade
you to consider calmly, and you will soon sind,
and acknowledge your Mistake; and, to further
that Reflection, I assure you, that I am so
far from Conversing with any Lady, in the
Manner you seem to hint, that I scarcely know
the Name, or Face of any one.—Nay, more,
I give you my word, to which I joyn my Honour,
that, as I never have, I never will make
the least Pretensions of that kind to any Woman
during the Time of my Residence here.”

“This poor Evasion,” reply’d the Stranger with a
Countenance all inflam’d, “ill suits a Man of
Honour.—This is no Roman, no, Italian Bono-Roba,
who I mean—but French like you---
like both of us.—And if your Ingratitude had
not made it necessary for your Peace, to erace all C6r 27
all Memory of Monsieur Frankville,
you wou’d before now, by the near resemblance
I bear to him, have known me for his Son, and
that ’tis Melliora’s—The fond—The
lost—The ruin’d Melliora’s Cause which
calls for Vengeance from her Brother’s Arm!”

Never was any Soul agitated with more violent
Emotions, than that of Count D’Elmont
at these Words. Doubt, Grief, Resentment,
and Amazement, made such a Confusion in his
Thoughts, that he was unable for some Moments
to answer this cruel Accusation; and
when he did, “the Brother of Melliora” said
he with a deep Sigh, “wou’d certainly have been,
next to her self, the most welcome Person upon
Earth to me; and my Joy to have Embrac’d
him as the dearest of my Friends, at least have
equall’d the Surprize I am in, to find him without
Cause my Enemy.—But, Sir, if such a
Favour may be granted to an unwilling Foe,
I wou’d desire to know, Why you joyn Ruin
to your Sister’s Name?”
“Oh! give me Patience
Heaven,”
cry’d young Frankville more
Enrag’d; “Is this a Question fit for you to ask,
or me to Answer? Is not her Honour Tainted---
Fame betray’d.—Her self a Vagabond, and
her House abus’d, and all by you; the unfaithful
Guardian of her injur’d Innocence?—And
can you ask the Cause?—No, rather rise this
Moment, and if you are a Man, who dare maintain
the ill you have done, defend it with your
Sword; not with vain Words and Womanish
Excuses:”
All the other Passions which had
Warr’d within D’Elmont’s Breast, now
gave way to Indignation: “Rash young Man,” said C6v 28
said he, jumping hastily out of the Bed, and beginning
to put his Cloths on: “Your Father
wou’d not thus have us’d me; nor, did he Live,
cou’d blame me, for vindicating as I ought my
wounded Honour—That I do Love your Sister
is as True, as that you have wrong’d me—
Basely wrong’d me. But that her Virtue suffers
by that Love, is false!—And I must write
the Man that speaks it, Lyar, tho’ in her Brothers
Heart.”
Many other violent Expressions
to the same Effect, pass’d between them, while
the Count was dressing himself, for he wou’d
suffer no Servant to come in, to be Witness of
his Disorder. But the steddy Resolution with
which he has attested his Innocence, and that
inexpressible sweetness of Deportment, equally
Charming to both Sexes, and which not even
Anger cou’d render less Graceful, extreamly
cool’d the Heat Frankville had been
in a little before, and he in secret, began to receed
very much from the ill Opinion he had
conceiv’d, tho’ the greatness of his Spirit kept
him from acknowledging he had been in an Error;
’till chancing to cast his Eyes on a Table
which stood in the Chamber, he saw the hilt of
the broken Sword which D’Elmont had
brought home the Night before, lying on it;
he took it up, and having first look’d on it
with some Confusion in his Countenance. “My
Lord,”
said he, turning to the Count, “I conjure
you, before we proceed further, to acquaint
me truely, how this came into your Possession.”

Tho’ D’Elmont had as great a Courage,
when any landable Occasion appear’d to call it
forth, as any Man that ever liv’d; yet his naturaltural C7r 29
Disposition had such an uncommon Sweetness
in it, as no Provocation cou’d sowre; it
was always a much greater Pleasure to him to
Forgive than Punish Injuries; and if at any
time he was Angry, he was never Rude, or
Unjust. The little Starts of Passion, Frankvilles
rash Behaviour had occasion’d, all
dissolv’d in his more accustomary Softness,
when he perceiv’d the other growing Calm.
And answering to his Question, with the most
obliging Accent in the World: “It was my good
Fortune,”
(said he) “to be instrumental last Night,
in the Rescue of a Gentleman who appear’d to
have much Bravery, and being Attack’d by
odds, behav’d himself in such a Manner, as
wou’d have made him stand but little in need of
my Assistance, if his Sword had been equal to
the Arm which held it; but the breaking of that,
gave me the Glory of not being unserviceable
to him. After the Skirmish was over, I took
it up, hoping it might be the means sometime
1 wordflawed-reproduction other of my discovering who the Person was,
who wore it; not out of Vanity of receiving
Thanks for the little I have done, but that I
shou’d be glad of the Friendship of a Person,
who seems so worthy my Esteem.”
“Oh far!”
cry’d Frankville, with a Tone and
Gesture quite alter’d, infinitely far from it-----
“It was my self whom you preserv’d, that very
Man whose Life you but last Night so generously
redeem’d, with the hazard of your own,
comes new prepar’d to make the first use of it
against you—Is it possible that you can be so
heavenly Good to Pardon my wild Passions
Heat?”
“Let this be witness, with what Joy I do,” answer’d C7v 30
answer’d the Count, tenderly Embracing
him, which the other eagerly returning; they
continu’d lock’d in each others Arms for a considerable
Time, neither of them being able to
say more, than—“And was it Frankville
I Preserv’d!”
“And was it to D’Elmont
I owe my Life!”
.

After this mutual Demonstration of a
perfect Reconcilement was over: “See here, my
Lord,”
said Frankville, giving a Paper
to the Count, “the occasion of my Rashness,
and let my just concern for a Sisters Honour,
be at least some little Mitigation of my
Temerity, in accosting your Lordship in so rude
a Manner.”
D’Elmont made no Answer, but
looking hastily over the Paper found it contain’d
these Words.

“To Monsieur Frankville. While your Sisters Dishonour was known
but to few, and the injurious Destroyer of
it, out of the reach of your Revenge, I thought it
would ill become the Friendship I have always profess’d
to your Family, to disquiet you with the Knowledge
of a Misfortune, which it was no way in your
Power to Redress.
But Count D’Elmont, having, by the
Sollicitations of his Friends, and the remembrances
of some slight Services, obtain’d a Pardon from
the King, for the Murder of his Wife; has since taken C8r 31
taken but little care to conceal the Reasons which
induc’d him to that barbarous Action; and all Paris
is now sensible that he made that unhappy Lady’s
Life a Sacrifice to the more attractive Beauties
of Melliora in bloody Recompence for the Sacrifice
she had before made him of her Virtue.
In short, the Noble Family of the Frankvilles
is for ever dishonour’d by this Unfaithful
Guardian; and all who wish you well, rejoice to hear
that his ill Genius has led him to a place which, if
he knew you were at, certainly Prudence wou’d make
him of all others most avoid; for none believes you
will so far degenerate from the Spirit of your Ancestors,
as to permit him to go unpunish’d.
In finding the Count, you may probably find
your Sister too; for tho’, after the Death of Alovysa,
Shame made her retire to a Monastry, she
has since privately left it without acquainting the
Abbess, or any of the Sisterhood, with her Departure;
nor is it known to any one, where, or for
what Cause she absconds; but most People imagine;
as indeed it is highly reasonable, that the Violence
of her guilty Passion for D’Elmont has engag’d
her to follow him.
I am not unsensible how much I shock your Temper
by this Relation, but have too much real concern
for your Honour to endure you, shou’d thro’ Ignorance
of your Wrongs, remain Passive in such a
Cause, and perhaps hug the Treacherous Friend in
your most strict Embrace: Nor can I forbear, tho’
I love not Blood, urging you to take that just Revenge,venge, C8v 32
which next to Heaven you have the greatest
Claim to.
I am, Sir, with all due Respect,
Yours,
Sanseverin.”

The Count swell’d with Indignation at every
Paragraph of this Letter; but when he
came to that, which mention’d Melliora’s having
withdrawn her self from the Monastry, he
seem’d to be wholly abandon’d by his Reason;
all Endeavours to represent his Agonies wou’d
be vain, and none but those who have felt the
same, can have any Notion of what he suffer’d.
He read the fatal Scroll again and again, and
every time grew wilder than before; he stamp’d,
bit his Lips, look’d furiously about him, then,
starting from the place where he had stood, measur’d
the Room in strange, disorder’d, and unequal
Paces; all his Motions, all his Looks, all
his Air were nothing but Distraction: He spoke
not for some time, one Word, either prevented
by the rising Passions in his Soul, or because it
was not in the Power of Language to express
the Greatness of his Meaning; and when, at
last, he open’d his Mouth, it was but to utter
half Sentences, and broken Complainings: “Is it
possible,”
he cry’d,—“gone,—left the Monastry
unknown—and then again—false—
false Woman?—Wretched---wretched Man!
There’s no such Thing on Earth as Faith—Is
this the Effect of all her tender Passion?—So
soon forgot—What can be her Reason?---This
Action suits not with her Words, or Letters.”
In
this manner he rav’d with a Thousand such-like Breathings D1r 33
Breathings of a tormented Spirit, toss’d and
confounded between various Sentiments.

Monsieur Frankville stood for a good while
silently observing him; and if before, he were
not perfectly assur’d of his Innocence, the Agonies
he now saw him in, which were too natural
to be suspected for Counterfeit, entirely convinc’d
him he was so. When the first Gust of
Passion was blown over, and he perceiv’d any
likelyhood of being heard, he said a Thousand
tender and obliging Things to perswade him to
Moderation, but to very little Effect, ’till finding
that, that which gave him the most stinging
Reflection was, the Belief that Melliora had
forsook the Monastry, either because she thought
of him no more, and was willing to divert her
enfranchis’d Inclination with the Gaieties of the
Town, or that some happier Man had supplanted
him in her Esteem. “Judge not, my Lord,”
(said he) so rashly of my Sister’s Fidelity, nor
know so little of your own unmatch’d Perfections,
as to suspect that she, who is Blest with
your Affection, can consider any other Object
as worthy her Regard; For my part, since your
Lordship knows, and I firmly believe, that this
Letter contains a great many Untruths, I see
no Reason why we should not imagine it all of
a piece: I declare I think it much more improbable
that she should leave the Monastry, unless
sollicited thereto by you, than that she had
the power to deny you any thing your Passion
might request.”
The Count’s Disorder visibly
abated at this Remonstrance; and stepping hastily
to his Cabinet, he took out the last Letter D he D1v 34
he receiv’d from Melliora, and found it was
dated but two Days before that from Monsieur
Sanseverin
; he knew she had not Art, nor
was accustom’d to endeavour to disguise her Sentiments;
and she had written so many tender
Things in that, as, when he gave himself leave
to consider, he could not, without believing her
to be either the most Dissembling, or most fickle
of her Sex, continue in the Opinion which had
made him, a few Moments before, so uneasy, that
she was no longer, what she always subscrib’d
herself, Entirely His.

The Tempest of Rage and Grief being hush’d
to a little more Tranquillity, Count D’Elmont,
to remove all Scruples which might be yet remaining
in the Breast of Monsieur Frankville,
entertain’d him with the whole History
of his Adventures, from the Time of his Gallantry
with Amena, to the Misfortunes which
had induc’d him to Travel, Disguising nothing of
the Truth, but some part of the Discourses which
had pass’d between him and Melliora that
Night when he surpriz’d her in her Bed, and in
the Wilderness: For tho’ he freely confess’d the
Violence of his own unbounded Passion, had
hurry’d him beyond all Considerations but those
of gratifying it; yet he was too tender of
Melliora’s Honour, to relate any thing of
her, which Modesty might not acknowledge,
without the Expence of a Blush.

Frankville listned with abundance of Attention
to the Relation he made him, and could
find very little in his conduct to accuse: He was D2r 35
was himself too much susceptible of the Power
of Love, not to have Compassion for those that
suffer’d by it, and had too great a share of good
Sense not to know that, that Passion is not to
be Circumscrib’d; and being not only, not Subservient,
but absolutely Controller of the Will, it
would be meer Madness, as well as Ill Nature,
to say a Person was Blame-worthy for what
was unavoidable.

When Love once becomes in our Power, it
ceases to be worthy of that Name; no Man really
possest with it, can be Master of his Actions;
and whatever Effects it may Enforce, are
no more to be Condemn’d, than Poverty, Sickness,
Deformity, or any other Misfortune incident
to Humane Nature. Methinks there is nothing
more absurd than the Notions of some
People, who in other Things are wise enough
too; but wanting Elegance of Thought, Delicacy,
or Tenderness of Soul, to receive the Impression
of that harmonious Passion, look on
those to be mad, who have any Sentiments elevated
above their own, and either Censure, or
Laugh, at what they are not refin’d enough to
comprehend. These Insipids, who know nothing
of the Matter, tell us very gravely, that we
ought to Love with Moderation and Discretion,—
and take Care that it is for our Interest,—that
we should never place our Affections, but where
Duty leads, or at least, where neither Religion,
Reputation, or Law, may be a Hindrance to our
Wishes.—Wretches! We know all this, as
well as they; we know too, that we both do,
and leave undone many other Things, which we D2 ought D2v 36
ought not; but Perfection is not to be expected
on this side the Grave: And since ’tis impossible
for Humanity to avoid Frailties of some
kind or other, those are certainly least blameable,
which spring only from a too great Affluence
of the nobler Spirits. Covetousness, Envy,
Pride, Revenge, are the Effects of an Earthy,
Base, and Sordid Nature, Ambition and Love,
of an Exalted one; and if they are Failings,
they are such as plead their own Excuse, and
can never want Forgiveness from a generous
Heart, provided no indirect Courses are taken
to procure the Ends of the former, nor Inconstancy,
or Ingratitude, stain the Beauty of
the latter.

Notwithstanding all that Monsieur
Frankville
could say, the Count, tho’ not
very melancholy; which the other perceiving,
“Alass, my Lord,” said he Sighing, “if you were
sensible of the Misfortunes of others, you would
think your own more easy to be born: You
Love, and are Belov’d; no Obstacle remains
between you and your Desires; but the Formality
of Custom, which a little time will Remove,
and at your Return to Paris you will
doubtless be happy, if ’tis in my Sister’s Power
to make you so: You have a sure Prospect of
Felicity to come, but mine is past, never, I fear,
to be retriev’d.”
“What mean you?” Cry’d the
Count pretty much surpriz’d at his Words, and
the Change which he observ’d in his Countenance;
“I am in Love!” Reply’d He, “Belov’d!
Nay, have Enjoy’d—Ay, there’s the Source of D3r 37
of my Dispair---I know the Heaven I have lost,
and that’s my Hell.”
—The Interest D’Elmont
had in his Concerns, as being Son to the Man
who he had loved with a kind of filial Affection,
and Brother to the Woman who he ador’d
above the World, made him extreamly desirous
to know what the Occasion of his Disquiet was,
and having exprest himself to that purpose;
“I shall make no Difficulty,” reply’d Frankville,
“to Reveal the Secret of my Love, to
him who is a Lover, and knows so well, how to
pity, and forgive, the Errors which that Passion
will sometimes lead us into.”
The Count was
too impatient to hear the Relation he was about
to give him, to make any other Answer to these
Words than with a half Smile; which the other
perceiving, without any farther Prelude, began
to satisfy his Curiosity in this manner.

The History of Monsieur Frankville.

“You know, my Lord,” said he, “that I was
Bred at Rheims with my Uncle, the Bishop
of that Place, and continu’d with him ’till after,
prompted by Glory, and hope of that Renown
you have since so Gallantly acquir’d: You left
the Pleasures of the Court for the Fatigues and
Dangers of the Field: When I came home, I never
ceas’d solliciting my Father to permit me to
Travel, ’till weary’d with my continual Importunities,
and perhaps, not much displeas’d with
my Thirst of Improvement, he at last gave
leave. I left Paris a little before the Conclusion
of the Peace, and by that means remain’d
wholly a Stranger to your Lordship’s Person, D3 tho’ D3v 38
tho’ perfectly acquainted with those admirable
Accomplishments which Fame is every-where
so full of.

I have been in the Courts of England, Spain,
and Portugal, but nothing very material hapning
to me in any of those Places, it would be
rather Impertinent, than Diverting, to defer,
for Trifles, the main Business of my Life, that
of my Love, which had not a Being ’till I came
into this City.
I had been here but a little Time before
I had a great many Acquaintance, among the
Number of them, was Signior Jaques Honorious
Cittolini
: He, of all the rest, I was
most intimate with; and tho’ to the Generality
of People he behav’d himself with an Air of
Imperiousness, he was to me, all free, and easy;
he seeme’d as if he took a Pleasure in Obliging
me; carry’d me every-where with him; introduc’d
me to the best Company: When I was absent
he spoke of me, as of a Person who he had
the higheft Esteem for; and when I was present,
if there were any in Company whose rank
oblig’d him to place them above me in the
Room; he took care to testify that I was not
below them in his Respect; in fine, he was never
more happy than when he was giving me
some Proof how much he was my Friend; and
I was not a little satisfy’d that a Man of almost
twice my Years should believe me qualify’d
for his Companion in such a manner as he
made me.
When D4r 39 When the melancholly Account of my Fathers
Death came to my Ears, he omitted nothing
to persuade me to sell my Estate in France,
and settle in Rome; he told me he had a Daughter,
whose Heart had been the aim of the chiefest
Nobility; but that he wou’d buy my Company
at that Price, and to keep me here, wou’d
give me her. This Proposition was not altogether
so pleasing to me, as perhaps, he imagin’d
it wou’d be: I had heard muckmuch Talk of
this Ladies Beauty, but I had never seen her;
and at that Time, Love was little in my
Thoughts, especially that sort which was to
end in Marriage. However, I wou’d not absolutely
refuse his Offer, but evaded it, which
I had the better pretence for, because Violetta,
(so was his Daughter call’d) was gone
to Vitterbo to Visit a sick Relation, and I
cou’d not have the opportunity of seeing her.
In the mean time, he made me acquainted with
his Deepest Secrets; among many other Things
he told me, that tho’ their Family was one of
the greatest in Rome, yet by the too great Liberality
of his Father, himself and one Sister
was left with very little to Support the Grandeur
of their Birth; but that his Sister who
was acknowledg’d a Woman of an uncommon
Beauty, had the good Fortune to appear so, to
Signior Marcarius Fialasco; he was the possessor
of immense Riches, but very Old; but the
young Lady found Charms enough in his
Wealth to ballance all other Deficiencies, She
Married, and Buried him in a Month’s Time,
and he Dy’d so full of fondness to his lovely D4 Bride, D4v 40
Bride, that he left her Mistress of all he had in
the World; giving only to a Daughter he had
by a former Wife, the Fortune which her Mother
had brought him, and that too, and herself
to be dispos’d of, in Marriage, as this Triumphant
Widow should think fit; and she, like a
kind Sister, thought none worthy of that Alliance,
but her Brother; and in a few Days he
said, he did not doubt but that I shou’d see him
a Bridegroom. I ask’d him if he was happy enough
to have made an Interest in the young
Lady’s Heart; and he very frankly answer’d,
‘That he was not of a Humour to give himself
much uneasiness about it, since it was wholly
in his Sisters Power to make him Master of her
Person, and she resolv’d to do that, or Confine
her in a Monastry for ever.’
I cou’d not help
feeling a Compassionate concern for this Lady,
tho’ she was a Stranger to me, for I cou’d not
believe, so Beautiful and Accomplish’d a Woman,
as he had often Describ’d her to be, cou’d
find any thing in her design’d Husband which
cou’d make this Match agreeable. Nothing can
be more different from Graceful, than the Person
of Cittolini; he is of a black
swarthy Complexion, hook’d Nos’d, wall Ey’d
short of Stature; and tho’ he is very Lean, the
worst shap’d Man I ever saw; then for his
Temper, as friendly as he behav’d to me, I discern’d
a great deal of Treachery, and Baseness
in it to others; a perpetual Peevishness and
Pride appear’d in his Deportment to all those
who had any dependance on Him: And I had
been told by some who knew him perfectly well,
that his cruel Usage of his first Lady had been D5r 41
been the means of her Death; but this was
none of my Business, and tho’ I pity’d the
Lady, yet my Gratitude to him Engag’d me
to wish him Success in all his Undertakings.
’Till one Day, unluckily both for him and me,
as it has since prov’d; he desir’d me to Accompany
him to the House of Ciamara,
for so is his Sister call’d, being, willing I
suppose, that I shou’d be a Witness of the extraordinary
State she liv’d in; and indeed, in
all the Courts I had been at, I never saw any
thing more Magnificent than her Apartments;
the vast quantity of Plate; the Richness of the
Furniture, and the number of Servants attending
on Her, might have made her be taken rather
for a Princess, than a private Woman. There was
a very noble Collation, and she sat at Table
with us, herself, a particular Favour from an
Italian Lady: She is by many Years younger
than her Brother, and extreamly Handsome;
but has I know not what of fierceness in her
Eyes, which renders her, at least to me, a Beauty,
without a Charm. After the Entertainment,
Cittolini took me into the Gardens,
which were answerable to what I had seen within,
full of Curiosities; at one end there was a
little Building of Marble, to which he led me,
and entering into it; see here, Monsieur,’ said
he, ‘the Place where my Sister spends the greatest
part of her Hours, and tell me if ’tis in
this kind of Diversion that the French Ladies
take Delight.’
I presently saw that it was full of
Books, and guess’d those Words were design’d for
Satyr on our Ladies, whose disposition to Gallantry
seldom affords much time for Reading;
but to make as good a Defence for their Honour as I D5v 42
I was able. ‘Signior,’ reply’d I, ‘it must be
confest that there are very few Ladies of any
Nation, who think that the Acquisition of Knowledge,
worth the Pains it muft cost them in
the Search, but that ours is not without some
Examples, that all are not of that Mind; our
famous D’anois, and D’acier may evince.’
‘Well,
Well,’
interrupted he laughing; ‘the propensity
which that Sex bears to Learning is so trifling,
that I shall not pretend to hold any Argument
on its Praise; nor did I bring you here
so much to engage you to Admire my Sisters
manner of Amusement, as to give you an Opportunity
of diverting your self, while I go
to pay a Compliment to my Mistress; who,
tho’ I have a very great Confidence in you, I
dare not trust with the sight of so Accomplish’d
a Chevalier.’
With these Words he left me, and
I, designing to do as he had desir’d; turn’d to
the Shelves to take down what Book I cou’d
find most suitable to my Humour; but good
God! as I was tumbling them over, I saw thro’
a Window which look’d into a Garden behind
the Study, tho’ both belonging to one Person:
A Woman, or rather Angel, coming down a Walk
directly opposite to where I was, never did I see
in one Person such various Perfections blended,
never did any Woman wear so much of her Soul
in her Eyes, as did this Charmer: I saw that
moment in her Looks, all I have since experienc’d
of her Genius, and her Humour, Wit,
Judgement, good Nature and Generosity are in
her Countenance, conspicuous as in her Actions;
but to go about to make a Description were to
wrong her; She has Graces so peculiar, that none D6r 43
none, without knowing her, can be able to conceive;
and tho’ nothing can be finer than her
Shape, or more regular than her Features; yet
those, our fancy or a Painters Art may Copy:
There is something so inexpressibly striking
in her Air; such a delightful Mixture of
awful and attractive in every little Motion,
that no immagination can come up to.
But if Language is too poor to paint her Charms,
how shall I make you sensible of the Effects of
them on me! the Surprize---the Love---the
Adoration which this fatal View involv’d me
in, but by that which, you say, your self felt
at the first Sight of Melliora. I was, methought,
all Spirit,---I beheld her with Raptures,
such as we imagine Souls enjoy when
freed from Earth, they meet each other in the
Realms of Glory; ’twas Heaven to gaze upon
her: But Oh! the Bliss was short, the Envious
Trees obscur’d her Lustre from me.—The Moment
I lost Sight of her, I found my Passion
by my Pain; the Joy was vanish’d, but the
Sting remain’d—I was so bury’d in Thought,
that I never so much as stirr’d a Step to endeavour
to discover which way she went; tho’ if I
had consider’d the Situation of the Place, it
would have been easy for me to have known
there was a Communication between the two
Gardens, and if I had gone but a few Paces
out of the Study, must have met her; but Love
had for the present depriv’d me of my Sences;
and it but just enter’d into my Head that there
was a Possibility of renewing my Happiness
when I perceiv’d Cittolini returning. When
he came pretty near; ‘Dear Frankville,’ said he, D6v 44
he, ‘pardon my Neglect of you; but I have been
at Camilla’s Apartment, and am told she is
in the lower Garden; I will but speak to her,
snatch a Kiss and be with you again:’
He went
hastily by me without staying for any Answer,
and it was well he did so, for the Confusion I
was in, had made me little able to reply. His
Words left me no room to hope it was any other
than Camilla I had seen, and the Treachery
I was guilty of to my Friend, in but wishing
to invade his Right, gave me a Remorse which
I had never known before: But these Reflections
lasted not long; Love generally exerts himself
on these Occasions and is never at a Loss
for means to remove all the Scruples that may
be rais’d to oppose him. ‘Why,’ said I to my
self should I be thus Tormented? She is not
yet married, and ’tis almost impossible she can
with Satisfaction, ever yield to be so, to him.
Could I but have opportunity to Talk to her,--
to let her know my Passion,---to endeavour to
deliver her from the Captivity she is in, perhaps
she would not condemn my Temerity:’
I
found a great deal of Pleasure in this Thought,
but I was not suffer’d to enjoy it long: Honour
suggested to me, that Cittolini Lov’d me,
had Oblig’d me, and that to supplant him would
be Base and Treacherous: ‘But would it not be
more so,’
cry’d the Dictates of my Love, ‘to permit
the Divine Camillia to fall a Sacrifice to
one so every way undeserving of her; one who
’tis likely she abhors; one who despises her
Heart, so he may but possess her Fortune to support
his Pride, and her Person to gratify a
Passion far unworthy of the name of Love; one, who D7r 45
who ’tis probable, when Master of the one, and
satiated with the other, may treat her with the
utmost Inhumanity.’
Thus, for a time, were
my Thoughts at Strife; but Love at length got
the Victory, and I had so well compos’d myself
before Cittolini’s Return, that he saw nothing
of the Disorder I had been in; but it was
not so with him, his Countenance, at the best
displeasing enough, was now the perfect Representative
of Ill Nature, Malice, and Discontent.
Camilla had assur’d him, that nothing
could be more her Aversion, and that she was
resolv’d, tho’ a Monastick Life was what she
had no Inclination to, yet she would fly to that
Shelter, to avoid his Bed. You may imagine,
my Lord, I was Transported with an Excess of
Joy, when he told me this; but Love taught
me to dissemble it, ’till I had taken leave of
him, which I made an Excuse to do, as soon
as possible.
Now all that troubled me was to find an
Opportunity to declare my Passion; and, I confess,
I was so dull in Contrivance, that tho’ it
took up all my Thoughts, none of them were
to any purpose: Three or four Days I spent in
fruitless Projections, the last of which I met
which a new Embarrassment; Cittolini’s
Daughter was return’d, he renew’d his Desires
of making me his Son, and invited me the next
Evening to his House, where I was to be entertain’d
with the Sight of her; I could not well
avoid giving him my Promise to be there, but
resolv’d in my Mind to behave my self in such
a manner as should make her disapprove of me. While D7v 46
While I was thus busied in Contriving how to
avoid Violetta, and engage Camilla, a
Woman wrapt up very closely in her Vail came
to my Lodgings, and brought me a Note, in
which I found these Words.
‘To Monsieur Frankville. My Father is resolv’d to make me Yours; and
if he has your Consent, mine will not be demanded;
he has Commanded me to receive you tomorrow,
but I have a particular Reason to desire
to see you sooner; I am to pass this Night with
Camilla at my Aunt Ciamara’s; there is a little
Wicket that opens from the Garden, directly opposite
to the Convent of Sir Francis, if you will favour
me so far as to come there at Ten a Clock to Night,
and give Seven gentle Knocks at the Gate: You shall
know the Cause of my Entreating this private Interview,
which is of more Moment than the Life of
Violetta.’
Never had I been more pleasingly surpriz’d,
than at the Reading these Lines; I could not
imagine the Lady could have any other Reason
for seeing me in private, than to confess that
her Heart was pre-engag’d, and disswade me
from taking the Advantage of her Father’s Authority,
a secret Hope too, sprung within my
Soul, that my Adorable Camilla might be
with her; and after I had dismiss’d the Woman,man, D8r 47
with an Assurance that I would attend her
Lady, I spent my Time in vast Idea’s of approaching
Happiness ’till the appointed Hour
arriv’d.
But how great was my Disappointment,
when being admitted, I cou’d distinguish tho’, the
Place was very dark, that I was receiv’d but by one
and accosted by her, in a manner very different
from what I expected: ‘I know not, Monsieur,’
said she, ‘how you interpret this Freedom I have
taken; but whatever we pretend, our Sex, of
all Indignities, can the least support those done
to our Beauty; I am not vain enough of mine,
to assure my self of making a Conquest of your
Heart; and if the World should know you have
seen, and refus’d me, my slighted Charms would
be the Theme of Mirth to those whose Envy now
they are: I therefore beg, that if I am dislik’d,
none but my self may know it; when you have
seen my Face, which you shall do immediately,
give me your Opinion freely; and if it is not
to my Advantage, make some pretence to my
Father to avoid coming to our House.’
I protest
to you, my Lord, that I was so much surpriz’d
at this odd kind of proceeding, that I knew
not presently how to Reply, which she imagining
by my Silence: ‘Come, come, Monsieur,’ said
she, ‘I am not yet on even Terms with you, having
often seen your Face, and you wholly a
Stranger to mine: but when our Knowledge
of each other is Mutual, I hope you will be as
free in your Declaration as I have been in my
Request.’
These Words I thought were as
proper for my Purpose as I cou’d wish, and
drawing back a little, as she was about to lead me, D8v 48
me: ‘Madam,’ said I, since you have that Advantage,
methinks it were but just, you shou’d
reveal what sort of Sentiments the sight of me
has inspir’d, for I have too much Reason from
the knowledge of my Demerit, to fear, you have
no other design in exposing your Charms, than to
Triumph in the Captivating a Heart you have
already doom’d to Misery;’
‘I will tell you nothing,’
answer’d she, ‘of my Sentiments ’till I
have a perfect knowledge of yours.’
As she
spoke this, she gave me her Hand to conduct
me out of that Place of Darkness; as we went,
I had all the Concern at the apprehension of
being too much approv’d of by this young
Lady, as I shou’d have had for the contrary,
if I had imagin’d who it was I had been talking
with, for as soon as we came out of the GrotroGrotto,
I saw by the light of the Moon, which shone that
Night with an uncommon Lustre, the Face
which in those Gardens had before so Charm’d
me, and which never since been absent from
my Thoughts. What Joy, what a mixture of
Extacy and Wonder, then fill’d my raptur’d
Soul at this second view, at first I cou’d not trust
my Eyes, or think my Happiness was real: I
gaz’d, and gaz’d again in silent Transport, for
the big Bliss surpass’d the reach of Words. ‘What
Monsieur,’
said she, observing my Confusion,
‘are you yet Dumb, is there any thing so dreadful;
in the form of Violetta, to deprive
you of your Speech.’
‘No Madam,’ reply’d I,
‘’tis not Violetta has that Power, but she,
who unknowing that she did so, caught at first
sight the Victory o’re my Soul, she, for whom
I have vented so many Sighs; she for whom I E1r 49
I languish’d and almost Dy’d for; while Violetta
was at Vitterio: She! the Divine Camilla
only cou’d inspire a Passion such as
mine;’
‘—Oh Heavens!’ cry’d she, and at that instant
I perceiv’d her lovely Face all crimson’d
o’re with Blushes; ‘is it then possible that you
know me, have seen me before, and that I have
been able to make any Impression on you?’
I
then told her of the Visit I had made to Ciamara
with Cittolini, and how by
his leaving me in the Marble-Study, I was blest
with the sight of Her; and from his Friend became
his Rival: I let her know the Conflicts
my Honour and my Obligations to Cittolini
had engag’d me in; the thousand various
Inventions Love had suggested to me, to obtain
that Happiness I now enjoy’d, the opportunity
of declaring my self her Slave; and in
short, conceal’d not the least Thought tending
to my Passion from Her. She, in requital, acquainted
me, that she had often seen me from
her Window, go into the Convent of St Francis,
walking in the Collonade at St. Peter’s, and in several
other Places, and, prompted by an extravagance
of good Nature, and Generosity, confess’d,
that her Heart felt something at those
Views, very prejudicial to her Repose: That
Cittolini, always, disagreeable, was now
grown Odious; that the Discourse she had heard
of my intended Marriage with his Daughter,
had given her an alarm impossible to be express’d,
and that, unable longer to support the
Pangs of undiscover’d Passion, she had writ to
me in that Ladies Name, who she knew I had
never seen, resolving, if I lik’d her as Violetta,E letta, E1v 50
to own her self Camilla, if
not, to go the next Day to a Monastry, and
devote to Heaven those Charms which wanted
force to make a Conquest where alone she
wish’d they shou’d.
I Must leave it to your Lordship’s imagination
to conceive the wild tumultuous
hurry of disorder’d Joy which fill’d my ravish’d
Soul at this Condescention; for I am now
as unable to describe it, as I was then to Thank
the Dear, the tender Author of it, but what
Words had not Power to do, Looks and Actions
testifyed: I threw my self at her Feet, Embrac’d
her Knees, and kiss’d the Hand she rais’d
me with, with such a Fervor, as no false Love
cou’d feign; while she, all Softness, all divinely
Kind, yielded to the pressure of my glowing
Lips, and suffer’d me to take all the freedom,
which Honour and Modesty wou’d permit.
This interview was too felicious to be
easily broken off, it was almost broad Day when
we parted, and nothing but her Promise, that
I shou’d be admitted the next Night, cou’d have
enabled me to take leave of her.
I Went away highly satify’d, as I had
good Reason, with my Condition, and after
recollecting all the tender Passages of our Conversation;
I began to consider after what manner
I shou’d proceed with Cittolini, to
Visit and Address his Daughter; I thought
wou’d be Treacherous and Deceitful to the last
degree; and how to come off, after the Promise
I made of seeing her that Evening, I cou’d not tell; E2r 51
tell; at last, since Necessity oblig’d me to one,
I resolv’d of the two Evils to chuse the least,
and rather to seem Rude, then Base, which I
must have been, had I by counterfeiting a Desire
to engage Violetta, left room for a
possibility of creating one in her. I therefore,
writ to Cittolini an Excuse for not
waiting on Him and his Daughter, as I had promis’d,
telling him that I, on more serious Reflection
found it wholly inconsistent, either with
my Circumstances, or Inclinations, to think of
passing all my Life in Rome; that I thank’d him
for the Honour he intended me, but that it was
my Misfortune, not to be capable of accepting
it. Thus, with all the Artifice I was Master of,
I endeavour’d to sweeten the bitter Pill of Refusal,
but in vain; for he was so much Disgusted
at it, that he visited me no more:
I cannot say, I had Gratitude enough to be much
Concern’d at being compell’d to use him in this
Fashion; for, since I had beheld, and Ador’d
Camilla, I cou’d consider him no longer as
a Friend, but as the most dangerous Enemy to
my Hopes and me. All this time I spent the
best part of the Nights with Camilla, and
in one of them, after giving, and receiving a
thousand Vows of ever-lasting Faith, I snatch’d
a lucking Moment, and obtain’d from the Dear,
melting Charmer, all that my Fondest, and
most eager Wishes cou’d aspire to. Yes, my
Lord, the Soft, the trembling Fair, dissolv’d in
Love; yielded without Reserve, and met my
Transports with an equal Ardor; and I truely
protest to your Lordship, that what in others,
palls Desire, added fresh Force to mine; the E2 more E2v 52
more I knew, the more I was Inflam’d, and in
the highest Raptures of Enjoyment, the Bliss
was dash’d with Fears, which prov’d alass, but
too Prophetick, that some curst Chance might
drive me my Heaven: Therefore, to secure
it mine for ever, I press’d the lovely
Partner of my Joys, to give me leave to bring
a Priest with me the next Night; who by giveing
a Sanction to our Love, might put it past
the Power of Malice to Disunite us: Here, I
experienc’d the greatness of her Soul, and her
almost unexampled Generosity; for in spite of
all her Love, her Tenderness, and the unbounded
Condiscentions she had made me, it was with
all the difficulty in the World, that I persuaded
her to think of Marrying me without a Fortune;
which by her Father’s Will, was wholly in the
Disposal of Ciamara, who it wou’d have
been Madness to Hope, wou’d ever bestow it
upon me. However, my Arguments at last prevail’d;
I was to bring a Fryar of the Order of
St,. Francis
, who was my intimate Friend, the
next Night to join our Hands; which done, she
told me, she wou’d advise to leave Rome with
what speed we cou’d, for she doubted not but
Cittolini wou’d make use of any means,
tho’ never so Base or Bloody, to Revenge his
Disappointment. This Proposal infinitely plea’d
me, and after I had taken leave of her, I spent
the remainder of the Night, in contriving the
means of our Escape: Early in the Morning
I secur’d Post-Horses, and then went to the
Convent of St. Francis, a Purse of Lewis D’or,
soon engag’d the Fryar to my Interest, and I
had every thing ready in wonderful Order, consideringsidering E3r 53
the shortness of the Time, for our Design:
When returning Home towards Evening,
as well to take a little rest after the Fatigue I
had, had, as to give some other necessary Directions,
concerning the Affair to my Servants,
when one of them gave me a Letter, which had
been just left for me. ”

Monsieur Frankville cou’d not come
to this Part of his Story, without some Sighs,
but suppressing them as well as he was able, he
took some Papers out of his Pocket, and singleing
out one, read to the Count as follows.

“‘To Monsieur Frankville. With what Words can I represent the
greatness of my Misfortune, or Exclaim
against the Perfidy of my Woman? I was oblig’d to
make her the Confidant of my Passion, because without
her Assistance, I cou’d not have enjoy’d the Happiness
of your Conversation, and ’tis by her that I
am now Betray’d—Undone,—Lost to all hopes
of ever seeing you more—What have I not endur’d
this Day, from the upbraidings of Ciamara
and Cittolini, but that I shou’d dispise,
nay, my own Ruin too, if you were safe—But
Oh! their Malice aims to wound me most, through
you—Bravo’s are hir’d, the Price of your
Blood is paid, and they have sworn to take your
Life—Guard it I conjure you, if you wou’d preserve
that of Camilla’s—Attempt not to
come near this House, nor walk alone, when Night E3 may E3v 54
may be an Umbrage to their Designs.—I hear my
cruel Enemies returning to renew their Persecutions,
and I have Time to inform you no more, than
that ’tis to the Generous Violetta you are
indebted for this Caution: She, in pity of my Agonies;
and to prevent her Father from executing
the Crime he intends; conveys this to you, slight it
not, if you wou’d have me believe you Love,

Violetta’

What a turn was here” (continu’d he, sadly)
“in my Fortune? How on a sudden was my
Scene of Happiness chang’d to the blackest Dispair?
not to tire your Lordship, and spin
out my Narration, which is already too long
with unavailing Complainings. I every Day
expected a Challenge from Cittolini,
believing he wou’d, at least, take that Method
at first, but it seems he was for chusing the
surest, not the fairest way: And I have since
prov’d, that my Dear Camilla had too
much Reason for the Caution she gave me. Ten
Days I lingred out without being able to Invent
any means, either to see her, or to write to
Her; at the end of which, I receiv’d another
Letter from Her, which, if I were to tell you
the Substance of, wou’d be to wrong her; since
no Words but her own are fit to Express her
meaning, and ’tis for that Reason only, I shall
Read it.

‘To E4r 55 To Monsieur Frankville. Of all the Woes which wait on humane Life, sure
there is none Equal to that a Lover feels in
Absence; ’tis a kind of Hell, an earnest of those
Pains, we are told, shall be the Portion of the
Damn’d—Ten whole Nights, and Days, according
to the vulgar Reckoning, but in mine, as many
Ages, have roll’d their tedious Hours away since last I
saw you, in all which time my Eyes have never known
one Moments cessation from my Tears, nor my sad
Heart from Anguish; restless I wander thro’ this
hated House—Kiss the clos’d Wicket—stop, and
look at every Place which I remember thy dear steps
have blest, then, with wild Ravings, think of past
Joys, and curse my present Woes—yet, you perhaps
are Calm, no sympathizing Pang invades your
Soul, and tells you what mine suffers, else, you
wou’d—you must have found some Means to ease
your self and me—’tis true, I bid you not attempt
it—but Oh! If you had lov’d like me, you cou’d
not have obey’d—Desire has no regard to Prudence,
it dispises Danger, and over-looks even Impossibilities
—but whether am I going?—I say, I
know not what—Oh, mark not what Distraction utters!
Shun these detested Walls!—’tis Reason now
commands! fly from this House, where injur’d
Love’s enslav’d, and Death and Treachery reign—
I charge thee come not near, nor prove thy Faith so
hazardous a way—forgive the little Fears, which
ever dwell with Love—I know thou art all sincerity!
—all godlike Truth, and can’st not change,
—yet, if thou shouldst,—tormenting Thought! E4 ----Why E4v 56
Why then, there’s not a Heaven-abandon’d Wretch,
so Lost----so Curst as I.—What shall I do to shake
off Apprehension? in spite of all thy Vows—thy
ardent Vows, when I but think of any Maid, by Love,
and fond Belief undone, a deadly cold runs thro’ my
Veins, congeals my Blood, and chills my very Soul!—
Gazing on the Moon last night, her Lustre brought
fresh to my Memory those transporting Moments,
when by that Light I saw you first a Lover; and, I
think Inspired me, who am not usually fond of Versifying
to make her this Complaint.
“The Unfortunate Camilla’s
Complaint to the Moon, for the Absence
of her Dear Henricus Frankville.
Mild Queen of Shades! Thou sweetly shining Light! Once, more then Phœbus, welcome to my Sight: ’Twas by thy Beans I first Henricus saw Adorn’d with softnes, and disarm’d of Awe! Never did’st thou appear more fair! more bright! Than on that Dear, that Cause-remembred Night! When the dull Tyes of Friendship be disclaim’d, And to Inspire a tend’rer Passion aimed: Alas! he cou’d not long, in vain, implore For that, which tho’ unknown, was his before; Nor had I Art the Secret to Disguise, My Soul spoke all her Meaning thro’ my Eyes, And every Glance bright’ned with glad Surprize! Lost E5r 57 Lost to all Thought, but His Transporting Charms, I sunk, unguarded! Melting in his Arms! Blest at that lavish rate, my State, that Hour I’d not have Chang’d for all in fortune’s Pow’r, Nay, had discending Angel’s from on High Spread their bright Wings, to wast me to the Sky, Thus clasp’d! Cœlestial Charms had fail’d to move And Heav’n been slighted, for Henricus Love. How did I then thy happy Influence Bless? How watch each joyful Night, thy Lights encrease? But Oh! How alter’d since—Dispairing now, I View thy Lustre with contracted Brow: Pensive, and sullen from thy Rays wou’d hide, And scarce the glimmering Star’s my Griefs abide, In Death-like darkness wou’d my Fate deplore And wish Thee to go down, to Rise no more!”
Pity the Extravagance of a Passion which only
Charms like thine cou’d Create, nor too severely
chide this soft Impertinence, which I cou’d not refrain
sending you, when I can neither see you, nor
hear from you, to write, gives some little respite
to my Pains, because I am sure of being in your
Thoughts, while you are Reading my Letters. The
tender Hearted Violetta prefering the
Tyes of Friendship to those of Duty, gives me this
happy opportunity, but my Ill-fortune deprives me too
of her, she goes to Morrow to her Fathers Villa,
and Heaven knows when I shall find means to send
to you again.
Farewel, thou Loveliest, Dearest, and Divine
Charmer—Think of me with a Concern full of
Tenderness, but that is not enough; and you must pardon E5v 58
pardon me, when I confess, that I cannot forbear
wishing you might feel some of those Pains, impatient
longings bring.—All others be far away, as
far, as Joy is, when you are Absent from
Your Unfortunate Camilla. P.S. Since I writ this, a Fancy came into my Head,
that if you cou’d find a Friend Trusty enough to
confide in, and one unknown to our Family, he
might gain admittance to me in Cittolini’s
Name, as sent by him, while he is at the Villa.
I flatter my self you will take as much pleasure in
endeavouring to let me hear from you, as I do in
the hope of it. Once more Adieu. ’
Your Lordship may judge, by what I have
told you of the Sincerity of my Passion, how
glad I should have been to have comply’d with
her Request, but it was utterly impossible to find
any body fit for such a Business: I pass’d three
or four Days more, in Disquietudes too great to
be exprest; I saunter’d up and down the Street
where she liv’d, in hopes to see her at some of
the Windows, but Fortune never was so favourable
to me, thus I spent my Days, and left the
sight of those dear Walls at Nights, but in obedience
to the Charge she had given me of preserving
my Life.
Thus, my Lord, has the business of my
Love engrossed my hours, ever since your Lordshipsships E6r 59
arrival, and tho’ I heard that you were
here, and extreamly wish’d to kiss your Hands,
yet I cou’d never get one Moment compos’d enough
to wait on you in, ’till what my Desires
cou’d not do, the rashness of my indignation
Effected: Last Night, being at my Bankers
where all my Bills and Letters are Directed, I
found this, from MounsieurMonsieur Sanseverin,
the Rage which the Contents of it put me in,
kept me from remembring that Circumspection,
which Camilla had enjoyn’d, and I thought
of nothing but revenging the injury I imagin’d
you had done me: As I was coming Home I was
attack’d as you saw, when you so generously
preserv’d me, the just Indignation I conceiv’d at
this base procedure of Cittolini’s transported
me so far, as to make me forget what I owed to my
Deliverer, to run in pursuit of those who assaulted
me, but soon lost sight of them, and returning,
as Gratitude and Honour call’d me, to seek,
and thank you for your timely Assistance, I
found a Throng of People about the Body of
the Villian I had killed, some of them were for
Examining me; but finding no wounds about
me, nor any marks of the Engagement I had
been in, I was left at my Liberty.
Thus, my Lord, have I given you, in as
brief a manner as the Changes of my fortune
wou’d permit, the Account of my present melancholly
Circumstances, in which, if you find
many things blameable, you must acknowledge
there are more which require Compassion. ”
I E6v 60

“I See no reason,” answer’d the Count, “either
for the one or the other, you have done nothing
but what any Man, who is a Lover, wou’d
gladly have it in his Power to do, and as for
your Condition it certainly is more to be envy’d
than pity’d: The Lady Loves, is Constant, and
doubtless will some way or other, find means for
her Escape,”
“Impossible!” cry’d Frankville,
interrupting him, she is too strictly watch’d to
suffer such a Hope”
. “If you will prepare a Letter,”
resum’d D’Elmont, “my self will undertake
to be the Bearer of it; I am intirely a
stranger to the People you have been speaking
of, or if I should chance to be known to them,
cannot be suspected to come from you, since our
Intimacy, so lately born, cannot yet be talk’d
of, to the prejudice of our Design; and how do
you know,”
continu’d he smiling, “but, if I have
the good Fortune to be introduc’d to this Lady,
that I shall not be able to assist her Invention
to form some Scheme, for both your future Happiness.”
This offer was too agreeable to be refus’d,
Frankville accepted it with all the
demonstrations of Gratitude and Joy immaginable,
and setting himself down to the Count’s
Scrutore, was not long Writing the following
Billet which he gave him to read before he seal’d
it.

“To E7r 61 To the most Lovely and Adorable
Camilla.
If to consume with inward Burnings, to have no
Breath but Sighs, to wish for Death, or Madness
to relieve me, from the racks of Thought, be Misery
consummate, such is mine! and yet my too unjust
Camilla thinks I feel no Pain, and chides my
cold Tranquility, cou’d I be so, I were indeed a
Wretch deserving of my Fate, but far unworthy of
your Pity or Regard. No, no, thou Loveliest,
Softest, most angelic Creature that Heaven, in lavish
Bounty, ever sent to charm the adoring World;
he that cou’d know one Moments stupid Calm in such
an Absence, ought never to be blest with those unbounded
Joys thy Presence brings: What wou’d I
not give, what wou’d I not hazard but once more to
behold thee, to gaze upon thy Eyes, those Suns of
kindling Transports, to touch thy enlivening Hand,
to feed upon the ravishing sweetness of thy Lips; Oh
the immaginaton’s Extacy, Life were too poor to set
on such a Cast, and you shou’d long e’re this have
prov’d the little Value I have for it, in competition
with my Love, if your Commands had not restrain’d
me. Cittolini’s Malice, however, had last
Night been Gratify’d, if the Noble Count D’Elmont
had not been inspir’d for my Preservation,
it is to him I am indebted, not only for my Life,
but a much greater Favour, that of conveying to
you the Assurance, how much my Life, my Soul, and
all the faculties of it are eternally Yours. Thank
him, my Camilla, for your Frankville,
for Words like thine are only fit to Praise, as it deserves E7v 62
deserves, such an exalted Generosity; ’tis with an
infinite deal of Satisfaction I reflect how much thy
Charms will justify my Conduct when he sees thee,
all that excess of Passion, which my fond Souls too
full of to conceal, that highth of Adoration, which
offer’d to any other Woman wou’d be Sacriledge, the
wonders of thy Beauty and thy Wit, claim as their
due, and prove Camilla, like Heaven, can never
be too much Reverenc’d! be too much Lov’d!---
But, Oh! how poor is Language to express what
’tis I think, thus Raptur’d with thy Idea, thou Best—
thou Brightest—thou most Perfect—thou something
more than Excellence itself—thou far surpassing
all that Words can speak, or Heart, unknowing
thee, conceive, yet I cou’d dwell for ever on the
Theme, and swell whole Volumes with enervate,
tho’ well-meaning Praises, if my Impatience, to have
what I have already writ, be with you, did not
prevent my saying any more than, that but in you I
live, nor cou’d support this Death-like absence, but
for some little intervals of Hope, which sometimes
flatter me, that Fortune will grow weary of persecuting
me, and one Day re-unite my Body to my Soul
and make us both inseparably Yours,
Frankville.”

These new made Friends having a fellow-
feeling of each others Sufferings, as proceeding
from one Source, pass’d the time in little else
but amorous Discourses, till it was a proper
Hour for the Count to perform his Promise,
and taking a full Direction from Frankville
how to find the House, he left him at his E8r 63
his Lodgings to wait his return from Ciamara’s,
forming, all the way he went, a thousand
Projects to communicate to Camilla for her
Escape, he was still extreamly uneasy in his
Mind concerning Melliora, and long’d to be
in Paris to know the Truth of that Affair, but
thought he cou’d not in Honour leave her Brother
in this Embarrassment, and resolv’d to
make use of all his Wit and Address to perswade
Camilla to hazard every thing for Love, and
was not a little pleas’d with the imagination,
that he should lay so confiderable an obligation
on Melliora, as this Service to her Brother
wou’d be. Full of these reflections he found
himself in the Portico of that magnificent House
he was to enter, and seeing a Crowd of Servants
about the Door, desir’d to be brought to the
presence of Donna Camilla Fialaso, one
of them, immediately conducted him into a
stately Room, and leaving him there, told him,
the Lady shou’d be made acquainted with his
Request; presently after came in a Woman,
who, tho’ very Young, seem’d to be in the nature
of a Duenna, the Count stood with his Back
toward her as she enter’d, but hearing somebody
behind him, and turning hastily about, he observ’d
she startled at sight of him, and appear’d
so confus’d that he knew not what to make of
her Behaviour, and when he ask’d if he might
speak with Camilla, and said he had a Message
to deliver from Cittolini, she made no other
Answer than several times, with an amaz’d
Accent, Ecchoing the names of Camilla and
Cittolini, as if not able to comprehend his
meaning; he was oblig’d to repeat his Words over E8v 64
over and over before she cou’d recollect herself
enough to tell him, that she wou’d let him know
her Lady’s pleasure instantly. She left him in
a good deal of Consternation, at the Surprize he
perceiv’d the Sight of him had put her into, he
form’d a thousand uncertain Guesses what the
occasion shou’d be, but the Mistery was too
deep for all his Penetration to fathom, and he
waited with abundance of Impatience for her
return, or the appearance of her Lady, either,
of which, he hop’d, might give a Solution to this
seeming Riddle.

He attended a considerable time, and was beginning
to grow excessive uneasy, at this Delay,
when a magnificent Anti-porta being drawn up,
he saw, thro’ a Glass Door, which open’d into
a Gallery, the Duenna approaching: She had
now entirely compos’d her Countenance, and
with an obliging Smile told him, she wou’d conduct
him to her Lady. She led him thro’ several
Rooms, all richly surnish’d and adorn’d, but
far inferior to the last he came into, and in
which he was again left alone, after being assur’d
that he should not long be so.

Count D’Elmont cou’d not forbear
giving Truce to his more serious Reflections, to
admire the Beauties of the Place he was in,
where e’er he turn’d his Eyes, he saw nothing
but what was splendidly Luxurious; and all the
Ornaments contriv’d in such a manner as might
fitly be a Pattern, to paint the Palace of the
Queen of Love by: The Ceiling was vastly
high and beautify’d with most curious Paintings, the F1r 65
the Walls were cover’d with Tapestry, in which,
most artificially were woven, in various coulour’d
Silk, intermix’d with Gold and Silver, a
great number of Amorous Stories; in one
Place he beheld a Naked Venus sporting with
Adonis; in another, the Love-transform’d Jupiter,
just resuming his Shape, and rushing to
the Arms of Leda; there, the seeming Chast
Diana Embracing her entrac’d Endimion; here,
the God of soft Desires himself, wounded with an
Arrow of his own, and snatching Kisses from
the no less enamour’d Psiche: betwixt everyone
of these Pieces hung a large Looking-Glass,
which reach’d to the top of the Room, and out
of each sprung several crystal Branches, containing
great Wax-Tapers, so that the number
of Lights vy’d with the Sun, and made another,
and more glorious Day, than that which
lately was withdrawn. At the upper End of
this magnificent Chamber, there was a Canopy
of Crimson Velvet, richly emboss’d, and trim’d
with Silver, the Corners of which were supported
by two golden Cupids, with stretch’d out
Wings, as if prepar’d to fly; two of their
Hands grasp’d the extremity of the Valen, and
the other, those nearest to each other, joyn’d to
hold a wreath of Flowers, over a Couch, which
stood under the Canopy. But tho’ the Count
was very much taken at first with what he saw,
yet he was too true a Lover to be long delighted
with any thing in the absence of his Mistress:
“How Heavenly” (said he to himself Sighing)
“wou’d be this Place, if I expected Melliora
here! But Oh! how preferable were a Cottage
blest with her, to all this Pomp and Grandeur F with F1v 66
with any other”
; this Consideration threw him
into a deep Musing, which made him forget
either where he was, or the Business which
brought him there, till rous’d from it by the
dazling Owner of this sumptuous Apartment;
nothing could be more glorious than her Appearance;
she was by Nature, a Woman of a
most excellent Shape, to which, her desire of
Pleasing, had made her add all the aids of Art;
she was drest in a Gold and Silver stuff Petticoat,
and a Wastcoat of plain blue Sattin, set
round the Neck and Sleves, and down the Seams
with Diamonds, and fastend on the Breast, with
Jewels of a prodigious largeness and lustre; a
Girdle of the same encompass’d her Waste; her
Hair, of which she had great quantity, was
black as Jet, and with a studied Negligence, fell
part of it on her Neck in careless Ringlets, and
the other was turn’d up, and fasten’d here and
there with Bodkins, which had pendant Diamonds
hanging to ’em, and as she mov’d, glittered
with a quivering Blaze, like Stars darting
their fires from out a sable Sky; she had a Vail
on, but so thin, that it did not, in the least,
obscure the shine of her Garments, or her Jewels,
only she had contriv’d to double that part
of it which hung over her Face, in so many
folds, that it serv’d to conceal her as well as a
Vizard Mask.

The Count made no doubt but this was the
Lady for whom he waited, and throwing off
that melancholly Air he had been in, assum’d
one, all Gay and Easy, and bowing low, as he
advanc’d to meet her; “Madam,” said he, “if you are F2r 67
are that incomparable Camilla whose Goodness,
nothing but her Beauty can equalize, you will
forgive the intrusion of a Stranger, who confesses
himself no other way worthy of the Honour
of your Conversation, but by his Desires
to serve him who is much more so”
: “A Friend of
Cittolini’s,”
answer’d she, “can never want
admittance here, and if you had no other Plea,
the Name you come in, is a sufficent Warrant
for your kind Reception”
: “I hope,” resum’d he,
in a low Voice, and looking round to see if there
were no Attendants in hearing, “I bring a Letter
from Frankville, Madam. the adoring
Frankville, I have these Credentials to Justify
my Visit;”
in speaking this he deliver’d
the Letter to her, which she retiring a few Paces
from him to read, gave him an Opportunity
of admiring the Majesty of her Walk, and
the agreeable loftiness of her Mein, much more
than he had time to do before.

She dwelt not long on the Contents of the
Letter, but throwing it carelessly down on a
Table which stood near her, turn’d to the Count,
and with an Accent which express’d not much
Satisfaction; “and was it to you, my Lord,” said
she, “that Monsieur Frankville ow’d his Preservation?”
“I was so happy,” reply’d he, “to have
some little hand in it, but since I have known
how dear he is to you, think my self doubly
blest by Fortune for the means of acting any
thing conducive to your Peace”
: “If you imagine
that this is so,”
resum’d she hastily, “you are
extreamly mistaken, as you will always be,
when you believe, where Count D’Elmont appears,F2 pears, F2v 68
any other Man seems worthy the regard
of a discerning Woman, but,”
coutinu’d she,
perceiving he look’d surpriz’d, “to spare your
suspence, and my self the trouble of repeating
what you know already, behold who she is, you
have been talking to, and tell me now, if
Frankville has any Interest in a Heart to
which this Face belongs?”
with these Words she
threw off her Vail, and instead of lessening his
Amazement, very much encreas’d it, in discovering
the Features of the Lady, with whom he
had discoursed the Night before in the Garden:
He knew not what to think, or how to reconcile
to Reason, that Camilla, who so lately lov’d, and
had granted the highest Favours to Frankville
shou’d on a sudden be willing, uncourted, to bestow
them on another, nor cou’d he comprehend
how the same Person shou’d at once live in two
several Places, for he conceiv’d the House he
was in, was far distant from the Garden which
he had been in the Night before.

They both remain’d for some Moments in
a profound Silence, the Lady expecting when
the Count shou’d speak, and he endeavouring to
recollect himself enough to do so, ’till she, at last,
possibly guessing at his Thoughts, resum’d her
Discourse in this manner: “My Lord,” said she,
“wonder not at the Power of Love, a Form like
yours might soften the most rugged Heart, much
more one, by Nature so tender as is mine.”

“Think but what you are,” continu’d she sighing,
and making him sit down by her on the Couch,
“and you will easily excuse whatever my Passion
may enforce me to commit.”
“I must confess, Madam, F3r 69
Madam,”
answer’d he very gravely, “I never in
my Life wanted presence of mind so much as at
this juncture, to see before me here, the Person,
who, I believ’d, liv’d far from hence, who, by
Appointment, I was to wait on this Night at a
different Place.—To find in the Mistress of my
Friend, the very Lady, who seems unworthily
to have bestow’d her Heart on me, are Circumstances
so Incoherent as I can neither account
for, or make evident to Reason, tho’ they are
too truly so to Sense”
: “It will be easy,” reply’d
she, “to reconcile both of these seeming Contradictions,
when you shall know that the Gardens
belonging to this House, are of a very large Extent,
and not only that, but the turning of the
Streets are so order’d, as make the Distance between
the fore and back Door appear much
greater than realy it is; and for the other, as I
have already told you, you ought to be better
acquainted with your self, than to be surpriz’d
at Consequences which must infallibly attend
such Charms,”
in saying this, she turne’d her Head
a little at one side, and put her Handkerchief before
her Face, affecting to seem Confus’d at what
she spoke; but the Count redned in good Earnest,
and with a Countenance which express’d
Sentiments, far different from those she endeavour’d
to Inspire: “Madam,” said he, “tho’ the
good Opinion you have of me is owing entirely
to the Error of your Fancy, which too often,
especially in your Sex, blinds the Judgment,
yet, ’tis certain, that there are not many Men,
whom such Praises, coming from a Mouth like
yours, wou’d not make Happy and Vain; but
if I was ever of a Humour to be so, it is now F3
wholly F3v 70
wholly mortify’d in me, and ’tis but with the
utmost regret, that I must receive the Favours
you confer on me to the prejudice of my Friend”
:
“And is that,” interrupted she hastily, “is that the
only Cause? does nothing but your Friendship to
Frankville prevent my Wishes?”
“That, of
itself,”
answer’d he, “were a sufficent Bar to sunder
us for ever, but there’s another, if not a
greater, a more tender one, which, to restore
you to the Path, which Honour, Gratitude, and
Reason call you to, I must inform you of, yes, I
must tell you, Madam, all lovely as you are,
that were there no such Man as Frankville,
in the World.—Were you as free as Air, I have
a defence within, which all your Charms can never
pierce, nor softness melt—I am already
bound, not with the weak Tyes of Vows or formal
Obligations, which confine no farther than
the Body, but Inclination!—the fondest Inclination!
that ever swell’d a Heart with Rapturous
Hopes:”
The Lady had much ado to contain
herself till he had done speaking, she was
by Nature extreamly Haughty, Insolent of her
Beauty, and impatient of any thing she thought
look’d like a slight of it, and this open Defyance
of her Power and acknowledging anothers,
had she been less in Love wou’d have been insupportable
to her; “ungrateful and uncourtly
Man,”
said she, looking on him with Eyes that
sparkled at once with Indignation and Desire,
“you might have spar’d yourself the trouble of
Repeating, and me the Confusion of Hearing,
in what manner you stand Engag’d, it had
been enough to have told me you never cou’d be
mine, without appearing transported at the Ruin which F4r 71
which you make; if my too happy Rival possesses
Charms, I cannot boast, methinks your
good Manners might have taught you, not to
insult my Wants, and your good Nature, to
have mingled Pity with your Justice”
; with these
Words she fell a Weeping, but whether they
were Tears of Love or Anger, is hard to determine,
’tis certain that both those Passions rag’d
this Moment in her Soul with equal Violence,
and if she had, had it in her Power, wou’d doubtless
have been glad to have hated him, but he
was, at all times too lovely to suffer a possibility
of that, and much more so at this, for in
spite of the Shock, that Infidelity he believ’d
her guilty of to Frankville, gave him;
he was by Nature so Compassionate, he felt the
Woes he saw, or heard of, even of those who were
most indifferent to him, and cou’d not now behold
a Face, in which all the Horrors of Dispair
were in the most lively manner represented,
without displaying a Tenderness in his, which
in any other Man, might have been taken for
Love, the dazling Radience of his Eyes, gave
place to a more dangerous, more bewitching
softness, and when he sigh’d, in Pity of her Anguish,
a Soul Inchanting Languishment diffus’d
itself thro’ all his Air, and added to his Graces;
she presently perceiv’d it, and forming new
Hopes, as well from that, as from his Silence,
took hold of his Hand, and pressing it eagerly
to her Bosom, “Oh my Lord!” resum’d she, “you
cannot be ungrateful tho’ you wou’d.—I see
you cannot—”
“Madam,” interrupted he, shaking
off as much as possible that show of Tenderness,
which he found had given her Incouragement; F4 I wish F4v 72
“I wish not to convince you how nearly I am
touch’d, with what you suffer, least it shou’d
encrease an Esteem, which, since prejudicial to
your Repose, and the Interest of my Friend; I
rather ought to endeavour to lessen.—But, as
this is not the Entertainment I expected from
Camilla, I beg to know an Answer of the
Business I came upon, and what you decree for
the unfortunate Frankville”
: If the Lady
was agitated with an extremity of Vexation at
the Count’s Declaration of his Passion for another,
what was she now, at this Disappointment
of the Hopes she was so lately flatter’d with, instead
of making any direct reply to what he
said, she rag’d, stamp’d, tore her Hair, curs’d
Frankville, all Mankind, the World, and
in that height of Fury, scarce spar’d Heaven itself;
but the violence of her Pride and Resentment
being a little vented, Love took his turn,
again she wept, again she prest his Hand, nay
she even knelt, and hung upon his Feet, as he
wou’d have broke from her, and beg’d him with
words as eloquent as Wit cou’d Form, and desperate
dying Love Suggest, to pity and relieve
her Misery: But he had now learn’d to dissemble
his Concern, left it shou’d a second time beguile
her, and after raising her, with as Careless,
and unmov’d an Air, as he was capable of putting
on: “My Presence, Madam,” said he, “but
augments your Disorder, and ’tis only by seeing
you no more, that I am qualify’d to conduce to
the recovery of your Peace”
: With these Words
he turn’d hastily from her, and was going out
of the Room, when she, quick as Thought,
sprung from the Place where she had stood, and being F5r 73
being got between him and the Door, and throwing
herself into his Arms, before he had time to
prevent her; “you must not, shall not go,” she
cry’d, “till you have left me Dead:” “Pardon me,
Madam”
, answer’d he fretfully, and struggling
to get loose from her Embrace, “to stay after the
Discovery you have made of your Sentiments,
were to be guilty of an Injustice almost equal to
your’s, therefore I beg you’d give me liberty to
pass.”
“Hear me but speak,” resum’d she, grasping
him yet harder; “return but for a Moment,
—lovely Barbarian,—Hell has no tortures
like your Cruelty.”
Here, the different Passions
working in her Soul, with such uncommon Vehemence,
hurry’d her Spirits beyond what Nature
cou’d Support; her Voice faulter’d in the
Accent, her trembling Hands by slow degrees
relinquish’d what so eagerly they had held, every
Sense forgot its Use, and she sunk, in all appearance,
lifeless on the Floor: The Count was, if
possible, more glad to be releas’d, than griev’d at
the occasion, and contented himself with calling
her Women to her Assistance, without staying
to see when she wou’d recover.

He went out of that House with Thoughts
much more discompos’d than those with which
he had enter’d it, and when he came Home,
where Frankville impatiently waited
his Return, he was at the greatest loss in the
World, how to discover his Misfortune to him;
the other observing the trouble of his Mind,
which was very visible in his Countenance; “my
Lord,”
said he, in a melancholly Tone, “I need
not ask you what Success, the gloom which appearspears F5v 74
on your Brow, tells me, my ill Fortune
has deny’d you the means of speaking to Camilla;”
“accuse not Fortune,” answer’d D’Elmont,
“but the influence of malicious Stars
which seldom, if ever, suits our Dispositions to
our Circumstances; I have seen Camilla, have
talk’d to her, and ’tis from that Discourse that I
cannot forbear reflecting on the miseries of Humanity,
which, while it mocks us with a show
of Reason, gives us no power to curb our Will,
and guide the erring Appetites to Peace.”
Monsieur
Frankville
at these Words first felt a
jealous Pang, and as ’tis natural to believe every
Body admires what we do, he presently imagin’d
Count D’Elmont had forgot Melliora
in the presence of Camilla, and that it was
from the Consciousness of his own Weakness and
Inconstancy, that he spoke so feelingly: “I wonder
not my Lord,”
said he coldy, “that the Beauties of
Camilla shou’d inspire you with Sentiments,
which, perhaps, for many Reasons, you wou’d desire
to be free from, and I ought, in Prudence, to
have consider’d, that tho’ you are the most excellent
of your Kind, you are still a Man, and
have the Passions incident to Man, and not have
expos’d you to those Dangers the sight of Camilla
must necessarily involve you in:”
“I wish
to Heaven,”
answer’d the Count, easily guessing
what his Thoughts were, “no greater threatned
you, and that you cou’d think on Camilla
with the same indifference as I can, or she, of
me with more;”
then, in as brief a manner as he
cou’d, he gave him the Substance of what had
happen’d. Frankville, whose only Fault
was rashness, grew almost wild at the Recital of so F6r 75
so unexpected a Misfortune, he knew not for a
good while what to believe, loath he was to
suspect the Count, but loather to suspect
Camilla, yet flew into extremities of Rage
against both, by turns: The Count pityed, and
forgave all that the violence of his Passion made
him utter, but offer’d not to argue with him,
’till he found him capable of admitting his Reasons,
and then, that open Sincerity, that honest
noble Assurance which always accompany’d his
Sweetness, and made it difficult to doubt the
Truth of any thing he said, won the disorder’d
Lover to an entire Conviction; he now concludes
his Mistress false, repents the tenderness
he has had for her, and tho’ she still appears as
lovely to his Fancy as ever, she grows odious to
his Judgment, and resolves to use his utmost Efforts
to banish her Idea from his Heart.

In this Humour he took leave of the Count, it
growing late, and his last Nights Adventure,
taught him the danger of Nocturnal Walks, but
how he spent his time till Morning, those can
only guess, who have loved like him, and like
him, met so cruel a Disappointment.

The Count pass’d not the Night in much less
inquietude than Frankville, he griev’d the
powerful Influence of his own Attractions, and
had there not been a Melliora in the World,
he wou’d have wish’d himself Deform’d, rather
than have been the Cause of so much Misery,
as his Loveliness produc’d.

The F6v 76

The next Morning the Count design’d to
visit Frankville, to strengthen him in his
Resolution of abandoning all Thoughts of the
unconstant Camilla, but before he cou’d get
drest, the other came into his Chamber: “My
Lord,”
said he, as soon as they were alone, “my
perfidious Mistress, failing to make a Conquest
of your Heart, is still willing to preserve that
she had attain’d over mine, but all her Charms
and her Delusions are but vain, and to prove to
your Lordship that they are so, I have brought
the Letter I receiv’d from her, scarce an Hour
past, and the true Copy of my Answer to it.”

“‘To Monsieur Frankville. Tho’ nothing proves the value of our Presence,
so much as the Pangs our absence occasions, and
in my last I rashly wish’d you might be sensible of
mine, yet on examining my Heart, I presently recall’d
the hasty Prayer, and found I lov’d with that
extravagance of Tenderness, that I had rather you
return’d it too little than too much, and methinks
cou’d better bear to represent you to my Fancy, careless
and calm as common Lovers are, than think, I
saw you, Burning,—Bleeding,—Dying, like me, with
hopeless Wishes, and unavailing Expectations; but
Ah! I fear such Apprehensions are but too un-necessary
—You think not of me, and, if in those happy
days, when no cross Accident interveen’d to part
me from your Sight, my Fondness pleas’d, you now
find nothing in Camilla worth a troubled Thought F7r 77
Thought, nor breath one tender sigh in memory of
our Transports past.—If I wrong your Love, impute
it to Distraction, for Oh! ’tis sure I am not in
my Senses, nor know to form one regular Desire: I
act, and speak, and think, a thousand Incoherent
things, and tho’ I cannot forbear Writing to you, I
write in such a manner, so wild, so different from
what I wou’d, that I repent me of the Folly I am
guilty of, even while I am committing it; but to
make as good a Defence as I am able for these, perhaps,
unwelcome Lines, I must inform you that they
come not so much to let you know my Sentiments, as
to engage a Discovery of yours: Ciamara has
discharg’d one of her Servants from her Attendance,
who no longer courting her Favour, or regarding
her Frowns, I have prevail’d upon, not only to
bring this to you, but to convey an Answer back to
me, by the help of a String which I am to let down
to him from my Window, therefore, if you are but
as Kind, as he has promis’d to be Faithful, we may
often enjoy the Blessing of this distant Conversation;
Heaven only knows when we shall be permitted to enjoy
a nearer. Cittolini is this Evening return’d
from his Villa, and notingnothing but a Miracle can
save me from the necessity of making my Choice of
him, or a Monastery, either of which is worse than
Death, since it must leave me the Power to wish, but
take away the means, of being what I so oft have
swore to be
Eternally Yours, and,
Yours alone,
Camilla.’”
The F7v 78

The Count cou’d not forbear lifting up his
Eyes and Hands in token of Amazement, at the
unexampled Falshood this Woman appeared
guilty of, but perceiving Monsieur Frankville
was about to read the following Answer,
wou’d not Interrupt him, by asking any Questions
’till he had done.

“‘To Donna Camilla. If Vows are any constraint to an Inclination so
addicted to Liberty as Yours, I shall make no difficulty
to release you, of all you ever made to me! Yes
Madam, you are free to dispose both of your Heart
and Person wheresoever you think fit, nor do I desire
you shou’d give your self the pains of farther
Dissimulation. I pay too entire an Obedience to your
Will, then to continue in a Passion which is no longer
pleasing, nor will by an ill tim’d and unmannerly
Constancy disturb the serenity of your future Enjoyments
with any happier Man than
Frankville.’”

“You see, my Lord,” said he with a sigh, “that
I have put it out of her Power to Triumph over
my Weakness, for I confess my Heart still wears
her Chains, but e’er my Eyes or Tongue betray
to her the shameful Bondage, these Hands shou’d
tear them out; therefore I made no mention of
her Behaviour to you, nor of my sending any Letter F8r 79
Letter by you, not only because I knew not if
your Lordship wou’d think it proper, but lest
she shou’d imagine my Resentment proceeded
from Jealousy, and that I lov’d her still.—
No, she shall ne’er have Cause to guess the
truth of what I suffer.—Her real perfidy shall
be repaid with seeming Inconstancy and Scorn.--
Oh! how ’twill sting her Pride,—By Heaven,
I feel a gloomy kind of Pleasure in the Thought,
and will indulge it, even to the highest insults
of Revenge.”

“I Rather wish,” reply’d the Count, “you cou’d
in earnest be indifferent, than only feign to be
so, her unexampled Levity and Deceit, renders
her as unworthy of your Anger as your Love,
and there is too much Danger while you preserve
the one, that you will not be able to throw off
the other.”
“Oh! I pretend not to it,” cry’d
Frankville, interrupting him, she has
too deep a root within my Soul ever to be remov’d
—I boast no more than a concealment of
my Passion, and when I dress the horrors of a
bleeding, breaking Heart, in all the calm of
cold Tranquility; methinks, you shou’d applaud
the Noble Conquest”
: “Time,” said the Count,
after a little Pause, and a just Reflection how
little she deserves your Thoughts, will teach
you to obtain a Nobler; that of numbring your
Love, among things that were, but are no more,
and make you, with me, acknowledge that ’tis
as great an argument of Folly and meanness of
Spirit
to continue the same Esteem when the
Object ceases to deserve, which we profess’d before
the discovery of that unworthyness, as it wou’d F8v 80
wou’d be of Villany and Inconstancy of Mind, to
change, without an Efficient Cause: A great
deal of Discourse pass’d between them to the
same Effect, and it was in vain that Count
D’Elmont
endeavour’d to perswade him to a
real forgetfulness of the Charmer, tho’ he resolv’d
to seem as if he did so.

While they were disputing, one of D’Elmont’s
ServansServants gave him a Letter, which, he
told him, the Person who brought it, desir’d he
wou’d answer immediately; he no sooner broke
it open, and had cast his Eye over it, than he
cry’d out in a kind of Transport, “Oh, Frankville,
what has Fate been doing! You are
Happy.—Camilla is Innocent, and perhaps
the most deserving of her Sex; I only am
Guilty, who, by a fatal Mistake have wrong’d
her Virtue, and Tormented you; but Read,”

continu’d he, giving him the Letter, “Read, and
Satisfy your self.”

Monsieur Frankville was too much
astonish’d at these Words to be able to make
any reply, but immediately found the Interpretation
of them in these Lines.

“To G1r 81 To the dear cruel Destroyer of my
Quiet, the never too much Admir’d Count
D’Elmont
.
’Tis no longer the Mistress of your Friend, a
perjur’d and unjust Camilla, who languishes
and dyes by your Contempt, but one, whom all the
darts of Love had strove in vain to reach, ’till from
your Charms they gain’d a God-like Influence, and
un-erring Force! One, who tho’ a Widow, brings
you the Offering of a Virgin Heart.
As I was sitting in my Closet, watching the progress
of the lazy Hours, which flew not half so swift
as my Desires to bring on the appointed time in which
you promis’d to be with me in the Garden; my Woman
came running in, to acquaint me, that you were
in the House, and waited to speak with Camilla:
Surprize, and Jealousy at once Assaulted me, and I
sunk beneath the Apprehension that you might by
some Accident have seen her, and also loved her, to
ease my self of those tormenting Doubts I resolv’d
to appear before you, in her stead, and kept my
Vail over my Face, ’till I found that hers was unknown
to you:—You are not Ignorant what follow’d,
the Deceit pass’d upon you for Truth, but I was
sufficiently punish’d for it, by the severity of your
Usage: I was just going to discover who I was, when
the violence of my Love, my Grief, and my Dispair
threw me into that Swoon, in which, to compleat
your Cruelty, you left me; ’twou’d be endless to endeavour
to represent the Agonies of my Soul, when I
recovered, and heard you were gone, but all who G truly G1v 82
truly Love, as they fear much, so they hope much,
my Tortures at length abated, at least, permitted me
to take some intervals of Comfort, and I began to
flatter my self that the Passion you seem’d transported
with, for a nameless Mistress, was but a feint
to bring me back to him you thought I was oblig’d to
Love, and that there was a possibility, that my Person
and Fortune might not appear despicable to you,
when you shou’d know, I have no Tyes but those of
Inclination, which can be only yours while I am
Ciamara. P.S. If you find nothing in me worthy of your
Love, my Sufferings are such, as justly may deserve
your Pity; either relieve or put an end to them I
conjure you—Free me from the ling’ring Death
of Doubt, at once decree my Fate, for, like a God,
you rule my very Will, nor dare I, without your
Leave, throw off this wretched Being; Oh then,
permit me once more to behold you, to try, at least,
to warm you into KindessKindness with my Sighs, to melt you
with my Tears,—to sooth you into softness by a
thousand yet undiscover’d Fondnesses—and, if all
said, to dye before your Eyes. ”

Those who have experienc’d the force of
Love, need not to be inform’d what Joy, what
Transport swell’d the Heart of Monsieur Frankville,
at this unexpected Eclaircissment of his
dear Camilla’s Innocence; when every
thing concurs to make our Woes seem real, when
Hopes are dead, and even Desire is hush’d by the
loud Clamours of Dispair and Rage, then,—
then, to be recalled to Life, to Light, to Heaven, and G2r 83
and Love again, is such a torrent of o’re powering
Happiness,—Such a surcharge of Extacy,
as Sence can hardly bear.

What now wou’d Frankville not have
given that it had been in his Power to have recall’d
the last Letter he sent to Camilla?
his Soul severely reproach’d him for so easily
believing she cou’d be False; tho’ his Experience
of the sweetness of her Disposition, made him
not doubt of a Pardon from her, when she shou’d
come to know what had been the Reason of his
Jealousy; his impatience to see her, immediately
put it into his Head, that as Ciamara
had been the occasion of the mis-understanding
between them, Ciamara might likewise be
made the property to set all right again; to
this end, he entreated the Count to write her an
answer of Complyance, and a promise to come
to her the next Day, in which Visit, he wou’d,
in a Disguise attend him, and being once got into
the House, he thought it wou’d be no difficulty
to steal to Camilla’s Apartment.

But he found it not so easy a Task as he
imagin’d, to perswade Count D’Elmont to come
into this Design, his generous Heart, averse to
all Deceit, thought it base and unmanly to abuse
with Dissimulation the real tenderness this Lady
had for him, and tho’ press’d by the Brother of
Melliora, and conjur’d to it, even by the
Love he profess’d for her, it was with all the reluctance
in the World, that he, at last, consented,
and his Servant came several times into the
Room to remind him that the Person who brought G2 the G2v 84
the Letter, waited impatiently for an Answer,
before he cou’d bring himself into a Humour to
write in the manner Monsieur Frankville desir’d;
and tho’, scarce any Man ever had so
sparkling a Fancy, such a readiness of Thought,
or aptitude of Expression, when the dictates of
his Soul, were the Employment of his Tongue
or Pen, yet he now found himself at a loss for
Words, and he wasted more time in these few
Lines, than a Thousand times as many on any
other Subject wou’d have cost him.

“To the Beautiful and Obliging
Ciamara.
Madam,
If I did not sin against Truth when I assur’d you
that I had a Mistress to whom I was engag’d by
Inclination, I certainly did, when I appear’d guilty
of a harshness which was never in my Nature; the
Justice you do me in believing the Interest of my
Friend was the greatest motive for my seeming Unkindness,
I have not the Power sufficiently to acknowledge,
but, cou’d you look into my Soul, you wou’d
there, find the effects of your Inspiration, something
so tender, and so grateful as only favours, such as
you confer, cou’d merit or create.
I design to make my self happy in waiting on you to
Morrow-Night about Eleven, if you will order me
admittance at that Back-gate, which was the Place of G3r 85
of our first Appointment, ’till then, I am the lovely
Ciamara’s
Most Devoted Servant D’Elmont P.S. There are some Reasons why I think it
not safe to come alone, therefore beg you’ll permit
me to bring a Servant with me, on whose secrecy I
dare rely. ”

When the Count had sent away this little
Billet, Monsieur Frankville grew very gay on
the hopes of his Design succeeding; and laughing,
“my Lord” said he, “I question whether Melliora
wou’d forgive me, for engaging you in
this Affair; Ciamara is extreamly handsome,
has Wit, and where she attempts to Charm, has
doubtless, a thousand Artifices to obtain her
Wish;”
the Count was not in a temper to relish
his Raillery, he had a great deal of Compassion
for Ciamara, and thought himself inexcusable
for deceiving her, and all that Frankville
cou’d do to disipate the Gloom that reflection
spread about him, was but vain.

They spent the greatest part of this Day
together, as they had done the former; and
when the time came that Frankville thought
it proper to take Leave, it was with a much
more Chearful Heart, than he had the Night before;
but his Happiness was not yet secure, and
in a few Hours he found a considerable alteration
in his Condition.

G3 As G3v 86

As soon as it was dark enough for Camilla
to let down her String to the Fellow whom
she had order’d to wait for it, he receiv’d another
Letter fasten’d to it, and finding it was Directed
as the other, for Monsieur Frankville,
he immediately brought it to him.

It was with a mixture of Fear and Joy, that
the impatient Lover broke it open, but both
those Passions gave Place to an adequate Dispair,
when having un-seal’d it, he read these Lines.

“To Monsieur Frankville. I have been already so much deceiv’d, that I
ought not to boast of any skill in the Art of Divination,
yet, I fancy, ’tis in my Power to form a
juster Guess than I have done, what the Sentiments
of your Heart will be when you first open this—
Methinks, I see you put on a scornful Smile, resolving
to be still unmov’d, either at Upbraidings or
Complaints, for to do one of these, I am satisfied,
you imagine is the reason of my troubling you with a
Letter: But Sir, I am not altogether silly enough to
believe the tenderest Supplications the most humble of
my Sex cou’d make, has efficacy to restore Desire,
once Dead, to Life; or if it cou’d, I am not so
mean Spirited as to accept a return thus caus’d;
nor wou’d it be less impertinent to Reproach, to tell
you that you are Perjur’d—Base—Ungrateful,
is what you know already, unless your Memory is so Complaisant G4r 87
Complaisant as not to remind you of either Vows or
Obligations: But, to assure you, that I reflect on
this sudden Change of your Humour without being
fir’d with Rage, or stupify’d with Grief, is perhaps,
what you least expect.—Yet, strange as it may
seem, it is most certain, that she, whom you have
found the Softest, Fondest, Tenderest of her Kind,
is in a moment grown the most Indifferent, for in
spight of your Inconstancy, I never shall deny that I
have Lov’d you,—Lov’d you, even to Dotage, my
Passion took birth long before I knew you had a
thought of feigning one for me, which frees me from
that Imputation Women too frequently deserve, of
loving for no other reason than because they are
beloved, for if you ne’er had seem’d to love, I
shou’d have continu’d to do so in Reality. I found
a thousand Charms in your Person and Conversation,
and believ’d your Soul no less transcending all others
in excellent Qualities, than I still confess your Form
to be in Beauty; I drest you up in vain imagination,
adorn’d with all the Ornaments of Truth, Honour,
good Nature, Generosity, and every Grace that
raise mortal Perfection to the highest pitch, and almost
reach Divinity,—but you have taken care to
prove your self, meer Man, to like, dislike, and
wish you know not what, nor why! If I never had
all Merits, how came you to think me worthy the
pains you have taken to engage me? and if I had,
how am I so suddenly depriv’d of them?—No, I
am still the same, and the only reason I appear not
so to you, is, that you behold me now, no more, with
Lover’s Eyes; the few Charms, I am Mistress of,
look’d lovely at a distance, but lose their Lustre, when
approach’d too near; your Fancy threw a glittering
Burnish o’re me, which free Possession has worn off, G4 and G4v 88
and now, the Woman only stands expos’d to View,
and I confess I justly suffer for the guilty Folly of
believing that, in your Sex, Ardors cou’d survive Enjoyment,
or if they cou’d, that such a Miracle was
reserv’d for me; but thank Heaven my Punishment
is past, the Pangs, the tortures of my bleeding
Heart, in tearing your Idea thence, already are no
more! The fiery Tryal is over, and I am now arriv’d
at the Elizium of perfect Peace, entirely unmolested
by any warring Passion; the Fears, the
Hopes, the Jealousies, and all the endless Train of
Cares which waited on my hours of Love and fond
Delusion, serve but to endear re-gain’d Tranquility;
and I can cooly Scorn, not hate your Falshood; and
tho’ it is a Maxim very much in use among the Women
of my Country, that, not to Revenge, were
to deserve Ill-usage
, yet I am so far from having a
wish that way, that I shall always esteem your Virtues,
and while I pardon, pity your Infirmities;
shall praise your flowing Wit, without an Indignant
remembrance how oft it has been employ’d for my
undoing; shall acknowledge the brightness of your
Eyes and not in secret Curse the borrow’d softness
of their Glances, shall think on all your past Endearments,
your Sighs, your Vows, your melting
Kisses, and the warm Fury of your fierce Embraces,
but as a pleasing Dream, while Reason slept, and
wish not to renew at such a Price.
I desire no Answer to this, nor to be
thought of more, go on in the same Course you have
began, Change ’till you are tir’d with Roving, still
let your Eyes Inchant, your Tongue Delude, and Oaths G5r 89
Oaths Betray, and all who look, who listen, and
believe, be ruin’d and forsaken like
Camilla.”

The calm and resolute Resentment which appear’d
in the stile of this Letter, gave Frankville
very just grounds to fear, it wou’d be no
small difficulty to obtain a Pardon for what he
had so rashly written; but when he reflected on
the seeming Reasons, which mov’d him to it, and
that he shou’d have an opportunity to let her
know them, he was not altogether Inconsolable,
he pass’d the Night however in a world of Anxiety,
and as soon as Morning came, hurried away,
to communicate to the Count this fresh occasion
of his Trouble.

It was now D’Elmont’s turn to Railly, and
he laugh’d as much at those Fears, which he immagin’d
Causeless, as the other had done, at the
assignation he had perswaded him to make with
Ciamara, but, tho’ as most of his Sex are, he
was pretty much of the Count’s Opinion, yet,
the re-instating himself in Camilla’s esteem,
was a Matter of too great Importance to him,
to suffer him to take one Moment’s ease ’till he
was perfectly assur’d of it.

At last, the wish’d for Hour arriv’d, and
he, disguis’d so as it was impossible for him to be
known, attended the Count to that dear Wicket,
which had so often given him entrance to Camilla;
they waited not long for Admittance,
Brione was ready there to receive them; the sight G5v 90
sight of her, inflam’d the Heart of Monsieur
Frankville
with all the Indignation immaginable,
for he knew her to be the Woman, who,
by her Treachery to Camilla, had gain’d the
Confidence of Ciamara, and involv’d him in
all the Miseries he had endur’d; but he contain’d
himself, ’till she taking the Count by the Hand,
in order to lead him to her Lady, bad him wait
her return, which she told him shou’d be immediately,
in an outer Room which she pointed
him to.

In the mean time she conducted the Count to
the Door of that magnificent Chamber, where
he had been receiv’d by the suppos’d Camilla,
and where he now beheld the real Ciamara,
drest, if possible, richer than she was the Night
before, but loose as wanton Fancy cou’d invent;
she was lying on the Couch when he enter’d, and
affecting to seem as if she was not presently
sensible of his being there, rose not to receive
him till he was very near her; they both kept
silence for some Moments, she, waiting till he
shou’d speak, and he, possibly, prevented by
the uncertainty after what manner he shou’d
form his Address, so as to keep an equal Medium
between two extreams, of being Cruel, or
too Kind, till at last the violence of her impatient
Expectation burst out in these Words,—
“Oh that this silence were the effect of Love!”
and then perceiving he made no Answer; “tell
me,”
continu’d she, “am I forgiven for thus intruding
on your Pity for a Grant, which Inclination
wou’d not have allow’d me?”
“Cease Madam,”
reply’d he, “to encrease that Confusion which a just G6r 91
just Sence of your Favours, and my own Ingratitude
has cast me in: How can you look with
Eyes so tender and so kind, on him who
brings you nothing in return? rather despise me,
hate me, drive me from your Sight, believe me
as I am, unworthy of your Love, nor squander
on a Bankrupt Wretch the noble Treasure:”
“Oh
Inhuman!”
interrupted she, “has then that Mistress
of whose Charms you boasted, engross’d all
your stock of Tenderness? and have you nothing
nothing to repay me for all this waste of Fondness,
—this lavish prodigality of Passion, which
forces me beyond my Sexes Pride, or my own
natural Modesty, to Sue, to Court, to kneel
and weep for Pity:”
“Pity,” resum’d the Count
“wou’d be a poor reward for Love like yours, and
yet alass!”
continu’d he Sighing, “’tis all I have
to give; I have already told you, I am tyed by
Vows, by Honour, Inclination, to another, who
tho’ far absent hence, I still preserve the dear
remembrance of! My Fate will soon recall me
back to her, and Paris; yours fixes you at Rome,
and since we are doom’d to be for ever separated,
it wou’d be base to Cheat you with a vain pretence,
and lull you with Hopes pleasing Dreams
a while, when you must quickly wake to added
Tortues, and redoubled Woe”
: “Heavens,” cry’d
she, with an Air full of Resentment, “are then
my Charms so mean, my Darts so weak, that
near, they cannot intercept those, shot at such
a distance? and are you that dull, cold Platonist,
which can prefer the visionary Pleasures of
an absent Mistress, to the warm Transports of
the substantial present:”
The Count was pretty
much surpriz’d at these Words, coming from the Mouth G6v 92
Mouth of a Woman of Honour, and began now
to perceive what her Aim was, but willing to be
more confirm’d, “Madam,” said he, “I dare not
hope your Virtue wou’d permit.”
“—Is this a
time”
(Interrupted she, looking on him with
Eyes which sparkled with wild Desires, and left
no want of further Explanation of her meaning)
“Is this an Hour to preach of Virtue?—Married,
—Betroth’d,—Engag’d by Love or Law, what
hinders but this Moment you may be mine, this
Moment, well improv’d, might give us Joys to
baffle a whole Age of Woe; make us, at once,
forget our Troubles past, and by its sweet remembrance,
scorn those to come;”
in speaking
these Words, she sunk supinely on D’Elmont’s
Breast; but tho’ he was not so ill-natur’d,
and unmannerly as to repel her, this sort
of Treatment made him lose all the Esteem,
and great part of the Pity he had conceiv’d for
her.

The Woes of Love are only worthy Commiseration,
according to their Causes; and tho’
all those kinds of Desire, which the difference
of Sex creates, bear in general, the name of
Love, yet they are as vastly wide as Heaven
and Hell; that Passion which aims chiefly at
Enjoyment, in Enjoyment ends, the fleeting
Pleasure is no more remembred, but all the
stings of Guilt and Shame remain; but that,
where the interiour Beauties are consulted, and
Souls are Devotees, is truly Noble, Love, there
is a Divinity indeed, because he is immortal and
unchangeable, and if our earthy part partake
the Bliss, and craving Nature is in all obey’d; Possession G7r 93
Possession thus desired, and thus Obtain’d, is
far from satiating, Reason is not here debas’d to
Sense, but Sense elevates itself to Reason, the
different Powers unite, and become pure alike.

It was plain that the Passion with which Ciamara
was animated, sprung not from this
last Source; she had seen the Charming Count,
was taken with his Beauty, and wish’d no farther
than to possess his lovely Person, his Mind
was the least of her Thoughts, for had she the
least Ambition to reign there, she wou’d not
have so meanly sought to obtain the one, after
he had assured her, the other, far more noble
part of him was dispos’d of. The Grief he had
been in, that it was not in his power to return
her Passion, while he believ’d it meritorious,
was now chang’d to the utmost Contempt, and
her Quality, and the State she liv’d in, did not
hinder him from regarding of her, in as indifferent
a manner, as he wou’d have done a common
Courtizan.

Lost to all Sense of Honour, Pride, or
Shame, and wild to gratify her furious Wishes,
she spoke, without reserve, all they suggested
to her, and lying on his Breast, beheld, without
concern, her Robes fly open, and all the Beauties
of her own expos’d, and naked to his View:
Mad at his Insensiblity, at last she grew more
bold, she kiss’d his Eyes,—his Lips, a thousand
times, then press’d him in her Arms with
strenuous Embraces,—and snatching his Hand
and putting it to her Heart, which fiercely boundeded G7v 94
at his Touch, bid him be witness of his mighty
Influence there.

Tho’ it was impossible for any Soul to be capable
of a greater, or more constant Passion
than his felt for Melliora, tho’ no Man that
ever liv’d, was less addicted to loose Desires,—
in fine, tho’ he realy was, as Frankville
had told him, the most excellent of his Kind,
yet, he was still a Man! and, ’tis not to be
thought strange, if to the force of such united
Temptations, Nature and Modesty a little yielded;
warm’d with her fires, and, perhaps, more
mov’d by Curiosity, her Behaviour having extinguish’d
all his respect, he gave his Hands and
Eyes a full Enjoyment of all those Charms,
which had they been answer’d by a Mind worthy
of them, might justly have inspir’d the
highest Raptures, while she, unshock’d, and unresisting,
suffer’d all he did, and urg’d him with
all the Arts she was Mistress of, to more, and it
is not altogether improbable, that he might not
entirely have forgot himself, if a sudden Interruption
had not restor’d his Reason to the consideration
of the Business which had brought
him here.

Monsieur Frankville had all this
time been employ’d in a far different manner of
Entertainment; Brione came to him, according
to her promise, assoon as she had introduc’d
the Count to Ciamara, and having been commanded
by that Lady to discourse with the supposed
Servant, and get what she cou’d out of
him, of the Count’s Affairs, she sat down and began G8r 95
began to talk to him with a great deal of Freedom;
but he, who was too impatient to lose
much time, told her he had a Secret to discover,
if the place they were in was private enough to
prevent his being over-heard, and she assuring
him that it was, he immediately discover’d who
he was, and clap’d a Pistol to her Breast, swearing
that Moment shou’d be the last of her Life,
if she made the least Noise, or attempted to intercept
his passage to Camilla: The terror
she was in, made her fall on her knees, and conjuring
him to spare her Life, beg’d a thousand
Pardons for her Infidelity, which she told him
was not occasion’d by any particular Malice to
him; but not being willing to leave Rome herself,
the fear of being expos’d to the revenge of
Ciamara and Cittolini, when they shou’d
find out that she she had been the Instrument of
Camilla’s Escape, prevail’d upon her timerous
Soul to that Discovery, which was the only
means to prevent what she so much dreaded:
Frankville contented himself with venting
his Resentment in two or three hearty Curses,
and taking her roughly by the Arm, bid her go
with him to Camilla’s Apartment, and dicover
before her what she knew of Ciamara’s
Entertaining Count D’Elmont in her Name,
which she trembling promis’d to obey, and they
both went up a pair of back Stairs which led a
private way to Camilla’s Chamber; when
they enter’d, she was sitting in her night Dress
on the Bed-side, and the unexpected sight of
Brione, who, till now, had never ventured to
appear before her, since her Infidelity, and a
Man with her whom she thought a Stranger fill’d G8v 96
fill’d her with such a surprize, that it depriv’d
her of her Speech, and gave Frankville
time to throw off his Disguise, and catch her in
his Arms with all the Transports of unfeign’d
Affection, before she cou’d enough recover herself
to make any resistance, but when she did,
it was with all the Violence imaginable, and indeavouring
to tear herself away; “Villain,” said
she, “comest thou again to triumph o’re my Weakness,
—again to Cheat me into Fond Belief?”

There needed no more to make this obsequious
Lover relinquish his Hold, and falling at her
Feet, was beginning to speak something in his
Vindication, when she, quite lost in Rage, prevented
him, by renewing her Reproaches in this
manner; “have you not abandon’d me to
Ruin,—to Death,—to Infamy,—to all
the stings of self-accusing Conscience and Remorse?
and come you now, by your detested
Presence, to alarm Remembrance, and newpoint
my Tortures?—That Woman’s Treachery,”

continu’d she, looking on Brione, “I freely
Pardon, since by that little Absence it occasion’d,
I have discovered the wavering disposition of
your Soul, and learn’d to scorn what is below
my Anger.”
“Here me but speak,” cry’d Frankville;
“or if you doubt my Truth, as I confess
you have almighty Cause, let her inform you,
what seeming Reasons, when Provocations urg’d
my hasty Rage to write that fatal,—that accursed
Letter.”
“I will hear nothing,” reply’d
Camilla, “neither from you nor her,—I see
the base Design, and scorn to joyn in the Deceit,
—You have had no Cause,—not even the H1r 97
the least Pretence for your Incontinency but
one, which, tho’ you are guilty of, you all Disown,
and that is, being Lov’d too well.—I Lavish’d
all the fondness of my Soul, and you unable
to reward, Despiz’d it:—But think not
that the rage, you now behold me in, proceeds
from my Dispair—No, your Inconstancy is the
Fault of Nature, a Vice which all your Sex are
prone to, and ’tis we, the fond believers only are to
blame, that I forgave, my Letter told you that
I did—But thus to Come—Thus Insolent in
Imagination, to dare to Hope I were that mean
soul’d Wretch, whose easy Tameness, and whose
doating Love, with Joy would welcome your return,
Clasp you again in my deluded Arms, and
swear you were as dear as Ever, is such an afront
to my Understanding, as merits the whole Fury
of Revenge;”
as she spoke these words, she
turned Disdainfully from him with a Resolution
to leave the Room, but she could not make such
hast to go away as the dispairing, the distracted
Frankville did to prevent her, and catching
hold of her Garments, stay Madam,” said He
wildly, “either permit me to clear my self of
this barbarous Accusation, or, if you are resolv’d,
Unhearing, to Condemn me, behold me, satiate
all your Rage can wish, for by Heaven,”
continued
he, holding the Pistol to his own Breast,
as he had done a little before to Brione’s, “by
all the Joys I have Possest, by all the Hell I now
Endure, this Moment I’ll be receiv’d your Lover, or
expire your Martyr.”
These words pronounc’d so
passionately, and the action that Acompany’d them
made a visible alteration in Camilla’s Countenance,
but it lasted not long, and Resuming H her H1v 98
her fierceness; “your Death,” cry’d she, “this way
would give me little Satisfaction, the World
would judge more Nobly of my Resentment, if by
my Hand you fell—Yet,”
continu’d she, snatching
the Pistol from him, and throwing it out of
the Window, which happen’d to be open, “I will
not—cannot be the Executioner.—No, Live!
and let thy Punishment be, in Reality to endure
what thou well Dissemblest, the Pangs, the racking
Pangs of hopeless, endless Love!—May’st
thou indeed Love Me, as thou a thousand Times
hast falsely sworn,—for ever Love, and I, for
ever Hate!”
In this last Sentence, she flew like
Lightning to her Closet, and shut her self in,
leaving the amaz’d Lover still on his Knees,
stupify’d with Grief and Wonder, all this while
Brione had been casting about in her Mind,
how to make the best use of this Adventure,
with Ciamara, and encourag’d by
Frankville’s Confusion, made but one Step
to the Chamber Door, and running out into the
Gallery, and down Stairs, cry’d “Murder,—Help,
a Rape—Help, or Donna Camilla will be
carry’d away.”
—She had no occasion to call often,
for the Pistol which Camilla threw out of the
Window chanc’d to go off in the fall, and the
report it made, had alarm’d some of the Servants
who were in an out House adjoyning to the Garden,
and imagining there were Theives, were gathering
to search, some arm’d with Staffs, some
with Iron Bars, or any thing they could get in the
Hurry they were in, as they were running confusedly
about, they met Monsieur Frankville
pursuing Brione, with a design to stop her Mouth H2r 99
Mouth, either by TheatningsThreatenings or Bribes, but she
was too nimble for him, and knowing the ways
of the House much better than he did, went directly
to the Room where Ciamara was,
Carressing the Count in the manner already
mention’d: “Oh Madam,” said she, “you are impos’d
on, the Count has deceiv’d your Expectations,
and brought Monsieur Frankville in
Disguise to rob you of Camilla.”
These words
made them both, tho’ with very different Sentiments,
start from the posture they were in, and
Ciamara changing her Air of Tenderness for
one all Fury, “Monster!” cry’d she to D’Elmont,
“have you then betray’d me?” “This is no time,”
reply’d he, hearing a great Bustle, and Frankville’s
Voice pretty loud without, “for me to
answer you, my Honour calls me to my Friend’s
assistance;”
and drawing his Sword, run as the
Noise directed him to the Place where Frankville
was defending himself against a little
Army of Ciamara’s Servants, she was not
much behind him, and Enrag’d to the highest
degree, cry’d out, “kill, kill them both!” but that
was not a Task for a much greater Number
of such as them to Accomplish, and tho’ their
Weapons might easily have beat down, or broke
the Gentlemens Sword; yet their Fears kept
from coming too near, and Ciamara had the
Vexation to see them both Retreat with Safety;
and her self Disappointed as well in her Revenge,
as in her Love.

Nothing cou’d be more surpriz’d, than Count
D’Elmont
was, when he got Home, and heard
from Frankville all that had pass’d between H2 him H2v 100
him and Camilla, nor was his Trouble less,
that he had it not in his Power to give him any
Advice in any Exigence so uncommon: He did,
all he cou’d to comfort and divert his Sorrows,
but in vain, the Wounds of bleeding Love admit
no Ease, but from the Hand which gave them;
and he, who was naturally rash and fiery, now
grew to that height of Desparation and violence
of Temper, that the Count fear’d some fatal
Catastrophe, and wou’d not suffer him to stir from
him that Night, nor the next Day, till he had
oblig’d him to make a Vow, and bind it with
the most solemn Imprecations, not to offer any
thing against his Life.

But, tho’ plung’d into the lowest depth of
Misery, and Lost, to all Human propability, in
an inextricable Labyrinth of Woe, Fortune will
find, at last, some way to raise, and disentangle
those, whom she is pleas’d to make her Favorites,
and that Monsieur Frankville was
one, an unexpected Adventure made him know.

The third Day from that, in which he had
seen Camilla, as he was sitting in his Chamber,
in a melancholly Conversation with the
Count, who was then come to Visit him, his
Servant brought him a Letter, which he said
had been just left, by a Woman of an extraordinary
Appearance, and who the Moment she
had given it into his Hand, got from the
Door with so much speed, that she seem’d rather
to vanish than to walk. While H3r 101
While the Servant was speaking, Frankville
look’d on the Count with a kind of a
pleas’d Expectations in his Eyes, but then casting
them on the Direction of the Letter, “Alas!”
said he, “how vain was my Imagination, this is
not Camilla’s but a Hand, to which I am utterly
a Stranger;”
these words were clos’d with a
sigh, and he open’d it with a Negligence which
wou’d have been unpardonable, cou’d he have
guess’d at the Contents, but assoon as he saw the
Name of Violetta at the bottom, a flash of
Hope re-kindled in his Soul, and trembling with
Impatience he Read

“To Monsieur Frankville. I Think it cannot be call’d Treachery, if we betray
the Secrets of a Friend, only when Concealment
were an Injury, but however, I may be able to answer
this breach of Trust, I am about to make, to
my self, ’tis your Behaviour alone, which can absolve
me to Camilla and by your Fidelity she must
judge of mine.

Tho’ Daughter to the Man she hates, she finds
nothing in me Unworthy of her Love and Confidence,
and as I have been privy, ever since your mutual
Misfortunes, to the whole History of your Amour,
so I am now no Stranger to the Sentiments, your
last Conversation has inspir’d her with—She loves
you still, Monsieur—With an extremity of Passion H3 loves H3v 102
loves you.—But, tho’ she ceases to believe you unworthy
of it, her Indignation for your unjust Suspicion
of her will not be easily remov’d—She is resolv’d
to act the Heroine, tho’ to purchase that Character
it shou’d cost her Life: She is determin’d for
a Cloyster, and has declared her Intention, and a few
Days will take away all Possibility of ever being
yours; but I, who know the conflicts she endures,
wish it may be in your Power to prevent the Execution
of a Design which cannot, but be fatal to her?
My Father and Ciamara, I wish I cou’d not call
her Aunt, were last Night in private Conferrence,
but I over heard enough of their Discourse, to know
there has been some ungenerous Contrivance carry’d
on to make you, and Camilla appear guilty to each
other, and ’tis from that Knowledge I derive my
Hopes that you have Honour enough to make a right
Use of this Discovery, if you have any thing to
say to farther the Intercessions I am imploy’d in, to
serve you. Prepare a Letter, which I will either prevail
on her to read, or oblige her, in spite of the
Resolution she has made, to Hear: But take care,
that in the least, you hint not that you have receiv’d
one from me, for I shall perswade her that the
Industry of your Love has found means of conveying
it to me without my Knowledge: Bring it with you
this Evening to St. Peter’s, and assoon as Divine
Service is over, follow her who shall drop her Handkerchief
as she passes you, for that Mark you shall
distinguish her whom you yet know, but by the Name of
Violetta. P.S. One thing, and indeed not the least, which induc’d
me to write, I had almost forgot, which is, that your H4r 103
your Friend the Accomplish’d Count D’Elmont is as
much endangered by the Resentment of Ciamara,
as your self by that of my Father, bid him beware
how he receives any Letter, or Present from a Hand
unknown, lest he should Experience, what he has doubtless
heard of, our Italian Art of Poysoning by the
smell. ”

When Monsieur Frankville had given this
Letter to the Count to read, which he immediately
did, they both of them broke into the
highest Encomiums on this young Lady’s Generosity,
who contrary to the custom of her Sex,
which seldom forgives an affront of that kind,
made it her study to serve the Man who had
refus’d her, and make her Rival blest.

These Testimonies of a grateful Acknowledgement
being over, Frankville told the
Count he believ’d the most, and indeed the only
effectual Means to extinguish Camilla’s
Resentment wou’d be entirely, to remove the
Cause, which cou’d be done no other way, than
by giving her a full Account of Ciamara’s
behaviour, while she pass’d for her: D’Elmont
readily consented, and thought it not at all inconsistent
with his Honour to Expose that of a
Woman who had shewn so little Value for it
her self: And when he saw that Frankville
had finish’d his Letter, which was very long, for
Lovers cannot easily come to a Conclusion, he
offer’d to writ a Note to her, enclos’d in the
other, which shou’d serve as an Evidence of the
Truth of what he had alledged in his Vindication:
Frankville gladly embrac’d the kind H4 Pro- H4v 104
Proposal, and the other immediately made it
good in these words.

“To Donna Camilla.
Madam,
If the Severity of your Justice requires a Victim,
I only am Guilty, who being Impos’d upon my
self, endeavour’d, for I cannot say I cou’d Accomplish
it, to involve the Unfortunate Frankville
in the same fatal Error, and at last, prevail’d
on him to Write, what he cou’d not be brought, by
all my Arguments to Think.
Let the Cause which led me to take this Freedom,
excuse the Presumption of it, which from
one so much a Stranger, wou’d be else unpardonable:
But when we are conscious of a Crime, the
first reparation we can make to Innocence, is, to acknowledge
we have Offended; and, if the Confession
of my Faults, may purchase an Absolution for my
Friend, I shall account it the noblest Work of Superogation.
Be assur’d, that as inexorable as you are, your
utmost Rigour wou’d find it’s Satisfaction, if you
cou’d be sensible of what I suffer in a sad Repentance
for my Sin of injuring so Heavenly a Virtue, and,
perhaps, in time be mov’d by it to Pity and Forgive
The Unhappily deceiv’d D’Elmont.”
The H5r 105

The time in which they had done Writing,
immediately brought on that of Violetta’s
Appointment, and the Count wou’d needs accompany
Monsieur Frankville in this Assignation,
saying, he had an acknowledgement to
pay to that Lady, which he thought himself
oblig’d, in good Manners and Gratitude, to
take this Opportunity to do; and the other being
of the same Opinion, they went together to
St. Peter’s.

When Prayers were done, which ’tis probable,
One of these Gentlemen, if not Both,
might think too tedious, they stood up, and
looking round, impatiently expected when the
promis’d Signal shou’d be given; but among the
great Number of Ladies, which pass’d by them,
there were very few, who did not stop a little to
gaze upon these two Accomplish’d Chevaliers, and
they were several times Tantaliz’d with an imaginary
Violetta, before the real one appear’d.
But when the Crowd were almost dispers’d, and
they began to fear some Accident had prevented
her coming, the long expected Token was let
fall, and she who threw it, trip’d hastily away
to the farther end of the Collonade, which hapned
to be entirely void of Company: The Count
and his Companion, were not long behind her,
and Monsieur Frankville being the Person
chiefly Concern’d, address’d himself to her in
this manner: “With what Words Madam,” said
he, “can a Man so infinitely Oblig’d, and so desirous
to be Grateful as Frankville, sufficiently
make known his admiration of a Generosity
like yours? Such an unbounded Goodness, shames H5v 106
shames all Description! makes Language vile
since it affords no Phrase to suit your Worth, or
speak the mighty Sense my Soul has of it.”
“I
have no other Aim,”
reply’d she, “in what I have
done, than Justice; and ’tis only in the proof
of your sincerity to Camilla that I am to
be thank’d.”
Frankville was about to answer
with some assurances of his Faith, when the
Count stepping forward, prevented him: “My
Friend, Madam,”
said he bowing, “is most happy
in having it in his Power to obey a Command,
which is the utmost of his Wishes; but how must
I acquit my self of any part of that Return
which is due to you for that generous Care you
have been pleas’d to express for the preservation
of my Life?”
“There needs no more,” interrupted
she, with a perceivable alteration in her Voice,
“than to have seen Count D’Elmont to be interrested
in his Concerns”
—She paus’d a little after
speaking these Words, and then, as if she
thought she had said too much, turn’d hastily to
Frankville, “the Letter, Monsieur,” continu’d
she, “the Letter,—’tis not impossible but we
may be observ’d,—I tremble with the apprehension
of a Discovery”
: Frankville immediately
deliver’d it to her, but saw so much Disorder
in her Gesture, that it very much surpriz’d
him: She trembled indeed, but whether occasioned
by any danger she perceiv’d of being
taken notice of, or some other secret Agitation
she felt within, was then unknown to any but
herself, but whatever it was, it transported her
so far, as to make her quit the Place, without
being able to take any other Leave than a hasty Curtsy H6r 107
Curtsy, and bidding Frankville meet her the
next Morning at Mattins.

Here was a new Cause of Disquiet to D’Elmont;
the Experience he had of the too fatal
influence of his dangerous Attractions, gave him
sufficient Reason to fear this young Lady was not
insensible of them, and that his Preference was
the sole Cause of her Disorder; however, he
said nothing of it to Frankville ’till the
other mentioning it to him, and repeating her
Words, they both joyn’d in the Opinion that
Love had been too busy in her Heart, and that it
was the feeling the Effects of it in herself, had inclined
her to so much Compassion for the Miseries
she saw it inflicted upon others. The Count
very well knew that when Desires of this Kind
are springing in the Soul, every Sight of the
beloved Object, encreases their growth, and
therefore, tho’ her generous manner of Proceeding
had created in him a very great Esteem, and
he wou’d have been pleas’d with her Conversation,
yet he ceas’d to wish a farther Acquaitance
with her, lest it should render her more
Unhappy, and forbore going the next Day to
Church with Frankville as else he wou’d
have done.

Violetta fail’d not to come as she had
promis’d, but instead of dropping her Handkerchief,
as she had done the Evening before, she
knelt as close to him as she cou’d, and pulling
him gently by the Sleeve, oblig’d him to regard
her, who else, not knowing her, wou’d not have
suspected she was so near, and slip’d a Note into his H6v 108
his Hand, bidding him softly not take any farther
notice of her: He obey’d, but ’tis reasonable
to believe, was too impatient to know what
the Contents were, to listen with much Attention
and Devotion to the remainder of the Ceremony:
as soon as he was releas’d, he got into a
Corner of the Cathedral, where, unobserv’d he
might satisfy a Curiosity which none who Love,
will condemn him for, any more than they will
for the thrilling Extacy which fill’d his Soul at
the Reading these Lines.

“To Monsieur Frankville. For fear I should not have an Opportunity of
speaking to you, in safety, I take this Method
to inform you, that I have been so Successful in my
Negotiation, as to make Camilla repent the Severity
of her Sentence, and wish for nothing more
than to recall it; you are now entirely justified in
her Opinion, by the Artifice which was made use
of to Deceive you, and she is, I believe, no less enrag’d
at Ciamara for depriving her of that
Letter you sent by the Count, than she was at you
for that unkind one, which came to her Hands. She
is now under less restraint, since Brione’s Report
of her Behaviour to you, and the everlasting Resentment
she vow’d, and I have prevail’d on her to
accompany me in a Visit I am to make, to-morrow in
the Evening, to Donna Clara Metteline, a
Nun, in the Monastery of St. Augustine, and if
you will meet us there, I believe it not impossible but she H7r 109
she may be brought to a Confession of all I have discover’d
to you of her Thoughts.
The Count’s Letter was of no small Service to
you, for tho’ without that Evidence she wou’d have
been convince’d of your Constancy, yet she wou’d
hardly have acknowledged she was so; and if he
will take the Pains to come with you to-morrow, I believe
his Company will be acceptable, if you think it
proper, you may let him know as much from
Violetta. P.S. I beg a thousand Pardons both of you and
the Count for the abruptness of my Departure last
Night; something happen’d to give me a Confusion
from which I cou’d not at that time recover, but
hope for the future to be more Mistress of my self. ”

Monsieur Frankville hasted to the
Count’s Lodgings, to communicate his good Fortune,
but found him in a Humour very unfit for
Congratulations; the Post had just brought him
a Letter from his Brother, the Chevalier Brillian,
the Contents whereof were these

“To Count D’Elmont.
My Lord,
’Tis with an inexpressible Grief that I obey the
Command you left me, for giving you from Time to Time an exact Account of Melliora’s
Affairs, since what I have now to acquaint you with, will H7v 110
will make you stand in Need of all your Moderation
to support it. But, not to keep your Expectation on
the Rack, loth as I am, I must inform you, that
Melliora is, by some unknown Ravisher stolen
from the Monastery—The manner of it, (as I have
since lean’d from those who were with her) was thus:
As she was walking in the Fields, behind the Cloyster
Gardens, accompanied by some young Lady’s, Pensioners
there as well as her self, four Men well
mounted, but Disguis’d and Muffled, rode up to them,
three of them jump’d off their Horses, and while
one seiz’d on the defenceless Prey; and bore her to
his Arms, who was not alighted, the other two caught
hold of her Companions, and prevented the Out-cryes
they would have made, ’till she was carry’d out of
sight, then Mounting again their Horses, immediately
lost the amaz’d Virgins all Hopes of recovering
her.
I Conjure my dearest Brother to believe there has
beenonbeen no thing omitted for the Discovery of this Villany,
but in spite of all the Pains and Care we have taken
in the search,. None of us have yet been happy
enough to hear the least Account of her: That my
next may bring you more welcome News, is the first
wish of
My Lord,
Your Lordship’s most
Zealously Affectionate
Brother, and Humble Servant
Brillian.
P.S. H8r 111 P.S. There are some people here, Malicious
enough to Report, that the Design of carrying away
Melliora, was contriv’d by you, and that it is
in Rome she only can be found. It wou’d be of great
Advantage to my Peace, if I cou’d be of the Number
of those who believe it, but I am too well acquainted
with your Principles to harbour such a
Thought. Once more, my dear Lord, for this Time,
Adieu. ”

After the Count had given this Letter to
Frankville to read, he told him, he was
resolv’d to leave Rome the next Day, that no
body had so great an Interest in her Recovery as
himself, that he would Trust the Search of her
to no other, and swore with the most dreadful
Imprecations he could make, never to rest, but
wander, Knight-Errand like, over the whole
World ’till he had found her.

Tho’ Monsieur Frankville was extreamly
concern’d at what had happen’d to his Sister, yet
he endeavour’d to disswade the Count from leaving
Rome till he knew the result of his own
Affair with Camilla; but all his Arguments
were for a long time ineffectual, ’till, at last,
showing him Violetta’s Letter, he prevail’d
on him to defer his Journey till they had first
seen Camilla, on Condition, that if she persisted
in her Rigour, he shou’d give over any
further fruitless Solicitations, and accompany
him to Paris: This Frankville promis’d to
perform, and they pass’d the time in very uneasy
and impatient Cogitations, ’till the next Day about H8v 112
about Five in the Evening they prepar’d for the
Apointment.

Count D’Elmont and his longing Companion
were the first at the Rendezvous, but in
a very little while they perceiv’d two Women
coming towards them: The Idea of Camilla
was always too much in Frankville’s
Thoughts, not to make him know her, by that
charming Air (which he so much ador’d her for)
tho’ she was Veil’d never so closely, and the Moment
he had sight of them, “Oh Heaven” (cry’d
he to D’Elmont) “yonder she comes, that,—
that my Lord, is the divine Camilla”
; as they
came pretty near she that indeed prov’d to be
Camilla, was turning on one Side, in order
to go to the Grate where she expected the Nun.
“Hold! hold Donna Camilla,” cry’d Violetta,
“I cannot suffer you shou’d pass by your
Friends with an Air so unconcern’d, if Monsieur
Frankville
has done any thing to merit your
Displeasure, my Lord the Count certainly deserves
your Notice, in the Pains he has taken to
undeceive you.”
“One so much a Stranger as
Count D’Elmont is,”
answer’d she, “may very
well excuse my Thanks for an explanation,
which had he been acquainted with me, he would
have spar’d the Cruel Camilla!”
said Frankville,
“is then the knowledge of my Innocence
unwelcome?—Am I become so hateful, or
are you so chang’d, that you wish me guily,
for a justification of your Rigour? If it be so,
I have no Remedy but Death, which tho’ you
depriv’d me of, the last time I saw you, I now
can find a Thousand means to compass;”
he pronounc’dnounc’d I1r 113
these words in so Tender, yet so resolv’d
an Accent, that Camilla cou’d not conceal
part of the Impression they made on her, and putting
her Handkerchief to her Eyes, which in spite
of all she had done to prevent it, overflow’d
with Tears; “talk not of Death,” said she, “I am
not Cruel to that degree, Live Frankville,
Live!—But Live, without Camilla!”
“Oh,
’tis impossible!”
Resum’d he, “the latter part of
your Command entirely destroys the first.—Life
without your Love, would be a Hell, which I
confess my Soul’s a Coward, but to think of.”

The Count and Violetta were Silent all
this Time, and perceiving they were in a fair
way of Reconciliation, thought the best they cou’d
do to forward it, was to leave ’em to themselves,
and walking a few Paces from them: “You suffer
my Lord,”
said she, “for your Generosity in accompanying
your Friend, since it condemns you
to the Conversation of a Person who has neither
Wit, nor Gaiety sufficient to make her self Diverting.”
“Those,” reply’d he who wou’d make
the Excellent Violetta a Subject of Diversion,
“ought never to be blest with the Company
of any, but such Women who merit not a serious
Regard: But you indeed, were your Soul
capable of Discending to the Follys of your
Sex, wou’d be extreamly at a Loss in Conversation
so little Qualify’d as mine, to please the
Vanities of the fair; and you stand in need of all
those more than Manly Virtues you possess, to
pardon a Chagreen, which even your Prefence
cannot Dissipate:”
“If it cou’d,” interrupted she, “I
assure your Lordship, I shou’d much more rejoyceI joyce I1v 114
in the happy Effects of it on you, than
Pride myself in the power of such an Influence--
And yet,”
continu’d she with a Sigh, “I am a very
Woman, and if free from the usual Affectations
and Vanities of my Sex, I am not so from
Faults, perhaps less worthy of forgiveness:”

The Count cou’d not presently resolve what
reply to make to these words, he was unwilling
she should believe he wanted Complaisance,
and affraid of saying any thing that might give
room for a Declaration of what he had no power
of answering her wish; but after the consideration
of a Moment or two, “Madam,” said he,
“tho’ I dare not Question your Sincerity in any
other Point, yet you must give me leave to
Disbelieve you in this, not only, because, in my
Opinion, there is nothing so contemptibly rediculous
as that self sufficiency, and vain desire of
pleasing, commonly known by the Name of Coquetry,
but also because she who escapes the Contagion
of this Error, will not without much
difficulty be led into any other”
: “Alas my Lord,”
cry’d Violetta, “how vastly wide of Truth
is this Assertion? That very foible, which is
most pernicious to our Sex, is chiefly by Coquetry
prevented: I need not tell you that ’tis
Love I mean, and as blameable as you think the
one, I believe the other wou’d find less favour
from a Person of your Lordship’s Judgment:”

“How Madam,” interrupted the Count pretty
warmly, “have I the Character of a Stoick?—Or
do you immagine that my Soul is compos’d of that
course Stuff, not to be capable of receiving, or
approving a Passion, which, all the Brave, and generous
think it their glory to Profess, and which can 12r 115
can only give refin’d delight, to Minds enobled.
—But I perceive,”
continu’d he growing
more cool, “I am not happy enough in your Esteem,
to be thought worthy the Influence of
that God.”
“Still you mistake my meaning” said
Violetta, “I doubt not of your Sensibility,
were there a possibility of finding a Woman
worthy of Inspiring you with soft Desires; and
if that shou’d ever happen, Love wou’d be so
far from being a weakness, that it wou’d serve
rather as an Embelishment to your other Graces;
it’s only when we stoop to Objects below our
Consideration, or vainly wing our wishes to
those above our Hopes that makes us appear
rediculous or contemptible; but either of these
is a Folly which,”
“which the incomparable
Violetta,”
interrupted D’Elmont, “never can
be guilty of:”
“You have a very good Opinion of
my Wit”
resum’d she, in a melancholly Tone,
“but I shou’d be much happier than I am, if I
were sure I cou’d secure my self from doing any
thing to forfeit it”
: “I believe,” reply’d the Count
“there are not many things you have less Reason
to apprehend than such a Change; and I am
confident were I to stay in Rome as many Ages, as
I am determin’d to do but Hours, I shou’d, at last
leave it, with the same Esteem and Admiration
of your singular Vertues, as I now shall do.”

Violetta cou’d not prevent the Disorder these
words put her into, from discovering it self in
the Accent of her Voice, when, “How! My Lord,”
said she, “are we then to lose you?—Lose you
in so short a Time:”
As the Count was about
to answer, Frankville and Camilla joyn’d
them, and looking on Frankville, “if any I2 Credit, I2v 116
Credit,”
said he, “may be given to the language
of the Eyes, I am certain yours speak Success,
and I may congratulate a Happiness you
lately cou’d not be persuaded to hope;”
“had I a
thousand Eyes,”
cry’d the transported Lover, “a
thousand Tongues; they all wou’d be but insignificant
to express the Joy!—the unbounded
Extacy, my Soul is full of,—but take the
mighty Meaning in one Word,—Camilla’s
mine—for ever mine—the Storm is past, and
all the sunny Heaven of Love returns to bless my
future Days with ceaseless Raptures: Now, my
Lord, I am ready to attend you in your Journy,
this Bright! this beautious Guardian Angel will
partake our Flight! and we have nothing now to
do, but to prepare with secrecy and speed fit
means for our Escape.”
As soon as Frankville
had left off speaking, Count D’Elmont addressing
himself to Camilla, made her abundance
of Retributions, for the happiness she gave
his Friend, which she receiving with a becoming
Chearfulness, and unaffected Gayety, “I am
afraid,”
said she, “your Lordship will think a Woman’s
Resolution is, henceforth, little worth regarding;
but,”
continu’d she, taking Violetta
by the Hand, “I see well, that this unfaithful
creature has betray’d me, and to punish her Infindelity,
will, by leaving her, put it out of her
power to deceive my Confidence again:”
Violetta
either did not hear, or was not in a
condition to return her Railery, nor the Praises
which the Count and Monsieur Frankville
concur’d in of her Generosity, but stood motionless
and lost in Thought, ’till Camilla seeing
it grow towards Night, told the Gentlemen, she thought I3r 117
thought it best to part, not only to avoid any
Suspicion at Home of their being out so long,
but also that the others might order every thing
proper for their Departure, which it was agreed
on between Frankville and her, should be
the next Night, to prevent the success of those
mischievous Designs she knew Ciamara and
Cittolini were forming against both the
Count and Monsieur Frankville.

Matters being thus adjusted to the entire
Satisfaction of the Lovers, and not in a much
less proportion to the Count, they all thought it
best to avoid making any more Appointments
till they met to part no more, which was to be
at the Wicket at dead of Night. When the
Count took leave of Violetta, this being the
last time he cou’d expect to see her, she was
hardly able to return his Civilities, and much
less to answer those which Frankville made
her, after the Count had turn’d from her to give
him way; both of them guess’d the Cause of her
Confusion, and D’Elmont felt a concern in
observing it; which nothing but that for Melliora
cou’d surpass.

The next Day found full Employment for
them all, but the Count as well as FranvilleFrankville
was too impatient to be gone, to neglect any
thing requisite for their Departure, there was
not the least particular wanting, long before
the time they were to wait at the Wicket for
Camilla’s coming forth: The Count’s Lodging
being the nearest, they stay’d there, watching
for the long’d for Hour; but a little before it I3 arriv’d, I3v 118
arriv’d, a Youth, who seem’d to be about 13 or 14 Years
of Age, desir’d to be admitted to the Count’s
presence, which being granted, pulling a Letter
out of his Pocket, and blushing as he approach’d
him: “I come, my Lord,” said he, “from Donna
Violetta
, the Contents of this will inform
you on what Business; but lest the Treachery of
others, shou’d render me suspected, permit me
to break it open, and prove it carries no Infection:”
The Count look’d earnestly on him while
he spoke, and was strangely taken with the uncommon
Beauty and Modesty which he observ’d
in him: “You need not give your self the trouble
of that Experiment,”
answer’d he, “Donna
Violetta’s
Name, and your own engaging
Aspect, are sufficient Credentials, if I were
liable to doubt;”
in saying this, he took the Letter,
and full of fears that some Accident had
happen’d to Camilla, which might retard
their Journey, hastily read over these Lines.

“To the Worthy Count D’Elmont.
My Lord,
If any Part of that Esteem you Profess’d to have
for me, be real, you will not deny the Request I
make you to accept this Youth, who is my Relation,
in Quality of a Page: He is inclin’d to Travel,
and of all Places, France is that which he is
most desirous of Going to: If a diligent Care, a
faithful Secresy, and an Unceasing watchfulness to
please, can render him acceptable to your Service, I
doubt not but he will, by those, Recomend himself, hereafter:after: I4r 119
In the mean Time beg you will receive him on
my word: And if that will be any Inducement to prejudice
you in his favour, I assure you, that tho’ he is
one degree nearer in Blood to my Father, he is by many
in Humour and Principles to.
Violetta. P.S. May Health, Safety, and Prosperity attend
you in your Journey, and all the Happiness you wish
for, crown the End. ”

The Young Fidelio, for so he was call’d,
cou’d not wish to be receiv’d with greater Demonstrations
of Kindness than those the Count
gave him: And perceiving that Violetta
had trusted him with the whole affair of their
leaving Rome in private, doubted not of his
Conduct, and consulted with him, who they
found knew the Place perfectly well, after what
manner they should Watch, with the least danger
of being discover’d, for Camilla’s opening
the Wicket. Frankville was for going
alone, lest if any of the Servants shou’d happen
to be about, one Person would be less liable to
suspicion than if a Company were seen; the
Count thought it most proper to go all together,
remembring Frankville of the danger he
had lately scap’d, and might again be brought
into; but Fidelio told them, he wou’d advise that
they two should remain conceal’d in the Portico,
of the Convent of St. Francis, while himself wou’d
lead her to them, and then afterwards they
might go altogether to that Place where the
Horses and Servants shou’d attend them; the I4 Page’s I4v 120
Page’s Counsel was approv’d by both of them,
and the time being arriv’d, what they had contriv’d
was immediately put in Execution.

Every thing happen’d according to their
Desire, Camilla got safely to the Arms of her
impatient Lover, and they all taking Horse,
rode with such Speed, as some of them wou’d
have been little able to bear, if any thing less
than Life and Love had been at Stake.

Their eager wishes, and the goodness of
their Horses brought them, before Day-break
many Miles from Rome; but tho’ they avoided
all high-Roads, and travell’d cross the Country
to prevent being met, or overtook by any that
might know them, yet their desire of seeing
themselves in a Place of Security was so great,
that they refus’d to stop to take any Refreshment
’till the next Day was almost spent; but
when they were come into the House werewhere they
were to lye that Night, not all the fatigue they
had endur’d, kept the Lovers from giving and
receiving all the Testimonies imaginable of mutual
Affection.

The sight of their Felicity added new Wings
to Count D’Elmont’s impatience to recover
Melliora, but when he consider’d the little
probability of that hope, he grew inconsolable,
and his new Page Fidelio, who lay on a Pallet
in the same Room with him, put all his
Wit, of which he had no small Stock, upon the
stretch to divert his Sorrows, he talk’d to him,
sung to him, told him a hundred pretty Stories, and I5r 121
and, in fine, made good the Character Violetta
had given him so well, that the Count look’d
on him as a Blessing sent from Heaven to lessen
his Misfortunes, and make his Woes sit easy.

They continu’d Travelling with the same Expedition
as when they first set out, for three or
four Days, but then, believing themselves secure
from any Pursuit, began to slacken their Pace,
and make the Journey more delightful to Camilla
and Fidelio, who, not being accustomed
to ride in that manner, wou’d never have
been able to support it, if the strength of their
Minds, had not by far, exceeded that of their
Bodies.

They had gone so much about, in seeking
the By-roads, that they made it three times as
long before they arriv’d at Avigno, a small Village
on the Borders of Italy, as any, that had
come the direct way wou’d have done; but the
Caution they had observ’d, was not altogether
needless, as they presently found.

A Gentleman who had been a particular Acquaintance
of Monsieur Frankville’s, overtook
them at this Place, and after expressing
some Amazment to find ’em no farther on their
Journey told Monsieur Frankville he believ’d
he cou’d inform him of some things which had
happen’d since his Departure, and cou’d not yet
have reach’d his Knowledge, which the other
desiring him to do, the Gentleman begun in
this manner.

It I5v 122

“It was no sooner Day,” said he, “than it was
nois’d over all the City, that Donna Camilla,
Count D’Elmont, and your self, had privately
left Rome; every Body spoke of it, according
to their Humour, but the Friends of Ciamara
and Cittolini were outragious, a Complaint
was immediately made to the Consistory, and all
imaginable Deligence us’d, to overtake, or stop
you, but you were so happy as to Escape, and
the Pursuers return’d without doing any thing
of what they went about: Tho’ Cittolini’s
disappointment to all appearance, was the
greatest, yet Ciamara bore it with the least
Patience, and having vainly rag’d, offer’d all
the Treasure she was Mistress of, and perhaps
spent the best part of it in fruitless means to bring
you back, at last she swallow’d Poyson, and in the
raving agonies of Death, confess’d, that it was
not the loss of Camilla, but Count D’Elmont
which was the Cause of her Dispair: Her Death
gave a fresh occasion of Grief to Cittolini, but
the Day in which she was Interr’d, brought him
yet a nearer, he had sent to his Villa for his Daughter
Violetta to assist at the Funeral, and the
Messenger return’d with the surprizing Account
of her not having been there as she pretended
she was, nothing was ever equal to the Rage,
the Grief, and the Amazement of this distracted
Father, when after the strictest Enquiry, and
Search that cou’d be made, she was no where to
be found or heard of, it threw him into a Fever,
of which he linger’d but a small Time, and dy’d
the same Day on which I left Rome.”

The I6r 123

The Gentleman who made this recital, was
entirely a Stranger to any of the Company but
Monsieur Frankville, and they were retired
into a private Room during the time of their
Conversation, which lasted not long; Frankville
was impatient to communicate to Camilla
and D’Elmont what he had heard, and
as soon as Civility wou’d permit, took leave of
the Gentleman.

The Count had too much Compassion in his
Nature not to be extreamly troubled when he
was told this melancholly Catastrophe; but
Camilla said little, the ill usage of Ciamara,
and the impudent, and interested Pretensions
of Cittolini to her, kept her from being
so much concern’d at their Misfortunes as she
wou’d have been at any other Persons, and the
generosity of her Temper, or some other Reason
which the Reader will not be ignorant of, hereafter,
from expressing any Satisfaction in the
Punishment they had met: But when the Count,
who most of all lamented Violetta, express’d
his Astonishment and Affliction, at her Elopement,
she joyn’d with him in the Praises of that
young Lady, with an eagerness which testify’d
she had no part in the Hatred she bore her
Father.

While they were discoursing Camilla
observ’d that Fidelio who was all this while
in the Room, grew very pale, and at last saw
him drop down on the Ground, quite Senseless,
she run to him, as did his Lord, and Monsieur
Frankville
, and after, by throwing Water in I6v 124
in his Face, they brought him to himself again,
he appear’d in such an Agony that they fear’d
his Fit wou’d return, and order’d him to be laid
on a Bed, and carefully attended.

After they had taken a short Repast, they
began to think of setting forward on their Journey,
designing to reach Piedmont that Night:
The Count went himself to the Chamber where
his Page was laid, and finding he was very ill,
told him he thought it best for him to remain in
that Place, that he wou’d order Physicians to
attend him, and that when he was fully recover’d,
he might follow them to Paris with Safety. Fidelio
was ready to faint a second time at the
hearing these Words, and with the most earnest
Conjurations accompany’d with Tears, begg’d
that he might not be left behind: “I can but dye,”
said he, “if I go with you, but I am sure, that
nothing if I stay, can save me:”
The Count
seeing him so pressing, sent for a Litter, but
there was none to be got, and in spite of all
Camilla or Frankville cou’d say to disswade
him, having his Lord’s Leave, he ventured
to attend him as he had done the former
part of the Journey.

They Travell’d at an easy rate, because of
Fidelio’s Indisposition, and it being later
than they imagin’d, Night came upon ’em before
they were aware of it, Usher’d in, by one of the
most dreadful Storms that ever was; the Rain,
the Hail, the Thunder, and the Lightning, was
so Violent that it oblig’d ’em to mend their
Pace to get into some Place of shelter, for there was I7r 125
was no House near: But to make their Misfortune
the greater, they miss’d the Road, and
rode considerably out of their way, before they
perceiv’d that they were wrong; the darkness of
the Night, which had no Illumination than now
and then, a horrid flash of Lightning, the wildness
of the Desart, which they had stray’d into,
and the little Hopes they had of being able to
get out of it, at least ’till Day, were sufficient
to have struck Terror in the boldest Heart: Camilla
stood in need of all her Love, to Protect
her from the Fears which were beginning to
Assault her; but poor Fidelio felt an inward
Horror, which, by this dreadful Scene encreas’d,
made him appear wholly desparate: “Wretch that I
am,”
cry’d he, “’tis for me the Tempest rises! I justly
have incurr’d the wrath of Heaven,—and you
who are Innocent, by my accurs’d Presence are
drawn to share a Punishment only due to Crimes
like Mine!”
In this manner he exclaim’d, wringing
his Hands in bitter Anguish, and rather
Exposing his lovely Face to all the fury of the
Storm, than any way endeavouring to Defend
it: His Lord, and the two generous Lovers, tho’
Harass’d almost to Death themselves, said all they
cou’d to comfort him, the Count and Monsieur
Frankville
consider’d his words rather
as the Effects of his Indisposition, and the fatigue
he endur’d, than remorse for any Crime
he cou’d have been guilty of, and the pity they
had for one so young and innocent, made the cruelty
of the Weather more insuportable to them.

At Last, after long wandring, and the Tempest
still encreasing, one of the Servants, who was bebeforefore,fore I7v 126
was happy enough to explore a Path, and
cry’d out to his Lord with a great deal of Joy,
of the Discovery he had made; they were all of
Opinion that it must lead to fome House, because
the Ground was beat down, as if with the Feet of
Passengers, and intirely free from Stubble,
Stones, and stumps of Trees, as the other part of
the Desart they come thro’ was Encumber’d with.

They had not rode very far before they
discern’d Lights, the Reader may imagine the
Joy this Sight produc’d, and that they were not
slow in making their approach Encourag’d by
such a wish’d for Signal of Success: When they
came pretty near, they saw by the Number of
Lights, which were dispers’d in several Rooms
distant from each other, that it was a very large
and magnificicentmagnificent House, and made no doubt,
but that it was the Country-Seat of some Person
of great Quality: The wet Condition they
they were in, made them almost asham’d of appearing,
and they agreed not to Discover who
they were, if they found they were unknown.

They had no sooner knock’d than the Gate
was immediately open’d by a Porter, who asking
their Business, the Count told him they
were Gentlemen, who had been so Unfortunate
to mistake the Road to Piedmont, and desir’d
the Owners leave for Refuge in his House, for
that Night; “that is a Curtesy,” said the Porter,
“which my Lord never refuses; and in Confidence
of his Assent, I may venture to desire you
to A-light, and bid you Welcome:”
They all accepted
the Invitation, and were conducted into a I8r 127
a stately Hall, where they waited not long before
the Marquess De Saguillier, having been
inform’d they appear’d like People of Condition,
came himself to confirm the Character his
Servant had given of his Hospitality. He was a
Man perfectly well Bred, and in spite of the Disadvantages
their Fatigue had subjected them to,
he saw something in the Countenance of these
Travellers, which commanded his Respect, and
engag’d him to receive them with a more than
ordinary Civility.

Almost the first thing the Count desir’d,
was that his Page might be taken care of; he
was presently carry’d to Bed, and Camilla
(to whom the Marquess made a thousand Apology’s
that being a Batchellor, he cou’d not Accommodate
her, as he cou’d the Gentlemen) was
show’d to a Chamber, where some of the Maid
Servants attended to put her on dry Cloaths.

They were splendidly Entertain’d that
Night, and when Morning came, and they were
preparing to take Leave, the Marquess, who
was strangely Charm’d with their Conversation,
Entreated them to stay two or three Days with
him to recover themselves of the Fatigue they had
suffer’d: The Count’s impatience to be at Paris,
to enquire after his Dear Melliora wou’d
never have permitted him to consent, if he had not
been oblig’d to it, by being told that Fidelio
was grown much worse, and not in a Condition
to Travel: Frankville and CamiliaCamilla
had said nothing, because they wou’d not Oppose
the Count’s Inclination, but were extreamlytreamly I8v 128
glad of an Opportunity to rest a little
longer, tho’ sorry for the Occasion.

The Marquess omitted nothing that might
make their Stay agreeable; but tho’ he had a
longing Inclination to know the Names, and
Quality of his Guests, he forbore to ask,
since he found they were not free to discover
themselves: The Conversation between
these accomplish’d Persons was extreamly Entertaining,
and Camilla, tho’ an Italian,
spoke French well enough to make no inconsiderable
part of it; the Themes of their Discourse
were various, but at last happning to
mention Love, the Marquess spoke of that Passion
so feelingly, and express’d himself so vigorously
when he attempted to excuse any of those Errors,
it leads its Votarys into, that it was easy
to Discover, he felt the Influence he endeavour’d
to represent.

Night came on again, Fidelio’s Distemper
encreas’d to that degree, that they all began
to despair of his Recovery, at least they cou’d
not hope it for a long Time, if at all, and
Count D’Elmont fretted beyond measure
at this unavoidable delay of the progress of
his Journey to that Place, where he thought there
was only a possibility of hearing of Melliora:
As he was in Bed, forming a thousand various
Idea’s, tho’ all tending to one Object, he heard the
Chamber Door unlock, and opening his Curtains
perceiv’d somebody come in; a Candle was
burning in the next Room, and gave Light enough
at the opening the Door, to show it was a Wo- K1r 129
a Woman, but what Sort of one he cou’d not
Discern, nor did he give himself the trouble
of asking who was there, believing it might be
one of the Servants come in to fetch something
she wanted, ’till coming pretty near the Bed,
she cry’d twice in a low Voice, “are you a Sleep,”
“no,” answered he, a little surpriz’d at this Disturbance,
“what wou’d you have?” “I come” said she,
“to talk to you, and I hope you are more a Chevalier
than to prefer a little Sleep, to the Conversation
of a Lady, tho’ she Visits you at Midnight:”
These words made D’Elmont believe he
had met with a second Ciamara, and lest he
shou’d find the same Trouble with this as he had
done with the former, he resolv’d to put a stop
to it at once, and with an Accent as peevish
as he cou’d turn his Voice to: “the Conversation
of Lady’s”
reply’d he, “is a Happiness I neither
Deserve, nor much Desire at any Time, especially
at this; therefore whoever you are, to oblige
me, you must leave me to the freedom of
my Thoughts, which at present afford me matter
of EtertainmentEntertainment more suitable to my Humour
than any thing I can find here!”
“Oh Heavens!”
Said the Lady, “is this the Courtly, the Accomplish’d
Count D’Elmont? So fam’d for Complaisance
and Sweetness? Can it be he, who thus
rudely Repels a Lady, when she comes to make
him a Present of her Heart?”
The Count was very
much amaz’d to find he was known in a Place
werewhere he thought himself wholly a Stranger, “I
Perceive,”
answer’d he, with more Ill-humour if
possible than before, “you are very well acquainted
with my Name, which I shall never deny (tho’
for some Reasons I conceal’d it) but not at all K with K1v 130
with my Character, or you wou’d know, I can
esteem the Love of a Woman, only when ’tis
Granted, and think it little worth acceptance,
Proffer’d.”
“Oh unkind!” said she, “but perhaps
the sight of me, may inspire you with Sentiments
less Cruel”
: With these words she went
hastily out of the Room to fetch the Candle she
had left within; and the Count was so much
surpriz’d and vex’d at the Immodesty and Imprudence
he believ’d her Guilty of, that he thought
he cou’d not Put a greater affront upon her, than
her Behaviour deserv’d, and turn’d himself with
his Face the other way, designing to deny her
the satisfaction even of a look; she return’d
immediately, and having set down the Candle
pretty near the Bed, came close to it her self,
and seeing how he was laid; “this is unkind indeed,”
said she, “’tis but one look I ask, and if
you think me unworthy of another, I will for
ever shun your Eyes”
: The Voice in which
these words were deliver’d, for those she spoke
before were in a feign’d Accent, made the Heartravish’d
D’Elmont turn to her indeed,
with much more hast, than he had done to avoid
her, those Dear, those well-remember’d sounds
infus’d an Extacy, which none but Melliora’s
cou’d create: he heard,—he saw,—’twas she, that
very she, whose Loss he had so much deplor’d,
and began almost to despair of ever being able
to Retrieve! forgetting all Decorum, he
flew out of the Bed, catch’d her in his Arms, and
almost stifl’d her with Kisses; which she returning
with pretty near an equal eagerness, “you
will not chide me from you now?”
She cry’d;
those who have ever Experienc’d any part of that Trans- K2r 131
Transport, D’Elmont now was in, will know
it was impossible for him to give her any other
Answer, than repeating his Caresses, words were
too poor to Express what ’twas he felt, nor had
he time to spare for Speech, employ’d in a far
dearer, softer Oratory, than all the force of Language
cou’d come up to!

But, when at last, to gaze upon her with more
freedom he releas’d her from that strict Embrace
he had held her in, and she blushing,
with down cast Eyes began to reflect on the Effects
of her unbounded passion, a sudden pang
seiz’d on his Soul, and trembling, and convuls’d
between extremity of Joy, and extremity of Anguish,
“I find thee Melliora,” cry’d he, “but Oh,
my Angel! where is it thou art found?—in
the House of the young Amorous Marquese D’
Saguillier
!”
“Cease, cease,” interupted she,
“your causeless Fears,—where ever I am found,
I am,—I can be only yours.—And if you will
return to Bed, I will Inform you, not only
what Accident brought me hither, but also every
particular of my Behaviour since I came.”

These words first put the Count in mind
of the Indecency his Transport had made him
Guilty of, in being seen in that manner, and was
going hastily to throw on his Night Gown, when
Melliora perceiving his Intent, and fearing
he wou’d take cold, told him she wou’d not stay
a Moment, unless he granted her Request of returning
to his Bed, which he, after having made
her sit down on the Side of it, at last consented
to: And contenting himself with taking one of K2 her K2v 132
her Hands, and pressing it between his, close
Prisoner in his Bosom, gave her Liberty to begin
in this Manner the Discovery she had Promis’d.

“After the sad Accident of Alovysa’s Death,”
said she, “at my return to the Monastry I found
a new Pensioner there; it was the young Madamoiselle
Charlotta D’Mezray
, who being
lately left an Orphan, was entrusted to the Care
of our Abbess being her near Relation, ’till her
time of Mourning was expir’d, and she shou’d
be married to this Marquess D’Sanguillier,
at whose House we are; they were Contracted by
their Parents in their Infancy, and nothing but
the sudden Death of her Mother had put a stop
to the Consummation of what then, they both
wish’d with equal Ardour: But alas! Heaven
which decreed the little Beauty I am Mistress of,
shou’d be pernicious to my own repose, ordain’d
it so, that this unfaithful Lover, seeing me one
Day at the Grate with Charlotta, shou’d
fancy he found something in Me more worthy of
creating a Passion, than he had in her, and began to
wish himself releas’d from his Engagement with
her that he might have Liberty to enter into an
other, which he imagin’d wou’d be more pleasing:
Neither she, nor I had the least suspicion of his
Sentiments, and, we having commenc’d a very
great Friendship, she wou’d for the most part
desire me to partake in the Visits he made her:
He still continu’d to make the same protestations
of Affection to her as ever; but if on any occasion,
she but turn’d her Head, or cast her Eyes
another way, he wou’d give me such looks, as,
tho’ I then but little regarded, I have since understoodderstood K3r 133
the meaning of, but too well; in this
manner he proceeded for some Weeks, ’till at
last he came one Day extreamly out of Humour,
and told Charlotta the occasion of it was,
that he had heard she gave Encouragement to
some other Lover, she, amaz’d, as well she
might, Avow’d her Innocence, and endeavour’d
to Undeceive him, but he who resolv’d not to
be convinc’d, at least not to seem as if he was
pertended to be more enrag’d at what he call’d
weak Excuses, said he was satisfy’d she was
more Guilty, even than he wou’d speak,—that
he knew not if it were consistent with his Honour,
ever to see her more.—And in short, behav’d
himself in so unaccountable a manner, that
there was no room to Doubt that he was either
the most Impos’d on, or most Base of Men: It wou’d
be endless for me to endeavour to represent poor
Charlotta’s afliction. So I shall only say, it was
answerable to the Tenderness she had for him,
which cou’d by nothing be exceeded, but by that,”

continu’d she Sighing, and looking Languishly on
him, “which, contrary to all the Resolutions I had
made brings me to seek the Arms of my Enchanting
D’Elmont, to rouze Remembrance of his former
Passion! to strengthen my Idea in his Heart! and
Influence him a new with Love and Softness!”

This kind Digression made the Count give
Truce to his Curiosity, that he might Indulge
the Raptures of his Love, and raising himself
in Bed, and pressing her slender fine proportioned
Body close to his, wou’d permit her no otherwise,
than in this Posture to continue her
Discourse.

K3 Se- K3v 134

“Several Days” resum’d Melliora, “were
past, and we heard nothing of the Marquess, all
which, as he has since told me, were spent in
fruitless Projections to steal me from the Monastry;
but at last, by the means of a Lay Sister,
he found means to convey a Letter to me;
the Contents of it, as near as I can remember
were These.

‘To the Divine Melliora. ’Tis not the falshood of Charlotta, but
the Charms of MeelioraMelliora have produc’d
this Change in my Behaviour, do not therefore, at
the reading this, affect a surprize at Effects, which
I am sure cannot be uncommon to such Excellence!
Nor accuse an Inconstancy, which I rather esteem a
Virtue than a Vice: To Change from you indeed
wou’d be the highest Sin, as well as Stupidity; but to
Change for you, is what all must, and ought to do,
who boast a Capacity of distinguishing. I Love you,
Oh Divinest Melliora, I burn, I languish for you
in unceasing Torments, and you wou’d find it impossible
for you to condemn the boldness of this Declaration,
if you cou’d be sensible of the Racks which
force me to it, and which must shortly End me, if
not happy enough to be receiv’d
Your Lover, D’Sangullier.’
’Tis K4r 135 ’Tis impossible for me to express the Grief,
and Vexation this Letter gave me, but I forbore
showing it to CharllottaCharlotta, knowing how much
it would encrease her Anguish, and resolv’d
when next I saw him, as I made no doubt but I
should quickly do, to use him in such a fashion,
as in spite of his Vanity, shou’d make him know
I was not to be won in such a manner, for I confess,
my dear D’Elmont, that his Timerity
gave no less a shock to my Pride, then his Infidelity
to her I really Lov’d did to my Friendship:
The next Day I was told a Gentleman enquir’d
for me, I presently imagin’d it was he, and
went to the Grate, with a Heart full of Indignation,
I was not deceiv’d in my Conjecture, it
was indeed the Marquess who appear’d on the
other side, but with so much Humility in his
Eyes, and awful fear, for what he saw in Mine,
as half disarm’d my Anger for what concern’d
my self, and had his Passion not proceeded from
his Inconstancy, I might have been drawn to
pity what was not in my power to Reward; but
his base Usage of a Woman so Deserving as
Charlotta made me Express my self in
Terms full of Disdain and Detestation, and with
out allowing him to Reply, or make any Excuses
pluck’d the Letter he had sent me out of my
Pocket, with a design to return it him, just at
that Moment when a Nun came hastily to call
me from the Grate: Some body had overheard
the beginning of what I said, and had told the
Abbess, who, tho’ she was not displeas’d at what
she heard of my Behaviour to him, yet she
thought it improper for me hold any Discourse
with a Man, who declar’d himself my Lover: K4 I K4v 136
I did not, however, let her know who the Person
was, fearing it might come to Charlotta’s
Ears, and encrease an Affliction, which
was already too violent: I was vext to miss the
Opportunity of giving back his Letter, but
kept it still about me, not in the least Questioning,
but that boldness which had encourag’d
him to make a discovery of his Desires, wou’d
again lead him to the Prosecution of them in the
same manner, but I was deceiv’d, his Passion
prompted him to take other, as he believ’d,
more effectual Measures: One Day, at least a
Fortnight after I had seen the Marquess, as I was
walking in the Garden with Charlotta, and
another young Pensioner, a Fellow who was imploy’d
in Taking away Rubbish, told us there
were some Statues carry’d by the Gate, which open’d
into the Fields, which were the greatest Master-pieces
of Art that had ever been seen: ‘They are
going,’
said he, ‘to plac’d in the Seiur Valier’s
Garden, if you step but out, you may get a
Sight of them:’
We, who little suspected any
Deceit, run without Consideration to satisfie
our Curiosity, but instead of the Statues we expected
to see, four Living Men disguis’d, muffl’d,
and well Mounted came Galloping up to us,
and, as it were surrounded us, before we had
Time to get back to the Gate we came out
at: Three of them alighting, seiz’d me, and
my Companions, and I who was the destin’d
Prey, was in a Moment thrown into the Arms
of him who was on Horseback, and who no
sooner receiv’d me, than as if we had been
mounted on a Pegasus, we seem’d rather to fly
than Ride; in vain I strugl’d, shriek’d, and cry’d K5r 137
cry’d to Heaven for help, my Prayers were lost
in Air, as quickly was my Speech, surprize,
and rage, and dread, o’rewhelm’d my sinking
Spirits, and unable to sustain the Rapidity of
such violent Emotions I fell into a Swoon, from
which I recover’d not, till I was at the Door of
some House, but where, I yet am ignorant; the
first thing I saw, when I open’d my Eyes, was
one of those Men who had been Assistant in
my carying away, and was now about to Lift
me from the Horse: I had not yet the power to
Speak, but when I had, I vented all the Passions
of my Soul in terms full of Distraction
and Dispair: By what means the People of the
House were gain’d to my Ravishers Interest, I
know not, but they took little Notice of
the Complaints I made, or my Implorations
for Succour: I had now, not the least shadow of
a Hope, that any thing but Death cou’d save me
from Dishonour, and having vainly Rag’d, I at
last sat down meditating by what means, I shou’d
Compass that only Relief from the worse Ruin
which seem’d to threaten me: While my Thoughts
were thus employ’d, he who appear’d the chief
of that insolent Company, making a Sign that
the rest shou’d withdraw, fell on his knees before
me, and plucking off his Vizard discover’d
to me the Face of the Marquess D’Saguillier.
Heavens! how did this Sight inflame
me? Mind as I am, by Nature, I that Moment
was all Fury!—’Till now I had not
the least Apprehension who he was, and believ’d
’twas rather my Fortune than my Person,
which had prompted some daring Wretch to take K5v 138
take this Method to obtain it, but now, my
Woes appear’d, if possible, with greater Horror,
and his Quality and Engagement with
CharloltaCharlotta made the Act seem yet more
Base. ‘I Blame you not,’ said he, ‘Oh Divinest
Melliora! The Presumption I am
guilty offof, is of so high a Nature as justly may
deserve your utmost Rigour!—I know, and
confess my Crime.—Nay, hate my self for
thus offending you.—But oh! ’Tis unavoidable.
—Be then, like Heaven, who when Injured
most, takes most delight to Pardon:’
‘Crimes
unrepented,’
answer’d I, ‘can have no plea for
Mercy, still to persist, and still to ask forgiveness,
is Mocking of the Power we seem to Implore and
but encreases Sin.----Release me from this Captivity,
which you have betray’d me into, Restore
me to the Monastry—And for the future, cease
to shock my Ears with Tales of violated Faith,
detested Passion! Then, I perhaps, may pardon
what is past.’
His reply to all this was very little
to the Purpose, only I perceiv’d he was so far
from complying with my Request, or repenting
what he had done, that he resolv’d to proceed
yet further, and of his Associates coming
in, to tell him that his Chariot, which it seems
he had order’d to meet him there, was ready,
he offer’d to take me by the Hand to lead me to
it, which I refusing, with an Air which testify’d
the Indignation of my Soul, ‘Madam,’
said he ‘you are not here less in my Power, than
you will be in a Place, where I can Accommodate
you in a manner more suitable to your Quality,
and the Adoration I have for you: If I
were capable of a base Design on you, what hinders but K6r 139
but I now might perpetrate it? But be assur’d
your Beauties are not of that kind, which inspire
Sentiments dishonourable; nor shall you
ever find any other Treatment from me, that what
might become the humblest of your Slaves; my
Love, fierce as it is, shall know it’s Limits, and
never dare to Breath an Accent less Chast than
your own Virgin Dreams, and Innocent as your
Desires.’
Tho’ the boldness he had been guilty of, and
still persisted in, made me give but little Credit
to the Latter part of his Speech, yet the Beginning
of it awak’d my Consideration to a reflection,
that I cou’d not indeed be any where
in a greater danger of the Violence I fear’d,
than where I was; but on the contrary it might
so happen that in leaving that Place I might
possibly meet some Persons who might know me,
or at least be carry’d somewhere whence I might
with more likelyhood, make my Escape: In this
last Hope I went into the Chariot, and indeed, to
do him justice, neither in our Journey, nor since
I came into his House, has he ever violated the
Promise he made me; nothing can be with more
Humility than his Addresses to me, never Visiting
me without first having obtain’d my leave!
But to return to the particulars of my Story, I
had not been here many Days, before a Servant-
Maid of the House, being in my Chamber doing
something about me, ask’d me if it were
possible I cou’d forget her; the Question surpriz’d
me, but I was much more so, when looking
earnestly in her Face, which I had never
done before, I perfectly distinguish’d the Features
of Charlotta: ‘Oh Heavens!’ cry’d I, Char- K6v 140
‘Charlotta!’ ‘The very same,’ said she, ‘but
I dare not stay now to unfold the Mistery, lest
any of the Family take Notice, at Night when
I undress you, you shall know the History of
my Transformation.’
Never any Day seem’d so long to me as
that, and I feign’d my self indispos’d, and rung
my Bell for some body to come up, several
Hours before time I us’d to go to Bed, Charlotta
guessing my impatience, took care to
be in the way, and as soon as she was with me,
not staying for my Requesting it of her, begun
the Information she had promis’d, in this manner.
‘You see,’ said she forcing her self to put on
a half smile, ‘your unhappy Rival follows to interrupt
the Triumph of your Conquest, but I
protest to you, that if I thought you esteem’d my
perjur’d Lover’s Heart an offering worthy your
Acceptance, I never wou’d have disturb’d your
happiness, and ’tis as much the Hopes of being
able to be Instrumental in serving you in your
Releasement, as the prevention of that Blessing
the injurious D’Saguillier aims at, which
has brought me here: Of all the Persons that
bewail’d you being carry’d away, I was the
only one who had any Guess at the Ravisher,
nor had I been so wise, but that the very Day
on which it happen’d, you drop’d a Letter, which
I took up, and knowing it the Marquess’s Hand,
made no scruple of Reading it. I had no opportunity
to upbraid you for the concealment of
his falshood, but the manner of your being seiz’d,
convinc’d me you were Innocent of favouring his K7r 141
his Passion, and his Vizard slipping a little on
one Side, as he took you in his Arms, discover’d
enough of that Face, I have so much Ador’d, for
me to know who it was, that had took this Method
to gain you: I will not’
continu’d she,
weeping, ‘trouble you with any Recital of what
I endur’d from the Knowledge of my Misfortune,
but you may judge it by my Love; however,
I bore up against the Oppressive weight,
and resolv’d to struggle with my Fate, even to
the Last, I made an Excuse for leaving the Monastry
the next Day, without giving any suspicion
of the Cause, or letting any body into the
Secret of the Marquess, and Disguis’d as you see
found means to be receiv’d by the House-keeper,
as a Servant, I came here in three Days after
you, and have had the opportunity of being
confirm’d by your Behaviour, of what I before
believ’d, that you were far from being an Assistant
in his Design.’
Here the sorrowful Charlotta finish’d
her litle Account, and I testify’d the Joy I felt
in seeing her, by a thousand Embraces, and all
the Protestations of Eternal Friendship to her,
that I could make: All the times we had any
opportunity of Talking to each other, were
spent in forming Schemes for my Escape, but
none of them appear’d feasible; however the
very Contrivance was a kind of Pleasure to me,
for tho’ I began to banish all my Fears of the
Marquess’s offering any violence to my Virtue, yet
I found his Passion wou’d not permitt him to
suffer my Departure, and I was almost Distracted
when I had no Hopes of being in a Capacity of K7v 142
of hearing from you, or writing to you: In
this fashion my dearest D’Elmont have I liv’d,
sometimes flattering my self with vain Projects,
sometimes desponding of being ever free: But
last Night, ChralottaCharlotta coming up, according
to her Custom, told me in a kind of Rapture
that you, and my Brother were in the House,
she, it seems knew you at Paris while her Mother
was yet Living, and to make her entirely
easy as to the Marquess, I had now made her the
Confident of my Sentiments concerning you:
I need not tell you the Extacy this News gave
me, you are too well acquainted with my Heart,
not to be able to conceive it more justly than
Language can Express; but I connotcannot forbear Informing
you of one thing, of which you are ignorant,
tho’ had Prudence any share in this Love-
directed Soul, I shou’d conceal it: My impatience
to Behold you, was almost equal to my
Joy to think you were so near, and transported
with my eager wishes, by Charlotta’s Assistance,
I last Night found the way into your
Chamber: I saw you, Oh D’Elmont! My
longing Eyes enjoy’d the satisfaction they so
much desir’d, but yours were clos’d, the Fatigue
of your Journey had laid you fast a Sleep, so
fast, that even Fancy was unactive, and no kind
Dream, alarm’d you with one Thought of Melliora!”

She cou’d not pronounce these last words
very Intelligibly, the greedy Count devour’d
’em as she spoke, and tho’ Kisses had made many
a Parenthesis in her Discourse, yet he restrain’d
himself as much as possible for the Pleasure of hearing K8r 143
hearing her; but perceiving she was come to a
Period, he gave a loose to all the furious Transports
of his ungovern’d Passion: A while their
Lips were Cemented! rivetted together with
Kisses, such Kisses! as Collecting every Sence in
one, exhale the very Soul, and mingle Spirits!
Breathless with bliss, then wou’d they pause and
gaze, then joyn again, with Ardour still encreasing,
and Looks, and Sighs, and straining
Grasps were all the Eloquence that either cou’d
make use of: Fain wou’d he now have obtain’d
the aim of all his Wishes, strongly he press’d, and
faintly she repuls’d: Dissolv’d in Love, and melting
in his Arms, at last she found no words to
form Denials, while he, all fire, improv’d the
lucky Moment, a thousand Liberties he took.—A
thousand Joys he reap’d, and had infallibly been
possest of all, if Charlotta, who seeing it
broad Day, had not wonder’d at Melliora’s
stay, and come and knock’d at the Chamber Door,
which not being fastend, gave way to her Entrance,
but she made not such hast, but that
they had time enough to Disengage themselves
from that close Embrace they had held each other
in: “Heavens! Melliora,” cry’d the careful
Interrupter, “what mean you by this stay,
which may be so prejudicial to our Designs, the
Marquess is already stirring, and if he shou’d
come into this Room, or send to yours, what
might be the Consequence:”
“I come, I come,” said
Melliora alarm’d at what she heard, and
rising from the Bed-side: “Oh, you will not,” said
the Count in a Whisper, and tenderly pressing
her Hand, “you must not leave me thus!”
“A few Hours hence,” answer’d she aloud, “I hope to K8v 144
to have the Power to own my self all yours, nor
can the Scheme we have laid fail of the Effects
we wish, if no Discovery happens to Postpone
it:”
She was going with Charlotta out of
the Chamber, with these words, but remembering
her self, she turn’d hastily back, “let not my
Brother,”
Resum’d she, “know my Weakness, and
when you see me next, feign a surprize equal to
his own.”

It is not to be suppos’d that after she was
gone, D’Elmont, tho’ kept awake all Night,
cou’d suffer any Sleep to enter his Eyes, excess
of Joy, of all the Passions, hurries the Spirits
most, and keeps ’em longest busied: Anger
or Grief, rage violently at first, but quickly
flag, and sink at last into a Lethargy, but Pleasure
warms, exhillerates the Soul, and every
rapturous Thought infuses new Desires, new
Life, and added Vigour.

The Marquess De Saguillier was no less
happy in imagination than the Count, and it
was the force of that Passion which had rouz’d
him so early that Morning, and made him wait
impatiently for his Guests coming out of their
Chambers, for he wou’d not disturb thenthem: As
soon as they were all come into the Drawing-
Room, “I know not Messeiures,” said he, with a
Voice and Eyes wholly chang’d from those he
wore the Day before, “whether you have ever
Experienc’d the force of Love to that Degree
that I have, but I dare believe you have Generosity
enough to rejoyce in the good Fortune I
am going to be possess’d of; and when I shall in- L1r 145
inform you how I have long languish’d in a Passion,
perhaps, the most extravagant that ever
was, you will confess the Justice of that
God, who soon or late, seldom suffers his faithful
Votaries to miss their Reward:”
The Count
cou’d not force himself to a Reply to these
Words, but Frankville and Camilla who
were entirely Ignorant of the Cause of them,
heartily Congratulated him. “I am Confident,”
resum’d the Marquess, “that Dispair has no Existance
but in weak and timerous Minds, all
Women may be won by Force or Stratagem, and
tho’ I had, almost, invincible DissicnltiesDifficulties to
struggle with, Patience, Constancy, and a bold,
and artful Management has at length surmounted
them: Hopeless, by Distant Courtship to
obtain the Heart of my Adorable, I found means
to make my self Master of her Person, and
by making no other use of the power I had over
her, than humbly Sighing at her Feet, convinc’d
her my Designs were far from being Dishonourable;
and last Night, looking on me, with
more kindness than she had ever done before.
‘My Lord,’ said she, ‘your Usage of me has been
too Noble, not to vanquish what ever Sentiments
I may have been possest with to your
Prejudice, therefore since you have Company in
the House, who may be Witness of what I do,
I think I cannot chuse a fitter time, than this,
to bestow my self, before them, on him who
most Deserves me:’
I will not now,”
continu’d he,
“delay the Confirmation of my Happiness so
long, as to go about to describe the Extacy I felt,
for this so wish’d, and so unhop’d a Condescension,L on, L1v 146
but when, hereafter, you shall be told the
whole History of my Passion, you will be better
able to conceive it;”
the Marquess had scarce done
speaking, when his Chaplain came into the
Room, saying he believ’d it was the Hour his
Lordship order’d him to attend; “it is! it is,” cry’d
the transported Marquess. “Now my worthy
Guests you shall behold the lovely Author of
my Joys;”
which these words he left them, but
immediately return’d, leading the intended
Bride: Monsieur Frankville, tho’ he had not
seen his Sister in some Years, knew her at the
first Glimpse, and the Surprize of meeting her----
Meeting her in so unexpected a manner was so
great, that his Thoughts were quite confounded
with it, and he cou’d no otherwise Express it,
than by throwing his Eyes wildly sometimes on
her, sometimes on the Count, and sometimes on the
Marquess; the Count tho’ appris’d of this, felt a
Consternation for the Consequence little inferior
to his, and both being kept silent by their
different Agitations, and the Marquess, by the
sudden Change, which he perceiv’d in their
Countenances, Melliora had liberty to explain
her self in this manner. “I have kept my
word, my Lord,”
said she to the Marquess, “this
Day shall give me to him who best deserves me;
but who that is, my Brother and Count D’
Elmont
must determine, since Heaven has
restor’d them to me, all Power of disposing of
my self must cease; ’tis they must, henceforth,
rule the will of Melliora, and only their consent
can make me yours,”
all Endeavours wou’d be
vain to represent the Marquess’s confusion at this sudden L2r 147
sudden Turn, and ’tis hard to say whether his
Astonishment, or Vexation was greatest; her
Brother he wou’d little have regarded, not
doubting but his Quality, and the Riches he was
possest of, wou’d easily have gain’d his Compliance;
but Count D’Elmont, tho’ he knew
him not (having, for some Disgust he receiv’d at
Court, been many Years absent from Paris,) yet
he had heard much Talk of him, and the Passion
he had for Melliora, by the Adventure of
Alovysa’s Death had made too great a Noise in
the World not to have reach’d his Ears; he stood
Speechless for some time, but when he had a
little recover’d himself, “have you then Deceiv’d
me, Madam?”
Said he, “No,” answered she, “I am
still ready to perform my promise, whenever
these Gentlemen shall Command me.—The
one my Brother, the other my Guardian, obtain
but their Consent, and—”
“Mine, he can never
have,”
Interrupted FrankvileeFrankville hastily, and
laying his Hand on his Sword. “Nor mine,” cry’d
the Count, “while I have Breath to form
Denials, or my Arm strength to Guard my
Beautious Charge:”
“hold Brother,—Hold my
Lord,”
said Melliora, fearing their Fury wou’d
produce some fatal Effects, “the Marquess has
been so truly Noble, that you rather ought to
Thank, than resent his Treatment of me, and
tho’ I see Rage in your Eyes, and all the Stings
of Disappointment glowing fierce in his, yet
I have Hopes, a general Contentment may Crown
the End.—Appear!”
continu’d she, raising her
Voice, “appear! Thou lovely faithful Maid!
Come forth and Charm thy roving Lover’s L2 Heart, L2v 148
Heart again to Constancy, to Peace, and thee!”

She had no sooner spoke, then Charlotta
entred, drest like a Bride indeed, in a Suit
of Cloaths, which she had brought with her,
in case any happy Opportunity shou’d arise
for her to discover herself: If the Marquess
was before confounded, how much more so
was he now? That injur’d Lady’s Presence,
just at this juncture, and the Surprize by
what means she came there, made him utterly
unable to resolve on any thing, which
she observing, and taking advantage of his
Confusion, run to him, and catching hold of
his Hand; “wonder not my Lord,” said she,
“to see Charlotta here, nothing is impossible
to Love like mine, tho’ slighted and
abandon’d by you, still I pursue your Steps
with Truth, with Tenderness, and Constancy
untir’d!”
—Then, perceiving he still was
silent, “come, my Lord,” continu’d she, “you
must at last take Pity on my Sufferings, my
Rival, Charming as she is, wants a just sencibility
of your Deserts, and is by that less
worthy even than I, Oh, then remember, if
not to me, what ’tis you owe your self your
own exalted merits, and you will soon determine
in my Favour, and confess that she,
who knows you best, ought most to have
you;”
she spoke these Words in so moving
an Accent, and they were accompany’d with
so many Tears, that the most rocky Heart
must have relented, and that the Marquess
was sensibly touch’d with em, his Countenance
Testify’d, when sighing, and turning his L3r 149
his Head a little away, not with Disdain, but
Remorse, for the Infidelity he had been guilty
of: “Oh cease,” said he, “this Flood of softness,
it gives me Pains I never felt before,
for ’tis impossible you can forgive.”
“Oh
Heaven!”
cry’d the transported Charlotta’s,
“all you have done, or ever can do of unkindess,
is by one tender Word made full
amends for; see at your Feet,”
continu’d she
falling on her Knees, “thus, in this humble
Posture, which best becomes my prostrate
Soul, I beg you to accept the Pardon which
I bring, to banish from your Mind all Thoughts
that you have injur’d me, and leave it free from
all the generous Joys the making others happy
must create:”
This action of Chralotta’sCharlotta’s
joyn’d to the Reflection how strangly every
Thing happen’d to prevent his Designs on the
other, won him entirely, and raising her with
a tender Embrace, put it out of her Power to
regret his ever being false, since his return gave
her a tast of Joys, which are not, but in Reconciliation
to be found.

The Count, Monsieur Frankville, and the
two Ladys who had waited all this while in an
impatient Expectation for the end of this Affair,
now paid their several Congratulations,
all highly applauding the Constancy of Charlotta,
and the timely Repentance of the
Marquess: These Ceremonies being over, the
Marquess desir’d Charlotta to acquaint him
by what means she had gain’d admittance to
his House unknown to him; which Curiosity she L3 im- L3v 150
immediately satisfying, enagag’d a new the Praises
of the whole Company, and more endear’d her
self to her Belov’d Marquess’s Affections.

Tranquillity now reign’d in those
Hearts which lately heav’d with various and
disturb’d Emotions, and Joy sat smiling upon
every Cheek, entirely Happy in their several
wishes, they cou’d now talk of past Woes with
Pleasure, and began to enter into a very delightful
Conversation, when Frankville on
a sudden missing Camilla, and asking for her,
one of the Servants told him she was gone to the
Sick Page’s Chamber, this News gave him some
little alarm, and the rather because he had observ’d
she express’d a more than ordinary Tenderness
and Care for this Page all the time of
their Journey; he ran immediately to the Room
where he heard she was, and found her lying
on the Bed, with her Arms round Fidelio’s
Neck, and her Face close to his, this shocking
Sight, had certainly driven the rashness of his
Temper to commit some deed of Horror, if the
Amazement he was in had not prevented
it; he drew his Sword half out, but then, as if
some Spell had Charm’d his Arm, remain’d in
that Posture, fix’d and motionless as Marble:
CamiilaCamilla half blinded with the Tears which
fell from her Eyes, saw not the Confusion he was
in, nor consider’d the seeming Reason he had to
be so, but raising her Head a little to see who
it was that came into the Chamber, “Oh Frankville!”
said she, see here the Ruins of Love,
behold the Tyranny of that fatal Passion in
this expiring Fair! But hast,”
continu’d she, findinging L4r 151
him ready to Faint, “let Count D’Elmont
know, the faithful, generous Violetta! Dies.---
she dies for him, and asks no other Recompence,
than a last farewell”
Violetta Interrupted
FrankvlleFrankville, “what means Camilla?” “This,
this, is Violetta,”
resum’d she, “who like a Page
disguis’d has follow’d the too Lovely Count, and
lost her self:”
The Rage, which at his first Entrance
had possest the Heart of Frankville,
now gave way to Grief, and coming near the
Bed, he began to Testify it, by all the Marks
which an unfeign’d Concern cou’d give; but this
unfortunate Languisher, finding her Strength
decay, prevented him from making any long
Speeches, by renewing that Request which
Camilla had already made known, of seeing
her dear Lord before she Dy’d, which Frankville
making hast to fulfill, she call’d to him
as loud as her Weakness wou’d permit to come
back, and as assoon as he was, “Camilla,” said
she, “has inform’d me of my Lord’s good Fortune
in meeting with the Charmer of his Soul,
I wou’d not deprive him of a moments Happiness.
I therefore beg she’d give a dying Rival,
leave to wish her Joy, and as neither my Death,
nor the Cause of it can be a Secret, to any
of the Company here, I desire they all may be
witnesses with what Pleasure I welcome it;”

Frankville Fiery as he was, had a vast
deal of Compassion in his Nature, and cou’d
not see so Beautiful a young Lady, and one
whom he had so many obligations to, on the
Account of his Affair with Camilla, in
this dispairing, and dying Condition without
being seiz’d with an Anguish inexpressible; but L4 all L4v 152
all the Pangs he felt were nothing, compar’d
to those he gave D’Elmont in the Delivery
of her Message; he ran into the Room
like a Man distracted, and in the hurry of
his Grief, forgot even the Complaisance he ow’d
to Melliora, but she was too generous to
disapprove his Concern, immediatly followed
with her Brother, the Marquess, and Charlotta:
“What is it that I hear, Madam?” Cry’d
the Count, throwing himself on the Bed
by her, “can it be possible that the admir’d
ViolttaVioletta cou’d forsake her Father,—
Country,—Friends—foregoe her Sexes Pride,---
the pomp of Beauty,—gay Dresses, and all
the Equipage of State, and Grandeur, to follow
in a mean Disguise, a Man unworthy of her
Thoughts?”
“Oh! No more,” said she weeping,
“you are but too, too worthy Adoration, Nor do I
yet believe my Love a Crime, tho’ the Consequence
is so, I might in Rome, with Honour
and Innocence have dyed, but by my shameful
flight, I was the murderer of my Father—
that,—that’s a Guilt, which all these floods of
Penitence can never wash away—Yet, bear
me witness Heaven, how little I suspected the
sad Event, when first, unable to support your Absence,
I contriv’d this way, unknown, to keep for
ever in your sight; I Lov’d, ’tis True, but if one
unchast Wish, or an impure Desire, er’e stain’d
my Soul, then, may the purging Fire to which
I am going, miss it’s Effect, my Spots remain,
and not one Saint vouchsafe to own me:”
Here
the force of her Passion, agitating her Spirits
with too much Violence for the weakness of her Body L5r 153
Body, she sunk fainting in the Bed: And tho’
the Count and Camilla felt the most
deeply her Afflictions, the one because they
proceeded from her Love to him, and the other
as having long been her Friend, and Partner
of her Secrets, yet those in the Company who
were most Strangers to her, participated in her
Sufferings, and commiserated the Woes they cou’d
not Heal, and assoon as she recover’d from her
Swoon, the generous Melliora (not in the
least possest with any of those little jealousies,
which Women of narrow Souls harbour on such
Occasions) came nearer to the Bed, and taking
her kindly by the Hand, “Live, and be Comforted,”
said she, “a Love so Innocent shall never give
me any Disquiet.—Live and Enjoy the Friendship
of my Lord, and if you please to favour me
with yours, I shall esteem it, as it Deserves,
a Blessing.”
“No Madam,” answer’d the now almost
Expiring Violetta, “Life, after this
shameful Declaration, wou’d be the worst of
Punishments, but, not to be Ungrateful to so
generous an Offer, for a few Moments I accept
it, and like Children, placeing their darling
Play things on their Pillow, and then contented
go to sleep, so I wou’d keep your Lord,
wou’d view him still while I awake to Life, then
drop Incensibly into a slumber of eternal Peace,”

This mournful Tenderness pierc’d D’Elmont,
to the very Soul, and putting his Arm
gently under her Head, which, he perceiv’d she
was too weak to raise when she endeavoured it,
and laying his Face on one of her Hands, cou’d
not forbear washing it in Tears, she felt the Cordialdial L5v 154
drops, and, as if they gave her a new Vigour,
exerting her Voice to the utmost of her
Strength; “this is too kind,” said she, “I now can
feel none of those Agonies which render Death
the ‘King of Terrors’, and thus, thus happy in
your Sight,—your Touch—your tender
pity, I can but be translated from one Heaven
to another, and yet, forgive me Heaven if
it be a Sin, I cou’d wish, Methinks, to know
no other Paradise than you, to be permitted to
Hover round you, to form your Dreams, to sit upon
your Lip all Day, to mingle with your Breath,
and glide in unfelt Air into your Bosom:”
She
wou’d have proceeded, but her Voice faultered
in the Accent, and all she spoke distinguishable
was, “Oh D’Elmont receive in this one Sigh
my latest Breath”
—it was indeed her last, she
died that Moment, died in his Arms, whom more
than Life she priz’d, and sure there are none who
have liv’d in the Anxietys of Love, who wou’d
not envy such a Death!

There was not in this noble Company, one
whose Eyes were dry, but Count D’Elmont
for sometime was inconsolable, even by Melliora,
he forbore the celebrating of his so
eagerly desir’d Nuptials, as did the Marquess
and Monsieur Frankville theirs, in Complaisance
to him, ’till after Violetta was
inter’d, which the Count took care shou’d
be in a manner becoming her Quality, her Merit,
and the Esteem he profess’d to have born
her: But when this melancholly ScenceScene was past,
a Day of Joy succeeded, and one happy Hour con- L6r 156155
confirm’d the wishes of the three longing Bridegrooms;
the Weddings were all kept in a splendid
manner at the Marquess’s, and it
was not without a great deal of Reluctance,
that he, and Charlotta suffer’d the Count,
Monsieur Frankville, and their Ladies to
take leave of them; when they came to Paris,
they were joyfully receiv’d by the Chevalier
Brillian
and Ansellina, and those,
who in the Count’s Absence had taken a liberty
of censuring and condemning his Actions,
aw’d by his Presence, and in time, won by his
Virtues, now swell his Praises with an equal
Vehemence: Both he and Frankville, are
still living, blest with a numerous and hopeful
Issue, and continue, with their fair Wives great,
and lovely Examples of conjugal Affection.

Finis.