Louisa is in danger of being ravished by the count de Bellfleur; is providentially rescued by monsieur du Plessis, with several other particulars.
Louisa packed up her things, as she had been commanded, tho' with what confusion of mind is not easy to be expressed; and, when she was ready to go, wrote a letter to Melanthe, thanking her for all the favours she had received from her, acknowledging them to be as unmerited as her late displeasure, which she conjured her to believe she had never, even in thought, done any thing justly to incur;—wished her prosperity, and that she might never find a person less faithful to her interests than she had been. Having desired her woman to deliver this to her, she took leave of the servants, who all loved her extremely, and saw her go with tears in their eyes.
The rout she intended to take was to Padua by water, thence in a post chaise to Leghorn, where she was informed, it would be easy to find a ship bound for England; to what port was indifferent to her, being now once more to seek her fortune, tho' in her native country, and must trust wholly to that providence for her future support, which had hitherto protected her.
Accordingly she took her passage to Padua in one of those boats, which are continually going between Venice and that city; and it being near the close of day when she landed, was obliged to go into an inn, designing to lye there that night, and early in the morning set out for Leghorn.
She was no sooner in bed than, having never been alone in one of those places before, a thousand dreadful apprehensions came into her head: all the stories she had been told, when a child, of robberies and murders committed on travellers in inns, were now revived in her memory:—every little noise she heard made her fall into tremblings; and the very whistling of the wind, which at another time would have lulled her to sleep, now kept her waking: but these ideal terrors had not long possessed her, before she had an occasion of real ones, more shocking than her most timid fancy could have suggested.
The wicked count de Bellfleur, who had taken care to prevent the passion he had excited in Melanthe against her from growing cool, learned, from that deceived lady, in what manner she intended to dispose of her; and no sooner heard which way she went than, attended by one servant, who was the confidant and tool of all his vices, he took boat for Padua, and presently finding out, by describing her, at what inn she was lodged, came directly thither; and, having called the man of the house, asked him if such a young woman were not lodged there, to which being answered in the affirmative, he told him that she was his wife;—that being but lately married to her, in compliance with her request, he had brought her to see the diversions of the carnival, and that she was eloped, he doubted not, but for the sake of a gallant, since he loved her too well to have given her any cause to take so imprudent a step.
The concern he seemed to be under gained immediate credit to all he said; which he easily perceiving, I know, said he, that if I have recourse to a magistrate I shall have a grant, and proper officers to force her to return to her duty; but I would feign reclaim her by fair means:—it is death to me to expose her; and if my perswasions will be effectual, the world shall never know her fault.
The innkeeper then told him she was gone to bed, but he would wait on him to her chamber, and he might call to her to bid her open the door. No, answered the count, if she hears my voice she may, perhaps, be frighted enough to commit some desperate action:—you shall therefore speak to her, and make some pretence for obliging her to rise.
On this they both went up, and the man knocked softly at first, but on her not answering immediately, more loud.—She, who heard him before, but imagining something of what she had heard of others was now going to happen to herself, was endeavouring to assume all the courage she could for supporting her in whatever exigence heaven should reduce her to:—at last she asked who was there, and for what reason she was disturbed. The innkeeper then said he wanted something out of the room, and she must needs open the door. This she refused to do, but got out of bed and began to put on her cloaths, resolving to dye as decently as she could, verily believing they were come to rob and murder her.
The man, who spoke all by the count's direction, then told her, that if she would not open the door, he must be obliged to break it, and presently beat so violently against it, that the poor terrified Louisa expected it to burst, so thought it would be better to unbolt it of her own accord, than, by a vain resistance, provoke worse usage than she might otherwise receive: but what was her astonishment when she beheld the count de Bellfleur! On the first moment the words monsieur du Plessis repeated to her, thathe would have her one way or another,came into her mind, and made her give a great shriek; but then almost at the same time the thought that he might possibly be sent by Melanthe to bring her back, somewhat mitigated her fears.—Unable was she to speak, however; and the consternation she appeared to be in at his presence, joined with his taking her by the hand and bidding her be under no apprehensions, confirmed the truth of what he had told the innkeeper, who thinking he had no other business there, and they would be soonest reconciled when alone, left them, together and went down stairs.
When the count saw he was gone,—I could not support the thoughts of seeing you no more, my dear Louisa, said he; I have heard Melanthe's cruel usage of you, and also that your condition is such, that you have no friends in England to receive you if you should prosecute your journey:—I come therefore to make you an offer, which, in your present circumstances, you will find it imprudent, I believe, to reject:—I long have loved you, and if you will be mine, will keep you concealed at a house where I can confide, till my return to the army; then will take the fame care of you, and place you somewhere near my own quarters; and, as I shall go to Paris as soon as the next campaign is over, will there provide for you in as handsome a manner as you can wish;—for be assured, dear lovely girl, that no woman upon earth will ever be capable of making me forsake you.
That she had patience to hear him talk so long in this manner, was wholly owing to the fear and surprize she had been in, and perhaps had not yet recovered enough from, to make any reply to what he said, if he had contented himself only with words; but his actions rouzing a different passion in her soul, she broke from his arms, into which, he had snatched her at the conclusion of his speech, and looking on him with eyes sparkling with disdain and rage,—perfidious man! cried she, is this,—this the consequence of the vows you made Melanthe; and do you think, after this knowledge of your baseness, I can harbour any idea of you, but what is shocking and detestable!
I never loved Melanthe, by heaven, resumed he; she made me advance, and not to have returned, them, would have called even my common civility in question;—but from the first moment I saw your beauties, I was determined to neglect nothing that might give me the enjoyment of them:—fortune has crowned my wishes, you are in my power, and it would be madness in you to lose the merit of yielding, and I compel me to be obliged to my own strength for a pleasure I would rather owe to your softness:—come, come, continued he, after having fastened the door, let us go to bed;—I will save your modesty, by pulling your cloaths off myself. In speaking this he catched hold of her again, and attempted to untye a knot which fastened her robe de chambre at the breast. On this she gave such shrieks, and stamped with her feet so forcibly on the ground, that the innkeeper fearing the incensed husband, as he supposed him to be, was going to kill her, ran hastily up stairs, and called to have the door opened, saying, he would have no murder in his house.
The artful count immediately let him in, and told him, he need be under no apprehensions, his wife was too dear to him to suffer any thing from his resentment; and all the noise you heard, said he, was only because I insisted on her going to bed! By these words Louisa discovered how he had imposed upon the man, and cried out she was not his wife; but as she spoke very bad Italian, and the man understood no French, the count being very fluent in that language, had much the advantage, the innkeeper was fully satisfied, and they were again left alone, having a second opportunity to prosecute his villanous attempt.
You see, said he, how much in vain it is for you to resist:—would it not be wiser in you, therefore, to meet my flames with equal warmth;—to feign a kindness even if you have none, and thereby oblige me to use you with a future tenderness:—believe I love you now with an extravagance of fondness:—it is in your power to preserve that affection for ever:—give me then willingly that charming mouth.
He had all this time been kissing her with the utmost eagerness, so that with all her struggling she had not been able either to disengage herself from his embrace, or to utter one word; and he was very near forcing from her yet greater liberties, when all at once heaven gave her strength to spring suddenly from him, and running to a table where he had laid his sword, she drew it out of the scabbard with so much speed, that he could not prevent her, and making a push at him with one hand, kept him from closing with, or disarming her, till with the other she had plucked back the bolt of the door.
In this posture she flew down stairs, and reached the hall before he overtook her, quite breathless and ready to faint. He was going to lay hold of her, when he found himself seized behind by two persons, whom, on turning to examine the reason, he found was monsieur du Plessis and the innkeeper. He started at the sight of that gentleman, and was going to say somewhat to him in French, when the innkeeper told him, the young woman should be molested no farther till he knew the truth of the affair; for, said he, there is a person, meaning monsieur du Plessis, who is just come in, and says she has no husband, and belongs to an English lady of quality now at Venice:—I will therefore take care of her this night, and if you have any real claim to her, you may make it out before the magistrate to-morrow.
The count was so enraged to find it had been by monsieur du Plessis he had been disappointed, that he snatched his sword from Louisa, who had all this time held it in her hand, and made so furious a thrust at him, that, had he not been more than ordinary nimble in avoiding it, by stepping aside, it must have infallibly gone thro' his body.—He immediately drew and stood on his defence, but the innkeeper and several other people, whom Louisa's cries had by this time brought into the hall, prevented any mischief.
The confusion of voices and uproar which this accident occasioned, would suffer nothing to be heard distinctly; but the guilt of count Bellfleur might easily be read in his looks, and not able to stand the test of any enquiry, he departed with his servant, casting the most malicious reflections as he went out, both on Louisa and her deliverer.
Du Plessis less affected, because innocent, gave every one the satisfaction they desired: he said that the young lady being of English birth, came along with a lady of her own country, to visit several parts of Europe merely for pleasure; that the lady was still at Venice, and that on some little disgust between them, she who was there, meaning Louisa, had quitted her, and was now returning home by the way of Leghorn; of the truth of what he told them, he added, they might be informed, by sending to Venice the next day.
He also said, that having a business to be negotiated in England, he had followed this young lady, in order to beg the favour of her to deliver letters to some friends he had there, not having the opportunity of making this request before, by reason of her departure having been so sudden, that he knew nothing of it before she was gone.
The truth of all this Louisa confirmed, and on farther talk of the affair, acquainted them, that the gentleman who had occasioned this disturbance, for she forbore mentioning his name, had often sollicited her love on unlawful terms, and being rejected by her, had taken this dishonourable way of compassing his desires, at a place where he knew she was alone, and wholly a stranger.
The fright and confusion she had been in, had rendered her so faint, that it was with infinite difficulty she brought out these words; but having something given her to refresh her spirits, and being conducted into another room out of the crowd, she began, by degrees, to recover herself.
Monsieur du Plessis then informed her, that on coming to Melanthe's, and hearing she was gone, he immediately took boat, resolving to prevail on her to alter her resolution of going to England, or dye at her feet: that he easily found the inn she was at, and that the man of the house presently told him, such a person as he described was there; but that he understood she had eloped from her husband, who had pursued, and was now above with her.
Never, said this faithful lover, did any horror equal what I felt at this intelligence!—The base count de Bellfleur came presently into my mind:—I thought it could be no other who had taken this abhored method of accomplishing the menaces you may remember I repeated to you:—I was going to fly up stairs that instant, but was withheld, and found it best to argue the man into reason, who, I found, was fully prepossessed you were his wife: as I was giving some part of your history, I saw the count's man passing thro' the hall; he saw me too, and would have avoided me, but I ran to him, seized him by the throat, and asked him what business had brought either him or his master to this place: the disorder he was in, and the hesitation with which he spoke, together with refusing to give any direct answer, very much staggered the innkeeper, who was just consenting to go up with me to your chamber, and examine into the truth of this affair, when we saw you come down, armed as your virtue prompted, and at the same time flying from the villain's pursuit.
Louisa could not help confessing that she owed the preservation of her honour wholly to him; for, said she, the people were so fully persuaded not only that I was his wife, but also that I had fled from him on some unwarrantable intent, that all I did, or could have done, would only have served to render me more guilty in their opinion; and it must have been by death alone I could have escaped the monster's more detested lust.
Monsieur du Plessis now made use of every argument that love and wit could inspire, to prevail with her to accept of the offer contained in the letter he had wrote to her; and concluded with reminding her, that if the charming confession her answer had made him was to be depended on, and that she had indeed a heart not wholly uninfluenced by his passion, she would not refuse agreeing to a proposal, which not the most rigid virtue and honour could disapprove.
Louisa on this replied with blushes, that since, by the belief she should never see him more, she had been unwarily drawn in to declare herself so far, she neither could, nor would attempt to deny what she had said; but, added she, it is perhaps, by being too much influenced by your merits, that I find myself obliged to refuse what you require of me:—I cannot think, cried she, of rendering unhappy a person who so much deserves to be blessed:—and what but misery would attend a match so unequal as yours would be with me!—How would your kindred brook it!—How would the world confuse and ridicule the fondness of an affection so ill placed!—What would they say when they should hear the nobly born, the rich, and the accomplished monsieur du Plessis, had taken for his wife a maid obscurely defended, and with no other dowry than her virtue!—My very affection for you would, in the general opinion, lose all its merit, and pass for sordid interest:—I should be looked upon as the bane of your glory;—as one whose artifices had ensnared you into a forgetfulness of what you owed to yourself and family, and be despised and hated by all who have a regard for you.—This, monsieur, continued she, is what I cannot bear, neither for your sake nor my own, and entreat you will no farther urge a suit, which all manner of considerations forbid me to comply with.
The firmness and resolution with which she uttered these words, threw him into the most violent despair; and here might be seen the difference between a sincere and counterfeited passion: the one is timid, fearful of offending, and modest even to its own loss;—the other presuming, bold, and regardless of the consequences, presses, in spight of opposition, to its desired point.
Louisa had too much penetration not to make this distinction: she saw the truth of his affection in his grief, and that awe which deterred him from expressing what he felt:—she sympathized in all his pains, and for every sigh his oppressed heart sent forth, her own wept tears of blood; yet not receding from the resolution she had formed, nothing could be more truly moving than the scene between them.
At length he ceased to mention marriage, but conjured her to consider the snares which would be continually laid, by wicked and designing men, for one so young and beautiful:—that she could go no where without finding other Bellfleurs; and she might judge, by the danger she had just now so narrowly escaped, of the probability of being involved again in the same:—he represented to her, in the most pathetic terms, that her innocence could have no sure protection but in the arms of a husband, or the walls of a convent; and on his knees beseeched her, for the sake of that virtue which she so justly prized, since she would not accept of him for the one, to permit him to place her in that other only asylum for a person in her circumstances.
Difficult was it for her to resist an argument, the reason of which she was so well convinced of, and could offer nothing in contradiction to, but that she had a certain aversion in her nature to receive any obligations from a man who had declared himself her lover, and who might possibly hereafter presume upon the favours he had done her.
It was in vain he complained of her unjust suspicion in this point, which, to remove, he protested to her that he would leave the choice of the monastry wholly to herself: that in whatever part she thought would be most agreeable, he would conduct her; and that, after she was entered, he would not even attempt to see her thro' the grate, without having first received her permission for his visit. Not all this was sufficient to assure her scrupulous delicacy: she remained constant in her determination; and all he could prevail on her, was leave to attend her as far as Leghorn, to secure her from any second attempt the injurious count might possibly make.
After this they entered into some discourse of Melanthe, and whether it would be proper for Louisa to write her an account of this affair, and the count's perfidiousness. Monsieur du Plessis said, he thought that the late usage she had received from that lady, deserved not she should take any interest in her affairs; but it was not this that hindered Louisa from doing it:—the remembrance of the kindness she had once been treated with by her, more than balanced, in her way of thinking, all the insults that succeeded it; and when she reflected how much Melanthe loved the count, and that she had already granted him all the favours in her power, it seemed to her rather an act of cruelty than friendship, to acquaint her with this ingratitude, and thereby anticipate a misfortune, which, perhaps, by his artifices and continued dissimulation, might be for a long time concealed: therefore, for this reason, she exacted a promise from monsieur du Plessis not to make any noise of this affair at his return to Venice, unless the count, by some rash and precipitate behaviour, should enforce him to it.
This injunction discovered so forgiving a sweetness of disposition in the person who made it, that monsieur du Plessis could not refrain testifying his admiration by the most passionate exclamations; in which perhaps he had continued longer, had not the eyes of the fair object discovered a certain languishment, which reminded him, he should be wanting in the respect he professed, to detain her any longer from that repose, which, seemed necessary, after the extraordinary hurry of spirits she had sustained; therefore having taken his leave of her for that night, retired to a chamber he had ordered to be got ready for him, as did she to that where she had been so lately disturbed: but all those who are in the least capable of any idea of those emotions, which agitated the minds of both these amiable persons, will believe neither of them slept much that night.
The Innkeepers scruples oblige Louisa to write to Melanthe: her behavior on the discovery of the count's falshood. Louisa changes her resolution and goes to Bolognia.
Monsieur du Plessis, having found it impossible to dissuade Louisa from going to England, now bent his whole thoughts to perform his promise of conducting her to Leghorn, in the most commodious manner he could; accordingly he rose very early, and calling for the man of the house, desired he would provide a handsome post chaise, and if he knew any fellows whose integrity might be relied on, he thought necessary to hire two such, who, furnished with fire-arms, might serve as a guard against any attack the count might take it into his head to make.
But the innkeeper had now entertained notions that forbid him to correspond with the designs of monsieur: some of his neighbours, who had heard of last night's accident, whispered it in his ears, that it would not be safe for him to let these young people depart together; that he could not be assured the person, who pretended to be the husband, might not be so in reality; and if he should come again with proper officers and proofs to claim his wife, it might be of dangerous consequence to him to have favoured her escape; and that the only way he had to secure himself from being brought into trouble, was to lay the whole affair before the podestat. This advice seemed to him too reasonable not to be complied with: he went directly to that magistrate, and while the lover was speaking to him, officers came in to seize both him and Louisa, and carry them before the podestat.
Monsieur du Plessis was very much surprized and vexed at this interruption, and the more so, as he feared it would terrify Louisa to a greater degree than the nature of the thing required; but in this he did injury to her courage: when she was called up and informed of the business, she surrendered herself with all the dauntlessness of innocence to the officers, and suffered them to conduct her, with du Plessis, to the house of the podestat.
Both of them flattered themselves with the belief, that when he should come to hear the story, they would be immediately discharged; but he happened to be one of those who are over wary in the execution of their office; and he only told them, that what they said might be true, but he was not to take things on the bare word of the parties themselves; and that therefore they must be confined till either the person who claimed the woman for his wife, should bring proofs she was so, or she should be able to make out he had no right over her.
That is easy for me to do, said Louisa; I am only concerned that this gentleman, meaning du Plessis, should be detained on an account he has no manner of interest in. The podestat answered, it was unavoidable, because as the person, who said he was her husband, had accused her of an elopement, there was all the reason in the world to suppose that if it were so, it was in favour of this gentleman, by the rage he was informed he had testified at finding him in Padua.
Louisa gave only a scornful smile, denoting how much she disdained a crime of the nature she was suspected of, and followed one of the officers, who conducted her to the place appointed for her confinement.
Monsieur du Plessis was touched to the soul at the indignity he thought offered to this sovereign of his affections; but he restrained himself when he considered that it had the sanction of law, which in all nations must be submitted to; and he only told the podestat, that the virtue of that lady would soon be cleared, to the confusion of those who had presumed to traduce it.
As, after they were under confinement, they had no opportunity of advising each other what to do, monsieur du Plessis, uneasy at the injustice done him, wrote immediately to the prince of Conti, in these terms:To his Royal Highness the Prince ofCONTI."It is with the extremest reluctance I giveyour royal highness this trouble, or find myselfobliged to accuse the count de Bellfleur ofan action so dishonourable to our nation; butas I am here under confinement for preventinghim from committing a rape on a young Englishlady, who failing to seduce at Venice, he followedhither; and under the pretence of beingher husband, gained the people of the house onhis side, and had infallibly compassed his intent,had it not been for my seasonable interposition:I am too well convinced of the justice I presumeto implore, to doubt if your highness willoblige him to clear up the affair to the podestat,on which she will be at liberty to prosecute herjourney, and I to throw myself, with the utmostgratitude and submission, at your feet, who havethe honour to beYour royal highness'sMost devotedDU PLESSIS."Padua.
Louisa, who was ignorant what her lover had done, and knew no other way, than by writing to Melanthe, to extricate herself from this trouble, sent a letter to her, the contents whereof were as follows:MADAM,"On what imagined cause whatever you werepleased to banish me, I am certain youhave too much goodness to suffer any one,much less a person you have once honouredwith your friendship, to remain in prison for acrime it is impossible for me to be guilty of:—Iam sorry I must accuse a person so dear toyou;—but it is, madam, no other than theunworthy count de Bellfleur, who followed mehither, came into the inn where I was lodged,into the very chamber, and oh! I tremblewhile I relate it, had proceeded yet farther; andI had been inevitably lost, had not heaven sentme a deliverer in the unexpected arrival of monsieurdu Plessis, who is also a prisoner as wellas myself, for the timely rescue he gave me.You will wonder, doubtless, by what law eitherI should be confined for endeavouring to defendmy chastity, or he, for generously assisting me;but the detested artful count had pretended himselfmy husband; and under the sanction ofthat name it was, that he met no opposition tohis wicked will from the people of the house,and rendered them regardless of my shrieks andcries.—The magistrates are yet dubious of thetruth; and till it can be proved what I really am,both myself and monsieur du Plessis must continuewhere we are:—have pity on me, therefore,I conjure you, madam, and write to the podestat:I have already told him I had the honour tobelong to you;—a line from you will confirmit, and once more set at liberty a maid, whowill ever remember all your favours with thegreatest gratitude, and your withdrawing themas the worst misfortune could have befallen.MADAM,From the prisonat Padua.Your most faithful, andMost humble servant,LOUISA."
These letters were sent away by special messengers, who had orders to be as expeditious as possible in the delivery of them.
But while these accidents happened at Padua, Melanthe was not without her share of inquietudes at Venice: she had not seen her beloved count in two whole days, and, tho' she sent several times to his lodgings, could hear nothing but that he was not yet come home. As her vanity would not suffer her to think herself neglected, without having received some glaring proofs of it, she feared some misfortune had befallen him, and exposed herself not a little in the enquiries she made after him, among all those who she could imagine were able to inform her any thing concerning him.
At length some person, who happened to see him take boat, told her he was gone to Padua, which being the rout she knew Louisa had taken, and she had also informed him, a sudden thought darted into her head that he was gone in pursuit of her.—It now seemed not impossible, but that all he had said concerning his dislike of her might be artifice; and that the love of variety might prevail on him at last to comply with the advances he pretended she had made him.—The privacy with which he went, none of his acquaintance knowing any thing of his journey, seemed to favour this opinion; and never was a heart more racked with jealousy and suspence, than that of this unhappy, and too easily deceived lady.
She had sometimes an inclination to go to Padua in person, and endeavour to find out what business had carried him thither; and her impatience had doubtless got the better of her prudence in this particular, if, sending once more to his lodgings, she had not heard he was returned.—On this she expected to see him in the evening, and flattered herself with his being able to make some reasonable excuse for his absence; but finding he came not, she was all distraction, and sent a billet to him next morning, requiring him to come to her immediately on the receipt of it; but as he was at that time in too ill a humour to think of entertaining her, sent her an answer by word of mouth, that he was indisposed, and would wait on her on his recovery.—This message seemed so cold, and so unlike the passion he had hitherto professed for her, that it threw her into almost convulsive agonies.—A masquerade was to be that night at the house of a person of quality: she sent again to know if he intended to be there, and, if he did, what habit he would wear, it being customary with them, ever since their amour, to acquaint each other with their dresses, that they might not mistake, by addressing to wrong persons. His reply was, that he would go if health permitted, but as to what he should wear he had not as yet thought of it.
What, if he hat not thought of it! cried she haughtily, when she heard these words;—the knowledge that I shall be there, ought now to make him think of it.—Pride, love, and the astonishment at this sudden change in his behaviour, rendered her wholly forgetful of what she owed her sex and rank; and she was just going to his lodgings, in order to upbraid him with his indifference, and prove what it was she now had to depend on from him, when the messenger from Louisa arrived and delivered her the letter, which contained a sad eclaircisement of all she wanted to be informed of.
At first reading it, she seemed like one transfixed with a sudden clap of thunder:—she had indeed been jealous, suspicious, fearful of her fate; but so glaring, so impudent a treachery had never entered her head, that any man could be guilty of, much less one whom her too fond passion had figured to her imagination, as possessed of all the virtues of his sex. It seemed too monstrous to be true; and she had accused the innocent Louisa as the inventor of this falshood, merely in revenge for her late treatment, had there been the least shadow of a pretence for doing so:—gladly would she have encouraged such a hope, but common sense forbid it;—all circumstances seemed to concur, in proving that he was indeed that villain which the letter represented him; and that surprize, which had in a manner stupified her on the discovery, was succeeded by a storm of mingled grief and rage, which no words can sufficiently describe:—she exclaimed against fate, cursed all mankind, and accused every thing as accessory to her misfortune, but that to which alone she owed it, her own imprudence.
The disorders of her mind had such an effect on her body, that she fell into fits, and a physician was sent for, who, tho' esteemed the most skilful in that country, found it required all his art to prevent a fever: she continued, however, for five days in a condition, such as permitted her not to do any thing either for the satisfaction of her own impatient curiosity, or to comply with the just request Louisa had made; and had not monsieur du Plessis's letter to the prince been mere successful, they must both have continued where they were, perhaps for a considerable time.
That, however, had all the effect could be expected from a prince of so much honour: he immediately sent for the count de Bellfleur; and easily finding, by the confusion with which he replied to his examination, and the little low evasions he was obliged to have recourse to, that the affair was as monsieur du Plessis had represented, gave him a severe check, and ordered him to depart immediately from Venice, where he told him, he had given such occasion to call the honour of the French nation in general in question; and to repair with all expedition to his winter quarters. Which command he instantly obeyed, without taking any leave of Melanthe, or perhaps even thinking on her.
At the same time the prince dispatched his gentleman of horse to Padua, with necessary instructions for clearing up the affair; on which the prisoners were discharged, and their pardon asked by the podestat for doing what, he said, the duties of his post had alone obliged him to; tho' it is certain he had exercised his authority with greater strictness than the necessity of the thing required; since, if the count had been in reality the husband of Louisa, it would have been more easy for him to bring proofs of it, than for those under confinement to invalidate his claim.
After the proper compliments to the gentleman who had taken this trouble, monsieur du Plessis entreated he would excuse him to the prince, that he retarded the thanks he had to pay his royal highness, till his return from conducting Louisa some part of her journey, which being a piece of gallantry the lady herself seemed well pleased with, was easily complied with by the other.
This faithful lover had now a full opportunity to entertain his mistress with his passion, and represented it to her with so much force and eloquence, together with the dangers she would continually be exposed to, that she had at length no words to form denials, and gave him leave to conduct her to some monastry in Italy, the choice of which she left to him, till the campaign was over. This was indeed all he presumed to request of her at present. It may happen, said he, that your lover may fall a victim to the fate of war, among many other more brave and worthy men, who doubtless will not survive the next battle, and you will then be at liberty to pursue your inclinations either to England or elsewhere; and be assured of this, that I shall take care, before the hour of danger, to leave you mistress of a fortune, sufficient to protect you from any future insults of the nature you received from Melanthe.
The tender soul of Louisa was so much dissolved at these words, that she burst into a flood of tears, and cried out, Oh! too generous du Plessis, think not I will survive the cruel hour which informs me all that is valuable in man has ceased to be!—Take,—oh! take no care for me; when you are no more, nothing this world affords can enable me to drag on a wretched life!
What must be the transport of a man, who loved like him, to hear a mouth accustomed to the greatest reserve, utter exclamations so soft, so engaging, so convincing to him that he was no less dear to her than he could even wish to be!—He threw himself at her feet, and even thought that posture not humble enough to testify, as it deserved, his gratitude and joy. But she not suffering him to continue in it, he took the hand that raised him, kissed off the tears which had fallen from her eyes upon it, with speechless extacies, and seemed almost beside himself at the concern she could not yet overcome, on the bare imagination of losing him in the way he mentioned. If you love me, said she tenderly, you will endeavour to preserve yourself:—I have now put myself under your protection, by consenting to do as you would have me, and have no other from whom I would receive those favours I expect from you:—think not, therefore, that I will perform my promise, unless you give me yours, not to be so covetous of fame as to court dangers, nor, in too eager a pursuit of glory, to lose the remembrance of what you owe to love.
Oh thou divinest softness! cried he, be assured I will put nothing to the venture that might take me from Louisa!—Your kindness, my angel, has shewed me the value of life, and almost made a coward of your lover:—no farther will I go than the duties of my post oblige me, and that honour, which to forfeit, would render me unworthy of your care.
Louisa now found herself so much at ease, in having discovered a secret she had so long laboured with, and suffered an infinity of pain in the concealing of, that nothing could be more chearful than her looks and behaviour. He, on the other hand, was all rapture, yet did it not make him in the least forgetful of the rules he had prescribed himself, or give her modesty any room to repent the confession she had made in favour of his passion:—the conversation between them was all made up of innocence and love; and every hour they passed together, rendered them still dearer to each other.
Monsieur du Plessis having thus gained the point his soul was let on, began to consider in what part of Italy it would be best to place his dear Louisa: as Bolognia was a free country, under the jurisdiction of the Pope, he thought she would there be the least subject to alarms, on account of the army's continual marches and countermarches thro' most other parts of Italy. He therefore got a post-chaise, and by easy journeys conducted her thither; and having made an agreement with the lady abbess of the Augustines, she was welcomed into the convent by the holy sisterhood with all imaginable good-nature and politeness.
It would be endless to recite the farewels of these equally sincere, and passionate lovers; so I shall only say that never any parting was more truly touching; and the grief, which both of them endured, was only alleviated by the confidence they had in each other's affection, and the mutual promises of communicating the assurances of persevering in it, by letters as often as opportunity would permit.
Melanthe being recovered of the indisposition of her body, tho' not of her mind, was informed of every particular of her perfidious lover's conduct as he had quitted Venice before she did her chamber, was obliged to bear the load of discontent her too easy belief had brought upon her, without even the poor ease of venting it in reproaches on him. The carnival soon after ending, and finding that change of place was no defence from misfortunes of the kind she had sustained, without she could also change her way of thinking, took the first convenience that offered, and returned to England, rather in worse humour than she had left it.
Horatio arrives at Warsaw, sees the coronation of Stanislaus and his queen: his reception from the king of Sweden: his promotion: follows that prince in all his conquests thro' Poland, Lithuania and Saxony. The story of count Patkul and madame de Eusilden.
While these things were transacting in Italy, Horatio, animated by love and glory, was pursuing his journey to Poland. His impatience was so great, that he travelled almost night and day, already imitating the example of the master he was going to serve; no wood, no river was impassable to him that shortened the distance to the place he so much longed to approach: and thus by inuring himself to hardship, became fitly qualified to bear his part in all the vast fatigues to which that prince incessantly exposed his royal person.
Not a city, town, or even village he puffed thro', but echoed with the wonders performed by the young king of Sweden:—new victories, new acquisitions met him wherever he came:—all tongues were full of his praises; and even those who had been ruined by his conquests, could not help speaking of him with admiration.—Horatio heard all this with pleasure, but mixed with a kind of pain that he was not present at these great actions.—How glorious is it, cried he to himself, to fight under the banners of this invincible monarch!—What immortal honour has not every private man acquired, who contributed the least part to successes that astonish the whole world!
But notwithstanding his eagerness which carried him thro' marshes, over mountains, and ways, which to an ordinary traveller would have seemed impassable, he met with several delays in his journey, especially when he got into Germany, where they were extremely scrupulous; and he was obliged to wait at some towns two or three days before he could obtain passports: he also met several parties of flying horse and dragoons, who were scouting about the country, as he drew nearer Saxony; but his policy furnished him with stratagems to get over these difficulties, and he got safe to Punitz, in the Palatinate of Posnania, where a great part of the king of Sweden's army was encamped.—He immediately demanded to be brought to the presence of the grand marshal Renchild, to whom he delivered the letter of the baron de la Valiere, and found the good effects of it by the civilities with which that great general vouchsafed to treat him. He would have had him stay with him; but Horatio, knowing the king was at Warsaw, was too impatient of seeing that monarch to be prevailed upon, on which he sent a party of horse to escort him to that city.
He had the good fortune to arrive on the very day that Stanislaus and his queen were crowned, and was witness of part of the ceremony. The king of Sweden was there incognito, and being shewn to Horatio, he could not forbear testifying his surprize to see so great a prince, and one who, in every action of his life, discovered a magnamity even above his rank, habited in a manner not to be distinguished from a private man; but it was not in the power of any garb to take from him a look of majesty, which shewed him born to command not only his own subjects, but kings themselves, when they presumed to become his enemies. There was a fierceness in his eyes, but tempered with so much sweetness, that it was impossible for those who most trembled at his frowns to avoid loving him at the same time.
Stanislaus had in him all that could attract respect and good wishes; beside the most graceful person that can be imagined, he had a certain air of grandeur, joined with an openness of behaviour, that shewed him equally incapable of doing a mean or dishonourable action: his queen was one of the greatest beauties of her time; and every one present at their coronation, confessed, that never any two persons more became a throne, or were more worthy of the dignity conferred upon them.
The whole court was too much taken up that day, for Horatio to think of presenting himself before the king of Sweden; but the officer, who commanded the party that general Renchild had sent with him, introduced him in the evening to count Hoorn, governor of Warsaw, who provided him an appartment, and the next morning introduced him to count Piper. That minister no sooner read the baron de Palfoy's letter, and heard he had others to deliver to the king from the chevalier St. George, and the queen dowager of England, than he treated him with the utmost marks of esteem; and assured him that, since he had an inclination to serve his majesty, he would contribute every thing in his power to make him not repent the long fatigues he had undergone for that purpose; but, said he with a smile, you will have no need of me; you bring, I perceive, recommendations more effectual, and have besides, in yourself, sufficient to engage all you have to wish from a monarch so just and generous as ours.
Horatio replied to this compliment with all humility; and as the count perceived by his accents that he was not a Frenchman, tho' he spoke the language perfectly well, he asked him of what country he was; to which Horatio replied, that he was of England, but made him no farther acquainted with his affairs, nor that the motive of his having remained so long in France, was because he was not ransomed by his friends: not that he concealed this out of pride, but he knew the character of most first ministers, and thought it not prudence to unbosom himself to one of those, whose first study, when they come into that employment, is to discover as much as they can of others, without revealing any thing of themselves. For this reason he was also very sparing of entering into any discourse of the chevalier's court, or of that of the king of France, and answered all the questions put to him by the count, that his youth, and being of foreign extraction, hindered him from being let into any secrets of state.
After a pretty long conversation, the count led him to the king of Sweden's apartment, where, just as they were about to enter, he asked him if he could speak Latin; for, said he, tho' his majesty understands French, he never could be brought to speak it, nor is pleased to be addressed in that language. Horatio thanked him for this information, and told him, that tho' he could not boast of being able to deliver himself with an affluence becoming the presence of so great a prince, yet he would chuse rather to shew his bad learning, than his want of ambition to do every thing that might render himself acceptable.
As he spoke these words, he found himself in his presence.—The king was encompassed by the officers of the army, to whom he was giving some directions; but seeing count Piper, and a stranger with him, he left off what he was saying, and, without giving him time to speak, cried, Count, who have you brought me here? One, may it please your majesty, replied he, who brings his credentials with him, and has no need of my intercession to engage his welcome. While the count Was making this reply, the king, who had an uncommon quickness in his eyes, measured Horatio from head to foot; and our young soldier of fortune, without being daunted, put one knee to the ground, and delivered his packet with these words:—The princes, by whom I have the honour to be sent, commanded me to assure your majesty, that they participate in all your dangers, rejoice in all your glories, and pray, that as you only conquer for the good of others, the sword you draw, in the cause of justice, may at last be sheathed in a lasting and universal peace.
I am afraid it will be long before all that is necessary for that purpose is accomplished, said the king; wrong, when established, not easily gives place to right;—but we are yet young enough to hope it.
He broke open his letters as he spoke this; and while he was examining them, took his eye off the paper several times to look on Horatio, and then read again.
When he had done, I am much obliged, said he, to the zeal these letters tell me you have expressed for my service, and shall not be ungrateful:—we are here idle at present but shall not long be so; and you will have occasions enough to prove your courage, and gratify that love of arms which, my brother informs me, is the predominant passion of your soul.
After this he asked him several questions concerning the chevalier St. George, the queen, and princess Louisa; to which Horatio answered with great propriety, but mingled with such encomiums of the royal persons, as testified his gratitude for the favours he received from them. But when he mentioned the princess, and delivered the message she sent by him, a more lively colour flushed into the king's cheeks, and he replied, well, we shall do all we can to comply with her commands; then turned quick about, and resumed the discourse he was in, before Horatio's entrance, with his officers, as much as to say, the business of his love must not interrupt that of the war; and Horatio had afterwards the opportunity of observing, that tho' he often looked upon the picture of that amiable princess, which he always wore in his bosom, yet he would on a sudden snatch his eyes away, as fearing to be too much softened.
Horatio was ordered to be lodged in the castle where the garrison was kept; but he was every day at the king's levee, and received the most extraordinary marks of his favour and affection; for which, as he looked upon himself entirely indebted to the recommendations of his friends in France, he wrote letters of thanks, and an account of all that happened to him.
Poland being now entirely subdued by the valour and fortune of Charles XII. and having received a king of his nomination, submitted cheerfully, glad to see an end of devastation, as they then flattered themselves; but the troubles of that unfortunate kingdom were yet to endure much longer.—Augustus, impatient of recovering what he had lost, and the czar of Muscovy jealous and envious of the king of Sweden's glory, came pouring with mighty armies from Saxony and Russia. Shullenburgh, the general of the former, had passed the Oder; and the other, at the head of a numerous body, was plundering all that came in his way, and putting to the sword every one whom he even suspected of adhering to king Stanislaus: so that nothing now was talked of but war, and the means concerted how to put a stop to the miseries these two ambitious princes made, not only in that country, but all the adjacent parts.
It was agreed that general Renchild should go to meet Shullenburgh, and the two kings drive out the Muscovites; who being divided into several parties, Stanislaus went at the head of one army, and the king of Sweden led another; and taking different routs, had every day what he called skirmishes, but what the vanquished looked upon as terrible battles.
The king of Sweden, before their departure from Warsaw, told Horatio that all his officers were gallant men, and it was not his custom to displace any one for meer favour to another; he must therefore wait till the fate of war, or some other accident, made a vacancy, before he could give him a commission, in the mean time, said he, with a great deal of sweetness, you must be content to be only my aid-de-camp. On this Horatio replied to his majesty, with as much politeness as sincerity, that it was the post he wished, tho' dare not presume to ask; for he looked upon the honour of being near, and receiving the commands of so excellent a monarch, preferable to the highest commission in the army.
Thus, highly contented with his lot, did he attend the king, thro' rivers, lakes, marines, and all the obstacles nature had thrown in the way of this conqueror; and whenever they came to any battle, was so swift in bearing his commands to the general, and in returning to him in which line soever he was, that Poniatosky gave him the name of the Mercury to their Jove; nor did he less signalize his valour; he fought by the side of the king like one who valued not life, in competition with the praises of his master. In an engagement where they took the baggage of Augustus, he did extraordinary service; and a colonel then being killed on the spot, the king presently cried out, Now here is a regiment for my Horatio. Our young warrior thanked him on his knees, but beseeched he might not be removed from him, again protesting that he could no were deserve so well, as where he was animated by his royal presence. This Charles XII. took very kindly, and told him, he should have his desire; but, said he, I must also have mine:—I will continue you my aid-de-camp, but you shall accept the commission, and the lieutenant colonel shall command the regiment in your absence.
He also allotted him so large a share in the prize taken in this battle, that Horatio was already become rich enough to avow his pretensions to the daughter of the baron de Palfoy; but, dear as she was to him, his love and admiration of the king of Sweden, joined to the ambition of desiring still more than he had received, kept him from entertaining the least desire of quitting the service he was in.
In eight or nine weeks did the two kings clear the country round, and drove their enemies into the heart of Lithuania. As they were about to return, they were met by the welcome news that general Renchild had been no less successful, and entirely routed the whole army of Shullenburgh, and also that the diet of Ratisbon, fearing the king of Sweden would enter Germany, had come to a resolution to declare him an enemy to the empire, in case he offered to pass the Oder with his army.
They could not have taken a more effectual step to bring on what they dreaded, than by daring him to it by this menace. He took but little time for consideration, before he determined to carry the war into Saxony, and drive Augustus from his electorate, as he had done from his kingdom.
He had no sooner made known his resolution, than the troops began to march, and with a chearfulness and alacrity, which shewed they had no will but that of their king:—indeed he seemed the soul of this mighty body, of which every single man was a member, and actuated only by him.
It is certain his heart was set on establishing Stanislaus on the throne, and he knew no better way of preventing Augustus from molesting him, than by calling off all communication between his electorate and Poland:—accordingly he bent his course to Saxony, marched thro' Silesia and Lusatia, plundered the open country, laid the rich city of Leipsic, and other towns, under contribution, and at length encamped at Alranstadt, near the plains of Lutsen, whence he sent to the estates of Saxony, to give him an estimate of what they could supply, and obliged them to levy whatever sums he had occasion for: not that he had the least spark of avarice in his nature, but his hatred to Augustus, who had by his injustice made him become his enemy, was so great, that it extended to all those of his country, so far, as to humble and impoverish the once opulent inhabitants, making them not only support his numerous army, but laid on them besides many unnecessary imposts, which he divided among his soldiers, so that they were all cloathed in gold and silver, and every private man had the appearance of a general, the king himself still preferring his usual plainness; but he loved, he said, to see the Saxon riches upon Swedish backs.
Horatio had now a second opportunity of writing to France, which he did not fail to do, and, as there was no talk of the army decamping for some time, let his friends know he hoped to hear from them at Alranstadt.
Augustus, in the mean time deprived of every thing, and a wanderer in that kingdom where he had lately reigned, sent a mean submission to him, entreating peace, and that he might have leave to return to his electorate. This was granted by the conqueror, on condition he would renounce, for ever, all thoughts of re-entering Poland, or giving any disturbance to Stanislaus. But as the treaty was going to be signed, the czar sent an army of 20,000 men to his relief, who defeated general Mayerfield, whom the king had left to guard that kingdom; and the dethroned monarch once more entered Warsaw, the capital of Poland, in triumph.
Charles XII. was so exasperated when he received this intelligence, that he gave immediate orders to decamp, resolving he should not long enjoy the benefit of his breach of faith; but the pusillanimity of Augustus prevented him: that prince was afraid the czar should discover the peace he had been secretly negotiating, and withdraw his troups; and as he had neither any of his own, nor money to assist him, he sent the articles demanded of him by the king of Sweden, signed with his own hand, and set out to Alranstadt, hoping, by his presence and persuasions, to mollify his indignation, and be permitted to enjoy his own Saxony in peace.
What more could the utmost ambition of man require than the king of Sweden now received, to see a prince, so lately his equal and inveterate enemy, come to solicite favour of him in his camp, almost at his feet; but whatever were his sentiments on this occasion he concealed them, and tho' he could not but despise such an act of meanness, he treated him with the utmost politeness, tho' without making any abatement of the demands he had exacted from him. On the contrary, he insisted on his delivering up to him general Patkul, ambassador from the czar, who at that time was a prisoner in Saxony, being determined to put him to death as a traitor, having been born his subject, and now entered into the service of his sworn enemy.
Augustus beseeched him in the most abject manner to relinquish this one point, and remonstrated to him that the czar, his present master, would look on it as the utmost indignity offered to himself in the person of his ambassador: he assured him he hated Patkul, but feared the giving him up would be resented by all the princes of Europe. All he could urge on this head was to no effect; the king of Sweden was not to be moved from any resolution he had once made; and the unfortunate Patkul was sent to Alranstadt and chained to a stake for three whole months, and afterwards conducted to Casimir, where he was to receive his sentence.
Horatio, who was an entire stranger to the motive of this behaviour in the king, and had never seen any thing before in him that looked like a cruel disposition, was one day mentioning his surprize at it to a young officer with whom he had contracted a great intimacy, on which he gave him the following account:
This Patkul, said he, is a Livonian born, which, tho' a free country, is part of the dominions annexed to the crown of Sweden: Charles XI. began to introduce a more absolute form of government than was consistent with the humour of that people; his son has been far from receding in that point, and Patkul being a person of great consideration among them, stood up for their liberties in a manner which our king could not forgive:—he ordered him to be seized, but he made his escape, and was proscribed in Sweden; on which he entered into the service of king Augustus, and was made his general; but on some misunderstanding; between him and the chancellor, he quitted Poland and went to Russia, where he got into great favour with the czar, was highly promoted, and sent his residentiary ambassador in Saxony. Augustus, whose fate it has been to disoblige every body, on some pretence clapp'd into prison the representative of his only friend, and now, we see, has given him up to death, to satiate the demands of his greatest enemy.
Horatio could not keep himself from falling into a deep musing at the recital of this adventure: he thought Patkul worthy of compassion, yet found reasons to justify the king's resentment; and as this officer had often disburthened himself to him with the greatest freedom, he had no reserve toward him, and this led them into a discourse on arbitrary power.—Horatio said, that he could not help believing that nature never intended millions to be subjected to the despotic will of one person, and that a limited government was the most conformable to reason. The officer agreed with him in that; except the person who ruled had really more perfections than all those he ruled over and if so, said he, and his commands are always calculated for the happiness of the subject, they cannot be more happy than in an implicite obedience. True, replied Horatio, I am confident that such a prince as ours knows how to chuse for his people much better than they do for themselves; but how can they be certain that his descendants will have the same virtues; and when once an absolute power is granted to a good prince, it will be in vain that the people will endeavour to wrest it from the hands of a bad one.—Never can any point be redeemed from the crown without a vast effusion of blood, and the endangering such calamities on the country, that the relief would be as bad as the disease. Upon the whole, therefore, I cannot think Patkul in the wrong for attempting to maintain the liberty of his country, tho' I do for entering into the service of the avowed enemy of his master.
It is that, I believe, resumed the other, that the king chiefly resents: his majesty is too just to condemn a man for maintaining the principles he was bred in, however they may disagree with his own; but to become his enemy, to enlist himself in the service of those who aim at the destruction of his lawful prince, is certainly a treason of the blackest dye.
As they were in this discourse, colonel Poniatosky came in, and hearing they were speaking of Patkul,—I have just now, said he, received a letter from one of my friends in Saxony concerning that general, which deeply affects me, not for his own, but for the sake of a lady, to whom, after a long series of disappointments, he was just going to be married, when Augustus, against the law of nations, made him a prisoner. I will relate the whole adventure to you, continued he; on which the others assuring him they should think themselves obliged to him, he went on.
When he first entered into the service of Augustus, he became passionately in love with madam d'Ensilden, a young lady, whose beauty, birth, and fortune rendered her worthy the affections of a man of more honour than he had testified in his public capacity: her friends at least thought so; and chancellor Flemming making his addresses to her at the same time, had the advantage in every thing but in her heart: there Patkul triumphed in spight of all objections: and tho' king Augustus vouchsafed himself to sollicite in behalf of his favourite, her constancy remained unshaken as a rock; which so incensed a monarch haughty and imperious in his nature, before humbled by our glorious Charles, that he made use of his authority, and forbid her to think of marrying any other: to which she resolutely answered, that she knew no right princes had to interfere with the marriages of private persons; but since his majesty commanded it, she would endeavour to obey and live single. This not satisfying the king, he hated Patkul from that moment; and the rivals soon after meeting in madam d'Ensilden's apartment, some hot words arose between them, which being by Flemming reported to his master, he sent, in the moment of his passion, to require Patkul to resign his office of general: he did so, but with a murmur that was far from abating the royal resentments; and he had then ordered him into confinement, but that private intelligence being given him, he made his escape before the officers, commissioned for that purpose, reached his house. He then went to the czar, who knowing him an experienced general, of which at that time he stood greatly in need, gladly received him; and it was there he first merited the hate of all good men, by countenancing and abetting those ambitious projects his new master was then forming against the king of Sweden: but see the fate of treason, he persuaded him to enter into an alliance with, Poland and Saxony against Sweden, which laid the foundation of this unjust war, and for which Augustus has so dearly paid; and being sent Ambassador, in order to negotiate these affairs, again renewed those of his love. Augustus, now obliged to the czar for the preservation of his dominions, durst not openly espouse chancellor Flemming, but no sooner heard that the marriage was near being compleated, than he ventured every thing to prevent it; and, under a pretence of his own forging, confined Patkul in the castle of Konisting, where he lay a considerable time; the czar being too much taken up with combating the fortune of our victorious king, to examine into this affair, and besides, unwilling to break with Augustus, as things then stood. Madam d'Ensilden did all this time whatever could be expected from a sincere affection, in order to procure his enlargement; but the interest of her friends, at least of those who would be employed in this intercession, were infinitely too weak to oppose that of Flemming and the king's own inclination, so that he remained a prisoner, without being permitted either to write to madam d'Ensilden or see her, till the time of his being delivered into our hands. But on hearing he was so, my friend informs me her great spirit, which till now had made her support her misfortune without discovering to the world any part of the agonies she sustained, in an instant quite forsook her: she abandoned herself to despair and grief, equally exclaiming against the Czar, Augustus, and Charles XII; has ever since shut herself up in her apartment, which she has caused to be hung with black, the windows closed, and no light but what a small lamp affords, and only adds more horror to the melancholy scene: she weeps incessantly, and, as she expects her lover will obtain no mercy, declares, she only waits till she hears the sentence of his fate is given, to dye, if possible, at the same moment of his execution.
I must confess, continued Poniatosky, the history of this lady's sufferings touch me very much; and tho' I think her lover well worthy of the death he will undoubtedly receive, could wish some unexpected chance might once more set him free, and in a condition to recompence so tender a passion, which Augustus has now no longer any power to oppose.
Horatio had a heart too tender, and too sensible of the woes of love, not to be greatly affected with this passage; and as they all were young, and probably had each of them a lady to whom their affections were given, could not help sympathizing in the misfortunes of two persons who seemed to have fallen into them merely by the sincere attachment they had for each other.