The Works of Aphra Behn

Thus they pass’d the day, till it was a decent hour for him to quit the Grate, and for them to draw the Curtain; all that Night did Isabella dedicate to Love, she went to Bed, with a Resolution, to think over all she had to do, and to consider, how she should manage this great Affair of her Life: I have already said, she had try’d all that was possible in Human Strength to perform, in the design of quitting a Passion so injurious to her Honour and Virtue, and found no means possible to accomplish it: She had try’d Fasting long, Praying fervently, rigid Penances and Pains, severe Disciplines, all the Mortification, almost to the destruction of Life it self, to conquer the unruly Flame; but still it burnt and rag’d but the more; so, at last, she was forc’d to permit that to conquer her, she could not conquer, and submitted to her Fate, as a thing destin’d her by Heaven it self; and after all this opposition, she fancy’d it was resisting even Divine Providence, to struggle any longer with her Heart; and this being her real Belief, she the more patiently gave way to all the Thoughts that pleas’d her.

As soon as she was laid, without discoursing (as she us’d to do) to Katteriena, after they were in Bed, she pretended to be sleepy, and turning from her, setled her self to profound Thinking, and was resolv’d to conclude the Matter, between her Heart, and her Vow of Devotion, that Night, and she, having no more to determine, might end the Affair accordingly, the first opportunity she should have to speak to Henault, which was, to fly, and marry him; or, to remain for ever fix’d to her Vow of Chastity. This was the Debate; she brings Reason on both sides: Against the first, she sets the Shame of a Violated Vow, and considers, where she shall shew her Face after such an Action; to the Vow, she argues, that she was born in Sin, and could not live without it; that she was Human, and no Angel, and that, possibly, that Sin might be as soon forgiven, as another; that since all her devout Endeavours could not defend her from the Cause, Heaven ought to execute the Effect; that as to shewing her Face, so she saw that of Henault always turned (Charming as it was) towards her with love; what had she to do with the World, or car’d to behold any other?

Some times, she thought, it would be more Brave and Pious to dye, than to break her Vow; but she soon answer’d that, as false Arguing, for Self-Murder was the worst of Sins, and in the Deadly Number. She could, after such an Action, live to repent, and, of two Evils, she ought to chuse the least; she dreads to think, since she had so great a Reputation for Virtue and Piety, both in the Monastery, and in the World, what they both would say, when she should commit an Action so contrary to both these, she posest; but, after a whole Night’s Debate, Love was strongest, and gain’d the Victory. She never went about to think, how she should escape, because she knew it would be easy, the keeping of the Key of the Monastery, [was] often intrusted in her keeping, and was, by turns, in the hands of many more, whose Virtue and Discretion was Infallible, and out of Doubt; besides, her Aunt being the Lady Abbess, she had greater privilege than the rest; so that she had no more to do, she thought, than to acquaint Henault with her Design, as soon as she should get an opportunity. Which was not quickly; but, in the mean time, Isabella’s Father dy’d, which put some little stop to our Lover’s Happiness, and gave her a short time of Grief; but Love, who, while he is new and young, can do us Miracles, soon wip’d her Eyes, and chas’d away all Sorrows from her Heart, and grew every day more and more impatient, to put her new Design in Execution, being every day more resolv’d. Her Father’s Death had remov’d one Obstacle, and secur’d her from his Reproaches; and now she only wants Opportunity, first, to acquaint Henault, and then to fly.

She waited not long, all things concurring to her desire; for Katteriena falling sick, she had the good luck, as she call’d it then, to entertain Henault at the Grate oftentimes alone; the first moment she did so, she entertain’d him with the good News, and told him, She had at last vanquish’d her Heart in favour of him, and loving him above all things, Honour, her Vow or Reputation, had resolv’d to abandon her self wholly to him, to give her self up to love and serve him, and that she had no other Consideration in the World; but Henault, instead of returning her an Answer, all Joy and Satisfaction, held down his Eyes, and Sighing, with a dejected Look, he cry’d, ‘Ah, Madam! Pity a Man so wretched and undone, as not to be sensible of this Blessing as I ought.’ She grew pale at this Reply, and trembling, expected he would proceed: ‘’Tis not (continued he) that I want Love, tenderest Passion, and all the desire Youth and Love can inspire; But, Oh, Madam! when I consider, (for raving mad in Love as I am for your sake, I do consider) that if I should take you from this Repose, Nobly Born and Educated, as you are; and, for that Act, should find a rigid Father deprive me of all that ought to support you, and afford your Birth, Beauty, and Merits, their due, what would you say? How would you Reproach me?’ He sighing, expected her Answer, when Blushes overspreading her Face, she reply’d, in a Tone all haughty and angry, ‘Ah, Henault! Am I then refus’d, after having abandon’d all things for you? Is it thus, you reward my Sacrific’d Honour, Vows, and Virtue? Cannot you hazard the loss of Fortune to possess Isabella, who loses all for you!’ Then bursting into Tears, at her misfortune of Loving, she suffer’d him to say, ‘Oh, Charming fair one! how industrious is your Cruelty, to find out new Torments for an Heart, already press’d down with the Severities of Love? Is it possible, you can make so unhappy a Construction of the tenderest part of my Passion? And can you imagin it want of Love in me, to consider, how I shall preserve and merit the vast Blessing Heaven has given me? Is my Care a Crime? And would not the most deserving Beauty of the World hate me, if I should, to preserve my Life, and satisfy the Passion of my fond Heart, reduce her to the Extremities of Want and Misery? And is there any thing, in what I have said, but what you ought to take for the greatest Respect and tenderness!’ ‘Alas! (reply’d Isabella sighing) young as I am, all unskilful in Love I find, but what I feel, that Discretion is no part of it; and Consideration, inconsistent with the Nobler Passion, who will subsist of its own Nature, and Love unmixed with any other Sentiment? And ’tis not pure, if it be otherwise: I know, had I mix’d Discretion with mine, my Love must have been less, I never thought of living, but my Love; and, if I consider’d at all, it was, that Grandure and Magnificence were useless Trifles to Lovers, wholly needless and troublesom. I thought of living in some loanly Cottage, far from the noise of crowded busie Cities, to walk with thee in Groves, and silent Shades, where I might hear no Voice but thine; and when we had been tir’d, to sit us done by some cool murmuring Rivulet, and be to each a World, my Monarch thou, and I thy Sovereign Queen, while Wreaths of Flowers shall crown our happy Heads, some fragrant Bank our Throne, and Heaven our Canopy: Thus we might laugh at Fortune, and the Proud, despise the duller World, who place their Joys in mighty Shew and Equipage. Alas! my Nature could not bear it, I am unus’d to Wordly Vanities, and would boast of nothing but my Henault; no Riches, but his Love; no Grandure, but his Presence.’ She ended speaking, with Tears, and he reply’d, ‘Now, now, I find, my Isabella loves indeed, when she’s content to abandon the World for my sake; Oh! thou hast named the only happy Life that suits my quiet Nature, to be retir’d, has always been my Joy! But to be so with thee! Oh! thou hast charm’d me with a Thought so dear, as has for ever banish’d all my Care, but how to receive thy Goodness! Please think no more what my angry Parent may do, when he shall hear, how I have dispos’d of my self against his Will and Pleasure, but trust to Love and Providence; no more! be gone all Thoughts, but those of Isabella!’

As soon as he had made an end of expressing his Joy, he fell to consulting how, and when, she should escape; and since it was uncertain, when she should be offer’d the Key, for she would not ask for it, she resolv’d to give him notice, either by word of Mouth, or a bit of Paper she would write in, and give him through the Grate the first opportunity; and, parting for that time, they both resolv’d to get up what was possible for their Support, till Time should reconcile Affairs and Friends, and to wait the happy hour.

Isabella’s dead Mother had left Jewels, of the value of 2000l. to her Daughter, at her Decease, which Jewels were in the possession, now, of the Lady Abbess, and were upon Sale, to be added to the Revenue of the Monastery; and as Isabella was the most Prudent of her Sex, at least, had hitherto been so esteem’d, she was intrusted with all that was in possession of the Lady Abbess, and ’twas not difficult to make her self Mistress of all her own Jewels; as also, some 3 or 400l. in Gold, that was hoarded up in her Ladyship’s Cabinet, against any Accidents that might arrive to the Monastery; these Isabella also made her own, and put up with the Jewels; and having acquainted Henault, with the Day and Hour of her Escape, he got together what he could, and waiting for her, with his Coach, one Night, when no body was awake but her self, when rising softly, as she us’d to do, in the Night, to her Devotion, she stole so dexterously out of the Monastery, as no body knew any thing of it; she carry’d away the Keys with her, after having lock’d all the Doors, for she was intrusted often with all. She found Henault waiting in his Coach, and trusted none but an honest Coachman that lov’d him; he receiv’d her with all the Transports of a truly ravish’d Lover, and she was infinitely charm’d with the new Pleasure of his Embraces and Kisses.

They drove out of Town immediately, and because she durst not be seen in that Habit, (for it had been immediate Death for both) they drove into a Thicket some three Miles from the Town, where Henault having brought her some of his younger Sister’s Clothes, he made her put off her Habit, and put on those; and, rending the other, they hid them in a Sand-pit, covered over with Broom, and went that Night forty Miles from Iper, to a little Town upon the River Rhine, where, changing their Names, they were forthwith married, and took a House in a Country Village, a Farm, where they resolv’d to live retir’d, by the name of Beroone, and drove a Farming Trade; however, not forgetting to set Friends and Engines at work, to get their Pardon, as Criminals, first, that had trangress’d the Law; and, next, as disobedient Persons, who had done contrary to the Will and Desire of their Parents: Isabella writ to her Aunt the most moving Letters in the World, so did Henault to his Father; but she was a long time, before she could gain so much as an answer from her Aunt, and Henault was so unhappy, as never to gain one from his Father; who no sooner heard the News that was spread over all the Town and Country, that young Henault was fled with the so fam’d Isabella, a Nun, and singular for Devotion and Piety of Life, but he immediately setled his Estate on his younger Son, cutting Henault off with all his Birthright, which was 5000l. a Year. This News, you may believe, was not very pleasing to the young Man, who tho’ in possession of the loveliest Virgin, and now Wife, that ever Man was bless’d with; yet when he reflected, he should have children by her, and these and she should come to want, (he having been magnificently Educated, and impatient of scanty Fortune) he laid it to Heart, and it gave him a thousand Uneasinesses in the midst of unspeakable Joys; and the more be strove to hide his Sentiments from Isabella, the more tormenting it was within; he durst not name it to her, so insuperable a Grief it would cause in her, to hear him complain; and tho’ she could live hardly, as being bred to a devout and severe Life, he could not, but must let the Man of Quality shew it self; even in the disguise of an humbler Farmer: Besides all this, he found nothing of his Industry thrive, his Cattel still dy’d in the midst of those that were in full Vigour and Health of other Peoples; his Crops of Wheat and Barly, and other Grain, tho’ manag’d by able and knowing Husbandmen, were all, either Mildew’d, or Blasted, or some Misfortune still arriv’d to him; his Coach-Horses would fight and kill one another, his Barns sometimes be fir’d; so that it became a Proverb all over the Country, if any ill Luck had arriv’d to any body, they would say, ‘They had Monsieur BEROONE’S Luck.’ All these Reflections did but add to his Melancholy, and he grew at last to be in some want, insomuch, that Isabella, who had by her frequent Letters, and submissive Supplications, to her Aunt, (who lov’d her tenderly) obtain’d her Pardon, and her Blessing; she now press’d her for some Money, and besought her to consider, how great a Fortune she had brought to the Monastery, and implor’d, she would allow her some Sallary out of it, for she had been marry’d two Years, and most of what she had was exhausted. The Aunt, who found, that what was done, could not be undone, did, from time to time, supply her so, as one might have liv’d very decently on that very Revenue; but that would not satisfy the great Heart of Henault. He was now about three and twenty Years old, and Isabella about eighteen, too young, and too lovely a Pair, to begin their Misfortunes so soon; they were both the most Just and Pious in the World; they were Examples of Goodness, and Eminent for Holy Living, and for perfect Loving, and yet nothing thriv’d they undertook; they had no Children, and all their Joy was in each other; at last, one good Fortune arriv’d to them, by the Solicitations of the Lady Abbess, and the Bishop, who was her near Kinsman, they got a Pardon for Isabella’s quitting the Monastery, and marrying, so that she might now return to her own Country again. Henault having also his Pardon, they immediately quit the place, where they had remain’d for two Years, and came again into Flanders, hoping, the change of place might afford ’em better Luck.

Henault then began again to solicit his Cruel Father, but nothing would do, he refus’d to see him, or to receive any Letters from him; but, at last, he prevail’d so far with him, as that he sent a Kinsman to him, to assure him, if he would leave his Wife, and go into the French Campagn, he would Equip him as well as his Quality requir’d, and that, according as he behav’d himself, he should gain his Favour; but if he liv’d Idly at home, giving up his Youth and Glory to lazy Love, he would have no more to say to him, but race him out of his Heart, and out of his Memory.

He had setled himself in a very pretty House, furnished with what was fitting for the Reception of any Body of Quality that would live a private Life, and they found all the Respect that their Merits deserv’d from all the World, every body entirely loving and endeavouring to serve them; and Isabella so perfectly had the Ascendent over her Aunt’s Heart, that she procur’d from her all that she could desire, and much more than she could expect. She was perpetually progging and saving all that she could, to enrich and advance her, and, at last, pardoning and forgiving Henault, lov’d him as her own Child; so that all things look’d with a better Face than before, and never was so dear and fond a Couple seen, as Henault and Isabella; but, at last, she prov’d with Child, and the Aunt, who might reasonably believe, so young a Couple would have a great many Children, and foreseeing there was no Provision likely to be made them, unless he pleas’d his Father, for if the Aunt should chance to dye, all their Hope was gone; she therefore daily solicited him to obey his Father, and go to the Camp; and that having atchiev’d Fame and Renown, he would return a Favourite to his Father, and Comfort to his Wife: After she had solicited in vain, for he was not able to endure the thought of leaving Isabella, melancholy as he was with his ill Fortune; the Bishop, kinsman to Isabella, took him to task, and urg’d his Youth and Birth, and that he ought not to wast both without Action, when all the World was employ’d; and, that since his Father had so great a desire he should go into a Campagn, either to serve the Venetian against the Turks, or into the French Service, which he lik’d best; he besought him to think of it; and since he had satisfy’d his Love, he should and ought to satisfy his Duty, it being absolutely necessary for the wiping off the Stain of his Sacrilege, and to gain him the favour of Heaven, which, he found, had hitherto been averse to all he had undertaken: In fine, all his Friends, and all who lov’d him, joyn’d in this Design, and all thought it convenient, nor was he insensible of the Advantage it might bring him; but Love, which every day grew fonder and fonder in his Heart, oppos’d all their Reasonings, tho’ he saw all the Brave Youth of the Age preparing to go, either to one Army, or the other.

At last, he lets Isabella know, what Propositions he had made him, both by his Father, and his Relations; at the very first Motion, she almost fainted in his Arms, while he was speaking, and it possess’d her with so intire a Grief, that she miscarry’d, to the insupportable Torment of her tender Husband and Lover, so that, to re-establish her Repose, he was forc’d to promise not to go; however, she consider’d all their Circumstances, and weigh’d the Advantages that might redound both to his Honour and Fortune, by it; and, in a matter of a Month’s time, with the Persuasions and Reasons of her Friends, she suffer’d him to resolve upon going, her self determining to retire to the Monastery, till the time of his Return; but when she nam’d the Monastery, he grew pale and disorder’d, and obliged her to promise him, not to enter into it any more, for fear they should never suffer her to come forth again; so that he resolv’d not to depart, till she had made a Vow to him, never to go again within the Walls of a Religious House, which had already been so fatal to them. She promis’d, and he believ’d.

Henault, at last, overcame his Heart, which pleaded so for his Stay, and sent his Father word, he was ready to obey him, and to carry the first Efforts of his Arms against the common Foes of Christendom, the Turks; his Father was very well pleas’d at this, and sent him Two thousand Crowns, his Horses and Furniture sutable to his Quality, and a Man to wait on him; so that it was not long e’re he got himself in order to be gone, after a dismal parting.

He made what hast he could to the French Army, then under the Command of the Monsignior, the Duke of Beaufort, then at Candia, and put himself a Voluntier under his Conduct; in which Station was Villenoys, who, you have already heard, was so passionate a Lover of Isabella, who no sooner heard of Henault’s being arriv’d, and that he was Husband to Isabella, but he was impatient to learn, by what strange Adventure he came to gain her, even from her Vow’d Retreat, when he, with all his Courtship, could not be so happy, tho’ she was then free in the World, and Unvow’d to Heaven.

As soon as he sent his Name to Henault, he was sent for up, for Henault had heard of Villenoys, and that he had been a Lover of Isabella; they receiv’d one another with all the endearing Civility imaginable for the aforesaid Reason, and for that he was his Country-man, tho’ unknown to him, Villenoys being gone to the Army, just as Henault came from the Jesuits College. A great deal of Endearment pass’d between them, and they became, from that moment, like two sworn Brothers, and he receiv’d the whole Relation from Henault, of his Amour.

It was not long before the Siege began anew, for he arriv’d at the beginning of the Spring, and, as soon as he came, almost, they fell to Action; and it happen’d upon a day, that a Party of some Four hundred Men resolv’d to sally out upon the Enemy, as, when ever they could, they did; but as it is not my business to relate the History of the War, being wholly unacquainted with the Terms of Battels, I shall only say, That these Men were led by Villenoys, and that Henault would accompany him in this Sally, and that they acted very Noble, and great Things, worthy of a Memory in the History of that Siege; but this day, particularly, they had an occasion to shew their Valour, which they did very much to their Glory; but, venturing too far, they were ambush’d, in the persuit of the Party of the Enemies, and being surrounded, Villenoys had the unhappiness to see his gallant Friend fall, fighting and dealing of Wounds around him, even as he descended to the Earth, for he fell from his Horse at the same moment that he kill’d a Turk; and Villenoys could neither assist him, nor had he the satisfaction to be able to rescue his dead Body from under the Horses, but, with much ado, escaping with his own Life, got away, in spite of all that follow’d him, and recover’d the Town, before they could overtake him: He passionately bewail’d the Loss of this brave young Man, and offer’d any Recompence to those, that would have ventur’d to have search’d for his dead Body among the Slain; but it was not fit to hazard the Living, for unnecessary Services to the Dead; and tho’ he had a great mind to have Interr’d him, he rested content with what he wish’d to pay his Friends Memory, tho’ he could not: So that all the Service now he could do him, was, to write to Isabella, to whom he had not writ, tho’ commanded by her so to do, in three Years before, which was never since she took Orders. He gave her an Account of the Death of her Husband, and how Gloriously he fell fighting for the Holy Cross, and how much Honour he had won, if it had been his Fate to have outliv’d that great, but unfortunate, Day, where, with 400 Men, they had kill’d 1500 of the Enemy. The General Beaufort himself had so great a Respect and Esteem for this young Man, and knowing him to be of Quality, that he did him the honour to bemoan him, and to send a Condoling Letter to Isabella, how much worth her Esteem he dy’d, and that he had Eterniz’d his Memory with the last Gasp of his Life.

When this News arriv’d, it may be easily imagin’d, what Impressions, or rather Ruins, it made in the Heart of this fair Mourner; the Letters came by his Man, who saw him fall in Battel, and came off with those few that escap’d with Villenoys; he brought back what Money he had, a few Jewels, with Isabella’s Picture that he carry’d with him and had left in his Chamber in the Fort at Candia, for fear of breaking it in Action. And now Isabella’s Sorrow grew to the Extremity, she thought, she could not suffer more than she did by his Absence, but she now found a Grief more killing; she hung her Chamber with Black, and liv’d without the Light of Day: Only Wax Lights, that let her behold the Picture of this Charming Man, before which she sacrific’d Floods of Tears. He had now been absent about ten Months, and she had learnt just to live without him, but Hope preserv’d her then; but now she had nothing, for which to wish to live. She, for about two Months after the News arriv’d, liv’d without seeing any Creature but a young Maid, that was her Woman; but extream Importunity oblig’d her to give way to the Visits of her Friends, who endeavour’d to restore her Melancholy Soul to its wonted Easiness; for, however it was oppress’d within, by Henault’s Absence, she bore it off with a modest Chearfulness; but now she found, that Fortitude and Virtue fail’d her, when she was assur’d, he was no more: She continu’d thus Mourning, and thus inclos’d, the space of a whole Year, never suffering the Visit of any Man, but of a near Relation; so that she acquir’d a Reputation, such as never any young Beauty had, for she was now but Nineteen, and her Face and Shape more excellent than ever; she daily increas’d in Beauty, which, joyn’d to her Exemplary Piety, Charity, and all other excellent Qualities, gain’d her a wonderous Fame, and begat an Awe and Reverence in all that heard of her, and there was no Man of any Quality, that did not Adore her. After her Year was up, she went to the Churches, but would never be seen any where else abroad, but that was enough to procure her a thousand Lovers; and some, who had the boldness to send her Letters, which, if she receiv’d, she gave no Answer to, and many she sent back unread and unseal’d: So that she would encourage none, tho’ their Quality was far beyond what she could hope; but she was resolv’d to marry no more, however her Fortune might require it.

It happen’d, that, about this time, Candia being unfortunately taken by the Turks, all the brave Men that escap’d the Sword, return’d, among them, Villenoys, who no sooner arriv’d, but he sent to let Isabella know of it, and to beg the Honour of waiting on her; desirous to learn what Fate befel her dear Lord, she suffer’d him to visit her, where he found her, in her Mourning, a thousand times more Fair, (at least, he fancy’d so) than ever she appear’d to be; so that if he lov’d her before, he now ador’d her; if he burnt then, he rages now; but the awful Sadness, and soft Languishment of her Eyes, hinder’d him from the presumption of speaking of his Passion to her, tho’ it would have been no new thing; and his first Visit was spent in the Relation of every Circumstance of Henault’s Death; and, at his going away, he begg’d leave to visit her sometimes, and she gave him permission: He lost no time, but made use of the Liberty she had given him; and when his Sister, who was a great Companion of Isabella’s, went to see her, he would still wait on her; so that, either with his own Visits, and those of his Sister’s, he saw Isabella every day, and had the good luck to see, he diverted her, by giving her Relations of Transactions of the Siege, and the Customs and Manners of the Turks: All he said, was with so good a Grace, that he render’d every thing agreeable; he was, besides, very Beautiful, well made, of Quality and Fortune, and fit to inspire Love.

He made his Visits so often, and so long, that, at last, he took the Courage to speak of his Passion, which, at first, Isabella would by no means hear of, but, by degrees, she yielded more and more to listen to his tender Discourse; and he liv’d thus with her two Years, before he could gain any more upon her Heart, than to suffer him to speak of Love to her; but that, which subdu’d her quite was, That her Aunt, the Lady Abbess, dy’d, and with her, all the Hopes and Fortune of Isabella, so that she was left with only a Charming Face and Meen, a Virtue, and a Discretion above her Sex, to make her Fortune within the World; into a Religious House, she was resolv’d not to go, because her Heart deceiv’d her once, and she durst not trust it again, whatever it promis’d.

The death of this Lady made her look more favourably on Villenoys; but yet, she was resolv’d to try his Love to the utmost, and keep him off, as long as ’twas possible she could subsist, and ’twas for Interest she married again, tho’ she lik’d the Person very well; and since she was forc’d to submit her self to be a second time a Wife, she thought, she could live better with Villenoys, than any other, since for him she ever had a great Esteem; and fancy’d the Hand of Heaven had pointed out her Destiny, which she could not avoid, without a Crime.

So that when she was again importun’d by her impatient Lover, she told him, She had made a Vow to remain three Years, at least, before she would marry again, after the Death of the best of Men and Husbands, and him who had the Fruits of her early Heart; and, notwithstanding all the Solicitations of Villenoys, she would not consent to marry him, till her Vow of Widowhood was expir’d.

He took her promise, which he urg’d her to give him, and to shew the height of his Passion in his obedience; he condescends to stay her appointed time, tho’ he saw her every day, and all his Friends and Relations made her Visits upon this new account, and there was nothing talk’d on, but this design’d Wedding, which, when the time was expir’d, was perform’d accordingly with great Pomp and Magnificence, for Villenoys had no Parents to hinder his Design; or if he had, the Reputation and Virtue of this Lady would have subdu’d them.

The Marriage was celebrated in this House, where she liv’d ever since her Return from Germany, from the time she got her Pardon; and when Villenoys was preparing all things in a more magnificent Order at his Villa, some ten Miles from the City, she was very melancholy, and would often say, She had been us’d to such profound Retreat, and to live without the fatigue of Noise and Equipage, that, she fear’d, she should never endure that Grandeur, which was proper for his Quality; and tho’ the House, in the Country, was the most beautifully Situated in all Flanders, she was afraid of a numerous Train, and kept him, for the most part, in this pretty City Mansion, which he Adorn’d and Enlarg’d, as much as she would give him leave; so that there wanted nothing, to make this House fit to receive the People of the greatest Quality, little as it was: But all the Servants and Footmen, all but one Valet, and the Maid, were lodg’d abroad, for Isabella, not much us’d to the sight of Men about her, suffer’d them as seldom as possible, to come in her Presence, so that she liv’d more like a Nun still, than a Lady of the World; and very rarely any Maids came about her, but Maria, who had always permission to come, when ever she pleas’d, unless forbidden.

As Villenoys had the most tender and violent Passion for his Wife, in the World, he suffer’d her to be pleas’d at any rate, and to live in what Method she best lik’d, and was infinitely satisfy’d with the Austerity and manner of her Conduct, since in his Arms, and alone, with him, she wanted nothing that could Charm; so that she was esteemed the fairest and best of Wives, and he the most happy of all Mankind. When she would go abroad, she had her Coaches Rich and Gay, and her Livery ready to attend her in all the Splendour imaginable; and he was always buying one rich Jewel, or Necklace, or some great Rarity or other, that might please her; so that there was nothing her Soul could desire, which it had not, except the Assurance of Eternal Happiness, which she labour’d incessantly to gain. She had no Discontent, but because she was not bless’d with a Child; but she submits to the pleasure of Heaven, and endeavour’d, by her good Works, and her Charity, to make the Poor her Children, and was ever doing Acts of Virtue, to make the Proverb good, That more are the Children of the Barren, than the Fruitful Woman. She liv’d in this Tranquility, belov’d by all, for the space of five Years, and Time (and perpetual Obligations from Villenoys, who was the most indulgent and indearing Man in the World) had almost worn out of her Heart the Thought of Henault, or if she remember’d him, it was in her Prayers, or sometimes with a short sigh, and no more, tho’ it was a great while, before she could subdue her Heart to that Calmness; but she was prudent, and wisely bent all her Endeavours to please, oblige, and caress, the deserving Living, and to strive all she could, to forget the unhappy Dead, since it could not but redound to the disturbance of her Repose, to think of him; so that she had now transferr’d all that Tenderness she had for him, to Villenoys.

Villenoys, of all Diversions, lov’d Hunting, and kept, at his Country House, a very famous Pack of Dogs, which he us’d to lend, sometimes, to a young Lord, who was his dear Friend, and his Neighbour in the Country, who would often take them, and be out two or three days together, where he heard of Game, and oftentimes Villenoys and he would be a whole Week at a time exercising in this Sport, for there was no Game near at hand. This young Lord had sent him a Letter, to invite him fifteen Miles farther than his own Villa, to hunt, and appointed to meet him at his Country House, in order to go in search of this promis’d Game; So that Villenoys got about a Week’s Provision, of what Necessaries he thought he should want in that time; and taking only his Valet, who lov’d the Sport, he left Isabella for a Week to her Devotion, and her other innocent Diversions of fine Work, at which she was Excellent, and left the Town to go meet this young Challenger.

When Villenoys was at any time out, it was the custom of Isabella to retire to her Chamber, and to receive no Visits, not even the Ladies, so absolutely she devoted her self to her Husband: All the first day she pass’d over in this manner, and Evening being come, she order’d her Supper to be brought to her Chamber, and, because it was Washing-day the next day, she order’d all her Maids to go very early to Bed, that they might be up betimes, and to leave only Maria to attend her; which was accordingly done. This Maria was a young Maid, that was very discreet, and, of all things in the World, lov’d her Lady, whom she had liv’d with, ever since she came from the Monastery.

When all were in Bed, and the little light Supper just carry’d up to the Lady, and only, as I said, Maria attending, some body knock’d at the Gate, it being about Nine of the Clock at Night; so Maria snatching up a Candle, went to the Gate, to see who it might be; when she open’d the Door, she found a Man in a very odd Habit, and a worse Countenance, and asking, Who he would speak with? He told her, Her Lady: My Lady (reply’d Maria) does not use to receive Visits at this hour; Pray, what is your Business? He reply’d, That which I will deliver only to your Lady, and that she may give me Admittance, pray, deliver her this Ring: And pulling off a small Ring, with Isabella’s Name and Hair in it, he gave it Maria, who, shutting the Gate upon him, went in with the Ring; as soon as Isabella saw it, she was ready to swound on the Chair where she sate, and cry’d, Where had you this? Maria reply’d, An old rusty Fellow at the Gate gave it me, and desired, it might be his Pasport to you; I ask’d his Name, but he said, You knew him not, but he had great News to tell you. Isabella reply’d, (almost swounding again) Oh, Maria! I am ruin’d. The Maid, all this while, knew not what she meant, nor, that that was a Ring given to Henault by her Mistress, but endeavouring to recover her, only ask’d her, What she should say to the old Messenger? Isabella bid her bring him up to her, (she had scarce Life to utter these last words) and before she was well recover’d, Maria enter’d with the Man; and Isabella making a Sign to her, to depart the Room, she was left alone with him.

Henault (for it was he) stood trembling and speechless before her, giving her leisure to take a strict Survey of him; at first finding no Feature nor Part of Henault about him, her Fears began to lessen, and she hop’d, it was not he, as her first Apprehensions had suggested; when he (with the Tears of Joy standing in his Eyes, and not daring suddenly to approach her, for fear of encreasing that Disorder he saw in her pale Face) began to speak to her, and cry’d, Fair Creature! is there no Remains of your Henault left in this Face of mine, all o’regrown with Hair? Nothing in these Eyes, sunk with eight Years Absence from you, and Sorrows? Nothing in this Shape, bow’d with Labour and Griefs, that can inform you? I was once that happy Man you lov’d! At these words, Tears stop’d his Speech, and Isabella kept them Company, for yet she wanted Words. Shame and Confusion fill’d her Soul, and she was not able to lift her Eyes up, to consider the Face of him, whose Voice she knew so perfectly well. In one moment, she run over a thousand Thoughts. She finds, by his Return, she is not only expos’d to all the Shame imaginable; to all the Upbraiding, on his part, when he shall know she is marry’d to another; but all the Fury and Rage of Villenoys, and the Scorn of the Town, who will look on her as an Adulteress: She sees Henault poor, and knew, she must fall from all the Glory and Tranquility she had for five happy Years triumph’d in; in which time, she had known no Sorrow, or Care, tho’ she had endur’d a thousand with Henault. She dyes, to think, however, that he should know, she had been so lightly in Love with him, to marry again; and she dyes, to think, that Villenoys must see her again in the Arms of Henault; besides, she could not recal her Love, for Love, like Reputation, once fled, never returns more. ’Tis impossible to love, and cease to love, (and love another) and yet return again to the first Passion, tho’ the Person have all the Charms, or a thousand times more than it had, when it first conquer’d. This Mistery in Love, it may be, is not generally known, but nothing is more certain. One may a while suffer the Flame to languish, but there may be a reviving Spark in the Ashes, rak’d up, that may burn anew; but when ’tis quite extinguish’d, it never returns or rekindles.

’Twas so with the Heart of Isabella; had she believ’d, Henault had been living, she had lov’d to the last moment of their Lives; but, alas! the Dead are soon forgotten, and she now lov’d only Villenoys.

After they had both thus silently wept, with very different sentiments, she thought ’twas time to speak; and dissembling as well as she could, she caress’d him in her Arms, and told him, She could not express her Surprize and Joy for his Arrival. If she did not Embrace him heartily, or speak so Passionately as she us’d to do, he fancy’d it her Confusion, and his being in a condition not so fit to receive Embraces from her; and evaded them as much as ’twas possible for him to do, in respect to her, till he had dress’d his Face, and put himself in order; but the Supper being just brought up, when he knock’d, she order’d him to sit down and Eat, and he desir’d her not to let Maria know who he was, to see how long it would be, before she knew him or would call him to mind. But Isabella commanded Maria, to make up a Bed in such a Chamber, without disturbing her Fellows, and dismiss’d her from waiting at Table. The Maid admir’d, what strange, good, and joyful News, this Man had brought her Mistress, that he was so Treated, and alone with her, which never any Man had yet been; but she never imagin’d the Truth, and knew her Lady’s Prudence too well, to question her Conduct. While they were at Supper, Isabella oblig’d him to tell her, How he came to be reported Dead; of which, she receiv’d Letters, both from Monsieur Villenoys, and the Duke of Beaufort, and by his Man the News, who saw him Dead? He told her, That, after the Fight, of which, first, he gave her an account, he being left among the Dead, when the Enemy came to Plunder and strip ’em, they found, he had Life in him, and appearing as an Eminent Person, they thought it better Booty to save me, (continu’d he) and get my Ransom, than to strip me, and bury me among the Dead; so they bore me off to a Tent, and recover’d me to Life; and, after that, I was recover’d of my Wounds, and sold, by the Soldier that had taken me, to a Spahee, who kept me a Slave, setting a great Ransom on me, such as I was not able to pay. I writ several times, to give you, and my Father, an account of my Misery, but receiv’d no Answer, and endur’d seven Years of Dreadful Slavery: When I found, at last, an opportunity to make my Escape, and from that time, resolv’d, never to cut the Hair of this Beard, till I should either see my dearest Isabella again, or hear some News of her. All that I fear’d, was, That she was Dead; and, at that word, he fetch’d a deep Sigh; and viewing all things so infinitely more Magnificent than he had left ’em, or, believ’d, she could afford; and, that she was far more Beautiful in Person, and Rich in Dress, than when he left her: He had a thousand Torments of Jealousie that seiz’d him, of which, he durst not make any mention, but rather chose to wait a little, and see, whether she had lost her Virtue: He desir’d, he might send for a Barber, to put his Face in some handsomer Order, and more fit for the Happiness ’twas that Night to receive; but she told him, No Dress, no Disguise, could render him more Dear and Acceptable to her, and that to morrow was time enough, and that his Travels had render’d him more fit for Repose, than Dressing. So that after a little while, they had talk’d over all they had a mind to say, all that was very indearing on his side, and as much Concern as she could force, on hers; she conducted him to his Chamber, which was very rich, and which gave him a very great addition of Jealousie: However, he suffer’d her to help him to Bed, which she seem’d to do, with all the tenderness in the World; and when she had seen him laid, she said, She would go to her Prayers, and come to him as soon as she had done, which being before her usual Custom, it was not a wonder to him she stay’d long, and he, being extreamly tir’d with his Journy, fell asleep. ’Tis true, Isabella essay’d to Pray, but alas! it was in vain, she was distracted with a thousand Thoughts what to do, which the more she thought, the more it distracted her; she was a thousand times about to end her Life, and, at one stroke, rid her self of the Infamy, that, she saw, must inevitably fall upon her; but Nature was frail, and the Tempter strong: And after a thousand Convulsions, even worse than Death it self, she resolv’d upon the Murder of Henault, as the only means of removing all the obstacles to her future Happiness; she resolv’d on this, but after she had done so, she was seiz’d with so great Horror, that she imagin’d, if she perform’d it, she should run Mad; and yet, if she did not, she should be also Frantick, with the Shames and Miseries that would befal her; and believing the Murder the least Evil, since she could never live with him, she fix’d her Heart on that; and causing her self to be put immediately to Bed, in her own Bed, she made Maria go to hers, and when all was still, she softly rose, and taking a Candle with her, only in her Night-Gown and Slippers, she goes to the Bed of the Unfortunate Henault, with a Penknife in her hand; but considering, she knew not how to conceal the Blood, should she cut his Throat, she resolves to Strangle him, or Smother him with a Pillow; that last thought was no sooner borne, but put in Execution; and, as he soundly slept, she smother’d him without any Noise, or so much as his Strugling: But when she had done this dreadful Deed, and saw the dead Corps of her once-lov’d Lord, lye Smiling (as it were) upon her, she fell into a Swound with the Horror of the Deed, and it had been well for her she had there dy’d; but she reviv’d again, and awaken’d to more and new Horrors, she flyes all frighted from the Chamber, and fancies, the Phantom of her dead Lord persues her; she runs from Room to Room, and starts and stares, as if she saw him continually before her. Now all that was ever Soft and Dear to her, with him, comes into her Heart, and, she finds, he conquers anew, being Dead, who could not gain her Pity, while Living.

While she was thus flying from her Guilt, in vain, she hears one knock with Authority at the Door: She is now more affrighted, if possible, and knows not whither to fly for Refuge; she fancies, they are already the Officers of Justice, and that Ten thousand Tortures and Wrecks are fastening on her, to make her confess the horrid Murder; the knocking increases, and so loud, that the Laundry Maids believing it to be the Woman that us’d to call them up, and help them to Wash, rose, and, opening the Door, let in Villenoys; who having been at his Country Villa, and finding there a Footman, instead of his Friend, who waited to tell him, His Master was fallen sick of the Small Pox, and could not wait on him, he took Horse, and came back to his lovely Isabella; but running up, as he us’d to do, to her Chamber, he found her not, and seeing a Light in another Room, he went in, but found Isabella flying from him, out at another Door, with all the speed she could, he admires at this Action, and the more, because his Maid told him Her Lady had been a Bed a good while; he grows a little Jealous, and persues her, but still she flies; at last he caught her in his Arms, where she fell into a swound, but quickly recovering, he set her down in a Chair, and, kneeling before her, implor’d to know what she ayl’d, and why she fled from him, who ador’d her? She only fix’d a ghastly Look upon him, and said, She was not well: ‘Oh! (said he) put not me off with such poor Excuses, Isabella never fled from me, when Ill, but came to my Arms, and to my Bosom, to find a Cure; therefore, tell me, what’s the matter?’ At that, she fell a weeping in a most violent manner, and cry’d, She was for ever undone: He, being mov’d with Love and Compassion, conjur’d her to tell what she ayl’d: ‘Ah! (said she) thou and I, and all of us, are undone!’ At this, he lost all Patience and rav’d, and cry’d, Tell me, and tell me immediately, what’s the matter? When she saw his Face pale, and his Eyes fierce, she fell on her knees, and cry’d, ‘Oh! you can never Pardon me, if I should tell you, and yet, alas! I am innocent of Ill, by all that’s good, I am.’ But her Conscience accusing her at that word, she was silent. If thou art Innocent, said Villenoys, taking her up in his Arms, and kissing her wet Face, ‘By all that’s Good, I Pardon thee, what ever thou hast done.’ ‘Alas! (said she) Oh! but I dare not name it, ’till you swear.’ ‘By all that’s Sacred, (reply’d he) and by whatever Oath you can oblige me to; by my inviolable Love to thee, and by thy own dear Self, I swear, whate’re it be, I do forgive thee; I know, thou art too good to commit a Sin I may not with Honour, pardon.’

With this, and hearten’d by his Caresses, she told him, That Henault was return’d; and repeating to him his Escape, she said, She had put him to Bed, and when he expected her to come, she fell on her Knees at the Bedside, and confess’d, She was married to Villenoys; at that word (said she) he fetch’d a deep Sigh or two, and presently after, with a very little struggling, dy’d; and, yonder, he lyes still in the Bed. After this, she wept so abundantly, that all Villenoys could do, could hardly calm her Spirits; but after, consulting what they should do in this Affair, Villenoys ask’d her, Who of the House saw him? She said, Only Maria, who knew not who he was; so that, resolving to save Isabella’s Honour, which was the only Misfortune to come, Villenoys himself propos’d the carrying him out to the Bridge, and throwing him into the River, where the Stream would carry him down to the Sea, and lose him; or, if he were found, none could know him. So Villenoys took a Candle, and went and look’d on him, and found him altogether chang’d, that no Body would know who he was; he therefore put on his Clothes, which was not hard for him to do, for he was scarce yet cold, and comforting again Isabella, as well as he could, he went himself into the Stable, and fetched a Sack, such as they us’d for Oats, a new Sack, whereon stuck a great Needle, with a Pack-thread in it; this Sack he brings into the House, and shews to Isabella, telling her, He would put the Body in there, for the better convenience of carrying it on his Back. Isabella all this while said but little, but, fill’d with Thoughts all Black and Hellish, she ponder’d within, while the Fond and Passionate Villenoys was endeavouring to hide her Shame, and to make this an absolute Secret: She imagin’d, that could she live after a Deed so black, Villenoys would be eternal reproaching her, if not with his Tongue, at least with his Heart, and embolden’d by one Wickedness, she was the readier for another, and another of such a Nature, as has, in my Opinion, far less Excuse, than the first; but when Fate begins to afflict, she goes through stitch with her Black Work.

When Villenoys, who would, for the Safety of Isabella’s Honour, be the sole Actor in the disposing of this Body; and since he was Young, Vigorous, and Strong, and able to bear it, would trust no one with the Secret, he having put up the Body, and ty’d it fast, set it on a Chair, turning his Back towards it, with the more conveniency to take it upon his Back, bidding Isabella give him the two Corners of the Sack in his Hands; telling her, They must do this last office for the Dead, more, in order to the securing their Honour and Tranquility hereafter, than for any other Reason, and bid her be of good Courage, till he came back, for it was not far to the Bridge, and it being the dead of the Night, he should pass well enough. When he had the Sack on his Back, and ready to go with it, she cry’d, Stay, my Dear, some of his Clothes hang out, which I will put in; and with that, taking the Pack-needle with the Thread, sew’d the Sack, with several strong Stitches, to the Collar of Villenoy’s Coat, without his perceiving it, and bid him go now; and when you come to the Bridge, (said she) and that you are throwing him over the Rail, (which is not above Breast high) be sure you give him a good swing, least the Sack should hang on any thing at the side of the Bridge, and not fall into the Stream; I’le warrant you, (said Villenoys) I know how to secure his falling. And going his way with it, Love lent him Strength, and he soon arriv’d at the Bridge; where, turning his Back to the Rail, and heaving the Body over, he threw himself with all his force backward, the better to swing the Body into the River, whose weight (it being made fast to his Collar) pull’d Villenoys after it, and both the live and the dead Man falling into the River, which, being rapid at the Bridge, soon drown’d him, especially when so great a weight hung to his Neck; so that he dy’d, without considering what was the occasion of his Fate.

Isabella remain’d the most part of the Night sitting in her Chamber, without going to Bed, to see what would become of her Damnable Design; but when it was towards Morning, and she heard no News, she put herself into Bed, but not to find Repose or Rest there, for that she thought impossible, after so great a Barbarity as she had committed; No, (said she) it is but just I should for ever wake, who have, in one fatal Night, destroy’d two such Innocents. Oh! what Fate, what Destiny, is mine? Under what cursed Planet was I born, that Heaven it self could not divert my Ruine? It was not many Hours since I thought my self the most happy and blest of Women, and now am fallen to the Misery of one of the worst Fiends of Hell.

Such were her Thoughts, and such her Cryes, till the Light brought on new Matter for Grief; for, about Ten of the Clock, News was brought, that Two Men were found dead in the River, and that they were carry’d to the Town-Hall, to lye there, till they were own’d: Within an hour after, News was brought in, that one of these Unhappy Men was Villenoys; his Valet, who, all this while, imagin’d him in Bed with his Lady, ran to the Hall, to undeceive the People, for he knew, if his Lord were gone out, he should have been call’d to Dress him; but finding it, as ’twas reported, he fell a weeping, and wringing his Hands, in a most miserable manner, he ran home with the News; where, knocking at his Lady’s Chamber Door, and finding it fast lock’d, he almost hop’d again, he was deceiv’d; but Isabella rising, and opening the Door, Maria first enter’d weeping, with the News, and then brought the Valet, to testify the fatal Truth of it. Isabella, tho’ it were nothing but what she expected to hear, almost swounded in her Chair; nor did she feign it, but felt really all the Pangs of Killing Grief; and was so alter’d with her Night’s Watching and Grieving, that this new Sorrow look’d very Natural in her. When she was recover’d, she asked a thousand Questions about him, and question’d the Possibility of it; for (said she) he went out this Morning early from me, and had no signs, in his Face, of any Grief or Discontent. Alas! (said the Valet) Madam, he is not his own Murderer, some one has done it in Revenge; and then told her, how he was found fasten’d to a Sack, with a dead strange Man ty’d up within it; and every body concludes, that they were both first murder’d, and then drawn to the River, and thrown both in. At the Relation of this Strange Man, she seem’d more amaz’d than before, and commanding the Valet to go to the Hall, and to take Order about the Coroner’s sitting on the Body of Villenoys, and then to have it brought home: She called Maria to her, and, after bidding her shut the Door, she cry’d, Ah, Maria! I will tell thee what my Heart imagins; but first, (said she) run to the Chamber of the Stranger, and see, if he be still in Bed, which I fear he is not; she did so, and brought word, he was gone; then (said she) my Forebodings are true. When I was in Bed last night, with Villenoys (and at that word, she sigh’d as if her Heart-Strings had broken) I told him, I had lodg’d a Stranger in my House, who was by, when my first Lord and Husband fell in Battel; and that, after the Fight, finding him yet alive, he spoke to him, and gave him that Ring you brought me last Night; and conjur’d him, if ever his Fortune should bring him to Flanders, to see me, and give me that Ring, and tell me – (with that, she wept, and could scarce speak) a thousand tender and endearing things, and then dy’d in his Arms. For my dear Henault’s sake (said she) I us’d him nobly, and dismiss’d you that Night, because I was asham’d to have any Witness of the Griefs I paid his Memory: All this I told to Villenoys whom I found disorder’d; and, after a sleepless Night, I fancy he got up, and took this poor Man, and has occasion’d his Death: At that, she wept anew, and Maria, to whom, all that her Mistress said, was Gospel, verily believ’d it so, without examining Reason; and Isabella conjuring her, since none of the House knew of the old Man’s being there, (for Old he appear’d to be) that she would let it for ever be a Secret, and, to this she bound her by an Oath; so that none knowing Henault, altho’ his Body was expos’d there for three Days to Publick View: When the Coroner had Set on the Bodies, he found, they had been first Murder’d some way or other, and then afterwards tack’d together, and thrown into the River, they brought the Body of Villenoys home to his House, where, it being laid on a Table, all the House infinitely bewail’d it; and Isabella did nothing but swound away, almost as fast as she recover’d Life; however, she would, to compleat her Misery, be led to see this dreadful Victim of her Cruelty, and, coming near the Table, the Body, whose Eyes were before close shut, now open’d themselves wide, and fix’d them upon Isabella, who, giving a great Schreek, fell down in a swound, and the Eyes clos’d again; they had much ado to bring her to Life, but, at last, they did so, and led her back to her Bed, where she remain’d a good while. Different Opinions and Discourses were made, concerning the opening of the Eyes of the Dead Man, and viewing Isabella; but she was a Woman of so admirable a Life and Conversation, of so undoubted a Piety and Sanctity of Living, that not the least Conjecture could be made, of her having a hand in it, besides the improbability of it; yet the whole thing was a Mystery, which, they thought, they ought to look into: But a few Days after, the Body of Villenoys being interr’d in a most magnificent manner, and, by Will all he had, was long since setled on Isabella, the World, instead of Suspecting her, Ador’d her the more, and every Body of Quality was already hoping to be next, tho’ the fair Mourner still kept her Bed, and Languish’d daily.

It happen’d, not long after this, there came to the Town a French Gentleman, who was taken at the Siege of Candia, and was Fellow-Slave with Henault, for seven Years, in Turky, and who had escap’d with Henault, and came as far as Liege with him, where, having some Business and Acquaintance with a Merchant, he stay’d some time; but when he parted with Henault, he ask’d him, Where he should find him in Flanders? Henault gave him a Note, with his Name, and Place of Abode, if his Wife were alive; if not, to enquire at his Sister’s, or his Father’s. This French Man came at last, to the very House of Isabella, enquiring for this Man, and receiv’d a strange Answer, and was laugh’d at; He found, that was the House, and that the Lady; and enquiring about the Town, and speaking of Henault’s Return, describing the Man, it was quickly discover’d, to be the same that was in the Sack: He had his Friend taken up (for he was buried) and found him the same, and, causing a Barber to Trim him, when his bushy Beard was off, a great many People remember’d him; and the French Man affirming, he went to his own Home, all Isabella’s Family, and her self, were cited before the Magistrate of Justice, where, as soon as she was accus’d, she confess’d the whole Matter of Fact, and, without any Disorder, deliver’d her self in the Hands of Justice, as the Murderess of two Husbands (both belov’d) in one Night: The whole World stood amaz’d at this; who knew her Life a Holy and Charitable Life, and how dearly and well she had liv’d with her Husbands, and every one bewail’d her Misfortune, and she alone was the only Person, that was not afflicted for her self; she was Try’d, and Condemn’d to lose her Head; which Sentence, she joyfully receiv’d, and said, Heaven, and her Judges, were too Merciful to her, and that her Sins had deserv’d much more.

While she was in Prison, she was always at Prayers, and very Chearful and Easie, distributing all she had amongst, and for the Use of, the Poor of the Town, especially to the Poor Widows; exhorting daily, the Young, and the Fair, that came perpetually to visit her, never to break a Vow: for that was first the Ruine of her, and she never since prosper’d, do whatever other good Deeds she could. When the day of Execution came, she appear’d on the Scaffold all in Mourning, but with a Meen so very Majestick and Charming, and a Face so surprizing Fair, where no Languishment or Fear appear’d, but all Chearful as a Bride, that she set all Hearts a flaming, even in that mortifying Minute of Preparation for Death: She made a Speech of half an Hour long, so Eloquent, so admirable a warning to the Vow-Breakers, that it was as amazing to hear her, as it was to behold her.

After she had done with the help of Maria, she put off her Mourning Vail, and, without any thing over her Face, she kneel’d down, and the Executioner, at one Blow, sever’d her Beautiful Head from her Delicate Body, being then in her Seven and Twentieth Year. She was generally Lamented, and Honourably Bury’d.

FINIS

Notes: Critical and Explanatory:

The History of the Nun

p. 262 (#nun_commtag1)The Dutchess of Mazarine. Hortense Mancini, niece of the great Cardinal, was born at Rome in 1646. Her beauty and wit were such that Charles II (whilst in exile) and other princes of royal blood sought her hand. She married, however, 28 February, 1661, Armand-Charles de la Meilleraye, said to be ‘the richest subject in Europe’. The union was unhappy, and in 1666 she demanded a judicial separation. Fearful, however, lest this should be refused, she fled from Paris 13 June, 1668, and, after several years of wandering, in 1675 came to London at the invitation of Charles II, who assigned her a pension. Her gallantries, her friendship with Saint-Evremond, her lavish patronage of the fine arts and literature are well known. She died at her Chelsea house in the summer of 1699. Her end is said to have been hastened by intemperance. Evelyn dubs her ‘the famous beauty and errant lady.’

THE NUN; OR,

THE PERJUR’D BEAUTY

THE NUN:

or, The Perjur’d Beauty

A True Novel

Don Henrique was a Person of great Birth, of a great Estate, of a Bravery equal to either, of a most generous Education, but of more Passion than Reason: He was besides of an opener and freer Temper than generally his Countrymen are (I mean, the Spaniards) and always engag’d in some Love-Intrigue or other.

One Night as he was retreating from one of those Engagements, Don Sebastian, whose Sister he had abus’d with a Promise of Marriage, set upon him at the Corner of a Street, in Madrid, and by the Help of three of his Friends, design’d to have dispatch’d him on a doubtful Embassy to the Almighty Monarch: But he receiv’d their first Instructions with better Address than they expected, and dismiss’d his Envoy first, killing one of Don Sebastian’s Friends. Which so enrag’d the injur’d Brother, that his Strength and Resolution seem’d to be redoubled, and so animated his two surviving Companions, that (doubtless) they had gain’d a dishonourable Victory, had not Don Antonio accidentally come in to the Rescue; who after a short Dispute, kill’d one of the two who attack’d him only; whilst Don Henrique, with the greatest Difficulty, defended his Life, for some Moments, against Sebastian, whose Rage depriv’d him of Strength, and gave his Adversary the unwish’d Advantage of his seeming Death, tho’ not without bequeathing some bloody Legacies to Don Henrique. Antonio had receiv’d but one slight Wound in the left Arm, and his surviving Antagonist none; who however thought it not adviseable to begin a fresh Dispute against two, of whose Courage he had but too fatal a Proof, tho’ one of ’em was sufficiently disabled. The Conquerors, on the other Side, politickly retreated, and quitting the Field to the Conquer’d, left the Living to bury the Dead, if he could, or thought convenient.

As they were marching off, Don Antonio, who all this while knew not whose Life he had so happily preserv’d, told his Companion in Arms, that he thought it indispensibly necessary that he should quarter with him that Night, for his further Preservation. To which he prudently consented, and went, with no little Uneasiness, to his Lodgings; where he surpriz’d Antonio with the Sight of his dearest Friend. For they had certainly the nearest Sympathy in all their Thoughts, that ever made two brave Men unhappy: And, undoubtedly, nothing but Death, or more fatal Love, could have divided them. However, at present, they were united and secure.

In the mean time, Don Sebastian’s Friend was just going to call Help to carry off the Bodies, as the – came by; who seeing three Men lie dead, seiz’d the fourth; who as he was about to justify himself, by discovering one of the Authors of so much Blood-shed, was interrupted by a Groan from his supposed dead Friend Don Sebastian; whom, after a brief Account of some Part of the Matter, and the Knowledge of his Quality, they took up, and carried to his House; where, within a few Days, he was recovered past the Fear of Death. All this While Henrique and Antonio durst not appear, so much as by Night; nor could be found, tho’ diligent and daily Search was made after the first; but upon Don Sebastian’s Recovery, the Search ceasing, they took the Advantage of the Night, and, in Disguise, retreated to Seville. ’Twas there they thought themselves most secure, where indeed they were in the greatest Danger; for tho’ (haply) they might there have escap’d the murderous Attempt of Don Sebastian, and his Friends, yet they could not there avoid the malicious Influence of their Stars.

This City gave Birth to Antonio, and to the Cause of his greatest Misfortunes, as well as of his Death. Dona Ardelia was born there, a Miracle of Beauty and Falshood. ’Twas more than a Year since Don Antonio had first seen and loved her. For ’twas impossible any Man should do one without the other. He had had the unkind Opportunity of speaking and conveying a Billet to her at Church; and to his greater Misfortune, the next Time he found her there, he met with too Kind a Return both from her Eyes and from her Hand, which privately slipt a Paper into his; in which he found abundantly more than he expected, directing him in that, how he should proceed, in order to carry her off from her Father with the least Danger he could look for in such an Attempt; since it would have been vain and fruitless to have asked her of her Father, because their Families had been at Enmity for several Years; tho’ Antonio was as well descended as she, and had as ample a Fortune; nor was his Person, according to his Sex, any way inferior to her’s; and certainly, the Beauties of his Mind were more excellent, especially if it be an Excellence to be constant.