THE FAIR JILT.

The next Morning early she sent for the Steward, whom she order’d to take the Stranger to a Sale-shop, and fit him with a Suit of good Cloaths, to buy him Shirts, and other Linnen, and all Necessaries, as he had provided for her Brother; and gave him Charge to use him as her particular Friend, during his Stay there, bidding him, withal, learn his Name and Circumstances, if possible, and to supply him with Money for his Pocket Expences: All which he most faithfully and discreetly perform’d, and brought his Lady an Account of his Sufferings by Sea, and Slavery among theTurks, as I have before related; adding, that his Name wasGracelove. This was the greatest Happiness, certainly, that ever yet the dear beautiful Creature was sensible of. On t’other Side,Gracelovecould not but admire and praise his good Fortune, that had so miraculously and bountifully reliev’d him; and one Day having some private Discourse with the Steward, he could not forbear expressing the Sense he had of it; declaring, That he could not have expected such kind Treatment from any Body breathing, but from his Cousin, CounsellorFairlaw, his Lady, or another youngLady, whom he plac’d and left with his Cousins. CounsellorFairlaw! (cry’d the Steward) why, Sir, my Lady is the old Counsellor’s Widow; she is very beautiful and young too. What was her Name, Sir, before she marry’d the Counsellor? (ask’dGracelove) That I know not, (reply’d t’other) for the old Steward dy’d presently after the old Lady, which is not a Year and a Half since; in whose Place I succeed; and I have never been so curious or inquisitive, as to pry into former Passages of the Family. Do you know, Sir, (saidGracelove) whereabouts in Town they liv’d before? Yes, Sir, (return’d the Steward, who was taught how to answer) inGreat Lincolns-Inn-Fields, I think, Alas! (cry’dGracelove) ’twas the same Gentleman to whom I design’d to apply my self when I came toEngland. You need not despair now, Sir, (said t’other) I dare say my Lady will supply your Wants. O wonderful Goodness of a Stranger! (cry’dGracelove) uncommon and rare amongst Relations and Friends! How have I, or how can I ever merit this? Upon the End of their Conference, the Steward went toPhiladelphia, and repeated it almostverbatimto her; who order’dGraceloveshould be taken Measure of by the best Taylor inCovent-Garden; that he should have three of the most modish rich Suits made, that might become a private Gentleman of a Thousand Pounds a Year, and Hats, Perukes, Linnen, Swords, and all Things suitable to ’em, all to be got ready in less than a Month; in which Time, she took all the Opportunity she could either find or make to see him, and not to be seen by him: She oblig’d her Steward to invite him to a Play, whither she follow’d ’em, and sate next toGracelove, and talk’d with him; but all the while masq’d. In this Month’s Time she was daily pester’d with the Visits of her Addressors; several there were of ’em; but the chief were only a Lord of a very small Estate, tho’ of a pretty great Age; a young blustering Knight, who had a Place of 500l.a Year at Court; and a County Gentleman, of a very plentiful Estate, a Widower,and of a middle Age. These three only of her Lovers she invited to Dinner, on the first Day of the next Month: In the mean while she sent a rich Suit, and Equipage proportionable, to her Brother, with an Invitation to dine with her on the same Day. Then she writ toEugeniato come and stay in Town, if not in the same House with her, for two or three Days before; which her affectionate Daughter obey’d; to whomPhiladelphiarelated all her Brother’s past Extravagancies and what she had done for him in redeeming most Part of his Estate; begging of her, that if she could fancy his Person, she would take him into her Mercy and marry him. Being assur’d, that such a virtuous Wife as she would prove, must necessarily reclaim him, if yet he were not perfectly convinc’d of his Follies; which, she doubted not, his late long Sufferings had done.Eugeniareturn’d, That she would wholly be directed and advis’d by her in all Things; and that certainly she could not but like the Brother, since she lov’d the Sister so perfectly and truly.The Day came, and just at Twelve,Gracelove, meeting the Steward on the Stairs coming from his Lady,Gracelovethen told him, that he believ’d he might take the Opportunity of that Afternoon to go over toPutney, and take a Game or two at Bowls. The Steward return’d, Very well, Sir, I shall let my Lady know it, if she enquires for you.Philadelphia, who overheard what they said, call’d the Steward in Haste, and bid him callGraceloveback, and tell him, she expected his Company at her Table to Day, and that she desir’d he would appear like himself. The Steward soon overtook him at the Door, just going out asEugeniacame in, who look’d back onGracelove: The poor Gentleman was strangely surpriz’d at the Sight of her, as she was at his; but the Steward’s Message did more amaze and confound him. He went directly to his Chamber, to dress himself in one of those rich Suits lately made for him; but, the Distraction he was in, made him mistake his Coatfor his Wastcoat, and put the Coat on first; but, recalling his straggling Thoughts, he made Shift to get ready time enough to make his Appearance without a second Summons.Philadelphiawas as pleasant at Dinner, as ever she had been all her Life; she look’d very obligingly on all the Sparks, and drank to every one of ’em particularly, beginning to the Lord—and ending to the Stranger, who durst hardly lift up his Eyes a second Time to her’s, to confirm him that he knew her. Her Brother was so confounded, that he bow’d and continu’d his Head down ’till she had done drinking, not daring to encounter her Eyes, that would then have reproach’d him with his Villany to her.After Dinner the Cloth was taken away; She began thus to her Lovers: My Lord! SirThomas! and Mr.Fat-acres! I doubt not, that it will be of some Satisfaction to you, to know whom I have made Choice for my next Husband; which now I am resolv’d no longer to defer.The Person to whom I shall next drink, must be the Man who shall ever command me and my Fortune, were it ten times greater than it is; which I wish only for his Sake, since he deserves much more.—Here, (said she to one that waited) put Wine into two Glasses: Then she took the Diamond Ring from her Finger, and put it into one of ’em. My dearGracelove, (cry’d she) I drank to thee; and send thee back thy own Ring, withPhiladelphia’sHeart. He startl’d, blush’d, and looked wildly; whilst all the Company stared on him. Nay, pledge me, (persu’d she) and return me the Ring: for it shall make us both one the next Morning. He bow’d, kiss’d, and return’d it, after he had taken off his Wine. The defeated Lovers knew not how to resentit?The Lord and Knight were for going, but the Country Gentleman oppos’d it, and told ’em, ’twas the greatest Argument of Folly, to be disturb’d at the Caprice of a Woman’s Humour. They sate down again therefore, and she invited ’em to her Wedding on the Morrow.And now, Brother, (said she) I have not quite forgotten you, tho’ you have not been pleas’d to take Notice of me: I have a Dish in Reserve for you, which will be more grateful to your Fancy than all you have tasted to Day. Here! (cry’d she to the Steward) Mr.Rightman, do you serve up that Dish your self.Rightmanthen set a cover’d Dish on the Table. What! more Tricks yet? (cry’d my Lord and SirThomas) Come, SirWilliam! (said his Sister) uncover it! he did so; and cry’d out, O matchless Goodness of a virtuous Sister! here are the Mortgages of the best Part of my Estate! O! what a Villain! what a Monster have I been! no more, dear Brother; (said she, with Tears in her Eyes) I have yet a greater Happiness in Store for you: This Lady, this beautiful virtuous Lady, with twenty thousand Pounds, will make you happy in her Love. Saying this, she join’d their Hands; SirWilliameagerly kiss’dEugenia’s, who blush’d, and said, Thus, Madam, I hope to shew how much I love and honour you. My CousinEugenia! (cry’dGracelove!)The same, my dear lost dead CousinGracelove! (reply’d she) O! (said he in a Transport) my present Joys are greater than all my past Miseries! my Mistress and my Friend are found, and still are mine. Nay, (faith, said my Lord) this is pleasant enough to me, tho’ I have been defeated of the Enjoyment of the Lady. The whole Company in general went away very well that Night, who return’d the next Morning, and saw the two happy Pair firmly united.FINIS.Notes: Critical and Explanatory:The Unfortunate Happy Lady.p. 43Ros Solis.A potent and well-liked tipple.We abandon all aleAnd beer that is staleRosa-solis and damnable hum,But we will rackIn the praise of sack’Gainst Omne quod exit in um.—Witts Recreation(1654).The Accomplished Female Instructorgives the following recipe: ‘Rossa Solis; Take of clean spirits, not too strong, two quarts and a quart of spring-water; let them seethe gently over a soft fire till about a pint is evaporated; then put in four spoonfuls of orange-flower-water, and as much of very good cinnamon-water; crush 3 eggs in pieces, and throw them in shell and all; stir it well, and when it boiles up a little take it off.’ This drink was so great a favourite with Louis XIV that a particular sort was named Rossolis du Roi.p. 51The Cheats, Mother, the Cheats.John Wilson’s excellent comedy,The Cheats, which was written and produced in 1662, attained great popularity. It ran into four editions (‘imprimatur, 5 November, 1663’); 4to, 1664; 1671; 1684; 1693. Caustically satirizing the Puritans, it became a stock piece, and was acted as late as May, 1721, when Griffin, Harper, Diggs, and Mrs. Gifford sustained the parts which had been created by Lacy, Mohun, Hart, and Mrs. Corey.THE FAIR JILT.INTRODUCTION.AlthoughThe Fair Jiltwas published in 1688, it is interesting to note that ten years earlier, Michaelmas Term, 1678, there is advertised for R. TonsonThe Amorous Convert; being a true Relation of what happened in Holland, which may very well be the first sketch of Mrs. Behn’s maturer novel. The fact that she does not ‘pretend here to entertain you with a feign’d story,’ but on the contrary, ‘every circumstance to a tittle is truth’, and that she expressly asserts, ‘To a great part of the main I myself was an eye-witness’, aroused considerable suspicion in Bernbaum as to the veracity of her narration, a suspicion which, when he gravely discovers history to know no such person as her ‘PrinceTarpuinof the race of the last Kings of Rome’, is resolved into a certainty that she is romancing fully and freely throughout. It is surely obvious that such a point does not so much demonstrate Mrs. Behn’s untruthfulness as her consummate art. With all the nice skill of a born novelist she has so mingled fact and fancy, what did occur and what might have been, that any attempt to disentangle the twain would be idle indeed. The passages where she is most insistent upon the due sequence of events, most detailed in observation are not impossibly purely fictional, the incidents related without stress or emphatic assertions are probably enough the plain unvarnished happenings as she witnessed them. That the history is mainly true admits of little question; that Mrs. Behn has heightened and coloured the interest is equally certain.The Fair Jiltmust be allowed to stand in the very first rank amongst her novels. It has been aptly compared to a novella by Bandello, and is indeed more than worthy of the pen of the good Dominican Bishop of Agen. In all its incidents and motives the story is eternally true. The fateful beauty, playing now the part of Potiphar’s wife, and now the yet commoner rôle of an enchantress whose charms drive men to madness and crime, men who adore her even from their prison cell and are glad to go to a shameful death for her sake, appears in all history, in all literature, nay, in the very newspaper scandals and police courts of to-day. As a picture of untrammelled passion, culpable and corrupt, but yet terribly fascinating in her very recklessness and abandon, Miranda is indeed a powerful study. Always guilty, she is always excused, or if punished but sparingly and little, whilst the friar languishes in a foul dungeon, the page-boy is hanged, her husband stands upon the public scaffold. And then in the end, ‘very penitent for her life past’, she is received with open arms by Tarquin’s old father, who looks upon her as a very angel, and retiring to the tranquility of a country-house she passes her days in ‘as perfect a state of happiness as this troublesome world can afford’.TOHENRY PAIN, ESQ;Sir,Dedicationsare like Love, and no Man of Wit or Eminence escapes them; early or late, the Affliction of the Poet’s Complement falls upon him; and Men are oblig’d to receive ’em as they do their Wives;For better, for worse; atleastwith a feign’d Civility.It was not Want of Respect, but Fear, that has hitherto made us keep clear of your Judgment, too piercing to be favourable to what is not nicely valuable. We durst not awaken your Criticism; and by begging your Protection in the Front of a Book, give you an Occasion to find nothing to deserve it. Nor can this little History lay a better Claim to that Honour, than those that have not pretended to it; which has but this Merit to recommend it, That it is Truth: Truth, which you so much admire. But ’tis a Truth that entertains you with so many Accidents diverting and moving, that they will need both a Patron, and an Assertor in this incredulous World. For however it may be imagin’d that Poetry (my Talent) has so greatly the Ascendant over me, that all I write must pass for Fiction, I now desire to have it understood that this is Reality, and Matter of Fact, and acted in this our latter Age: And that in the person ofTarquin, I bring a Prince to kiss your Hands, who own’d himself, and was receiv’d, as the last of the Race of theRomanKings; whom I have often seen, and you have heard of; and whose Story is so well known to your self, and many Hundreds more: Part of which I had from the Mouth of this unhappy great Man, and was an Eye-Witness to the rest.’Tis true, Sir, I present you with a Prince unfortunate, but still the more noble Object for your Goodness and Pity; who never valu’d a brave Man the less for being unhappy. And whither shou’d the Afflicted flee for Refuge but to the Generous? Amongst all the Race, he cannot find a better Man, or more certain Friend: Nor amongst all his Ancestors, match your greater Soul, and Magnificence of Mind. He will behold in oneEnglishSubject, a Spirit as illustrious, a Heart as fearless, a Wit and Eloquence as excellent, asRomeit self cou’d produce. Its Senate scarce boasted of a better States-man, nor Augustus of a more faithful Subject; as your Imprisonment and Sufferings, through all the Course of our late National Distractions, have sufficiently manifested; But nothing cou’dpress or deject your great Heart; you were the same Man still, unmov’d in all Turns, easie and innocent; no Persecution being able to abate your constant good Humour, or wonted Gallantry.If, Sir, you find here a Prince of less Fortitude and Vertue than your self, charge his Miscarriages on Love: a Weakness of that Nature you will easily excuse, (being so great a Friend to the Fair;) though possibly, he gave a Proof of it too Fatal to his Honour. Had I been to have form’d his Character, perhaps I had made him something more worthy of the Honour of your Protection: But I was oblig’d to pursue the Matter of Fact, and give a just Relation of that part of his Life which, possibly, was the only reproachful part of it. If he be so happy, as to entertain a Man of Wit and Business, I shall not fear his Welcome to the rest of the World: And ’tis only with your Passport he can hope to be so.The particular Obligations I have to your Bounty and Goodness, O Noble Friend, and Patron of theMuses! I do not so much as pretend to acknowledge in this little Present; those being above the Poet’s Pay, which is a sort of Coin, notcurrantin this Age: though perhaps may be esteem’d as Medals in the Cabinets of Men of Wit. If this be so happy to be of that Number, I desire no more lasting a Fame, that it may bear this Inscription, that I am,SIR,Your most Obliged, andMost Humble Servant,A. BEHN.THEFAIR JILT:or,The Amours of PrinceTarquinandMiranda.AsLove is the most noble and divine Passion of the Soul, so it is that to which we may justly attribute all the real Satisfactions of Life; and without it Man is unfinish’d and unhappy.There are a thousand things to be said of the Advantages this generous Passion brings to those, whose Hearts are capable of receiving its soft Impressions; for ’tis not every one that can be sensible of its tender Touches. How many Examples, from History and Observation, could I give of its wondrous Power; nay, even to a Degree of Transmigration! How many Idiots has it made wise! How many Fools eloquent! How many home-bred Squires accomplish’d! How many Cowards brave! And there is no sort of Species of Mankind on whom it cannot work some Change and Miracle, if it be a noble well-grounded Passion, except on the Fop in Fashion, the harden’d incorrigible Fop; so often wounded, but never reclaim’d: For still, by a dire Mistake, conducted by vast Opiniatrety, and a greater Portion of Self-love, than the rest of the Race of Man, he believes that Affectation in his Mein and Dress, that Mathematical Movement, that Formality in every Action, that a Face manag’d with Care, and soften’d into Ridicule, the languishing Turn, the Toss, and the Back-shake of the Periwig, is the direct Way to the Heart of the fine Person he adores; and instead of curing Love in his Soul, serves only to advance his Folly; and the morehe is enamour’d, the more industriously he assumes (every Hour) the Coxcomb. These are Love’s Play-things, a sort of Animals with whom he sports; and whom he never wounds, but when he is in good Humour, and always shoots laughing. ’Tis the Diversion of the little God, to see what a Fluttering and Bustle one of these Sparks, new-wounded, makes; to what fantastick Fooleries he has Recourse: The Glass is every Moment call’d to counsel, the Valet consulted and plagu’d for new Invention of Dress, the Footman andScrutoreperpetually employ’d;Billet-douxandMadrigalstake up all his Mornings, till Play-time in dressing, till Night in gazing; still, like a Sun-flower, turn’d towards the Beams of the fair Eyes of hisCælia, adjusting himself in the most amorous Posture he can assume, his Hat under his Arm, while the other Hand is put carelesly into his Bosom, as if laid upon his panting Heart; his Head a little bent to one Side, supported with a World of Cravat-string, which he takes mighty Care not to put into Disorder; as one may guess by a never-failing and horrid Stiffness in his Neck; and if he had any Occasion to look aside, his whole Body turns at the same Time, for Fear the Motion of the Head alone should incommode the Cravat or Periwig: And sometimes the Glove is well manag’d, and the white Hand display’d. Thus, with a thousand other little Motions and Formalities, all in the common Place or Road of Foppery, he takes infinite Pains to shew himself to the Pit and Boxes, a most accomplish’d Ass. This is he, of all human Kind, on whom Love can do no Miracles, and who can no where, and upon no Occasion, quit one Grain of his refin’d Foppery, unless in a Duel, or a Battle, if ever his Stars should be so severe and ill-manner’d, to reduce him to the Necessity of either: Fear then would ruffle that fine Form he had so long preserv’d in nicest Order, with Grief considering, that an unlucky Chance-wound in his Face, if such a dire Misfortune should befal him, would spoil the Sale of it for ever.Perhaps it will be urg’d, that since no Metamorphosis can be made in a Fop by Love, you must consider him one of those that only talks of Love, and thinks himself that happy Thing, a Lover; and wanting fine Sense enough for the real Passion, believes what he feels to be it. There are in the Quiver of the God a great many different Darts; some that wound for a Day, and others for a Year; they are all fine, painted, glittering Darts, and shew as well as those made of the noblest Metal; but the Wounds they make reach the Desire only, and are cur’d by possessing, while the short-liv’d Passion betrays the Cheat. But ’tis that refin’d and illustrious Passion of the Soul, whose Aim is Virtue, and whose end is Honour, that has the Power of changing Nature, and is capable of performing all those heroick Things, of which History is full.How far distant Passions may be from one another, I shall be able to make appear in these following Rules. I’ll prove to you the strong Effects of Love in some unguarded and ungovern’d Hearts; where it rages beyond the Inspirations ofa God all soft and gentle, and reigns more likea Fury from Hell.I do not pretend here to entertain you with a feign’d Story, or any Thing piec’d together with romantick Accidents; but every Circumstance, to a Tittle, is Truth. To a great Part of the Main I myself was an Eye-witness; and what I did not see, I was confirm’d of by Actors in the Intrigue, Holy Men, of the Order of St.Francis: But for the Sake of some of her Relations, I shall give myFair Jilta feign’d Name, that ofMiranda; but my Hero must retain his own, it being too illustrious to be conceal’d.You are to understand, that in all the Catholick Countries, where Holy Orders are establish’d, there are abundance of differing Kinds of Religious, both of Men and Women. Amongst the Women, there are those we callNuns, that make solemn Vows of perpetual Chastity; There are others who make but a simple Vow, as for five or ten Years, ormore or less; and that time expir’d, they may contract anew for longer time, or marry, or dispose of themselves as they shall see good; and these are ordinarily call’dGalloping Nuns: Of these there are several Orders; asCanonesses,Begines,Quests,Swart-Sisters, andJesuitesses, with several others I have forgot. Of those of theBegineswas ourFair Votress.These Orders are taken up by the best Persons of the Town, young Maids of Fortune, who live together, not inclos’d, but in Palaces that will hold about fifteen hundred or two thousand of theseFilles Devotes; where they have a regulated Government, under a sort ofAbbess, orPrioress, or rather aGovernante. They are oblig’d to a Method of Devotion, and are under a sort of Obedience. They wear a Habit much like our Widows of Quality inEngland, only without aBando; and their Veil is of a thicker Crape than what we have here, thro’ which one cannot see the Face; for when they go abroad, they cover themselves all over with it; but they put ’em up in the Churches, and lay ’em by in the Houses. Every one of these have a Confessor, who is to ’em a sort of Steward: For, you must know, they that go into these Places, have the Management of their own Fortunes, and what their Parents design ’em. Without the Advice of this Confessor, they act nothing, nor admit of a Lover that he shall not approve; at least, this Method ought to be taken, and is by almost all of ’em; tho’Mirandathought her Wit above it, as her Spirit was.But as these Women are, as I said, of the best Quality, and live with the Reputation of being retir’d from the World a little more than ordinary, and because there is a sort of Difficulty to approach ’em, they are the People the most courted, and liable to the greatest Temptations; for as difficult as it seems to be, they receive Visits from all the Men of the best Quality, especially Strangers. All the Men of Wit and Conversation meet at the Apartments ofthese fairFilles Devotes, where all Manner of Gallantries are perform’d, while all the Study of these Maids is to accomplish themselves for these noble Conversations. They receive Presents, Balls, Serenades, and Billets; All the News, Wit, Verses, Songs, Novels, Musick, Gaming, and all fine Diversion, is in their Apartments, they themselves being of the best Quality and Fortune. So that to manage these Gallantries, there is no sort of Female Arts they are not practis’d in, no Intrigue they are ignorant of, and no Management of which they are not capable.Of this happy Number was the fairMiranda, whose Parents being dead, and a vast Estate divided between her self and a young Sister, (who liv’d with an unmarry’d old Uncle, whose Estate afterwards was all divided between ’em) she put her self into this uninclos’d religious House; but her Beauty, which had all the Charms that ever Nature gave, became the Envy of the wholeSisterhood. She was tall, and admirably shaped; she had a bright Hair, and Hazle-Eyes, all full of Love and Sweetness: No Art could make a Face so fair as hers by Nature, which every Feature adorn’d with a Grace that Imagination cannot reach: Every Look, every Motion charm’d, and her black Dress shew’d the Lustre of her Face and Neck. She had an Air, though gay as so much Youth could inspire, yet so modest, so nobly reserv’d, without Formality, or Stiffness, that one who look’d on her would have imagin’d her Soul the Twin-Angel of her Body; and both together made her appear something divine. To this she had a great deal of Wit, read much, and retain’d all that serv’d her Purpose. She sung delicately, and danc’d well, and play’d on the Lute to a Miracle. She spoke several Languages naturally; for being Co-heiress to so great a Fortune, she was bred with the nicest Care, in all the finest MannersofEducation; and was now arriv’d to her Eighteenth Year.’Twere needless to tell you how great a Noise the Fame of this young Beauty, with so considerable a Fortune, madein the World: I may say, the World, rather than confine her Fame to the scanty Limits of a Town; it reach’d to many others: And there was not a Man of any Quality that came toAntwerp, or pass’d thro’ the City, but made it his Business to see the lovelyMiranda, who was universally ador’d: Her Youth and Beauty, her Shape, and Majesty of Mein, and Air of Greatness, charm’d all her Beholders; and thousands of People were dying by her Eyes, while she was vain enough to glory in her Conquests, and make it her Business to wound. She lov’d nothing so much as to behold sighing Slaves at her Feet, of the greatest Quality; and treated them all with an Affability that gave them Hope. Continual Musick, as soon as it was dark, and Songs of dying Lovers, were sung under her Windows; and she might well have made herself a great Fortune (if she had not been so already) by the rich Presents that were hourly made her; and every body daily expected when she would make some one happy, by suffering her self to be conquer’d by Love and Honour, by the Assiduities and Vows of some one of her Adorers. ButMirandaaccepted their Presents, heard their Vows with Pleasure, and willingly admitted all their soft Addresses; but would not yield her Heart, or give away that lovely Person to the Possession of one, who could please it self with so many. She was naturally amorous, but extremely inconstant: She lov’d one for his Wit, another for his Face, and a third for his Mein; but above all, she admir’d Quality: Quality alone had the Power to attach her entirely; yet not to one Man, but that Virtue was still admir’d by her in all: Where-ever she found that, she lov’d, or at least acted the Lover with such Art, that (deceiving well) she fail’d not to compleat her Conquest; and yet she never durst trust her fickle Humour with Marriage. She knew the Strength of her own Heart, and that it could not suffer itself to be confin’d to one Man, and wisely avoided those Inquietudes, and that Uneasiness of Life she was sure to find in that marriedState, which would, against her Nature, oblige her to the Embraces of one, whose Humour was, to love all the Young and the Gay. But Love, who had hitherto only play’d with her Heart, and given it nought but pleasing wanton Wounds, such as afforded only soft Joys, and not Pains, resolv’d, either out of Revenge to those Numbers she had abandon’d, and who had sigh’d so long in vain, or to try what Power he had upon so fickle a Heart, to send an Arrow dipp’d in the most tormenting Flames that rage in Hearts most sensible. He struck it home and deep, with all the Malice of an angry God.There was a Church belonging to theCordeliers, whitherMirandaoften repair’d to her Devotion; and being there one Day, accompany’d with a young Sister of the Order, after the Mass was ended, as ’tis the Custom, some one of the Fathers goes about the Church with a Box for Contribution, or Charity-Money: It happen’d that Day, that a young Father, newly initiated, carried the Box about, which, in his Turn, he brought toMiranda. She had no sooner cast her Eyes on this young Friar, but her Face was overspread with Blushes of Surprize: She beheld him stedfastly, and saw in his Face all the Charms of Youth, Wit, and Beauty; he wanted no one Grace that could form him for Love, he appear’d all that is adorable to the Fair Sex, nor could the mis-shapen Habit hide from her the lovely Shape it endeavour’d to cover, nor those delicate Hands that approach’d her too near with the Box. Besides the Beauty of his Face and Shape, he had an Air altogether great, in spite of his profess’d Poverty, it betray’d the Man of Quality; and that Thought weigh’d greatly withMiranda. But Love, who did not design she should now feel any sort of those easy Flames, with which she had heretofore burnt, made her soon lay all those Considerations aside, which us’d to invite her to love, and now lov’d she knew not why.She gaz’d upon him, while he bow’d before her, andwaited for her Charity, till she perceiv’d the lovely Friar to blush, and cast his Eyes to the Ground. This awaken’d her Shame, and she put her Hand into her Pocket, and was a good while in searching for her Purse, as if she thought of nothing less than what she was about; at last she drew it out, and gave him a Pistole; but with so much Deliberation and Leisure, as easily betray’d the Satisfaction she took in looking on him; while the good Man, having receiv’d her Bounty, after a very low Obeysance, proceeded to the rest; andMirandacasting after him a Look all languishing, as long as he remain’d in the Church, departed with a Sigh as soon as she saw him go out, and returned to her Apartment without speaking one Word all the Way to the youngFille Devote, who attended her; so absolutely was her Soul employ’d with this young Holy Man.Cornelia(so was this Maid call’d who was with her) perceiving she was so silent, who us’d to be all Wit and good Humour, and observing her little Disorder at the Sight of the young Father, tho’ she was far from imagining it to be Love, took an Occasion, when she was come home, to speak of him. ‘Madam,said she, did you not observe that fine youngCordelier, who brought the Box?’ At a Question that nam’d that Object of her Thoughts,Mirandablush’d; and she finding she did so, redoubled her Confusion, and she had scarce Courage enough to say,—Yes, I did observe him: And then, forcing herself to smile a little, continu’d, ‘And I wonder’d to see so jolly a young Friar of an Order so severe and mortify’d.—Madam, (reply’dCornelia) when you know hisStory, you will not wonder.’Miranda, who was impatient to know all that concern’d her new Conqueror, obliged her to tell his Story; andCorneliaobey’d, and proceeded.The Story of PrinceHenrick.‘You must know, Madam, that this young Holy Man is a Prince ofGermany, of the House of——, whose Fate it was, to fall most passionately in Love with a fair young Lady, who lov’d him with an Ardour equal to what he vow’d her. Sure of her Heart, and wanting only the Approbation of her Parents, and his own, which her Quality did not suffer him to despair of, he boasted of his Happiness to a young Prince, his elder Brother, a Youth amorous and fierce, impatient of Joys, and sensible of Beauty, taking Fire with all fair Eyes: He was his Father’s Darling, and Delight of his fond Mother; and, by an Ascendant over both their Hearts, rul’d their Wills.‘This young Prince no sooner saw, but lov’d the fair Mistress of his Brother; and with an Authority of a Sovereign, rather than the Advice of a Friend, warn’d his BrotherHenrick(this now young Friar) to approach no more this Lady, whom he had seen; and seeing, lov’d.‘In vain the poor surpriz’d Prince pleads his Right of Love, his Exchange of Vows, and Assurance of a Heart that could never be but for himself. In vain he urges his Nearness of Blood, his Friendship, his Passion, or his Life, which so entirely depended on the Possession of the charming Maid. All his Pleading serv’d but to blow his Brother’s Flame; and the more he implores, the more the other burns; and whileHenrickfollows him, on his Knees, with humble Submissions, the other flies from him in Rages of transported Love; nor could his Tears, that pursu’d his Brother’s Steps, move him to Pity: Hot-headed, vain-conceited of his Beauty, and greater Quality as elder Brother, he doubts not of Success, and resolv’d to sacrifice all to the Violence of his new-born Passion.‘In short, he speaks of his Design to his Mother, who promis’d him her Assistance; and accordingly proposingit first to the Prince her Husband, urging the Languishment of her Son, she soon wrought so on him, that a Match being concluded between the Parents of this young Beauty, andHenrick’sBrother, the Hour was appointed before she knew of the Sacrifice she was to be made. And while this was in Agitation,Henrickwas sent on some great Affairs, up intoGermany, far out of the Way; not but his boding Heart, with perpetual Sighs and Throbs, eternally foretold him his Fate.‘All the Letters he wrote were intercepted, as well as those she wrote to him. She finds herself every Day perplex’d with the Addresses of the Prince she hated; he was ever sighing at her Feet. In vain were all her reproaches, and all her Coldness, he was on the surer Side; for what he found Love would not do, Force of Parents would.‘Shecomplains, in her Heart, of youngHenrick, from whom she could never receive one Letter; and at last could not forbear bursting into Tears, in spite of all her Force, and feign’d Courage, when, on a Day, the Prince told her, thatHenrickwas withdrawn to give him Time to court her; to whom he said, he confess’d he had made some Vows, but did repent of ’em, knowing himself too young to make ’em good: That it was for that Reason he brought him first to see her; and for that Reason, that after that, he never saw her more, nor so much as took Leave of her; when, indeed, his Death lay upon the next Visit, his Brother having sworn to murder him; and to that End, put a Guard upon him, till he was sent intoGermany.‘All this he utter’d with so many passionate Asseverations, Vows, and seeming Pity for her being so inhumanly abandon’d, that she almost gave Credit to all he had said, and had much ado to keep herself within the Bounds of Moderation, and silent Grief. Her Heart was breaking, her Eyes languish’d, and her Cheeks grew pale, and she had like to have fallen dead into the treacherous Arms of him that had reduc’d her to this Discovery; but she didwhat she could to assume her Courage, and to shew as little Resentment as possible for a Heart, like hers, oppress’d with Love, and now abandon’d by the dear Subject of its Joys and Pains.‘But, Madam, not to tire you with this Adventure, the Day arriv’d wherein our still weeping Fair Unfortunate was to be sacrific’d to the Capriciousness of Love; and she was carry’d to Court by her Parents, without knowing to what End, where she was even compell’d to marry the Prince.‘Henrick, who all this While knew no more of his Unhappiness, than what his Fears suggested, returns, and passes even to the Presence of his Father, before he knew any Thing of his Fortune; where he beheld his Mistress and his Brother, with his Father, in such a Familiarity, as he no longer doubted his Destiny. ’Tis hard to judge, whether the Lady, or himself, was most surpriz’d; she was all pale and unmoveable in her Chair, andHenrickfix’d like a Statue; at last Grief and Rage took Place of Amazement, and he could not forbear crying out,Ah, Traytor! Is it thus you have treated a Friend and Brother? And you, O perjur’d Charmer! Is it thus you have rewarded all my Vows?He could say no more; but reeling against the Door, had fallen in a Swoon upon the Floor, had not his Page caught him in his Arms, who was entring with him. The good old Prince, the Father, who knew not what all this meant, was soon inform’d by the young weeping Princess; who, in relating the Story of her Amour withHenrick, told her Tale in so moving a Manner, as brought Tears to the Old Man’s Eyes, and Rage to those of her Husband; he immediately grew jealous to the last Degree: He finds himself in Possession (’tis true) of the Beauty he ador’d, but the Beauty adoring another; a Prince young and charming as the Light, soft, witty, and raging with an equal Passion. He finds this dreaded Rival in the same House with him, with an Authority equal to his own; andfancies, where two Hearts are so entirely agreed, and have so good an Understanding, it would not be impossible to find Opportunities to satisfy and ease that mutual Flame, that burnt so equally in both; he therefore resolved to send him out of the World, and to establish his own Repose by a Deed, wicked, cruel, and unnatural, to have him assassinated the first Opportunity he could find. This Resolution set him a little at Ease, and he strove to dissemble Kindness toHenrick, with all the Art he was capable of, suffering him to come often to the Apartment of the Princess, and to entertain her oftentimes with Discourse, when he was not near enough to hear what he spoke; but still watching their Eyes, he found those ofHenrickfull of Tears, ready to flow, but restrain’d, looking all dying, and yet reproaching, while those of the Princess were ever bent to the Earth, and she as much as possible, shunning his Conversation. Yet this did not satisfy the jealous Husband; ’twas not her Complaisance that could appease him; he found her Heart was panting within, wheneverHenrickapproach’d her, and every Visit more and more confirmed his Death.‘The Father often found the Disorders of the Sons; the Softness and Address of the one gave him as much Fear, as the angry Blushings, the fierce Looks, and broken Replies of the other, whenever he beheldHenrickapproach his Wife; so that the Father, fearing some ill Consequence of this, besoughtHenrickto withdraw to some other Country, or travel intoItaly, he being now of an Age that required a View of the World. He told his Father, That he would obey his Commands, tho’ he was certain, that Moment he was to be separated from the Sight of the fair Princess, his Sister, would be the last of his Life; and, in fine, made so pitiful a Story of his suffering Love, as almost moved the old Prince to compassionate him so far, as to permit him to stay; but he saw inevitable Danger in that, and therefore bid him prepare for his Journey.‘That which pass’d between the Father andHenrick, being a Secret, none talked of his departing from Court; so that the Design the Brother had went on; and making a Hunting-Match one Day, where most young People of Quality were, he order’d some whom he had hired to follow his Brother, so as if he chanced to go out of the Way, to dispatch him; and accordingly, Fortune gave ’em an Opportunity; for he lagg’d behind the Company, and turn’d aside into a pleasant Thicket of Hazles, where alighting, he walk’d on Foot in the most pleasant Part of it, full of Thought, how to divide his Soul between Love and Obedience. He was sensible that he ought not to stay; that he was but an Affliction to the young Princess, whose Honour could never permit her to ease any Part of his Flame; nor was he so vicious to entertain a Thought that should stain her Virtue. He beheld her now as his Brother’s Wife, and that secured his Flame from all loose Desires, if her native Modesty had not been sufficientofitself to have done it, as well as that profound Respect he paid her; and he consider’d, in obeying his Father, he left her at Ease, and his Brother freed of a thousand Fears; he went to seek a Cure, which if he could not find, at last he could but die; and so he must, even at her Feet: However, that it was more noble to seek a Remedy for his Disease, than expect a certain Death by staying. After a thousand Reflections on his hard Fate, and bemoaning himself, and blaming his cruel Stars, that had doom’d him to die so young, after an Infinity of Sighs and Tears, Resolvings and Unresolvings, he, on the sudden, was interrupted by the trampling of some Horses he heard, and their rushing through the Boughs, and saw four Men make towards him: He had not time to mount, being walk’d some Paces from his Horse. One of the Men advanced, and cry’d,Prince, you must die—I do believe thee, (reply’dHenrick)but not by a Hand so base as thine: And at the same Time drawing his Sword, run him into the Groin.When the Fellow found himself so wounded, he wheel’d off and cry’d,Thou art a Prophet, and hast rewarded my Treachery with Death.The rest came up, and one shot at the Prince, and shot him in the Shoulder; the other two hastily laying hold (but too late) on the Hand of the Murderer, cry’d,Hold, Traytor; we relent, and he shall not die.He reply’d,’Tis too late, he is shot; and see, he lies dead. Let us provide for ourselves, and tell the Prince, we have done the Work; for you are as guilty as I am.At that they all fled, and left the Prince lying under a Tree, weltering in his Blood.‘About the Evening, the Forester going his Walks, saw the Horse, richly caparison’d, without a Rider, at the Entrance of the Wood; and going farther, to see if he could find its Owner, found there the Prince almost dead; he immediately mounts him on the Horse, and himself behind, bore him up, and carry’d him to the Lodge; where he had only one old Man, his Father, well skilled in Surgery, and a Boy. They put him to Bed; and the old Forester, with what Art he had, dress’d his Wounds, and in the Morning sent for an abler Surgeon, to whom the Prince enjoin’d Secrecy, because he knew him. The Man was faithful, and the Prince in Time was recover’d of his Wound; and as soon as he was well, he came toFlanders, in the Habit of a Pilgrim, and after some Time took the Order of St.Francis, none knowing what became of him, till he was profess’d; and then he wrote his own Story to the Prince his Father, to his Mistress, and his ungrateful Brother. The young Princess did not long survive his Loss, she languished from the Moment of his Departure; and he had this to confirm his devout Life, to know she dy’d for him.‘My Brother, Madam, was an Officer under the Prince his Father, and knew his Story perfectly well; from whose Mouth I had it.’What!(reply’dMirandathen)is FatherHenricka Man of Quality?Yes, Madam, (saidCornelia)and haschanged his Name toFrancisco.ButMiranda, fearing to betray the Sentiments of her Heart, by asking any more Questions about him, turned the Discourse; and some Persons of Quality came in to visit her (for her Apartment was about six o’Clock, like the Presence-Chamber of a Queen, always filled with the greatest People): There meet all theBeaux Esprits, and all the Beauties. But it was visibleMirandawas not so gay as she used to be; but pensive, and answeringmal a proposto all that was said to her. She was a thousand times going to speak, against her Will, something of the charming Friar, who was never from her Thoughts; and she imagined, if he could inspire Love in a coarse, grey, ill-made Habit, a shorn Crown, a Hair-cord about his Waist, bare-legg’d, in Sandals instead of Shoes; what must he do, when looking back on Time, she beholds him in a Prospect of Glory, with all that Youth, and illustrious Beauty, set off by the Advantage of Dress and Equipage? She frames an Idea of him all gay and splendid, and looks on his present Habit as some Disguise proper for the Stealths of Love; some feigned put-on Shape, with the more Security to approach a Mistress, and make himself happy; and that the Robe laid by, she has the Lover in his proper Beauty, the same he would have been, if any other Habit (though ever so rich) were put off: In the Bed, the silent gloomy Night, and the soft Embraces of her Arms, he loses all the Friar, and assumes all the Prince; and that aweful Reverence, due alone to his Holy Habit, he exchanges for a thousand Dalliances, for which his Youth was made; for Love, for tender Embraces, and all the Happiness of Life. Some Moments she fancies him a Lover, and that the fair Object that takes up all his Heart, has left no Room for her there; but that was a Thought that did not long perplex her, and which, almost as soon as born, she turned to her Advantage. She beholds him a Lover, and therefore finds he has a Heart sensible and tender; he had Youth to be fir’d, as well asto inspire; he was far from the loved Object, and totally without Hope; and she reasonably consider’d, that Flame would of itself soon die, that had only Despair to feed on. She beheld her own Charms; and Experience, as well as her Glass, told her, they never failed of Conquest, especially where they designed it: And she believedHenrickwould be glad, at least, to quench that Flame in himself, by an Amour with her, which was kindled by the young Princess of——his Sister.These, and a thousand other Self-flatteries, all vain and indiscreet, took up her waking Nights, and now more retired Days; while Love, to make her truly wretched, suffered her to sooth herself with fond Imaginations; not so much as permitting her Reason to plead one Moment to save her from undoing: She would not suffer it to tell her, he had taken Holy Orders, made sacred and solemn Vows of everlasting Chastity, that it was impossible he could marry her, or lay before her any Argument that might prevent her Ruin; but Love, mad malicious Love, was always called to Counsel, and, like easy Monarchs, she had no Ears, but for Flatterers.Well then, she is resolv’d to love, without considering to what End, and what must be the Consequence of such an Amour. She now miss’d no Day of being at that little Church, where she had the Happiness, or rather the Misfortune (so Love ordained) to see this Ravisher of her Heart and Soul; and every Day she took new Fire from his lovely Eyes. Unawares, unknown, and unwillingly, he gave her Wounds, and the Difficulty of her Cure made her rage the more: She burnt, she languished, and died for the young Innocent, who knew not he was the Author of so much Mischief.Now she resolves a thousand Ways in her tortur’d Mind, to let him know her Anguish, and at last pitch’d upon that of writing to him soft Billets, which she had learn’d the Art of doing; or if she had not, she had now Fireenough to inspire her with all that could charm and move. These she deliver’d to a young Wench, who waited on her, and whom she had entirely subdu’d to her Interest, to give to a certain Lay-Brother of the Order, who was a very simple harmless Wretch, and who served in the Kitchen, in the Nature of a Cook, in the Monastery ofCordeliers. She gave him Gold to secure his Faith and Service; and not knowing from whence they came (with so good Credentials) he undertook to deliver the Letters to FatherFrancisco; which Letters were all afterwards, as you shall hear, produced in open Court. These Letters failed not to come every Day; and the Sense of the first was, to tell him, that a very beautiful young Lady, of a great Fortune, was in love with him, without naming her; but it came as from a third Person, to let him know the Secret, that she desir’d he would let her know whether she might hope any Return from him; assuring him, he needed but only see the fair Languisher, to confess himself her Slave.This Letter being deliver’d him, he read by himself, and was surpriz’d to receive Words of this Nature, being so great a Stranger in that Place; and could not imagine or would not give himself the Trouble of guessing who this should be, because he never designed to make Returns.The next Day,Miranda, finding no Advantage from her Messenger of Love, in the Evening sends another (impatient of Delay) confessing that she who suffer’d the Shame of writing and imploring, was the Person herself who ador’d him. ’Twas there her raging Love made her say all Things that discover’d the Nature of its Flame, and propose to flee with him to any Part of the World, if he would quit the Convent; that she had a Fortune considerable enough to make him happy; and that his Youth and Quality were not given him to so unprofitable an End as to lose themselves in a Convent, where Poverty and Ease was all the Business. In fine, she leaves nothing unurg’d that might debauch and invite him; not forgettingto send him her own Character of Beauty, and left him to judge of her Wit and Spirit by her Writing, and her Love by the Extremity of Passion she profess’d. To all which the lovely Friar made no Return, as believing a gentle Capitulation or Exhortation to her would but inflame her the more, and give new Occasions for her continuing to write. All her Reasonings, false and vicious, he despis’d, pity’d the Error of her Love, and was Proof against all she could plead. Yet notwith­standing his Silence, which left her in Doubt, and more tormented her, she ceas’d not to pursue him with her Letters, varying her Style; sometimes all wanton, loose and raving; sometimes feigning a Virgin-Modesty all over, accusing her self, blaming her Conduct, and sighing her Destiny, as one compell’d to the shameful Discovery by the Austerity of his Vow and Habit, asking his Pity and Forgiveness; urging him in Charity to use his Fatherly Care to persuade and reason with her wild Desires, and by his Counsel drive the God from her Heart, whose Tyranny was worse than that of a Fiend; and he did not know what his pious Advice might do. But still she writes in vain, in vain she varies her Style, by a Cunning, peculiar to a Maid possess’d with such a sort of Passion.This cold Neglect was still Oil to the burning Lamp, and she tries yet more Arts, which for want of right Thinking were as fruitless. She has Recourse to Presents; her Letters came loaded with Rings of great Price, and Jewels, which Fops of Quality had given her. Many of this Sort he receiv’d, before he knew where to return ’em, or how; and on this Occasion alone he sent her a Letter, and restor’d her Trifles, as he call’d them: But his Habit having not made him forget his Quality and Education, he wrote to her with all the profound Respect imaginable; believing by her Presents, and the Liberality with which she parted with ’em, that she was of Quality. But the whole Letter, as he told me afterwards, was to persuadeher from the Honour she did him, by loving him; urging a thousand Reasons, solid and pious, and assuring her, he had wholly devoted the rest of his Days to Heaven, and had no Need of those gay Trifles she had sent him, which were only fit to adorn Ladies so fair as herself, and who had Business with this glittering World, which he disdain’d, and had for ever abandon’d. He sent her a thousand Blessings, and told her, she should be ever in his Prayers, tho’ not in his Heart, as she desir’d: And abundance of Goodness more he express’d, and Counsel he gave her, which had the same Effect with his Silence; it made her love but the more, and the more impatient she grew. She now had a new Occasion to write, she now is charm’d with his Wit; this was the new Subject. She rallies his Resolution, and endeavours to re-call him to the World, by all the Arguments that human Invention is capable of.But when she had above four Months languish’d thus in vain, not missing one Day, wherein she went not to see him, without discovering herself to him; she resolv’d, as her last Effort, to shew her Person, and see what that, assisted by her Tears, and soft Words from her Mouth, could do, to prevail upon him.It happen’d to be on the Eve of that Day when she was to receive the Sacrament, that she, covering herself with her Veil, came toVespers, purposing to make Choice of the conquering Friar for her Confessor.She approach’d him; and as she did so, she trembled with Love. At last she cry’d,Father, my Confessor is gone for some Time from the Town, and I am obliged To-morrow to receive, and beg you will be pleas’d to take my Confession.He could not refuse her; and let her into theSacristy, where there is a Confession-Chair, in which he seated himself; and on one Side of him she kneel’d down, over-against a little Altar, where the Priests Robes lye, on which were plac’d some lighted Wax-Candles, that made thelittle Place very light and splendid, which shone full uponMiranda.After the little Preparation usual in Confession, she turn’d up her Veil, and discover’d to his View the most wondrous Object of Beauty he had ever seen, dress’d in all the Glory of a young Bride; her Hair and Stomacher full of Diamonds, that gave a Lustre all dazling to her brighter Face and Eyes. He was surpriz’d at her amazing Beauty, and question’d whether he saw a Woman, or an Angel at his Feet. Her Hands, which were elevated, as if in Prayer, seem’d to be form’d of polish’d Alabaster; and he confess’d, he had never seen any Thing in Nature so perfect and so admirable.He had some Pain to compose himself to hear her Confession, and was oblig’d to turn away his Eyes, that his Mind might not be perplex’d with an Object so diverting; whenMiranda, opening the finest Mouth in the World, and discovering new Charms, began her Confession.‘Holy Father (said she) amongst the Number of my vile Offences, that which afflicts me to the greatest Degree, is, that I am in love: Not (continued she) that I believe simple and virtuous Love a Sin, when ’tis plac’d on an Object proper and suitable; but, my dear Father, (said she, and wept) I love with a Violence which cannot be contain’d within the Bounds of Reason, Moderation, or Virtue. I love a Man whom I cannot possess without a Crime, and a Man who cannot make me happy without being perjur’d. Is he marry’d? (reply’d the Father.) No; (answer’dMiranda.) Are you so? (continued he.) Neither, (said she.) Is he too near ally’d to you? (saidFrancisco:) a Brother, or Relation? Neither of these, (said she.) He is unenjoy’d, unpromis’d; and so am I: Nothing opposes our Happiness, or makes my Love a Vice, but you—’Tis you deny me Life: ’Tis you that forbid my Flame: ’Tis you will have me die, and seek my Remedy in my Grave, when I complain of Tortures, Wounds, and Flames.O cruel Charmer! ’tis for you I languish; and here, at your Feet, implore that Pity, which all my Addresses have fail’d of procuring me.’—With that, perceiving he was about to rise from his Seat, she held him by his Habit, and vow’d she would in that Posture follow him, where-ever he flew from her. She elevated her Voice so loud, he was afraid she might be heard, and therefore suffer’d her to force him into his Chair again; where being seated, he began, in the most passionate Terms imaginable, to dissuade her; but finding she the more persisted in Eagerness of Passion, he us’d all the tender Assurance that he could force from himself, that he would have for her all the Respect, Esteem and Friendship that he was capable of paying; that he had a real Compassion for her: and at last she prevail’d so far with him, by her Sighs and Tears, as to own he had a Tenderness for her, and that he could not behold so many Charms, without being sensibly touch’d by ’em, and finding all those Effects, that a Maid so fair and young causes in the Souls of Men of Youth and Sense: But that, as he was assured, he could never be so happy to marry her, and as certain he could not grant any Thing but honourable Passion, he humbly besought her not to expect more from him than such. And then began to tell her how short Life was, and transitory its Joys; how soon she would grow weary of Vice, and how often change to find real Repose in it, but never arrive to it. He made an End, by new Assurance of his eternal Friendship, but utterly forbad her to hope.Behold her now deny’d, refus’d and defeated, with all her pleading Youth, Beauty, Tears, and Knees, imploring, as she lay, holding fast hisScapular, and embracing his Feet. What shall she do? She swells with Pride, Love, Indignation and Desire; her burning Heart is bursting with Despair, her Eyes grow fierce, and from Grief she rises to a Storm; and in her Agony of Passion, with Looksall disdainful, haughty, and full of Rage, she began to revile him, as the poorest of Animals; tells him his Soul was dwindled to the Meanness of his Habit, and his Vows of Poverty were suited to his degenerate Mind. ‘And (said she) since all my nobler Ways have fail’d me; and that, for a little Hypocritical Devotion, you resolve to lose the greatest Blessings of Life, and to sacrifice me to your Religious Pride and Vanity, I will either force you to abandon that dull Dissimulation, or you shall die, to prove your Sanctity real. Therefore answer me immediately, answer my Flame, my raging Fire, which your Eyes have kindled; or here, in this very Moment, I will ruin thee; and make no Scruple of revenging the Pains I suffer, by that which shall take away your Life and Honour.’The trembling young Man, who, all this While, with extreme Anguish of Mind, and Fear of the dire Result, had listen’d to her Ravings, full of Dread, demanded what she would have him do? When she reply’d—‘Do that which thy Youth and Beauty were ordain’d to do:—this Place is private, a sacred Silence reigns here, and no one dares to pry into the Secrets of this Holy Place: We are as secure from Fears and Interruption, as in Desarts uninhabited, or Caves forsaken by wild Beasts. The Tapers too shall veil their Lights, and only that glimmering Lamp shall be Witness of our dear Stealths of Love—Come to my Arms, my trembling, longing Arms; and curse the Folly of thy Bigotry, that has made thee so long lose a Blessing, for which so many Princes sigh in vain.’At these Words she rose from his Feet, and snatching him in her Arms, he could not defend himself from receiving a thousand Kisses from the lovely Mouth of the charming Wanton; after which, she ran herself, and in an Instant put out the Candles. But he cry’d to her, ‘In vain, O too indiscreet Fair One, in vain you put out the Light; for Heaven still has Eyes, and will look down upon my broken Vows. I own your Power, I own I have all theSense in the World of your charming Touches; I am frail Flesh and Blood, but—yet—yet I can resist; and I prefer my Vows to all your powerful Temptations.—I will be deaf and blind, and guard my Heart with Walls of Ice, and make you know, that when the Flames of true Devotion are kindled in a Heart, it puts out all other Fires; which are as ineffectual, as Candles lighted in the Face of the Sun.—Go, vain Wanton, and repent, and mortify that Blood which has so shamefully betray’d thee, and which will one Day ruin both thy Soul and Body.’—At these WordsMiranda, more enrag’d, the nearer she imagin’d her self to Happiness, made no Reply; but throwing her self, in that Instant, into the Confessing-Chair, and violently pulling the young Friar into her Lap, she elevated her Voice to such a Degree, in crying out,Help, Help! A Rape! Help, Help!that she was heard all over the Church, which was full of People at the Evening’s Devotion; who flock’d about the Door of theSacristy, which was shut with a Spring-Lock on the Inside, but they durst not open the Door.’Tis easily to be imagin’d, in what Condition our young Friar was, at this last devilish Stratagem of his wicked Mistress. He strove to break from those Arms that held him so fast; and his Bustling to get away, and her’s to retain him, disorder’d her Hair and Habit to such a Degree, as gave the more Credit to her false Accusation.The Fathers had a Door on the other Side, by which they usually enter’d, to dress in this little Room; and at the Report that was in an Instant made ’em, they hasted thither, and foundMirandaand the good Father very indecently struggling; which they mis-interpreted, asMirandadesir’d; who, all in Tears, immediately threw her self at the Feet of the Provincial, who was one of those that enter’d; and cry’d, ‘O holy Father! revenge an innocent Maid, undone and lost to Fame and Honour, by that vile Monster, born of Goats, nurs’d by Tygers,and bred up on savage Mountains, where Humanity and Religion are Strangers. For, O holy Father, could it have enter’d into the Heart of Man, to have done so barbarous and horrid a Deed, as to attempt the Virgin-Honour of an unspotted Maid, and one of my Degree, even in the Moment of my Confession, in that holy Time, when I was prostrate before him and Heaven, confessing those Sins that press’d my tender Conscience; even then to load my Soul with the blackest of Infamies, to add to my Number a Weight that must sink me to Hell? Alas! under the Security of his innocent Looks, his holy Habit, and his aweful Function, I was led into this Room to make my Confession; where, he locking the Door, I had no sooner began, but he gazing on me, took fire at my fatal Beauty; and starting up, put out the Candles and caught me in his Arms; and raising me from the Pavement, set me in the Confession-Chair; and then—Oh, spare me the rest.’With that a Shower of Tears burst from her fair dissembling Eyes, and Sobs so naturally acted, and so well manag’d, as left no doubt upon the good Men, but all she had spoken was Truth.‘—At first, (proceeded she) I was unwilling to bring so great a Scandal on his Order, to cry out; but struggled as long as I had Breath; pleaded the Heinousness of the Crime, urging my Quality, and the Danger of the Attempt. But he, deaf as the Winds, and ruffling as a Storm, pursu’d his wild Design with so much Force and Insolence, as I at last, unable to resist, was wholly vanquish’d, robb’d of my native Purity. With what Life and Breath I had, I call’d for Assistance, both from Men and Heaven; but oh, alas! your Succours came too late:—You find me here a wretched, undone, and ravish’d Maid. Revenge me, Fathers; revenge me on the perfidious Hypocrite, or else give me a Death that may secure your Cruelty and Injustice from ever being proclaim’d over the World; or myTongue will be eternally reproaching you, and cursing the wicked Author of my Infamy.’She ended as she began, with a thousand Sighs and Tears; and received from the Provincial all Assurances of Revenge.The innocent betray’d Victim, all the while she was speaking, heard her with an Astonishment that may easily be imagined; yet shew’d no extravagant Signs of it, as those would do, who feign it, to be thought innocent; but being really so, he bore with an humble, modest, and blushing Countenance, all her Accusations; which silent Shame they mistook for evident Signs of his Guilt.When the Provincial demanded, with an unwonted Severity in his Eyes and Voice, what he could answer for himself? calling him Profaner of his Sacred Vows, and Infamy to the Holy Order; the injur’d, but innocently accus’d, only reply’d: ‘May Heaven forgive that bad Woman, and bring her to Repentance! For his Part, he was not so much in Love with Life, as to use many arguments to justify his Innocence; unless it were to free that Order from a Scandal, of which he had the Honour to be profess’d. But as for himself, Life or Death were Things indifferent to him, who heartily despis’d the World.’He said no more, and suffer’d himself to be led before the Magistrate; who committed him to Prison, upon the Accusation of this implacable Beauty; who, with so much feign’d Sorrow, prosecuted the Matter, even to his Tryal and Condemnation; where he refus’d to make any great Defence for himself. But being daily visited by all the Religious, both of his own and other Orders, they oblig’d him (some of ’em knowing the Austerity of his Life, others his Cause of Griefs that first brought him into Orders, and others pretending a nearer Knowledge, even of his Soul it self) to stand upon his Justification, and discover what he knew of that wicked Woman; whose Life had not been so exemplary for Virtue, not to have given the World a thousand Suspicions of her Lewdness and Prostitutions.The daily Importunities of these Fathers made him produce her Letters: But as he had all the Gown-men on his Side, she had all the Hats and Feathers on her’s; all the Men of Quality taking her Part, and all the Church-men his. They heard his daily Protestations and Vows, but not a Word of what passed at Confession was yet discover’d: He held that as a Secret sacred on his Part; and what was said in Nature of a Confession, was not to be revealed, though his Life depended on the Discovery. But as to the Letters, they were forc’d from him, and expos’d; however, Matters were carry’d with so high a Hand against him, that they serv’d for no Proof at all of his Innocence, and he was at last condemn’d to be burn’d at the Market-Place.After his Sentence was pass’d, the whole Body of Priests made their Addresses to the MarquisCastel Roderigo, the then Governor ofFlanders, for a Reprieve; which, after much ado, was granted him for some Weeks, but with an absolute Denial of Pardon: So prevailing were the young Cavaliers of his Court, who were all Adorers of this Fair Jilt.About this time, while the poor innocent youngHenrickwas thus languishing in Prison, in a dark and dismal Dungeon, andMiranda, cured of her Love, was triumphing in her Revenge, expecting and daily giving new Conquests; and who, by this time, had re-assum’d all her wonted Gaiety; there was a great Noise about the Town, that a Prince of mighty Name, and fam’d for all the Excellencies of his Sex, was arriv’d; a Prince young, and gloriously attended, call’d PrinceTarquin.We had often heard of this great Man, and that he was making his Travels inFranceandGermany: And we had also heard, that some Years before, he being about Eighteen Years of Age, in the Time when our KingCharles, of blessed Memory, was inBrussels, in the last Year of his Banishment, that all on a sudden, this young Man rose up upon ’em like the Sun, all glorious and dazling, demandingPlace of all the Princes in that Court. And when his Pretence was demanded, he own’d himself PrinceTarquin, of the Race of the last Kings ofRome, made good his Title, and took his Place accordingly. After that he travell’d for about six Years up and down the World, and then arriv’d atAntwerp, about the Time of my being sent thither by KingCharles.Perhaps there could be nothing seen so magnificent as this Prince: He was, as I said, extremely handsome, from Head to Foot exactly form’d, and he wanted nothing that might adorn that native Beauty to the best Advantage. His Parts were suitable to the rest: He had an Accomplishment fit for a Prince, an Air haughty, but a Carriage affable, easy in Conversation, and very entertaining, liberal and good-natur’d, brave and inoffensive. I have seen him pass the Streets with twelve Footmen, and four Pages; the Pages all in green Velvet Coats lac’d with Gold, and white Velvet Tunicks; the Men in Cloth, richly lac’d with Gold; his Coaches, and all other Officers, suitable to a great Man.He was all the Discourse of the Town; some laughing at his Title, others reverencing it: Some cry’d, that he was an Imposter; others, that he had made his Title as plain, as ifTarquinhad reign’d but a Year ago. Some made Friendships with him, others would have nothing to say to him: But all wonder’d where his Revenue was, that supported this Grandeur; and believ’d, tho’ he could make his Descent from theRomanKings very well out, that he could not lay so good a Claim to theRomanLand. Thus every body meddled with what they had nothing to do; and, as in other Places, thought themselves on the surer Side, if, in these doubtful Cases, they imagin’d the worst.But the Men might be of what Opinion they pleas’d concerning him; the Ladies were all agreed that he was a Prince, and a young handsome Prince, and a Prince notto be resisted: He had all their Wishes, all their Eyes, and all their Hearts. They now dress’d only for him; and what Church he grac’d, was sure, that Day, to have the Beauties, and all that thought themselves so.You may believe, our amorousMirandawas not the least Conquest he made. She no sooner heard of him, which was as soon as he arriv’d, but she fell in love with his very Name.Jesu!—A young King ofRome!Oh, it was so novel, that she doated on the Title; and had not car’d whether the rest had been Man or Monkey almost: She was resolved to be theLucretiathat this youngTarquinshould ravish.To this End, she was no sooner up the next Day, but she sent him aBillet Doux, assuring him how much she admired his Fame; and that being a Stranger in the Town, she begged the Honour of introducing him to all theBelleConversations,&c.which he took for the Invitation of some Coquet, who had Interest in fair Ladies; and civilly return’d her an Answer, that he would wait on her. She had him that Day watched to Church; and impatient to see what she heard so many People flock to see, she went also to the same Church; those sanctified Abodes being too often profaned by such Devotees, whose Business is to ogle and ensnare.But what a Noise and Humming was heard all over the Church, whenTarquinenter’d! His Grace, his Mein, his Fashion, his Beauty, his Dress, and his Equipage surprized all that were present: And by the good Management and Care ofMiranda, she got to kneel at the Side of the Altar, just over against the Prince, so that, if he would, he could not avoid looking full upon her. She had turned up her Veil, and all her Face and Shape appear’d such, and so inchanting, as I have described; and her Beauty heighten’d with Blushes, and her Eyes full of Spirit and Fire, with Joy, to find the youngRomanMonarch so charming, she appear’d like something more than mortal, and compelledhis Eyes to a fixed gazing on her Face: She never glanc’d that Way, but she met them; and then would feign so modest a Shame, and cast her Eyes downwards with such inviting Art, that he was wholly ravished and charmed, and she over-joy’d to find he was so.

The next Morning early she sent for the Steward, whom she order’d to take the Stranger to a Sale-shop, and fit him with a Suit of good Cloaths, to buy him Shirts, and other Linnen, and all Necessaries, as he had provided for her Brother; and gave him Charge to use him as her particular Friend, during his Stay there, bidding him, withal, learn his Name and Circumstances, if possible, and to supply him with Money for his Pocket Expences: All which he most faithfully and discreetly perform’d, and brought his Lady an Account of his Sufferings by Sea, and Slavery among theTurks, as I have before related; adding, that his Name wasGracelove. This was the greatest Happiness, certainly, that ever yet the dear beautiful Creature was sensible of. On t’other Side,Gracelovecould not but admire and praise his good Fortune, that had so miraculously and bountifully reliev’d him; and one Day having some private Discourse with the Steward, he could not forbear expressing the Sense he had of it; declaring, That he could not have expected such kind Treatment from any Body breathing, but from his Cousin, CounsellorFairlaw, his Lady, or another youngLady, whom he plac’d and left with his Cousins. CounsellorFairlaw! (cry’d the Steward) why, Sir, my Lady is the old Counsellor’s Widow; she is very beautiful and young too. What was her Name, Sir, before she marry’d the Counsellor? (ask’dGracelove) That I know not, (reply’d t’other) for the old Steward dy’d presently after the old Lady, which is not a Year and a Half since; in whose Place I succeed; and I have never been so curious or inquisitive, as to pry into former Passages of the Family. Do you know, Sir, (saidGracelove) whereabouts in Town they liv’d before? Yes, Sir, (return’d the Steward, who was taught how to answer) inGreat Lincolns-Inn-Fields, I think, Alas! (cry’dGracelove) ’twas the same Gentleman to whom I design’d to apply my self when I came toEngland. You need not despair now, Sir, (said t’other) I dare say my Lady will supply your Wants. O wonderful Goodness of a Stranger! (cry’dGracelove) uncommon and rare amongst Relations and Friends! How have I, or how can I ever merit this? Upon the End of their Conference, the Steward went toPhiladelphia, and repeated it almostverbatimto her; who order’dGraceloveshould be taken Measure of by the best Taylor inCovent-Garden; that he should have three of the most modish rich Suits made, that might become a private Gentleman of a Thousand Pounds a Year, and Hats, Perukes, Linnen, Swords, and all Things suitable to ’em, all to be got ready in less than a Month; in which Time, she took all the Opportunity she could either find or make to see him, and not to be seen by him: She oblig’d her Steward to invite him to a Play, whither she follow’d ’em, and sate next toGracelove, and talk’d with him; but all the while masq’d. In this Month’s Time she was daily pester’d with the Visits of her Addressors; several there were of ’em; but the chief were only a Lord of a very small Estate, tho’ of a pretty great Age; a young blustering Knight, who had a Place of 500l.a Year at Court; and a County Gentleman, of a very plentiful Estate, a Widower,and of a middle Age. These three only of her Lovers she invited to Dinner, on the first Day of the next Month: In the mean while she sent a rich Suit, and Equipage proportionable, to her Brother, with an Invitation to dine with her on the same Day. Then she writ toEugeniato come and stay in Town, if not in the same House with her, for two or three Days before; which her affectionate Daughter obey’d; to whomPhiladelphiarelated all her Brother’s past Extravagancies and what she had done for him in redeeming most Part of his Estate; begging of her, that if she could fancy his Person, she would take him into her Mercy and marry him. Being assur’d, that such a virtuous Wife as she would prove, must necessarily reclaim him, if yet he were not perfectly convinc’d of his Follies; which, she doubted not, his late long Sufferings had done.Eugeniareturn’d, That she would wholly be directed and advis’d by her in all Things; and that certainly she could not but like the Brother, since she lov’d the Sister so perfectly and truly.

The Day came, and just at Twelve,Gracelove, meeting the Steward on the Stairs coming from his Lady,Gracelovethen told him, that he believ’d he might take the Opportunity of that Afternoon to go over toPutney, and take a Game or two at Bowls. The Steward return’d, Very well, Sir, I shall let my Lady know it, if she enquires for you.Philadelphia, who overheard what they said, call’d the Steward in Haste, and bid him callGraceloveback, and tell him, she expected his Company at her Table to Day, and that she desir’d he would appear like himself. The Steward soon overtook him at the Door, just going out asEugeniacame in, who look’d back onGracelove: The poor Gentleman was strangely surpriz’d at the Sight of her, as she was at his; but the Steward’s Message did more amaze and confound him. He went directly to his Chamber, to dress himself in one of those rich Suits lately made for him; but, the Distraction he was in, made him mistake his Coatfor his Wastcoat, and put the Coat on first; but, recalling his straggling Thoughts, he made Shift to get ready time enough to make his Appearance without a second Summons.Philadelphiawas as pleasant at Dinner, as ever she had been all her Life; she look’d very obligingly on all the Sparks, and drank to every one of ’em particularly, beginning to the Lord—and ending to the Stranger, who durst hardly lift up his Eyes a second Time to her’s, to confirm him that he knew her. Her Brother was so confounded, that he bow’d and continu’d his Head down ’till she had done drinking, not daring to encounter her Eyes, that would then have reproach’d him with his Villany to her.

After Dinner the Cloth was taken away; She began thus to her Lovers: My Lord! SirThomas! and Mr.Fat-acres! I doubt not, that it will be of some Satisfaction to you, to know whom I have made Choice for my next Husband; which now I am resolv’d no longer to defer.

The Person to whom I shall next drink, must be the Man who shall ever command me and my Fortune, were it ten times greater than it is; which I wish only for his Sake, since he deserves much more.—Here, (said she to one that waited) put Wine into two Glasses: Then she took the Diamond Ring from her Finger, and put it into one of ’em. My dearGracelove, (cry’d she) I drank to thee; and send thee back thy own Ring, withPhiladelphia’sHeart. He startl’d, blush’d, and looked wildly; whilst all the Company stared on him. Nay, pledge me, (persu’d she) and return me the Ring: for it shall make us both one the next Morning. He bow’d, kiss’d, and return’d it, after he had taken off his Wine. The defeated Lovers knew not how to resentit?The Lord and Knight were for going, but the Country Gentleman oppos’d it, and told ’em, ’twas the greatest Argument of Folly, to be disturb’d at the Caprice of a Woman’s Humour. They sate down again therefore, and she invited ’em to her Wedding on the Morrow.

And now, Brother, (said she) I have not quite forgotten you, tho’ you have not been pleas’d to take Notice of me: I have a Dish in Reserve for you, which will be more grateful to your Fancy than all you have tasted to Day. Here! (cry’d she to the Steward) Mr.Rightman, do you serve up that Dish your self.Rightmanthen set a cover’d Dish on the Table. What! more Tricks yet? (cry’d my Lord and SirThomas) Come, SirWilliam! (said his Sister) uncover it! he did so; and cry’d out, O matchless Goodness of a virtuous Sister! here are the Mortgages of the best Part of my Estate! O! what a Villain! what a Monster have I been! no more, dear Brother; (said she, with Tears in her Eyes) I have yet a greater Happiness in Store for you: This Lady, this beautiful virtuous Lady, with twenty thousand Pounds, will make you happy in her Love. Saying this, she join’d their Hands; SirWilliameagerly kiss’dEugenia’s, who blush’d, and said, Thus, Madam, I hope to shew how much I love and honour you. My CousinEugenia! (cry’dGracelove!)The same, my dear lost dead CousinGracelove! (reply’d she) O! (said he in a Transport) my present Joys are greater than all my past Miseries! my Mistress and my Friend are found, and still are mine. Nay, (faith, said my Lord) this is pleasant enough to me, tho’ I have been defeated of the Enjoyment of the Lady. The whole Company in general went away very well that Night, who return’d the next Morning, and saw the two happy Pair firmly united.

Notes: Critical and Explanatory:The Unfortunate Happy Lady.p. 43Ros Solis.A potent and well-liked tipple.We abandon all aleAnd beer that is staleRosa-solis and damnable hum,But we will rackIn the praise of sack’Gainst Omne quod exit in um.—Witts Recreation(1654).The Accomplished Female Instructorgives the following recipe: ‘Rossa Solis; Take of clean spirits, not too strong, two quarts and a quart of spring-water; let them seethe gently over a soft fire till about a pint is evaporated; then put in four spoonfuls of orange-flower-water, and as much of very good cinnamon-water; crush 3 eggs in pieces, and throw them in shell and all; stir it well, and when it boiles up a little take it off.’ This drink was so great a favourite with Louis XIV that a particular sort was named Rossolis du Roi.p. 51The Cheats, Mother, the Cheats.John Wilson’s excellent comedy,The Cheats, which was written and produced in 1662, attained great popularity. It ran into four editions (‘imprimatur, 5 November, 1663’); 4to, 1664; 1671; 1684; 1693. Caustically satirizing the Puritans, it became a stock piece, and was acted as late as May, 1721, when Griffin, Harper, Diggs, and Mrs. Gifford sustained the parts which had been created by Lacy, Mohun, Hart, and Mrs. Corey.

p. 43Ros Solis.A potent and well-liked tipple.

We abandon all aleAnd beer that is staleRosa-solis and damnable hum,But we will rackIn the praise of sack’Gainst Omne quod exit in um.

We abandon all ale

And beer that is stale

Rosa-solis and damnable hum,

But we will rack

In the praise of sack

’Gainst Omne quod exit in um.

—Witts Recreation(1654).

The Accomplished Female Instructorgives the following recipe: ‘Rossa Solis; Take of clean spirits, not too strong, two quarts and a quart of spring-water; let them seethe gently over a soft fire till about a pint is evaporated; then put in four spoonfuls of orange-flower-water, and as much of very good cinnamon-water; crush 3 eggs in pieces, and throw them in shell and all; stir it well, and when it boiles up a little take it off.’ This drink was so great a favourite with Louis XIV that a particular sort was named Rossolis du Roi.

p. 51The Cheats, Mother, the Cheats.John Wilson’s excellent comedy,The Cheats, which was written and produced in 1662, attained great popularity. It ran into four editions (‘imprimatur, 5 November, 1663’); 4to, 1664; 1671; 1684; 1693. Caustically satirizing the Puritans, it became a stock piece, and was acted as late as May, 1721, when Griffin, Harper, Diggs, and Mrs. Gifford sustained the parts which had been created by Lacy, Mohun, Hart, and Mrs. Corey.

AlthoughThe Fair Jiltwas published in 1688, it is interesting to note that ten years earlier, Michaelmas Term, 1678, there is advertised for R. TonsonThe Amorous Convert; being a true Relation of what happened in Holland, which may very well be the first sketch of Mrs. Behn’s maturer novel. The fact that she does not ‘pretend here to entertain you with a feign’d story,’ but on the contrary, ‘every circumstance to a tittle is truth’, and that she expressly asserts, ‘To a great part of the main I myself was an eye-witness’, aroused considerable suspicion in Bernbaum as to the veracity of her narration, a suspicion which, when he gravely discovers history to know no such person as her ‘PrinceTarpuinof the race of the last Kings of Rome’, is resolved into a certainty that she is romancing fully and freely throughout. It is surely obvious that such a point does not so much demonstrate Mrs. Behn’s untruthfulness as her consummate art. With all the nice skill of a born novelist she has so mingled fact and fancy, what did occur and what might have been, that any attempt to disentangle the twain would be idle indeed. The passages where she is most insistent upon the due sequence of events, most detailed in observation are not impossibly purely fictional, the incidents related without stress or emphatic assertions are probably enough the plain unvarnished happenings as she witnessed them. That the history is mainly true admits of little question; that Mrs. Behn has heightened and coloured the interest is equally certain.

The Fair Jiltmust be allowed to stand in the very first rank amongst her novels. It has been aptly compared to a novella by Bandello, and is indeed more than worthy of the pen of the good Dominican Bishop of Agen. In all its incidents and motives the story is eternally true. The fateful beauty, playing now the part of Potiphar’s wife, and now the yet commoner rôle of an enchantress whose charms drive men to madness and crime, men who adore her even from their prison cell and are glad to go to a shameful death for her sake, appears in all history, in all literature, nay, in the very newspaper scandals and police courts of to-day. As a picture of untrammelled passion, culpable and corrupt, but yet terribly fascinating in her very recklessness and abandon, Miranda is indeed a powerful study. Always guilty, she is always excused, or if punished but sparingly and little, whilst the friar languishes in a foul dungeon, the page-boy is hanged, her husband stands upon the public scaffold. And then in the end, ‘very penitent for her life past’, she is received with open arms by Tarquin’s old father, who looks upon her as a very angel, and retiring to the tranquility of a country-house she passes her days in ‘as perfect a state of happiness as this troublesome world can afford’.

Sir,

Dedicationsare like Love, and no Man of Wit or Eminence escapes them; early or late, the Affliction of the Poet’s Complement falls upon him; and Men are oblig’d to receive ’em as they do their Wives;For better, for worse; atleastwith a feign’d Civility.

It was not Want of Respect, but Fear, that has hitherto made us keep clear of your Judgment, too piercing to be favourable to what is not nicely valuable. We durst not awaken your Criticism; and by begging your Protection in the Front of a Book, give you an Occasion to find nothing to deserve it. Nor can this little History lay a better Claim to that Honour, than those that have not pretended to it; which has but this Merit to recommend it, That it is Truth: Truth, which you so much admire. But ’tis a Truth that entertains you with so many Accidents diverting and moving, that they will need both a Patron, and an Assertor in this incredulous World. For however it may be imagin’d that Poetry (my Talent) has so greatly the Ascendant over me, that all I write must pass for Fiction, I now desire to have it understood that this is Reality, and Matter of Fact, and acted in this our latter Age: And that in the person ofTarquin, I bring a Prince to kiss your Hands, who own’d himself, and was receiv’d, as the last of the Race of theRomanKings; whom I have often seen, and you have heard of; and whose Story is so well known to your self, and many Hundreds more: Part of which I had from the Mouth of this unhappy great Man, and was an Eye-Witness to the rest.

’Tis true, Sir, I present you with a Prince unfortunate, but still the more noble Object for your Goodness and Pity; who never valu’d a brave Man the less for being unhappy. And whither shou’d the Afflicted flee for Refuge but to the Generous? Amongst all the Race, he cannot find a better Man, or more certain Friend: Nor amongst all his Ancestors, match your greater Soul, and Magnificence of Mind. He will behold in oneEnglishSubject, a Spirit as illustrious, a Heart as fearless, a Wit and Eloquence as excellent, asRomeit self cou’d produce. Its Senate scarce boasted of a better States-man, nor Augustus of a more faithful Subject; as your Imprisonment and Sufferings, through all the Course of our late National Distractions, have sufficiently manifested; But nothing cou’dpress or deject your great Heart; you were the same Man still, unmov’d in all Turns, easie and innocent; no Persecution being able to abate your constant good Humour, or wonted Gallantry.

If, Sir, you find here a Prince of less Fortitude and Vertue than your self, charge his Miscarriages on Love: a Weakness of that Nature you will easily excuse, (being so great a Friend to the Fair;) though possibly, he gave a Proof of it too Fatal to his Honour. Had I been to have form’d his Character, perhaps I had made him something more worthy of the Honour of your Protection: But I was oblig’d to pursue the Matter of Fact, and give a just Relation of that part of his Life which, possibly, was the only reproachful part of it. If he be so happy, as to entertain a Man of Wit and Business, I shall not fear his Welcome to the rest of the World: And ’tis only with your Passport he can hope to be so.

The particular Obligations I have to your Bounty and Goodness, O Noble Friend, and Patron of theMuses! I do not so much as pretend to acknowledge in this little Present; those being above the Poet’s Pay, which is a sort of Coin, notcurrantin this Age: though perhaps may be esteem’d as Medals in the Cabinets of Men of Wit. If this be so happy to be of that Number, I desire no more lasting a Fame, that it may bear this Inscription, that I am,

SIR,Your most Obliged, andMost Humble Servant,A. BEHN.

AsLove is the most noble and divine Passion of the Soul, so it is that to which we may justly attribute all the real Satisfactions of Life; and without it Man is unfinish’d and unhappy.

There are a thousand things to be said of the Advantages this generous Passion brings to those, whose Hearts are capable of receiving its soft Impressions; for ’tis not every one that can be sensible of its tender Touches. How many Examples, from History and Observation, could I give of its wondrous Power; nay, even to a Degree of Transmigration! How many Idiots has it made wise! How many Fools eloquent! How many home-bred Squires accomplish’d! How many Cowards brave! And there is no sort of Species of Mankind on whom it cannot work some Change and Miracle, if it be a noble well-grounded Passion, except on the Fop in Fashion, the harden’d incorrigible Fop; so often wounded, but never reclaim’d: For still, by a dire Mistake, conducted by vast Opiniatrety, and a greater Portion of Self-love, than the rest of the Race of Man, he believes that Affectation in his Mein and Dress, that Mathematical Movement, that Formality in every Action, that a Face manag’d with Care, and soften’d into Ridicule, the languishing Turn, the Toss, and the Back-shake of the Periwig, is the direct Way to the Heart of the fine Person he adores; and instead of curing Love in his Soul, serves only to advance his Folly; and the morehe is enamour’d, the more industriously he assumes (every Hour) the Coxcomb. These are Love’s Play-things, a sort of Animals with whom he sports; and whom he never wounds, but when he is in good Humour, and always shoots laughing. ’Tis the Diversion of the little God, to see what a Fluttering and Bustle one of these Sparks, new-wounded, makes; to what fantastick Fooleries he has Recourse: The Glass is every Moment call’d to counsel, the Valet consulted and plagu’d for new Invention of Dress, the Footman andScrutoreperpetually employ’d;Billet-douxandMadrigalstake up all his Mornings, till Play-time in dressing, till Night in gazing; still, like a Sun-flower, turn’d towards the Beams of the fair Eyes of hisCælia, adjusting himself in the most amorous Posture he can assume, his Hat under his Arm, while the other Hand is put carelesly into his Bosom, as if laid upon his panting Heart; his Head a little bent to one Side, supported with a World of Cravat-string, which he takes mighty Care not to put into Disorder; as one may guess by a never-failing and horrid Stiffness in his Neck; and if he had any Occasion to look aside, his whole Body turns at the same Time, for Fear the Motion of the Head alone should incommode the Cravat or Periwig: And sometimes the Glove is well manag’d, and the white Hand display’d. Thus, with a thousand other little Motions and Formalities, all in the common Place or Road of Foppery, he takes infinite Pains to shew himself to the Pit and Boxes, a most accomplish’d Ass. This is he, of all human Kind, on whom Love can do no Miracles, and who can no where, and upon no Occasion, quit one Grain of his refin’d Foppery, unless in a Duel, or a Battle, if ever his Stars should be so severe and ill-manner’d, to reduce him to the Necessity of either: Fear then would ruffle that fine Form he had so long preserv’d in nicest Order, with Grief considering, that an unlucky Chance-wound in his Face, if such a dire Misfortune should befal him, would spoil the Sale of it for ever.

Perhaps it will be urg’d, that since no Metamorphosis can be made in a Fop by Love, you must consider him one of those that only talks of Love, and thinks himself that happy Thing, a Lover; and wanting fine Sense enough for the real Passion, believes what he feels to be it. There are in the Quiver of the God a great many different Darts; some that wound for a Day, and others for a Year; they are all fine, painted, glittering Darts, and shew as well as those made of the noblest Metal; but the Wounds they make reach the Desire only, and are cur’d by possessing, while the short-liv’d Passion betrays the Cheat. But ’tis that refin’d and illustrious Passion of the Soul, whose Aim is Virtue, and whose end is Honour, that has the Power of changing Nature, and is capable of performing all those heroick Things, of which History is full.

How far distant Passions may be from one another, I shall be able to make appear in these following Rules. I’ll prove to you the strong Effects of Love in some unguarded and ungovern’d Hearts; where it rages beyond the Inspirations ofa God all soft and gentle, and reigns more likea Fury from Hell.

I do not pretend here to entertain you with a feign’d Story, or any Thing piec’d together with romantick Accidents; but every Circumstance, to a Tittle, is Truth. To a great Part of the Main I myself was an Eye-witness; and what I did not see, I was confirm’d of by Actors in the Intrigue, Holy Men, of the Order of St.Francis: But for the Sake of some of her Relations, I shall give myFair Jilta feign’d Name, that ofMiranda; but my Hero must retain his own, it being too illustrious to be conceal’d.

You are to understand, that in all the Catholick Countries, where Holy Orders are establish’d, there are abundance of differing Kinds of Religious, both of Men and Women. Amongst the Women, there are those we callNuns, that make solemn Vows of perpetual Chastity; There are others who make but a simple Vow, as for five or ten Years, ormore or less; and that time expir’d, they may contract anew for longer time, or marry, or dispose of themselves as they shall see good; and these are ordinarily call’dGalloping Nuns: Of these there are several Orders; asCanonesses,Begines,Quests,Swart-Sisters, andJesuitesses, with several others I have forgot. Of those of theBegineswas ourFair Votress.

These Orders are taken up by the best Persons of the Town, young Maids of Fortune, who live together, not inclos’d, but in Palaces that will hold about fifteen hundred or two thousand of theseFilles Devotes; where they have a regulated Government, under a sort ofAbbess, orPrioress, or rather aGovernante. They are oblig’d to a Method of Devotion, and are under a sort of Obedience. They wear a Habit much like our Widows of Quality inEngland, only without aBando; and their Veil is of a thicker Crape than what we have here, thro’ which one cannot see the Face; for when they go abroad, they cover themselves all over with it; but they put ’em up in the Churches, and lay ’em by in the Houses. Every one of these have a Confessor, who is to ’em a sort of Steward: For, you must know, they that go into these Places, have the Management of their own Fortunes, and what their Parents design ’em. Without the Advice of this Confessor, they act nothing, nor admit of a Lover that he shall not approve; at least, this Method ought to be taken, and is by almost all of ’em; tho’Mirandathought her Wit above it, as her Spirit was.

But as these Women are, as I said, of the best Quality, and live with the Reputation of being retir’d from the World a little more than ordinary, and because there is a sort of Difficulty to approach ’em, they are the People the most courted, and liable to the greatest Temptations; for as difficult as it seems to be, they receive Visits from all the Men of the best Quality, especially Strangers. All the Men of Wit and Conversation meet at the Apartments ofthese fairFilles Devotes, where all Manner of Gallantries are perform’d, while all the Study of these Maids is to accomplish themselves for these noble Conversations. They receive Presents, Balls, Serenades, and Billets; All the News, Wit, Verses, Songs, Novels, Musick, Gaming, and all fine Diversion, is in their Apartments, they themselves being of the best Quality and Fortune. So that to manage these Gallantries, there is no sort of Female Arts they are not practis’d in, no Intrigue they are ignorant of, and no Management of which they are not capable.

Of this happy Number was the fairMiranda, whose Parents being dead, and a vast Estate divided between her self and a young Sister, (who liv’d with an unmarry’d old Uncle, whose Estate afterwards was all divided between ’em) she put her self into this uninclos’d religious House; but her Beauty, which had all the Charms that ever Nature gave, became the Envy of the wholeSisterhood. She was tall, and admirably shaped; she had a bright Hair, and Hazle-Eyes, all full of Love and Sweetness: No Art could make a Face so fair as hers by Nature, which every Feature adorn’d with a Grace that Imagination cannot reach: Every Look, every Motion charm’d, and her black Dress shew’d the Lustre of her Face and Neck. She had an Air, though gay as so much Youth could inspire, yet so modest, so nobly reserv’d, without Formality, or Stiffness, that one who look’d on her would have imagin’d her Soul the Twin-Angel of her Body; and both together made her appear something divine. To this she had a great deal of Wit, read much, and retain’d all that serv’d her Purpose. She sung delicately, and danc’d well, and play’d on the Lute to a Miracle. She spoke several Languages naturally; for being Co-heiress to so great a Fortune, she was bred with the nicest Care, in all the finest MannersofEducation; and was now arriv’d to her Eighteenth Year.

’Twere needless to tell you how great a Noise the Fame of this young Beauty, with so considerable a Fortune, madein the World: I may say, the World, rather than confine her Fame to the scanty Limits of a Town; it reach’d to many others: And there was not a Man of any Quality that came toAntwerp, or pass’d thro’ the City, but made it his Business to see the lovelyMiranda, who was universally ador’d: Her Youth and Beauty, her Shape, and Majesty of Mein, and Air of Greatness, charm’d all her Beholders; and thousands of People were dying by her Eyes, while she was vain enough to glory in her Conquests, and make it her Business to wound. She lov’d nothing so much as to behold sighing Slaves at her Feet, of the greatest Quality; and treated them all with an Affability that gave them Hope. Continual Musick, as soon as it was dark, and Songs of dying Lovers, were sung under her Windows; and she might well have made herself a great Fortune (if she had not been so already) by the rich Presents that were hourly made her; and every body daily expected when she would make some one happy, by suffering her self to be conquer’d by Love and Honour, by the Assiduities and Vows of some one of her Adorers. ButMirandaaccepted their Presents, heard their Vows with Pleasure, and willingly admitted all their soft Addresses; but would not yield her Heart, or give away that lovely Person to the Possession of one, who could please it self with so many. She was naturally amorous, but extremely inconstant: She lov’d one for his Wit, another for his Face, and a third for his Mein; but above all, she admir’d Quality: Quality alone had the Power to attach her entirely; yet not to one Man, but that Virtue was still admir’d by her in all: Where-ever she found that, she lov’d, or at least acted the Lover with such Art, that (deceiving well) she fail’d not to compleat her Conquest; and yet she never durst trust her fickle Humour with Marriage. She knew the Strength of her own Heart, and that it could not suffer itself to be confin’d to one Man, and wisely avoided those Inquietudes, and that Uneasiness of Life she was sure to find in that marriedState, which would, against her Nature, oblige her to the Embraces of one, whose Humour was, to love all the Young and the Gay. But Love, who had hitherto only play’d with her Heart, and given it nought but pleasing wanton Wounds, such as afforded only soft Joys, and not Pains, resolv’d, either out of Revenge to those Numbers she had abandon’d, and who had sigh’d so long in vain, or to try what Power he had upon so fickle a Heart, to send an Arrow dipp’d in the most tormenting Flames that rage in Hearts most sensible. He struck it home and deep, with all the Malice of an angry God.

There was a Church belonging to theCordeliers, whitherMirandaoften repair’d to her Devotion; and being there one Day, accompany’d with a young Sister of the Order, after the Mass was ended, as ’tis the Custom, some one of the Fathers goes about the Church with a Box for Contribution, or Charity-Money: It happen’d that Day, that a young Father, newly initiated, carried the Box about, which, in his Turn, he brought toMiranda. She had no sooner cast her Eyes on this young Friar, but her Face was overspread with Blushes of Surprize: She beheld him stedfastly, and saw in his Face all the Charms of Youth, Wit, and Beauty; he wanted no one Grace that could form him for Love, he appear’d all that is adorable to the Fair Sex, nor could the mis-shapen Habit hide from her the lovely Shape it endeavour’d to cover, nor those delicate Hands that approach’d her too near with the Box. Besides the Beauty of his Face and Shape, he had an Air altogether great, in spite of his profess’d Poverty, it betray’d the Man of Quality; and that Thought weigh’d greatly withMiranda. But Love, who did not design she should now feel any sort of those easy Flames, with which she had heretofore burnt, made her soon lay all those Considerations aside, which us’d to invite her to love, and now lov’d she knew not why.

She gaz’d upon him, while he bow’d before her, andwaited for her Charity, till she perceiv’d the lovely Friar to blush, and cast his Eyes to the Ground. This awaken’d her Shame, and she put her Hand into her Pocket, and was a good while in searching for her Purse, as if she thought of nothing less than what she was about; at last she drew it out, and gave him a Pistole; but with so much Deliberation and Leisure, as easily betray’d the Satisfaction she took in looking on him; while the good Man, having receiv’d her Bounty, after a very low Obeysance, proceeded to the rest; andMirandacasting after him a Look all languishing, as long as he remain’d in the Church, departed with a Sigh as soon as she saw him go out, and returned to her Apartment without speaking one Word all the Way to the youngFille Devote, who attended her; so absolutely was her Soul employ’d with this young Holy Man.Cornelia(so was this Maid call’d who was with her) perceiving she was so silent, who us’d to be all Wit and good Humour, and observing her little Disorder at the Sight of the young Father, tho’ she was far from imagining it to be Love, took an Occasion, when she was come home, to speak of him. ‘Madam,said she, did you not observe that fine youngCordelier, who brought the Box?’ At a Question that nam’d that Object of her Thoughts,Mirandablush’d; and she finding she did so, redoubled her Confusion, and she had scarce Courage enough to say,—Yes, I did observe him: And then, forcing herself to smile a little, continu’d, ‘And I wonder’d to see so jolly a young Friar of an Order so severe and mortify’d.—Madam, (reply’dCornelia) when you know hisStory, you will not wonder.’Miranda, who was impatient to know all that concern’d her new Conqueror, obliged her to tell his Story; andCorneliaobey’d, and proceeded.

‘You must know, Madam, that this young Holy Man is a Prince ofGermany, of the House of——, whose Fate it was, to fall most passionately in Love with a fair young Lady, who lov’d him with an Ardour equal to what he vow’d her. Sure of her Heart, and wanting only the Approbation of her Parents, and his own, which her Quality did not suffer him to despair of, he boasted of his Happiness to a young Prince, his elder Brother, a Youth amorous and fierce, impatient of Joys, and sensible of Beauty, taking Fire with all fair Eyes: He was his Father’s Darling, and Delight of his fond Mother; and, by an Ascendant over both their Hearts, rul’d their Wills.

‘This young Prince no sooner saw, but lov’d the fair Mistress of his Brother; and with an Authority of a Sovereign, rather than the Advice of a Friend, warn’d his BrotherHenrick(this now young Friar) to approach no more this Lady, whom he had seen; and seeing, lov’d.

‘In vain the poor surpriz’d Prince pleads his Right of Love, his Exchange of Vows, and Assurance of a Heart that could never be but for himself. In vain he urges his Nearness of Blood, his Friendship, his Passion, or his Life, which so entirely depended on the Possession of the charming Maid. All his Pleading serv’d but to blow his Brother’s Flame; and the more he implores, the more the other burns; and whileHenrickfollows him, on his Knees, with humble Submissions, the other flies from him in Rages of transported Love; nor could his Tears, that pursu’d his Brother’s Steps, move him to Pity: Hot-headed, vain-conceited of his Beauty, and greater Quality as elder Brother, he doubts not of Success, and resolv’d to sacrifice all to the Violence of his new-born Passion.

‘In short, he speaks of his Design to his Mother, who promis’d him her Assistance; and accordingly proposingit first to the Prince her Husband, urging the Languishment of her Son, she soon wrought so on him, that a Match being concluded between the Parents of this young Beauty, andHenrick’sBrother, the Hour was appointed before she knew of the Sacrifice she was to be made. And while this was in Agitation,Henrickwas sent on some great Affairs, up intoGermany, far out of the Way; not but his boding Heart, with perpetual Sighs and Throbs, eternally foretold him his Fate.

‘All the Letters he wrote were intercepted, as well as those she wrote to him. She finds herself every Day perplex’d with the Addresses of the Prince she hated; he was ever sighing at her Feet. In vain were all her reproaches, and all her Coldness, he was on the surer Side; for what he found Love would not do, Force of Parents would.

‘Shecomplains, in her Heart, of youngHenrick, from whom she could never receive one Letter; and at last could not forbear bursting into Tears, in spite of all her Force, and feign’d Courage, when, on a Day, the Prince told her, thatHenrickwas withdrawn to give him Time to court her; to whom he said, he confess’d he had made some Vows, but did repent of ’em, knowing himself too young to make ’em good: That it was for that Reason he brought him first to see her; and for that Reason, that after that, he never saw her more, nor so much as took Leave of her; when, indeed, his Death lay upon the next Visit, his Brother having sworn to murder him; and to that End, put a Guard upon him, till he was sent intoGermany.

‘All this he utter’d with so many passionate Asseverations, Vows, and seeming Pity for her being so inhumanly abandon’d, that she almost gave Credit to all he had said, and had much ado to keep herself within the Bounds of Moderation, and silent Grief. Her Heart was breaking, her Eyes languish’d, and her Cheeks grew pale, and she had like to have fallen dead into the treacherous Arms of him that had reduc’d her to this Discovery; but she didwhat she could to assume her Courage, and to shew as little Resentment as possible for a Heart, like hers, oppress’d with Love, and now abandon’d by the dear Subject of its Joys and Pains.

‘But, Madam, not to tire you with this Adventure, the Day arriv’d wherein our still weeping Fair Unfortunate was to be sacrific’d to the Capriciousness of Love; and she was carry’d to Court by her Parents, without knowing to what End, where she was even compell’d to marry the Prince.

‘Henrick, who all this While knew no more of his Unhappiness, than what his Fears suggested, returns, and passes even to the Presence of his Father, before he knew any Thing of his Fortune; where he beheld his Mistress and his Brother, with his Father, in such a Familiarity, as he no longer doubted his Destiny. ’Tis hard to judge, whether the Lady, or himself, was most surpriz’d; she was all pale and unmoveable in her Chair, andHenrickfix’d like a Statue; at last Grief and Rage took Place of Amazement, and he could not forbear crying out,Ah, Traytor! Is it thus you have treated a Friend and Brother? And you, O perjur’d Charmer! Is it thus you have rewarded all my Vows?He could say no more; but reeling against the Door, had fallen in a Swoon upon the Floor, had not his Page caught him in his Arms, who was entring with him. The good old Prince, the Father, who knew not what all this meant, was soon inform’d by the young weeping Princess; who, in relating the Story of her Amour withHenrick, told her Tale in so moving a Manner, as brought Tears to the Old Man’s Eyes, and Rage to those of her Husband; he immediately grew jealous to the last Degree: He finds himself in Possession (’tis true) of the Beauty he ador’d, but the Beauty adoring another; a Prince young and charming as the Light, soft, witty, and raging with an equal Passion. He finds this dreaded Rival in the same House with him, with an Authority equal to his own; andfancies, where two Hearts are so entirely agreed, and have so good an Understanding, it would not be impossible to find Opportunities to satisfy and ease that mutual Flame, that burnt so equally in both; he therefore resolved to send him out of the World, and to establish his own Repose by a Deed, wicked, cruel, and unnatural, to have him assassinated the first Opportunity he could find. This Resolution set him a little at Ease, and he strove to dissemble Kindness toHenrick, with all the Art he was capable of, suffering him to come often to the Apartment of the Princess, and to entertain her oftentimes with Discourse, when he was not near enough to hear what he spoke; but still watching their Eyes, he found those ofHenrickfull of Tears, ready to flow, but restrain’d, looking all dying, and yet reproaching, while those of the Princess were ever bent to the Earth, and she as much as possible, shunning his Conversation. Yet this did not satisfy the jealous Husband; ’twas not her Complaisance that could appease him; he found her Heart was panting within, wheneverHenrickapproach’d her, and every Visit more and more confirmed his Death.

‘The Father often found the Disorders of the Sons; the Softness and Address of the one gave him as much Fear, as the angry Blushings, the fierce Looks, and broken Replies of the other, whenever he beheldHenrickapproach his Wife; so that the Father, fearing some ill Consequence of this, besoughtHenrickto withdraw to some other Country, or travel intoItaly, he being now of an Age that required a View of the World. He told his Father, That he would obey his Commands, tho’ he was certain, that Moment he was to be separated from the Sight of the fair Princess, his Sister, would be the last of his Life; and, in fine, made so pitiful a Story of his suffering Love, as almost moved the old Prince to compassionate him so far, as to permit him to stay; but he saw inevitable Danger in that, and therefore bid him prepare for his Journey.

‘That which pass’d between the Father andHenrick, being a Secret, none talked of his departing from Court; so that the Design the Brother had went on; and making a Hunting-Match one Day, where most young People of Quality were, he order’d some whom he had hired to follow his Brother, so as if he chanced to go out of the Way, to dispatch him; and accordingly, Fortune gave ’em an Opportunity; for he lagg’d behind the Company, and turn’d aside into a pleasant Thicket of Hazles, where alighting, he walk’d on Foot in the most pleasant Part of it, full of Thought, how to divide his Soul between Love and Obedience. He was sensible that he ought not to stay; that he was but an Affliction to the young Princess, whose Honour could never permit her to ease any Part of his Flame; nor was he so vicious to entertain a Thought that should stain her Virtue. He beheld her now as his Brother’s Wife, and that secured his Flame from all loose Desires, if her native Modesty had not been sufficientofitself to have done it, as well as that profound Respect he paid her; and he consider’d, in obeying his Father, he left her at Ease, and his Brother freed of a thousand Fears; he went to seek a Cure, which if he could not find, at last he could but die; and so he must, even at her Feet: However, that it was more noble to seek a Remedy for his Disease, than expect a certain Death by staying. After a thousand Reflections on his hard Fate, and bemoaning himself, and blaming his cruel Stars, that had doom’d him to die so young, after an Infinity of Sighs and Tears, Resolvings and Unresolvings, he, on the sudden, was interrupted by the trampling of some Horses he heard, and their rushing through the Boughs, and saw four Men make towards him: He had not time to mount, being walk’d some Paces from his Horse. One of the Men advanced, and cry’d,Prince, you must die—I do believe thee, (reply’dHenrick)but not by a Hand so base as thine: And at the same Time drawing his Sword, run him into the Groin.When the Fellow found himself so wounded, he wheel’d off and cry’d,Thou art a Prophet, and hast rewarded my Treachery with Death.The rest came up, and one shot at the Prince, and shot him in the Shoulder; the other two hastily laying hold (but too late) on the Hand of the Murderer, cry’d,Hold, Traytor; we relent, and he shall not die.He reply’d,’Tis too late, he is shot; and see, he lies dead. Let us provide for ourselves, and tell the Prince, we have done the Work; for you are as guilty as I am.At that they all fled, and left the Prince lying under a Tree, weltering in his Blood.

‘About the Evening, the Forester going his Walks, saw the Horse, richly caparison’d, without a Rider, at the Entrance of the Wood; and going farther, to see if he could find its Owner, found there the Prince almost dead; he immediately mounts him on the Horse, and himself behind, bore him up, and carry’d him to the Lodge; where he had only one old Man, his Father, well skilled in Surgery, and a Boy. They put him to Bed; and the old Forester, with what Art he had, dress’d his Wounds, and in the Morning sent for an abler Surgeon, to whom the Prince enjoin’d Secrecy, because he knew him. The Man was faithful, and the Prince in Time was recover’d of his Wound; and as soon as he was well, he came toFlanders, in the Habit of a Pilgrim, and after some Time took the Order of St.Francis, none knowing what became of him, till he was profess’d; and then he wrote his own Story to the Prince his Father, to his Mistress, and his ungrateful Brother. The young Princess did not long survive his Loss, she languished from the Moment of his Departure; and he had this to confirm his devout Life, to know she dy’d for him.

‘My Brother, Madam, was an Officer under the Prince his Father, and knew his Story perfectly well; from whose Mouth I had it.’

What!(reply’dMirandathen)is FatherHenricka Man of Quality?Yes, Madam, (saidCornelia)and haschanged his Name toFrancisco.ButMiranda, fearing to betray the Sentiments of her Heart, by asking any more Questions about him, turned the Discourse; and some Persons of Quality came in to visit her (for her Apartment was about six o’Clock, like the Presence-Chamber of a Queen, always filled with the greatest People): There meet all theBeaux Esprits, and all the Beauties. But it was visibleMirandawas not so gay as she used to be; but pensive, and answeringmal a proposto all that was said to her. She was a thousand times going to speak, against her Will, something of the charming Friar, who was never from her Thoughts; and she imagined, if he could inspire Love in a coarse, grey, ill-made Habit, a shorn Crown, a Hair-cord about his Waist, bare-legg’d, in Sandals instead of Shoes; what must he do, when looking back on Time, she beholds him in a Prospect of Glory, with all that Youth, and illustrious Beauty, set off by the Advantage of Dress and Equipage? She frames an Idea of him all gay and splendid, and looks on his present Habit as some Disguise proper for the Stealths of Love; some feigned put-on Shape, with the more Security to approach a Mistress, and make himself happy; and that the Robe laid by, she has the Lover in his proper Beauty, the same he would have been, if any other Habit (though ever so rich) were put off: In the Bed, the silent gloomy Night, and the soft Embraces of her Arms, he loses all the Friar, and assumes all the Prince; and that aweful Reverence, due alone to his Holy Habit, he exchanges for a thousand Dalliances, for which his Youth was made; for Love, for tender Embraces, and all the Happiness of Life. Some Moments she fancies him a Lover, and that the fair Object that takes up all his Heart, has left no Room for her there; but that was a Thought that did not long perplex her, and which, almost as soon as born, she turned to her Advantage. She beholds him a Lover, and therefore finds he has a Heart sensible and tender; he had Youth to be fir’d, as well asto inspire; he was far from the loved Object, and totally without Hope; and she reasonably consider’d, that Flame would of itself soon die, that had only Despair to feed on. She beheld her own Charms; and Experience, as well as her Glass, told her, they never failed of Conquest, especially where they designed it: And she believedHenrickwould be glad, at least, to quench that Flame in himself, by an Amour with her, which was kindled by the young Princess of——his Sister.

These, and a thousand other Self-flatteries, all vain and indiscreet, took up her waking Nights, and now more retired Days; while Love, to make her truly wretched, suffered her to sooth herself with fond Imaginations; not so much as permitting her Reason to plead one Moment to save her from undoing: She would not suffer it to tell her, he had taken Holy Orders, made sacred and solemn Vows of everlasting Chastity, that it was impossible he could marry her, or lay before her any Argument that might prevent her Ruin; but Love, mad malicious Love, was always called to Counsel, and, like easy Monarchs, she had no Ears, but for Flatterers.

Well then, she is resolv’d to love, without considering to what End, and what must be the Consequence of such an Amour. She now miss’d no Day of being at that little Church, where she had the Happiness, or rather the Misfortune (so Love ordained) to see this Ravisher of her Heart and Soul; and every Day she took new Fire from his lovely Eyes. Unawares, unknown, and unwillingly, he gave her Wounds, and the Difficulty of her Cure made her rage the more: She burnt, she languished, and died for the young Innocent, who knew not he was the Author of so much Mischief.

Now she resolves a thousand Ways in her tortur’d Mind, to let him know her Anguish, and at last pitch’d upon that of writing to him soft Billets, which she had learn’d the Art of doing; or if she had not, she had now Fireenough to inspire her with all that could charm and move. These she deliver’d to a young Wench, who waited on her, and whom she had entirely subdu’d to her Interest, to give to a certain Lay-Brother of the Order, who was a very simple harmless Wretch, and who served in the Kitchen, in the Nature of a Cook, in the Monastery ofCordeliers. She gave him Gold to secure his Faith and Service; and not knowing from whence they came (with so good Credentials) he undertook to deliver the Letters to FatherFrancisco; which Letters were all afterwards, as you shall hear, produced in open Court. These Letters failed not to come every Day; and the Sense of the first was, to tell him, that a very beautiful young Lady, of a great Fortune, was in love with him, without naming her; but it came as from a third Person, to let him know the Secret, that she desir’d he would let her know whether she might hope any Return from him; assuring him, he needed but only see the fair Languisher, to confess himself her Slave.

This Letter being deliver’d him, he read by himself, and was surpriz’d to receive Words of this Nature, being so great a Stranger in that Place; and could not imagine or would not give himself the Trouble of guessing who this should be, because he never designed to make Returns.

The next Day,Miranda, finding no Advantage from her Messenger of Love, in the Evening sends another (impatient of Delay) confessing that she who suffer’d the Shame of writing and imploring, was the Person herself who ador’d him. ’Twas there her raging Love made her say all Things that discover’d the Nature of its Flame, and propose to flee with him to any Part of the World, if he would quit the Convent; that she had a Fortune considerable enough to make him happy; and that his Youth and Quality were not given him to so unprofitable an End as to lose themselves in a Convent, where Poverty and Ease was all the Business. In fine, she leaves nothing unurg’d that might debauch and invite him; not forgettingto send him her own Character of Beauty, and left him to judge of her Wit and Spirit by her Writing, and her Love by the Extremity of Passion she profess’d. To all which the lovely Friar made no Return, as believing a gentle Capitulation or Exhortation to her would but inflame her the more, and give new Occasions for her continuing to write. All her Reasonings, false and vicious, he despis’d, pity’d the Error of her Love, and was Proof against all she could plead. Yet notwith­standing his Silence, which left her in Doubt, and more tormented her, she ceas’d not to pursue him with her Letters, varying her Style; sometimes all wanton, loose and raving; sometimes feigning a Virgin-Modesty all over, accusing her self, blaming her Conduct, and sighing her Destiny, as one compell’d to the shameful Discovery by the Austerity of his Vow and Habit, asking his Pity and Forgiveness; urging him in Charity to use his Fatherly Care to persuade and reason with her wild Desires, and by his Counsel drive the God from her Heart, whose Tyranny was worse than that of a Fiend; and he did not know what his pious Advice might do. But still she writes in vain, in vain she varies her Style, by a Cunning, peculiar to a Maid possess’d with such a sort of Passion.

This cold Neglect was still Oil to the burning Lamp, and she tries yet more Arts, which for want of right Thinking were as fruitless. She has Recourse to Presents; her Letters came loaded with Rings of great Price, and Jewels, which Fops of Quality had given her. Many of this Sort he receiv’d, before he knew where to return ’em, or how; and on this Occasion alone he sent her a Letter, and restor’d her Trifles, as he call’d them: But his Habit having not made him forget his Quality and Education, he wrote to her with all the profound Respect imaginable; believing by her Presents, and the Liberality with which she parted with ’em, that she was of Quality. But the whole Letter, as he told me afterwards, was to persuadeher from the Honour she did him, by loving him; urging a thousand Reasons, solid and pious, and assuring her, he had wholly devoted the rest of his Days to Heaven, and had no Need of those gay Trifles she had sent him, which were only fit to adorn Ladies so fair as herself, and who had Business with this glittering World, which he disdain’d, and had for ever abandon’d. He sent her a thousand Blessings, and told her, she should be ever in his Prayers, tho’ not in his Heart, as she desir’d: And abundance of Goodness more he express’d, and Counsel he gave her, which had the same Effect with his Silence; it made her love but the more, and the more impatient she grew. She now had a new Occasion to write, she now is charm’d with his Wit; this was the new Subject. She rallies his Resolution, and endeavours to re-call him to the World, by all the Arguments that human Invention is capable of.

But when she had above four Months languish’d thus in vain, not missing one Day, wherein she went not to see him, without discovering herself to him; she resolv’d, as her last Effort, to shew her Person, and see what that, assisted by her Tears, and soft Words from her Mouth, could do, to prevail upon him.

It happen’d to be on the Eve of that Day when she was to receive the Sacrament, that she, covering herself with her Veil, came toVespers, purposing to make Choice of the conquering Friar for her Confessor.

She approach’d him; and as she did so, she trembled with Love. At last she cry’d,Father, my Confessor is gone for some Time from the Town, and I am obliged To-morrow to receive, and beg you will be pleas’d to take my Confession.

He could not refuse her; and let her into theSacristy, where there is a Confession-Chair, in which he seated himself; and on one Side of him she kneel’d down, over-against a little Altar, where the Priests Robes lye, on which were plac’d some lighted Wax-Candles, that made thelittle Place very light and splendid, which shone full uponMiranda.

After the little Preparation usual in Confession, she turn’d up her Veil, and discover’d to his View the most wondrous Object of Beauty he had ever seen, dress’d in all the Glory of a young Bride; her Hair and Stomacher full of Diamonds, that gave a Lustre all dazling to her brighter Face and Eyes. He was surpriz’d at her amazing Beauty, and question’d whether he saw a Woman, or an Angel at his Feet. Her Hands, which were elevated, as if in Prayer, seem’d to be form’d of polish’d Alabaster; and he confess’d, he had never seen any Thing in Nature so perfect and so admirable.

He had some Pain to compose himself to hear her Confession, and was oblig’d to turn away his Eyes, that his Mind might not be perplex’d with an Object so diverting; whenMiranda, opening the finest Mouth in the World, and discovering new Charms, began her Confession.

‘Holy Father (said she) amongst the Number of my vile Offences, that which afflicts me to the greatest Degree, is, that I am in love: Not (continued she) that I believe simple and virtuous Love a Sin, when ’tis plac’d on an Object proper and suitable; but, my dear Father, (said she, and wept) I love with a Violence which cannot be contain’d within the Bounds of Reason, Moderation, or Virtue. I love a Man whom I cannot possess without a Crime, and a Man who cannot make me happy without being perjur’d. Is he marry’d? (reply’d the Father.) No; (answer’dMiranda.) Are you so? (continued he.) Neither, (said she.) Is he too near ally’d to you? (saidFrancisco:) a Brother, or Relation? Neither of these, (said she.) He is unenjoy’d, unpromis’d; and so am I: Nothing opposes our Happiness, or makes my Love a Vice, but you—’Tis you deny me Life: ’Tis you that forbid my Flame: ’Tis you will have me die, and seek my Remedy in my Grave, when I complain of Tortures, Wounds, and Flames.O cruel Charmer! ’tis for you I languish; and here, at your Feet, implore that Pity, which all my Addresses have fail’d of procuring me.’—

With that, perceiving he was about to rise from his Seat, she held him by his Habit, and vow’d she would in that Posture follow him, where-ever he flew from her. She elevated her Voice so loud, he was afraid she might be heard, and therefore suffer’d her to force him into his Chair again; where being seated, he began, in the most passionate Terms imaginable, to dissuade her; but finding she the more persisted in Eagerness of Passion, he us’d all the tender Assurance that he could force from himself, that he would have for her all the Respect, Esteem and Friendship that he was capable of paying; that he had a real Compassion for her: and at last she prevail’d so far with him, by her Sighs and Tears, as to own he had a Tenderness for her, and that he could not behold so many Charms, without being sensibly touch’d by ’em, and finding all those Effects, that a Maid so fair and young causes in the Souls of Men of Youth and Sense: But that, as he was assured, he could never be so happy to marry her, and as certain he could not grant any Thing but honourable Passion, he humbly besought her not to expect more from him than such. And then began to tell her how short Life was, and transitory its Joys; how soon she would grow weary of Vice, and how often change to find real Repose in it, but never arrive to it. He made an End, by new Assurance of his eternal Friendship, but utterly forbad her to hope.

Behold her now deny’d, refus’d and defeated, with all her pleading Youth, Beauty, Tears, and Knees, imploring, as she lay, holding fast hisScapular, and embracing his Feet. What shall she do? She swells with Pride, Love, Indignation and Desire; her burning Heart is bursting with Despair, her Eyes grow fierce, and from Grief she rises to a Storm; and in her Agony of Passion, with Looksall disdainful, haughty, and full of Rage, she began to revile him, as the poorest of Animals; tells him his Soul was dwindled to the Meanness of his Habit, and his Vows of Poverty were suited to his degenerate Mind. ‘And (said she) since all my nobler Ways have fail’d me; and that, for a little Hypocritical Devotion, you resolve to lose the greatest Blessings of Life, and to sacrifice me to your Religious Pride and Vanity, I will either force you to abandon that dull Dissimulation, or you shall die, to prove your Sanctity real. Therefore answer me immediately, answer my Flame, my raging Fire, which your Eyes have kindled; or here, in this very Moment, I will ruin thee; and make no Scruple of revenging the Pains I suffer, by that which shall take away your Life and Honour.’

The trembling young Man, who, all this While, with extreme Anguish of Mind, and Fear of the dire Result, had listen’d to her Ravings, full of Dread, demanded what she would have him do? When she reply’d—‘Do that which thy Youth and Beauty were ordain’d to do:—this Place is private, a sacred Silence reigns here, and no one dares to pry into the Secrets of this Holy Place: We are as secure from Fears and Interruption, as in Desarts uninhabited, or Caves forsaken by wild Beasts. The Tapers too shall veil their Lights, and only that glimmering Lamp shall be Witness of our dear Stealths of Love—Come to my Arms, my trembling, longing Arms; and curse the Folly of thy Bigotry, that has made thee so long lose a Blessing, for which so many Princes sigh in vain.’

At these Words she rose from his Feet, and snatching him in her Arms, he could not defend himself from receiving a thousand Kisses from the lovely Mouth of the charming Wanton; after which, she ran herself, and in an Instant put out the Candles. But he cry’d to her, ‘In vain, O too indiscreet Fair One, in vain you put out the Light; for Heaven still has Eyes, and will look down upon my broken Vows. I own your Power, I own I have all theSense in the World of your charming Touches; I am frail Flesh and Blood, but—yet—yet I can resist; and I prefer my Vows to all your powerful Temptations.—I will be deaf and blind, and guard my Heart with Walls of Ice, and make you know, that when the Flames of true Devotion are kindled in a Heart, it puts out all other Fires; which are as ineffectual, as Candles lighted in the Face of the Sun.—Go, vain Wanton, and repent, and mortify that Blood which has so shamefully betray’d thee, and which will one Day ruin both thy Soul and Body.’—

At these WordsMiranda, more enrag’d, the nearer she imagin’d her self to Happiness, made no Reply; but throwing her self, in that Instant, into the Confessing-Chair, and violently pulling the young Friar into her Lap, she elevated her Voice to such a Degree, in crying out,Help, Help! A Rape! Help, Help!that she was heard all over the Church, which was full of People at the Evening’s Devotion; who flock’d about the Door of theSacristy, which was shut with a Spring-Lock on the Inside, but they durst not open the Door.

’Tis easily to be imagin’d, in what Condition our young Friar was, at this last devilish Stratagem of his wicked Mistress. He strove to break from those Arms that held him so fast; and his Bustling to get away, and her’s to retain him, disorder’d her Hair and Habit to such a Degree, as gave the more Credit to her false Accusation.

The Fathers had a Door on the other Side, by which they usually enter’d, to dress in this little Room; and at the Report that was in an Instant made ’em, they hasted thither, and foundMirandaand the good Father very indecently struggling; which they mis-interpreted, asMirandadesir’d; who, all in Tears, immediately threw her self at the Feet of the Provincial, who was one of those that enter’d; and cry’d, ‘O holy Father! revenge an innocent Maid, undone and lost to Fame and Honour, by that vile Monster, born of Goats, nurs’d by Tygers,and bred up on savage Mountains, where Humanity and Religion are Strangers. For, O holy Father, could it have enter’d into the Heart of Man, to have done so barbarous and horrid a Deed, as to attempt the Virgin-Honour of an unspotted Maid, and one of my Degree, even in the Moment of my Confession, in that holy Time, when I was prostrate before him and Heaven, confessing those Sins that press’d my tender Conscience; even then to load my Soul with the blackest of Infamies, to add to my Number a Weight that must sink me to Hell? Alas! under the Security of his innocent Looks, his holy Habit, and his aweful Function, I was led into this Room to make my Confession; where, he locking the Door, I had no sooner began, but he gazing on me, took fire at my fatal Beauty; and starting up, put out the Candles and caught me in his Arms; and raising me from the Pavement, set me in the Confession-Chair; and then—Oh, spare me the rest.’

With that a Shower of Tears burst from her fair dissembling Eyes, and Sobs so naturally acted, and so well manag’d, as left no doubt upon the good Men, but all she had spoken was Truth.

‘—At first, (proceeded she) I was unwilling to bring so great a Scandal on his Order, to cry out; but struggled as long as I had Breath; pleaded the Heinousness of the Crime, urging my Quality, and the Danger of the Attempt. But he, deaf as the Winds, and ruffling as a Storm, pursu’d his wild Design with so much Force and Insolence, as I at last, unable to resist, was wholly vanquish’d, robb’d of my native Purity. With what Life and Breath I had, I call’d for Assistance, both from Men and Heaven; but oh, alas! your Succours came too late:—You find me here a wretched, undone, and ravish’d Maid. Revenge me, Fathers; revenge me on the perfidious Hypocrite, or else give me a Death that may secure your Cruelty and Injustice from ever being proclaim’d over the World; or myTongue will be eternally reproaching you, and cursing the wicked Author of my Infamy.’

She ended as she began, with a thousand Sighs and Tears; and received from the Provincial all Assurances of Revenge.

The innocent betray’d Victim, all the while she was speaking, heard her with an Astonishment that may easily be imagined; yet shew’d no extravagant Signs of it, as those would do, who feign it, to be thought innocent; but being really so, he bore with an humble, modest, and blushing Countenance, all her Accusations; which silent Shame they mistook for evident Signs of his Guilt.

When the Provincial demanded, with an unwonted Severity in his Eyes and Voice, what he could answer for himself? calling him Profaner of his Sacred Vows, and Infamy to the Holy Order; the injur’d, but innocently accus’d, only reply’d: ‘May Heaven forgive that bad Woman, and bring her to Repentance! For his Part, he was not so much in Love with Life, as to use many arguments to justify his Innocence; unless it were to free that Order from a Scandal, of which he had the Honour to be profess’d. But as for himself, Life or Death were Things indifferent to him, who heartily despis’d the World.’

He said no more, and suffer’d himself to be led before the Magistrate; who committed him to Prison, upon the Accusation of this implacable Beauty; who, with so much feign’d Sorrow, prosecuted the Matter, even to his Tryal and Condemnation; where he refus’d to make any great Defence for himself. But being daily visited by all the Religious, both of his own and other Orders, they oblig’d him (some of ’em knowing the Austerity of his Life, others his Cause of Griefs that first brought him into Orders, and others pretending a nearer Knowledge, even of his Soul it self) to stand upon his Justification, and discover what he knew of that wicked Woman; whose Life had not been so exemplary for Virtue, not to have given the World a thousand Suspicions of her Lewdness and Prostitutions.

The daily Importunities of these Fathers made him produce her Letters: But as he had all the Gown-men on his Side, she had all the Hats and Feathers on her’s; all the Men of Quality taking her Part, and all the Church-men his. They heard his daily Protestations and Vows, but not a Word of what passed at Confession was yet discover’d: He held that as a Secret sacred on his Part; and what was said in Nature of a Confession, was not to be revealed, though his Life depended on the Discovery. But as to the Letters, they were forc’d from him, and expos’d; however, Matters were carry’d with so high a Hand against him, that they serv’d for no Proof at all of his Innocence, and he was at last condemn’d to be burn’d at the Market-Place.

After his Sentence was pass’d, the whole Body of Priests made their Addresses to the MarquisCastel Roderigo, the then Governor ofFlanders, for a Reprieve; which, after much ado, was granted him for some Weeks, but with an absolute Denial of Pardon: So prevailing were the young Cavaliers of his Court, who were all Adorers of this Fair Jilt.

About this time, while the poor innocent youngHenrickwas thus languishing in Prison, in a dark and dismal Dungeon, andMiranda, cured of her Love, was triumphing in her Revenge, expecting and daily giving new Conquests; and who, by this time, had re-assum’d all her wonted Gaiety; there was a great Noise about the Town, that a Prince of mighty Name, and fam’d for all the Excellencies of his Sex, was arriv’d; a Prince young, and gloriously attended, call’d PrinceTarquin.

We had often heard of this great Man, and that he was making his Travels inFranceandGermany: And we had also heard, that some Years before, he being about Eighteen Years of Age, in the Time when our KingCharles, of blessed Memory, was inBrussels, in the last Year of his Banishment, that all on a sudden, this young Man rose up upon ’em like the Sun, all glorious and dazling, demandingPlace of all the Princes in that Court. And when his Pretence was demanded, he own’d himself PrinceTarquin, of the Race of the last Kings ofRome, made good his Title, and took his Place accordingly. After that he travell’d for about six Years up and down the World, and then arriv’d atAntwerp, about the Time of my being sent thither by KingCharles.

Perhaps there could be nothing seen so magnificent as this Prince: He was, as I said, extremely handsome, from Head to Foot exactly form’d, and he wanted nothing that might adorn that native Beauty to the best Advantage. His Parts were suitable to the rest: He had an Accomplishment fit for a Prince, an Air haughty, but a Carriage affable, easy in Conversation, and very entertaining, liberal and good-natur’d, brave and inoffensive. I have seen him pass the Streets with twelve Footmen, and four Pages; the Pages all in green Velvet Coats lac’d with Gold, and white Velvet Tunicks; the Men in Cloth, richly lac’d with Gold; his Coaches, and all other Officers, suitable to a great Man.

He was all the Discourse of the Town; some laughing at his Title, others reverencing it: Some cry’d, that he was an Imposter; others, that he had made his Title as plain, as ifTarquinhad reign’d but a Year ago. Some made Friendships with him, others would have nothing to say to him: But all wonder’d where his Revenue was, that supported this Grandeur; and believ’d, tho’ he could make his Descent from theRomanKings very well out, that he could not lay so good a Claim to theRomanLand. Thus every body meddled with what they had nothing to do; and, as in other Places, thought themselves on the surer Side, if, in these doubtful Cases, they imagin’d the worst.

But the Men might be of what Opinion they pleas’d concerning him; the Ladies were all agreed that he was a Prince, and a young handsome Prince, and a Prince notto be resisted: He had all their Wishes, all their Eyes, and all their Hearts. They now dress’d only for him; and what Church he grac’d, was sure, that Day, to have the Beauties, and all that thought themselves so.

You may believe, our amorousMirandawas not the least Conquest he made. She no sooner heard of him, which was as soon as he arriv’d, but she fell in love with his very Name.Jesu!—A young King ofRome!Oh, it was so novel, that she doated on the Title; and had not car’d whether the rest had been Man or Monkey almost: She was resolved to be theLucretiathat this youngTarquinshould ravish.

To this End, she was no sooner up the next Day, but she sent him aBillet Doux, assuring him how much she admired his Fame; and that being a Stranger in the Town, she begged the Honour of introducing him to all theBelleConversations,&c.which he took for the Invitation of some Coquet, who had Interest in fair Ladies; and civilly return’d her an Answer, that he would wait on her. She had him that Day watched to Church; and impatient to see what she heard so many People flock to see, she went also to the same Church; those sanctified Abodes being too often profaned by such Devotees, whose Business is to ogle and ensnare.

But what a Noise and Humming was heard all over the Church, whenTarquinenter’d! His Grace, his Mein, his Fashion, his Beauty, his Dress, and his Equipage surprized all that were present: And by the good Management and Care ofMiranda, she got to kneel at the Side of the Altar, just over against the Prince, so that, if he would, he could not avoid looking full upon her. She had turned up her Veil, and all her Face and Shape appear’d such, and so inchanting, as I have described; and her Beauty heighten’d with Blushes, and her Eyes full of Spirit and Fire, with Joy, to find the youngRomanMonarch so charming, she appear’d like something more than mortal, and compelledhis Eyes to a fixed gazing on her Face: She never glanc’d that Way, but she met them; and then would feign so modest a Shame, and cast her Eyes downwards with such inviting Art, that he was wholly ravished and charmed, and she over-joy’d to find he was so.

Back to IndexNext