ENGL 8380--Eighteenth-Century Prose Fictionjohnobrienfall2024ENGL8380EighteenthCenturyProseFiction7 Haywood, Eliza and Eliza Haywood. Love in Excess; or, The Fatal Enquiry, a Novel, Printed for D. Browne, jun. at the Black Swan without Temple-Bar, 1722 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL8380EighteenthCenturyProseFiction7.txt. Accessed: 2024-10-08T05:19:52.756Z Title Page LOVE in Excess; OR THE FATAL ENQUIRY, A NOVEL. In THREE PARTS. By Mrs. HAYWOOD. Eliza Haywood (c.1693-1756) was a prolific author, actor, and publisher of the early- to mid-eighteenth century. She is most famous, today, for her novels and novellas, among which Fantominais numbered. The image included here, is an engraved frontispiece portrait by George Vertue. Haywood wrote in a number of different genres, including amatory fiction, domestic fiction, and essay. ----In vain from Fate we fly, . For first or last, as all must die, So ’tis as much decreed above, That first or last, we all must Love. LANSDOWN. The Fourth EDITION Corrected. London: Printed for D. BROWNE jun. at the Black-Swan without Temple-Bar. M.DCC.XX. TO Mrs. Eliz. Haywood, ON HER NOVEL CALL’D Love in Excess, &c. Fain wou’d I here my vast Ideas raise, To paint the Wonders of Eliza’s praise; But like young Artists where their Stroaks decay, I shade those Glories which I can’t display. Thy Prose in sweeter Harmony refines, Than Numbers flowing thro’ the Muse’s Lines; What Beauty ne’er cou’d melt, thy Touches fire, And raise a Musick that can Love inspire; Soul-thrilling Accents all our Senses wound, And Strike with softness, whilst they Charm with sound! When thy Count pleads, what Fair his Suit can flye? Or when thy Nymph laments, what Eyes are dry? Ev’n Nature’s self in Sympathy appears, Yeilds Sigh for Sigh, and melts in equal Tears; For such Descriptions thus at once can prove The Force of Language, and the Sweets of Love. The Myrtle’s Leaves with those of Fame entwine, And all the Glories of that Wreath are thine? As Eagles can undazzl’d view the Force Of scorching Phœbus in his Noon-day Course; Thy Genius to the God its Luster plays, Meets his fierce Beams, and darts him Rays for Rays! Oh Glorious Strength! Let each succeeding Page Still boast those Charms and luminate the Age; So shall thy beamful Fires with Light divine Rise to the Sphere, and there triumphant Shine. Richard Savage. By an unknown Hand. To the most Ingenious Mrs Haywood, on her NOVEL Entitled, Love in Excess: A Stranger Muse, an Unbeliever too, That Womens Souls such Strength of Vigour knew! Nor less an Atheist to Love’s Power declar’d, Till You a Champion for the Sex appear’d! A Convert now, to both, I feel that Fire Your Words alone can paint! Your Looks inspire! Resistless now, Love’s shafts new pointed fly, Wing’d with Your Flame, and blazing in Your Eye. With sweet, but pow’rful Force, the Charm-shot Heart Receives th’ Impression of the Conqu’ring Dart, And ev’ry Art’ry huggs the Joy-tipt Smart! No more of Phœbus, rising vainly boast, Ye tawny Sons of a luxuriant Coast! While our blest Isle is with such Rays replete, Britain shall glow with more than Eastern Heat! VERSES Wrote in the Blank Leaf of Mrs. Haywood’s Novel. Of all the Passions given us from above, The Noblest, Truest, and the Best, is Love; ’Tis Love awakes the Soul, informs the Mind, And bends the stubborn Temper to be kind, Abates the Edge of ev’ry poi’nant Care Succeeds the Wishes of the trembling Fair, And ravishes the Lover from Despair. ’Tis Love Eliza’s soft Affections fires, Eliza writes, but Love alone inspires; ’Tis Love, that gives D’Elmont his manly Charms, And tears Amena from her Father’s Arms; Relieves the Fair one from her Maiden Fear, And gives Melliora all her Soul holds dear, A generous Lover, and a Bliss sincere. Receive, my Fair, the Story, and approve, The Cause of Honour, and the Cause of Love; With kind Concern, the tender Page peruse, And aid the Infant Labours of the Muse. So never may those Eyes forget to shine, And bright Melliora’s Fortune be as Thine; On thy best Looks, an happy D’Elmont feed, And all the Wishes of thy Soul succeed. 1 LOVE in EXCESS: OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY. PART the FIRST. In the late War between the French and the Confederate Armies, there were two Brothers, who had acquir’d a more than ordinary Reputation, under the Command of the great and intrepid Luxembourgh. But the Conclusion of the Peace taking away any further Occasions of shewing their Valour, the Eldest of ’em, whose Name was Count D’elmont, return’d to Paris, from whence he had been absent two Years, leaving his Brother at St. Omer’s, ’till the Cure of some slight Wounds were perfected. The Fame of the Count’s brave Actions arriv’d before him, and he had the Satisfaction of being receiv’d 2 by the King and Court, after a Manner that might gratify the Ambition of the proudest. The Beauty of his Person, the Gayity of his Air, and the unequal’d Charms of his Conversation, made him the Admiration of both Sexes; and whilst those of his own strove which should gain the largest share in his Friendship; the other vented fruitless Wishes, and in secret, curs’d that Custom which forbids Women to make a Declaration of their Thoughts. Amongst the Number of these, was Alovisa, a Lady descended (by the Father’s Side) from the Noble Family of the D’ La Tours formerly Lord of Beujey, and (by her Mothers) from the equally Illustrious House of Montmorency. The late Death of her Parents had left her Coheiress (with her Sister,) of a vast Estate. Alovisa, if her Passion was not greater than the rest, her Pride, and the good Opinion she had of her self, made her the less able to support it; she sigh’d, she burn’d, she rag’d, when she perceiv’d the Charming D’Elmont behav’d himself toward her with no Mark of a distinguishing Affection. What (said she) have I beheld without Concern a Thousand Lovers at my Feet, and shall the only Man I ever endeavour’d, or wish’d to Charm, regard me with Indifference? Wherefore has the agreeing World join’d with my deceitful Glass to flatter me into a vain Belief I had invincible Attractions? D’elmont sees ’em not! D’elmont is insensible. Then would she fall into Ravings, sometimes cursing her own want of Power, sometimes the Coldness of D’elmont. Many Days she pass’d in these Inquietudes, and every time she saw him (which was very frequently) either at Court, at Church, or publick Meetings, she found fresh Matter for her troubled Thoughts to work upon: When on any Occasion he happen’d to speak to her, it was with that Softness in his Eyes, and that engaging tenderness in his Voice, as would half persuade her, that, that God had touch’d his Heart, 3 which so powerfully had Influenc’d hers; but if a glimmering of such a Hope gave her a Pleasure inconceivable, how great were the ensuing Torments, when she observ’d those Looks and Accents were but the Effects of his natural Complaisance, and that to whomsoever he Address’d, he carried an equality in his Behaviour, which sufficiently evinc’d, his Hour was not yet come to feel those Pains he gave; and if the afflicted fair Ones found any Consolation, it was in the Reflection, that no Triumphant Rival could boast a Conquest, each now despair’d of gaining. But the impatient Alovisa disdaining to be rank’d with those, whom her Vanity made her consider as infinitely her Inferiors, suffer’d her self to be agitated almost to Madness, between the two Extreams of Love and Indignation; a thousand Chimeras came into her Head, and sometimes prompted her to discover the Sentiments she had in his Favour: But these Resolutions were rejected, almost as soon as form’d, and she could not fix on any for a long time; ’till at last, Love (ingenious in Invention,) inspir’d her with one, which probably might let her into the Secrets of his Heart, without the Shame of revealing her own. The Celebration of Madam the Dutchess of Burgundy’s Birth-day being Solemniz’d with great Magnificence; she writ this Billet to him on the Night before. To Count D’elmont. Resistless as you are in War, you are much more so in Love; Here you conquer without making an Attack, and we Surrender before you Summons; the Law of Arms obliges you to show Mercy 4 to an yielding Enemy, and sure the Court cannot inspire less generous Sentiments than the Field. The little God lays down his Arrows at your Feet, confesses your superior Power, and begs a Friendly Treatment; he will appear to you to morrow Night at the Ball, in the Eyes of the most passionate of all his Votresses; search therefore for him in Her, in whom (amongst that bright Assembly) you would most desire to find Him; I am confident you have too much Penetration to miss of him, if not bypass’d by a former Inclination, and in that Hope, I shall (as patiently as my Expectations will let me) support, ’till then, the tedious Hours. Farewell. This she sent by a trusty Servant, and so disguis’d, that it was impossible for him to be known, with a strict Charge to deliver it to the Count’s own Hands, and come away before he had read it; the Fellow perform’d her Orders exactly, and when the Count, who was not a little surpriz’d at the first opening it, ask’d for the Messenger, and commanded he should be stay’d; his Gentleman (who then was waiting in his Chamber,) told him he ran down Stairs with all the speed imaginable, immediately on his Lordship’s receiving it. D’elmont having never experienc’d the Force of Love, could not presently comprehend the Truth of this Adventure; at first he imagin’d some of his Companions had caus’d this Letter to be wrote, either to sound his Inclinations, or upbraid his little Disposition to Gallantry; but these Cogitations soon gave Place to others; and tho’ he was not very vain, yet he found it no difficulty to perswade himself to an Opinion, that it was possible for a Lady to distinguish him from other Men. Nor did he find any thing so unpleasing in that Thought as might make him endeavour to repell it; the more he consider’d his own Perfections, the more he was confirm’d in his Belief, but who to fix it on, he was at a Loss as much as 5 ever; then he began to reflect on all the Discourse, and little Railleries that had pass’d between him and the Ladies whom he had convers’d with since his Arrival, but cou’d find nothing in any of ’em of Consequence enough to make him guess at the Person: He spent great part of the Night in Thoughts very different from those he was accustom’d to, the Joy which naturally rises from the Knowledge ’tis in one’s Power to give it, gave him Notions which till then he was a Stranger to; he began to consider a Mistress as an agreeable, as well as fashionable Amusement, and resolv’d not to be Cruel. In the mean time poor Alovisa was in all the Anxiety imaginable, she counted every Hour, and thought ’em Ages, and at the first dawn of Day she rose, and calling up her Women, who were amaz’d to find her so uneasy, she employ’d ’em in placing her Jewels on her Cloaths to the best Advantage, while she consulted her Glass after what Manner she should Dress, her Eyes, the gay; the languishing, the sedate, the commanding, the beseeching Air, were put on a thousand times, and as often rejected; and she had scarce determin’d which to make use of, when her Page brought her Word, some Ladies who were going to Court desir’d her to accompany them; she was too impatient not to be willing to be one of the first, so went with them immediately, arm’d with all her Lightnings, but full of unsettled Reflections. She had not been long in the Drawing Room, before it grew very full of Company, but D’elmont not being amongst ’em, she had her Eyes fix’d towards the Door, expecting every Moment to see him enter; but how impossible is it to represent her Confusion, when he appear’d, leading the young Amena, Daughter to Monsieur Sanseverin, a Gentleman, who tho’ he had a very small Estate, and many Children, had by a partial Indulgence, too common among Parents, neglecting the rest, maintain’d this Darling of his Heart in all the Pomp of Quality. The Beauty and Sweetness of this Lady was present-Death 6 to Alovisa’s Hope’s; she saw, or fancy’d she saw an usual Joy in her Eyes, and dying Love in his; Disdain, Despair, and Jealousie at once crowded into her Heart, and swell’d her almost to bursting; and ’twas no wonder that the violence of such terrible Emotions kept her from regarding the Discourses of those who stood by her, or the Devoirs that D’elmont made as he pass’d by, and at length threw her into a Swoon; the Ladies ran to her assistance, and her charming Rival, being one of her particular Acquaintance, shew’d an extraordinary assiduity in applying Means for her Relief, they made what hast they cou’d to get her into another Room, and unfasten her Robe, but were a great while before they could bring her to herself; and when they did, the Shame of having been so disorder’d in such an Assembly, and the Fears of their suspecting the Occasion, added to her former Agonies, had rack’d her with most terrible Revulsions, every one now despairing of her being able to assist at that Night’s Entertainment, she was put into her Chair, in order to be carry’d Home; Amena who little thought how unwelcome she was grown, would needs have one call’d, and accompany’d her thither, in spight of the Intreaties of D’elmont, who had before engag’d her for his Partner in Dancing; not that he was in Love with her, or at that time believ’d he cou’d be touch’d with a Passion which he esteem’d a Trifle in it self, and below the Dignity of a Man of Sense; but Fortune (to whom this Lady no less enamour’d than Alovisa) had made a thousand Invocations, seem’d to have allotted her the glory of his first Addresses; she was getting out of her Chariot just as he alighted from his, and offering her his Hand, he perceiv’d hers trembled, which engaging him to look upon her more earnestly than he was wont, he immediately fancy’d he saw something of that languishment in her Eyes, which the obliging Mandate had describ’d: Amena was too lovely to make that Belief disagreeable, and he resolv’d on the Beginnings of an Amour, without giving himself the trouble of considering the Consequences; 7 the Evening being extreamly pleasant, he ask’d if she wou’d not favour him so far as to take a turn or two within the Palace-Garden; She who desir’d nothing more than such a particular Conversation, was not at all backward of complying; he talk’d to her there for some time, in a manner as could leave her no room to doubt he was entirely Charm’d, and ’twas the Air such an Entertainment had left on both their Faces, as produc’d those sad Effects in the jealous Alovisa. She was no sooner led to her Apartment, but she desir’d to be put to Bed, and the good natur’d Amena, who really had a very great kindness for her, offer’d to quit the Diversions of the Ball, and stay with her all Night; but the unfortunate Alovisa was not in a Condition to endure the Presence of any, especially her, so put her off as civilly as her Anxiety would give her leave, chusing rather to suffer her to return to the Ball, than retain so hateful an Object (as she was now become) in her sight; and ’tis likely the other was not much troubled at her Refusal. But how, (when left alone, and abandon’d to the whirlwinds of her Passion,) the desperate Alovisa behav’d, none but those, who like her, have burn’d in hopeless Fires can guess, the most lively Description wou’d come far short of what she felt; she rav’d, she tore her Hair and Face, and in the extremity of her Anguish was ready to lay violent Hands on her own Life. In this Tempest of Mind, she continu’d for some time, till at length rage beginning to dissipate it self in Tears, made way for cooler Considerations; and her natural Vanity resuming its Empire in her Soul, was of no little Service to her on this Occasion. Why am I thus disturb’d? Mean Spirited as I am! Said she, D’elmont is ignorant of the Sentiments I am possess’d with in his favour; and perhaps ’tis only want of Incouragement that has so long depriv’d me of my Lover; my Letter bore no certain Mark by which he might distinguish me, and who knows what Arts that Creature might make use of to allure him. I will therefore (persu’d she, with a more cheerful Countenance) direct his erring Search. 8 As she was in this Thought (happily for her, who else might have relaps’d) her Women who were waiting in the next Room, came in to know if she wanted any thing; yes, answer’d she, with a Voice and Eyes wholly chang’d, I’ll rise, one of you help me on with my Cloaths, and let the other send Charlo to me, I have instant Business with him. ’Twas in vain for ’em to represent to her the Prejudice it might be to her Health to get out of her Bed at so unseasonable an Hour, it being then just Midnight: They knew her too absolute a Mistress not to be obey’d, and executed her Commands, without disputing the Reason. She was no sooner ready, than Charlo was introduc’d who being the same Person that carry’d the Letter to D’elmont, guess’d what Affair he was to be concern’d in, and shut the Door after him. I commend your Caution, said his Lady, for what I am now going to trust you with, is of more concernment than my Life. The Fellow bow’d, and made a thousand Protestations of an eternal Fidelity. I doubt it not, resum’d she, go then immediately to the Court, ’tis not impossible but in this hurry you may get into the Drawing Room; but if not, make some pretence to stay as near as you can ’till the Ball be over; listen carefully to all Discourses where you hear Count D’elmont mention’d, enquire who he Dances with, and above all, watch what Company he comes out with, and bring me an exact Account. Go, continu’d she hastily, these are all the Orders I have for you to Night, but to Morrow I shall employ you farther. Then turning to her Escritore, she sat down, and began to prepare a second Letter, which she hop’d wou’d be more lucky than the former. She was not long writing, Love and Wit, suggested a World of passionate and agreeable Expressions to her in a Moment: But when she had finish’d this so full a Discovery of her Heart, and was about to sign her Name to it; not all that Passion which had inspir’d her with a Resolution to scruple nothing that might advance the compassing her Wishes, nor the vanity which assur’d her of Success, were forcible 9 enough to withstand the shock it gave her Pride; No, let me rather die! Said she, (starting up and frighted at her own Designs) than be guilty of a Meanness which wou’d render me unworthy of Life, Oh Heavens! To offer Love, and poorly sue for Pity! ’tis insupportable! What bewitch’d me to harbour such a Thought as even the vilest of my Sex wou’d blush at? To pieces then (added she, tearing the Paper) with this shameful Witness of my Folly, my furious Desires may be the destruction of my Peace, but never of my Honour, that shall still attend my Name when Love and Life are fled. She continu’d in this Temper (without being able to compose herself to rest) till Day began to appear, and Charlo returned with News which confirmed her most dreaded Suspicions. He told her that he had gain’d admittance to the Drawing Room several Times, under pretence of delivering Messages to some of the Ladies; that the whole Talk among ’em was, that D’elmont, was no longer insensible of Beauty; that he observ’d that Gentleman in very particular Conference with Amena, and that he waited on her Home in his Chariot, her own not being in the way, I know it, said Alovisa (walking about in a disorder’d Motion) I did not doubt but that I was undone, and to my other Miseries, have that of being aiding to my Rival’s Happiness: Whatever his Desires were, he carefully conceal’d ’em, till my cursed Letter prompted a Discovery; tenacious as I was, and too, too confident of this little Beauty! Here she stop’d, and wiping away some Tears which in spight of her ran down her Cheeks, gave Charlo leave to ask if she had any more Commands for him. Yes (answer’d she) I will write once more to this undiscerning Man, and let him know, ’tis not Amena that is worthy of him; that I may do without prejudicing my Fame, and ’twill be at least some Easement to my Mind, to undeceive the Opinion he may have conceiv’d of her Wit, for I am almost confident she passes for the Authoress of those Lines which have been so fatal to me; in speaking this, without any further 10 Thought, she once more took her Pen, and wrote these Words. To Count D’elmont. If Ambition be a Fault, ’tis only in those who have not a sufficient stock of Merit to support it; too much Humility is a greater in you, whose Person and Qualities are too admirable, not to render any Attempt you shall make justifiable, as well as successful. Heaven when it distinguish’d you in so particular a Manner from the rest of Mankind, design’d you not for vulgar Conquests, and you cannot without a manifest Contradiction to its Will, and an irreparable Injury to your self, make a present of that Heart to Amena, when one, of at least an equal Beauty, and far superior in every other Consideration, would Sacrifice all to purchase the glorious Trophy; continue then no longer in a wilful Ignorance, aim at a more exalted flight, and you will find it no difficulty to discover who she is that languishes, and almost dies for an Opportunity of confessing (without too great a breach of Modesty) that her Soul, and all the Faculties of it, are, and must be, Eternally Yours. This she gave to Charlo, to deliver with the same Caution as the former; but he was scarce got out of the House before a new Fear assaulted her, and she repented her uncircumspection. What have I done, cry’d she! Who knows but D’elmont may shew these Letters to Amena, she is perfectly acquainted with my Hand, and I shall be the most expos’d and wretched Woman in the World. Thus Industrious was she in forming Notions to Torment 11 herself; nor indeed was there any thing of Improbability in this Conjecture. There are too many ungenerous enough to boast such an Adventure; but D’elmont tho’ he would have given good Part of his Estate to satisfy his Curiosity, yet chose rather to remain in a perpetual Ignorance, than make use of any Means that might be disadvantagious to the Lady’s Reputation. He now perceiv’d his Mistake, and that it was not Amena who had taken that Method to engage him, and possibly was not disgusted to find she had a Rival of such Merit, as the Letter intimated. However, he had said too many fine Things to her to be lost, and thought it as inconsistent with his Honour as his Inclination to desist a Pursuit in which he had all the Reason in the World to assure himself of Victory; for the young Amena (little vers’d in the Art of Dissimulation, so necessary to her Sex) cou’d not conceal the Pleasure she took in his Addresses, and without even a seeming reluctancy, had given him a Promise of meeting him the next Day in the Tuilleries; nor could all his unknown Mistress had writ, perswade him to miss this Assignation, nor let that be succeeded with another, and that by a third, and so on, ’till by making a shew of Tenderness; he began to fancy himself really touch’d with a Passion he only design’d to represent. ’Tis certain this way of Fooling rais’d Desires in him little different from what is commonly call’d Love; and made him redouble his Attacks in such a Manner, as Amena stood in need of all her Vertue to resist; but as much as she thought her self oblig’d to resent such Attempts, yet he knew so well how to excuse himself, and lay the Blame on the Violence of his Passion, that he was still too Charming, and too Dear to her not to be forgiven. Thus was Amena (by her too generous and open Temper) brought to the very brink of Ruin, and D’elmont was possibly contriving Means to compleat it, when her Page brought him this Letter. 12 To Count D’elmont. Some Malicious Persons have endeavour’d to make the little Conversation I have had with you, appear as Criminal; therefore to put a stop to all such Aspersions, I must for the future deny my self the Honour of your Visits, unless Commanded to receive ’em by my Father, who only has the Power of disposing of Amena. The Consternation he was in at the reading these Lines, so very different from her former Behaviour, is more easily imagin’d than express’d, ’till casting his Eyes on the Ground, he saw a small Note, which in the opening of this, had fallen out of it, which he hastily took up, and found it contain’d these Words. I guess the Surprize my lovely Friend is in, but have not time now to unriddle the Mystery: I beg you will be at your Lodgings towards the Evening, and I will invent a Way to send to you. ’Twas now that D’elmont began to find there were Embarrassments in an Intrigue of this Nature, which he had not foreseen, and stay’d at Home all Day, impatiently expecting the clearing of an Affair, which at present seem’d so ambiguous. When it grew a little Duskish, his Gentleman brought in a Young Woman, whom he immediately knew to be: Anaret, an Attendant on Amena; and when he had made her sit down, told her he hop’d she was come to make an Eclaircissment, which would be very obliging to him, and therefore desir’d she wou’d not defer it. 13 My Lord, said she, ’tis with an unspeakable Trouble I discharge that Trust my Lady has repos’d in me, in giving you a Relation of her Misfortunes; but not to keep you longer in suspence, which I perceive is uneasy to you; I shall acquaint you, that soon after you were gone, my Lady came up into her Chamber, where, as I was preparing to undress her, we heard Monsieur Sanseverin in an angry Tone ask where his Daughter was, and being told she was above, we immediately saw him enter, with a Countenance so inflam’d, as put us both in a mortal Apprehension. An ill use (said he to her) have you made of my Indulgence, and the Liberty I have allow’d you! Could neither the Considerations of the Honour of your Family, your own Reputation, nor my eternal Repose, deter you from such imprudent Actions, as you cannot be ignorant must be the inevitable Ruin of ’em all. My poor Lady was too much surpriz’d at these cruel Words, to be able to make any Answer to ’em, and stood trembling, and almost fainting, while he went on with his Discourse. Was it consistent with the Niceties of your Sex, said he, or with the Duty you owe me, to receive the Addresses of a Person whose Pretensions I was a Stranger to? If the Count D’elmont has any that are Honourable, wherefore are they conceal’d? The Count D’elmont! (cry’d my Lady more frighted than before) never made any Declarations to me worthy of your Knowledge, nor did I ever entertain him otherwise, than might become your Daughter. ’Tis false (interrupted he furiously) I am but too well inform’d of the contrary; nor has the most private of your shameful Meetings escap’d my Ears! Judge, Sir, in what a Confusion my Lady was in at this Discourse; ’twas in vain, she muster’d all her Courage to perswade him from giving Credit to an Intelligence so injurious to her; he grew the more enrag’d, and after a thousand Reproaches, flung out of the Room with all the Marks of a most violent Indignation, But tho’ your Lordship is too well acquainted 14 with the mildness of Amena’s Disposition, not to believe she could bear the Displeasure of a Father (who had always most tenderly lov’d her) with indifference; yet ’tis impossible for you to imagine in what an excess of Sorrow she was plung’d, she found every Passage of her ill Conduct (as she was pleas’d to call it) was betray’d, and did not doubt but whoever had done her that ill Office to her Father, wou’d take care the Discovery should not be confin’d to him alone. Grief, Fear, Remorse, and Shame by turns assaulted her, and made her incapable of Consolation; even the soft Pleas of Love were silenc’d by their Tumultuous Clamours, and for a Time she consider’d your Lordship in no other view than that of her Undoer. How! cry’d D’elmont (interrupting her) cou’d my Amena, who I thought all sweetness, judge so harshly of me. Oh! my Lord, resum’d Anaret, you must forgive those first Emotions, which as violent as they were, wanted but your Presence to dissipate in a Moment; and if your Idea had not presently that Power, it lost no Honour by having Foes to struggle with, since at last it put ’em all to flight, and gain’d so entire a Victory, that before Morning, of all her Troubles, scarce any but the Fears of losing you remain’d. And I must take the Liberty to assure your Lordship, my Endeavours were not wanting to establish a Resolution in her to despise every thing for Love and you. But to be as brief as I can in my Relation; the Night was no sooner gone, than Monsieur her Father came into the Chamber, with a Countenance, tho’ more compos’d, than that with which he left us, yet with such an Air of Austerity, as made my timerous Lady lose most of the Spirit she had assum’d for this Encounter. I come not now Amena, said he, to upbraid or punish your Disobedience, if you are not wholly abandon’d by your Reason, your own Reflections will be sufficiently your Tormentors. But to put you in a way, (if not to clear your Fame, yet to take away all Occasion of future Calumny,) you must write to Count D’elmont. 15 I will have no denials continu’d he, (seeing her about to speak) and leading her to her Escritore, constrain’d her to write what he dictated, and you receiv’d; just as she was going to Seal it, a Servant brought word that a Gentleman desir’d to speak with Monsieur Sanseverin, he was oblig’d to step into another Room, and that absence gave her an Opportunity of writing a Note, which she dextrously slip’d into the Letter, unperceiv’d by her Father at his return, who little suspecting what she had done, sent it away immediately. Now, said he, we shall be able to judge of the sincerity of the Count’s Affections, but till then I shall take care to prove my self a Person not disinterested in the Honour of my Family. As he spoke these Words, he took her by the Hand, and conducting her, thro’ his own, into a little Chamber (which he had order’d to be made ready for that purpose) shut her into it; I follow’d to the Door, and seconded my Lady in her Desires, that I might be permitted to attend her there; but all in vain, he told me, he doubted not but that I had been her Confident in this Affair, and ordered me to quit his House in a few Days. As soon as he was gone out, I went into the Garden, and saunter’d up and down a good while, hoping to get an Opportunity of speaking to my Lady through the Window, for I knew there was one that look’d into it; but not seeing her, I bethought me of getting a little Stick, with which I knock’d gently against the Glass, and engag’d her to open it. As soon as she perceiv’d me, a Beam of Joy brighten’d in her Eyes, and glisten’d tho’ her Tears. Dear Anaret, said she, how kindly do I take this proof of thy Affection, ’tis only in thy Power to alleviate my Misfortunes, and thou I know art come to offer thy Assistance. Then after I had assur’d her of my willingness to serve her in any command, she desir’d me to wait on you with an Account of all that had happen’d, and to give you her Vows of an eternal Love. My Eyes, said she weeping, perhaps may ne’er behold him more, but 16 Imagination shall supply that want, and from my Heart he never shall be Absent. Oh! do not talk thus, cry’d the Count, extreamly touch’d at this Discourse. I must, I will see her, nothing shall hold her from me. You may, answer’d Anaret, but then it must be with the Approbation of Monsieur Sanseverin, he will be proud to receive you in Quality of a Suitor to his Daughter, and ’tis only to oblige you to a publick Declaration that he takes these Measures. D’elmont was not perfectly pleas’d with these Words: he was too quick sighted not to perceive immediately what Monsieur Sanseverin drove at, but as well as he lik’d Amena, found no inclination in himself to Marry her; and therefore was not desirous of an Explanation of what he resolv’d not to seem to understand. He walk’d two or three turns about the Room, endeavouring to conceal his Disgust, and when he had so well overcome the shock, as to banish all visible Tokens of it, I would willingly said he coldly, come in to any proper Method for the obtaining the Person of Amena, as well as her Heart; but there are certain Reasons for which I cannot make a Discovery of my Designs to her Father, ’till I have first spoken with her. My Lord, reply’d the subtle Anaret (easily guessing at his Meaning) I wish to Heaven there were a possibility of your Meeting; there is nothing I would not risque to forward it, and if your Lordship can think of any way in which I may be serviceable to you, in this short Time I am allow’d to stay in the Family, I beg you would command me. She spoke this with an Air which made the Count believe she really had it in her Power to serve him in this Occasion, and presently hit on the surest Means to bind her to his Interest. You are very obliging, said he, and I doubt not but your Ingenuity is equal to your good Nature, therefore will leave the Contrivance of my happiness entirely to you, and that you may not think your Care bestow’d on an ungrateful Person, be pleas’d (continu’d he, giving her a Purse of Lewis-Dor’s) to accept this small Earnest 17 of my future Friendship. Anaret, like most of her Function, was too mercinary to resist such a Temptation, tho’ it had been given her to betray the Honour of her whole Sex; and after a little pause, reply’d, Your Lordship is too generous to be refus’d, tho’ in a Matter of the greatest Difficulty, as indeed this is; for in the strict Confinement my Lady is, I know no way but one, and that extreamly hazardous to her; however, I do not fear but my Perswasions, joyn’d with her own Desires, will influence her to attempt it. Your Lordship knows we have a little Door at the farther End of the Garden, that opens into the Tuillerys. I do, cry’d D’elmont interrupting her. I have several times parted from my Charmer there, when my Entreaties have prevail’d with her to stay longer with me than she wou’d have the Family to take notice of. I hope to order the Matter so, resum’d Anaret, that it shall be the Scene this Night of a most happy Meeting. My Lady unknown to her Father, has the Key of it, she can throw it to me from her Window, and I can open it to you, who must be walking near it, about Twelve or One a Clock, for by that time every body will be in Bed. But what will that avail, cry’d D’elmont hastily; since she lies in her Father’s Chamber, where ’tis impossible to pass Without alarming him. You Lovers are so impatient rejoyn’d Anaret smiling, I never design’d you should have Entrance there, tho’ the Window is so low, that a Person of your Lordship’s Stature and Agility might mount it with a Galliard step, but I suppose it will turn to as good an Account, if your Mistress by my Assistance stets out of it. But can she, interrupted he; will she, dost thou think? Fear not, my Lord, reply’d she, be but punctual to the Hour, Amena, shall be yours, if Love, Wit and Opportunity have power to make her so. D’elmont was transported with this Promise, and the Thoughts of what he expected to possess by her Means, rais’d his Imagination to so high a pitch, as he cou’d not forbear kissing and embracing 18 her with such Raptures, as might not have been very pleasing to Amena, had she been witness of ’em. But Anaret who had other things in her Head than Gallantry, disengag’d her self from him as soon she cou’d, taking more Satisfaction in forwarding an Affair in which she propos’d so much Advantage, than in the Caresses of the most accomplish’d Gentleman in the World. When she came Home, she found every thing as she cou’d wish, Monsieur Abroad, and his Daughter at the Window, impatiently watching her return, she told her as much of the Discourse she had with the Count as she thought proper, extolling his Love and Constancy, and carefully concealing all she thought might give an umbrage to her Vertue. But in spight of all the Artifice she made use of, she found it no easie Matter to perswade her to get out of the Window; the fears she had of being discover’d, and more expos’d to her Father’s Indignation, and the Censure of the World, damp’d her Inclinations, and made her deaf to the eager Solicitations of this unfaithful Woman. As they were Disputing, some of the Servants happ’ning to come into the Garden, oblig’d ’em to break off; and Anaret retir’d, not totally dispairing of compassing her Designs, when the appointed Hour should arrive, and Amena should know the darling Object of her Wishes was so near. Nor did her Hopes deceive her, the Resolutions of a Lover, when made against the Interest of the Person belov’d, are but of a short duration; and this unhappy Fair was no sooner left alone, and had leisure to Contemplate on the Graces of the Charming D’elmont, but Love plaid his part with such Success, as made her repent she had chid Anaret for her Proposal, and wish’d for nothing more than an Opportunity to tell her so. She pass’d several Hours in Disquietudes she had never known before, till at last she heard her Father come into the next Room to go to Bed, and soon after some Body knock’d 19 softly at the Window, she immediately open’d it, and perceiv’d by the Light of the Moon which then shone very bright, that it was Anaret, she had not Patience to listen to the long Speech the other had prepar’d to perswade her, but putting her Head as far as she could, to prevent being heard by her Father. Well Anaret, said she, where is this Adventrous Lover, what is it he requires of me? Oh! Madam, reply’d she, overjoy’d at the compliable Humour she found her in, he is now at the Garden Door, there’s nothing wanting but your Key to give him Entrance; what farther he requests, himself shall tell you. Oh Heavens! cry’d Amena, searching her Pockets, and finding she had it not; I am undone, I have left it in my Cabinet in the Chamber where I us’d to lie. These Words made Anaret at her Wits end, she knew there was no possibility of fetching it, there being so many Rooms to go thro’, she ran to the Door, and endeavour’d to push back the Lock, but had not Strength; she then knew not what to do, she was sure D’elmont was on the other side, and fear’d he would resent this usage to the disappointment of all her mercenary Hopes, and durst not call to acquaint him with his Misfortune for fear of being heard. As for Amena, she was now more sensible than ever of the violence of her Inclinations, by the extream vexation this Disappointment gave her: Never did People pass a Night in greater uneasiness, than these three; the Count who was naturally impatient, could not bear a balk of this nature without the utmost chagrin. Amena languish’d, and Anaret fretted to Death, tho’ she resolv’d to leave no Stone unturn’d to set all right again. Early in the Morning she went to his Lodgings, and found him in a very ill Humour, but she easily pacify’d him, by representing with a great deal of real Grief, the Accident that retarded his Happiness, and assuring him there was nothing cou’d hinder the fulfilling it the next Night. When she had gain’d this Point, she came Home and got the Key into her possession, but could not find an opportunity all Day of speaking to her Lady, 20 Monsieur Sanseverin did not stir out of Doors, and spent most of it with his Daughter; in his Discourse to her, he set the Passion the Count had for her in so true a light, that it made a very great alteration in her Sentiments; and she began to reflect on the Condescensions she had given a Man, who had never so much as mention’d Marriage to her, with so much shame, as almost overwhelm’d her Love, and she was now determin’d never to see him, till he should declare himself to her Father in such a manner as would be for her Honour. In the mean time Anaret waited with a great deal of Impatience for the Family going to Bed; and as soon as all was hush, ran to give the Count Admittance; and leaving him in an Alley on the farther side of the Garden, made the accustom’d Sign at the Window. Amena presently open’d it, but instead of staying to hear what she would say, threw a Letter out, Carry that, said she, to Count D’elmont, let him know the Contents of it are wholly the result of my own Reason. And as for your part, I charge you trouble me no farther on this Subject; then shutting the Casement hastily, left Anaret in a strange Consternation at this suddain Change of her Humour; however she made no delay, but running to the Place where the Count waited her return, deliver’d him the Letter, but advis’d him (who was ready enough of himself) not to obey any Commands might be given him to the hindrance of his Designs. The Moon was then at the full, and gave so clear a Light, that he easily found it contain’d these Words. 21 To Count D’elmont. Too many Proofs have I given you of my weakness not to make you think me incapable of forming or keeping any Resolution to the Prejudice of that Passion you have inspir’d me with: But know, thou undoer of my Quiet, tho’ I have Lov’d and still do Love you with a Tenderness, which I fear will be Unvanquishable; yet I will rather suffer my Life, than my Virtue to become its Prey. Press me then no more I conjure you, to such dangerous Interviews, in which I dare neither Trust my Self, nor You, if you believe me worthy your real Regard, the way thro’ Honour is open to receive You; Religion, Reason, Modesty, and Obedience forbid the rest. Farewel. D’elmont knew the Power he had over her too well, to be much discourag’d at what he read, and after a little consultation with Anaret, they concluded he should go to speak to her, as being the best Sollicitor in his own Cause. As he came down the Walk, Amena saw him thro’ the Glass, and the sight of that beloved Object, bringing a thousand past Endearments to her Memory, made her incapable of retiring from the Window, and she remain’d in a languishing and immoveable Posture, leaning her Head against the Shutter, ’till he drew near enough to discern she saw him. He took this for no ill Omen, and instead of falling on his Knees at an humble Distance, as some Romantick Lovers would have done, redoubled his Pace, and Love and Fortune which on this Occasion were resolv’d to befriend him, presented to his View a large Rolling-Stone which the Gardiner had accidentally 22 left there; the Iron-work that held it was very high, and strong enough to bear a much greater weight than his, so he made no more to do, but getting on the top of it, was almost to the Waste above the bottom of the Casement. This was a strange Trial, for had she been less in Love, good Manners would have oblig’d her to open it; however she retain’d so much of her former Resolution, as to conjure him to be gone, and not expose her to such Hazards; that if her Father should come to know she held any clandestine Correspondence with him, after the Commands he had given her, she were utterly undone, and that he never must expect any Condescensions from her, without being first allow’d by him. D’elmont, tho’ he was a little startled to find her so much more Mistress of her Temper than he believ’d she could be, yet resolv’d to make all possible use of this Opportunity, which probably might be the last he shou’d ever have, look’d on her as she spoke, with Eyes so piercing, so sparkling with Desire, accompany’d with so bewitching softness, as might have thaw’d the most frozen reservedness, and on the melting Soul stamp’d Love’s Impression. ’Tis certain they were too irresistable to be long withstood, and putting an end to Amena’s grave Remonstrances, gave him leave to reply to ’em in this manner. Why my Life, my Angel, said he, my everlasting Treasure of my Soul, shou’d these Objections now be rais’d? How can you say you have given me your Heart? Nay, own you think me worthy that inestimable Jewel, yet dare not trust your Person with me a few Hours: What have you to fear from your adoring Slave? I want but to convince you how much I am so, by a thousand yet uninvented Vows. They may be spar’d, cry’d Amena, hastily interrupting him, one Declaration to my Father, is all the Proof that he or I demands of your Sincerity. Oh! Thou Inhuman and Tyrannick Charmer, answer’d he, (seizing her Hand, and eagerly kissing it) I doubt not but your faithful Anaret has told you, that I could not without the highest Imprudence, presently discover the Passion I have for you to the World. 23 I have, my Lord, said that cunning Wench who stood near him, and that ’twas only to acquaint her with the Reasons why, for some Time, you would have it a Secret, that you much desir’d to speak with her. Besides (rejoyn’d the Count) consider my Angel how much more hazardous it is for you to hold Discourse with me here, than at a farther distance from your Father; your denying to go with me is the only way to make your Fears prove true; his jealousie of you may possibly make him more watchful than ordinary, and we are not sure but that this Minute he may tear you from my Arms; whereas if you suffer me to bear you hence, if he should happen to come even to your Door, and hear no noise, he will believe you sleeping, and return to his Bed well satisfy’d. With these and the like Arguments she was at last overcome, and with the assistance of Anaret, he easily lifted her down. But this rash Action, so contrary to the Resolution she thought herself a few moments before so fix’d in, made such a confusion in her Mind, as render’d her insensible for some Time of all he said to her. They made what haste they could into the Tuilleries, and D’elmont having plac’d her on one of the most pleasant Seats, was resolv’d to loose no time; and having given her some Reasons for his not addressing to her Father, which tho’ weak in themselves, were easily believ’d by a Heart so willing to be deceiv’d as hers, he began to press for a greater confirmation of her Affection than Words; and ’twas now this inconsiderate Lady found herself in the greatest Strait she had ever yet been in; all Nature seem’d to favour his Design, the pleasantness of the Place, the silence of the Night, the sweetness of the Air, perfum’d with a thousand various Odours, wafted by gentle Breezes from adjacent Gardens, compleated the most delightful Scene that ever was, to offer up a Sacrifice to Love; not a breath but flew wing’d with desire, and sent soft thrilling Wishes to the Soul; Cynthia herself, cold as she is reported, assisted in the Inspiration, and sometimes shone with all her brightness, as it were to feast 24 their ravish’d Eyes with gazing on each others Beauty; then veil’d her Beams in Clouds, to give the Lover boldness, and hide the Virgins blushes. What now could poor Amena do, surrounded with so many Powers, attack’d by such a charming Force without, betray’d by tenderness within: Virtue and Pride, the Guardians of her Honour, fled from her Breast, and left her to her Foe, only a modest Bashfulness remain’d, which for a time made some Defence, but with such weakness as a Lover less impatient than D’elmont, would have little regarded. The heat of the Weather, and her Confinement having hindred her from dressing that Day; she had only a thin silk Night Gown on, which flying open as he caught her in his Arms, he found her panting-Heart beat measures of Consent, her heaving Breast swell to be press’d by his, and every Pulse confess a wish to yeild; her Spirits all dissolv’d, sunk in a Lethargy of Love; her snowy Arms, unknowing, grasp’d his Neck, her Lips met his half way, and trembled at the touch; in fine, there was but a Moment betwixt her and Ruin; when the tread of some Body coming hastily down the Walk, oblig’d the half-bless’d Pair to put a stop to farther Endearments. It was Anaret, who having been left Centinel in the Garden, in order to open the Door when her Lady should return, had seen Lights in every Room in the House, and heard great Confusion, so ran immediately to give ’em notice of this Misfortune. These dreadful Tidings soon rous’d Amena from her Dream of Happiness, she accus’d the influence of her Amorous Stars, upbraided Anaret, and blam’d the Count in Terms little differing from distraction, and ’twas as much as both of ’em could do to perswade her to be calm. However, ’twas concluded that Anaret should go back to the House, and return to ’em again, as soon as she had learn’d what accident had occasion’d this Disturbance. The Lovers had now a second Opportunity, if either of ’em had been inclin’d to make use of it, but their Sentiments were entirely chang’d with this Alarm; 25 Amena’s Thoughts were wholly taken up with her approaching Shame, and vow’d she wou’d rather die than ever come in to her Father’s Presence, if it were true that she was miss’d; the Count, who wanted not good Nature, seriously reflecting on the Misfortunes he was likely to bring on a young Lady, who tenderly lov’d him, gave him a great deal of real Remorse, and the Consideration that he should be necessitated, either to own an injurious Design, or come into Measures for the clearing of it, which would in no way agree with his Ambition, made him extreamly pensive, and wish Amena again in her Chamber, more earnestly than ever he had done, to get her out of it; they both remain’d in a profound Silence, impatiently waiting the approach of Anaret; but she not coming as they expected, and the Night wearing away apace, very much encreas’d the Trouble they were in; at length the Count, after revolving a thousand Inventions in his Mind, advis’d to walk toward the Garden, and see whether the Door was yet open. ’Tis better for you, Madam, said he, whatsoever has happen’d, to be found in your own Garden, than in any Place with me. Amena comply’d, and suffer’d herself to be led thither, trembling, and ready to sink with Fear and Grief at every Step; but when they found all fast, and that there was no hopes of getting Entrance, she fell quite senseless, and without any signs of Life, at her Lover’s Feet; he was strangely at a loss what to do with her, and made a thousand Vows if he got clear of this Adventure, never to embark in another of this Nature; he was little skill’d in proper Means to recover her, and ’twas more to her Youth and the goodness of her Constitution that she ow’d the Return of her Senses, than his awkard Endeavours; when she reviv’d, the piteous Lamentations she made, and the perplexity he was in how to dispose of her, was very near reducing him to as bad a Condition as she had been in; he never till now having had occasion for a Confident, render’d him so unhappy as not to know any one Person 26 at whose House he cou’d, with any Convenience, trust her, and to carry her to that where he had Lodgings, was the way to be made the talk of all Paris. He ask’d her several times if she would not command him to wait on her to some Place where she might remain free from Censure, till she heard from her Father, but cou’d get no Answer but upbraidings from her. So making a Virtue of Necessity, he was oblig’d to take her in his Arms, with a design to bring her (tho’ much against his Inclinations) to his own Apartment: As he was going thro’ a very fair Street which led to that in which he liv’d, Amena cry’d out with a sort of Joy, loose me, my Lord, I see a Light in yonder House, the Lady of it is my dearest Friend, she has power with my Father, and if I beg her Protection, I doubt not but she will afford it me, and perhaps find some way to mitigate my Misfortunes; the Count was overjoy’d to be eas’d of his fair Burthen, and setting her down at the Gate, was preparing to take his leave with an indifference, which was but too visible to the afflicted Lady. I see, my Lord, said she, the pleasure you take in getting rid of me, exceeds the trouble for the Ruin you have brought upon me; but go, I hope I shall resent this Usage as I ought, and that I may be the better enabled to do so, I desire you to return the Letter I writ this fatal Night, the Resolution it contain’d will serve to remind me of my shameful Breach of it. Madam (answer’d he coldly, but with great Complaisance) you have said enough to make a Lover less obedient, refuse; but because I am sensible of the Accidents that happen to Letters, and to shew that I can never be repugnant even to the most rigorous of your Commands, I shall make no scruple in fulfilling this, and trust to your Goodness for the re-settling me in your Esteem, when next you make me so happy as to see you. The formality of this Compliment touch’d her to the Quick, and the thought of what she was 27 like to suffer on his account, fill’d her with so just an Anger, that as soon as she got the Letter, she knock’d hastily at the Gate, which being immediately open’d, broke off any further Discourse, she went in, and he departed to his Lodging, ruminating on every Circumstance of this Affair, and consulting with himself how he shou’d proceed. Alovisa (for it was her House which Amena by a whimsical effect of Chance had made choice of for her Sanctuary) was no sooner told her Rival was come to speak with her, but she fell into all the Raptures that successful Malice could inspire, she was already inform’d of part of this Night’s Adventure; for the cunning Charlo who by her Orders had been a diligent Spy on Count D’elmont’s Actions, and as constant an Attendant on him as his shadow, had watch’d him to Monsieur Sanseverin’s Garden, seen him enter, and afterwards come with Amena into the Tuilleries; where perceiving ’em Seated, ran Home, and brought his Lady an Account; Rage, Jealousie and Envy working their usual Effects in her; at this News, made her promise the Fellow infinite Rewards if he would invent some Stratagem to separate ’em, which he undertaking to do, occasion’d her being up so late, impatiently waiting his return; she went down to receive her with great Civility, mix’d with a feign’d surprize to see her at such an Hour, and in such a Dishabilee; which the other answering ingeniously, and freely letting her into the whole Secret, not only of her Amour, but the coldness she observ’d in D’elmont’s Behaviour at parting, fill’d this cruel Woman with so exquisite a Joy, as she was hardly capable of dissembling; therefore to get liberty to indulge it, and to learn the rest of the particulars of Charlo, who she heard was come in, she told Amena she would have her go to Bed, and endeavour to compose her self, and that she would send for Monsieur Sanseverin in the Morning, and endeavour to reconcile him to her. I will also added she, with a deceitful smile, see the Count D’elmont, and talk to him in a manner as shall make him 28 truly sensible of his Happiness; nay, so far my Friendship shall extend, that if there be any real Cause for making your Amour a Secret, he shall see you at my House, and pass for a Visitor of mine; I have no body to whom I need be accountable for my Actions and am above the Censures of the World. Amena, thank’d her in Terms full of gratitude, and went with the Maid, whom Alovisa had order’d to conduct her to a Chamber prepar’d for her; as soon as she had got rid of her, she call’d for Charlo, impatient to hear by what contrivance this lucky Chance had befallen her. Madam, said, he, tho’ I form’d a thousand Inventions, I found not any so plausible, as to alarm Monsieur Sanseverin’s Family, with an out-cry of Fire. Therefore I rang the Bell at the fore-gate of the House, and bellow’d in the most terrible accent I could possible turn my Voice to, Fire, Fire, rise, or you will all be burnt in your Beds. I had not repeated this many times, before I found the Effect I wish’d; the Noises I heard, and the Lights I saw in the Rooms, assur’d me there were no Sleepers left; then I ran to the Tuilleries, designing to observe the Lover’s proceedings, but I found they were appriz’d of the Danger they were in, of being discover’d, and were coming to endeavour an entrance into the Garden. I know the rest, interrupted Alovisa, the Event has answer’d even beyond my Wishes, and thy Reward for this good Service shall be greater than thy Expectations. As she said these Words she retir’d to her Chamber, more satisfy’d than she had been for many Months. Quite different did poor Amena pass the Night, for besides the grief of having disoblig’d her Father, banish’d her self his House, and expos’d her Reputation to the unavoidable Censures of the unpitying World; for an ungrateful, or at best an indifferent Lover. She receiv’d a vast addition of Afflictions, when taking out the Letter which D’elmont had given her at parting, possible to weep over it; and accuse her self for so inconsiderately breaking the noble Resolution she had form’d, when it was writ. She found it was Alovisa’s 29 Hand, for the Count by mistake had given her the second he receiv’d from that Lady, instead of that she desir’d him to return. Never was Surprize, Confusion, and Dispair at such a height, as in Amena’s Soul at this Discovery; she was now assur’d by what she read, that she had fled for Protection to the very Person she ought most to have avoided; that she had made a Confident of her greatest Enemy, a Rival dangerous to her Hopes in every Circumstance. She consider’d the High Birth and vast Possessions that Alovisa was Mistress of in opposition to her Father’s scanted Power of making her a Fortune. Her Wit and Subtilty against her Innocence and Simplicity: her Pride, and the respect her grandeur commanded from the World, against her own deplor’d and wretch’d State, and look’d upon her self as wholly lost. The violence of her Sorrow is more easily imagin’d than express’d; but of all her melancholy Reflections, none rack’d her equal to the belief she had that D’elmont was not unsensible by this time whom the Letter came from, and had only made a Court to her to amuse himself a while, and then suffer her to fall a Sacrifice to his Ambition, and feed the Vanity of her Rival; a just Indignation now open’d the Eyes of her Understanding, and considering all the Passages of the Count’s Behaviour, she saw a thousand Things which told her, his Designs on her were far unworthy of the Name of Love. None that were ever touch’d with the least of those Passions which agitated the Soul of Amena, can believe they would permit Sleep to enter her Eyes: But if Grief and Distraction kept her from repose; Alovisa had too much Business on her Hands to enjoy much more; She had promis’d Amena to send for her Father, and the Count, and found there were not too many Moments before Morning, to contrive so many different forms of Behaviour, as should deceive ’em all three, compleat the Ruin of her Rival, and engage the Addresses of her Lover; as soon as she thought it a proper Hour, she dispatch’d a Messenger to Count D’elmont, and another to Monsieur Sanseverin, 30 who full of Sorrow as he was, immediately obey’d her Summons. She receiv’d him in her Dressing-room, and with a great deal of feign’d Trouble in her Countenance, accosted him in this manner. How hard is it, said she, to dissemble Grief, and in spite of all the Care, which I doubt not you have taken to conceal it, in consideration of your own, and Daughter’s Honour, I too plainly perceive it in your Face to imagine that my own is hid: How, Madam, cry’d the impatient Father, (then giving a loose to his Tears) are you acquainted then with my Misfortune? Alas, answer’d she, I fear by the Consequences you have been the last to whom it has been reveal’d. I hop’d that my Advice, and the daily Proofs the Count gave your Daughter of the little regard he had for her, might have fir’d her to a generous Disdain, and have a thousand Pardons to ask of you for Breach of Friendship, in concealing an Affair so requisite you should have known: Oh! Madam resum’d he, interrupting her, I conjure you make no Apologies for what is past, I know too well the greatness of your goodness, and the favour you have always been pleas’d to Honour her with; not to be assur’d she was happy in your Esteem, and only beg I may no longer be kept in Ignorance of the fatal Secret. You shall be inform’d of all, said she, but then you must promise me to Act by my Advice; which he having promis’d, she told him after what manner Amena came to her House, the coldness the Count express’d to her, and the violence of her Passion for him. Now, said she, if you should suffer your rage to break out in any publick Manner against the Count, it will only serve to make your Daughter’s Dishonour the Table-Talk of all Paris. He is too great at Court, and has too many Friends to be compell’d to any Terms for your Satisfaction; besides, the least noise might make him discover by what means he first became acquainted with her, and her excessive, I will not say troublesome fondness of him, since; which should he do, the shame wou’d be wholly her’s, for few wou’d condemn him for accepting the offer’d Caresses of a 31 Lady so young and beautiful as Amena. But is it possible, cry’d he (quite confounded at these Words) that she should stoop so low to offer Love. Oh Heavens! Is this the Effect of all my Prayers, my Care, and my Indulgence. Doubt not, resum’d Alovisa, of the Truth of what I say, I have it from herself, and to convince you it is so, I shall inform you of something I had forgot before. Then she told him of the Note she had slip’d into the Letter he had forc’d her to write, and of sending Anaret to his Lodgings, which she heighten’d with all the aggravating Circumstances her Wit and Malice cou’d suggest; till the old Man believing all she said as an Oracle, was almost senseless between Grief and Anger; but the latter growing rather the most predominant, he vow’d to punish her in such a manner as should deter all Children from Disobedience. Now, said Alovisa, it is, that I expect the performance of your Promise; these threats avail but little to the retrieving your Daughter’s Reputation, or your quiet; be therefore perswaded to make no Words of it, compose your Countenance as much as possible to serenity, and think if you have no Friend in any Monastry where you could send her till this Discourse, and her own foolish Folly be blown over. If you have not, I can recommend you to one at St. Dennis where the Abbess is my near Relation, and on my Letter will use her with all imaginable Tenderness. Monsieur was extreamly pleas’d at this Proposal, and gave her those thanks the seeming kindness of her offer deserv’d. I would not, resum’d she, have you take her Home, or see her before she goes; or if you do, not till all things are ready for her Departure, for I know she will be prodigal of her Promises of Amendment, ’till she has prevail’d with your Fatherly Indulgence to permit her stay at Paris, and know as well she will not have the Power to keep ’em in the same Town with the Count. She shall, if you please, remain conceal’d in my House, ’till you have provided for her Journey, and it will be a great Means to put a stop to any farther Reflections the malicious 32 may make on her; if you give out she is already gone to some Relations in the Country. As she was speaking, Charlo came to acquaint her, one was come to visit her. She made no doubt but ’twas D’elmont, therefore hasten’d away Monsieur Sanseverin, after having fix’d him in a Resolution to do every thing as she advis’d. It was indeed Count D’elmont that was come, which as soon as she was assur’d of, she threw off her dejected and mournful Air, and assum’d one all Gaiety and good Humour, dimpl’d her Mouth with Smiles, and call’d the laughing Cupids to her Eyes. My Lord, said she, you do well by this early visit to retrieve your Sexes drooping fame of Constancy, and prove the nicety of Amena’s discernment, in conferring favours on a Person, who to his excellent Qualifications, has that of assiduity to deserve them; as he was about to reply, the rush of somebody coming hastily down the Stairs which faced the Room they were in, oblig’d ’em to turn that way. It was the unfortunate Amena, who not being able to endure the Thoughts of staying in her Rivals House, distracted with her Griefs, and not regarding what should become of her, as soon as she heard the Doors were open, was preparing to fly from that detested Place. Alovisa was vex’d to the Heart at the sight of her, hoping to have had some Discourse with the Count before they met; but she dissembled it, and catching hold of her as she was endeavouring to pass, ask’d where she was going, and what occasion’d the Disorder she observ’d in her. I go, (answer’d Amena) from a false Lover, and a falser Friend, but why shou’d I upbraid you (continu’d she looking wildly sometimes on the Count, and sometimes on Alovisa) Treacherous Pair, you know too well each others Baseness, and my Wrongs; no longer then, detain a Wretch whose Presence, had you the least Sense of Honour, Gratitude, or even common Humanity, wou’d fill your Consciences with Remorse 33 and Shame; and who has now no other wish, than that of shunning you for ever. As she spoke this, she struggled to get loose from Alovisa’s Arms, who, in spite of the Amazement she was in, still held her. D’elmont was no less confounded, and intirely ignorant of the Meaning of what he heard, was at a loss how to reply, ’till she resum’d her reproaches in this manner: Why, ye Monsters of barbarity, said she, do you delight in beholding the Ruins you have made? Is not the knowledge of my Miseries, my everlasting Miseries, sufficient to content you? And must I be debarr’d that only Remedy for Woes like mine? Death! Oh cruel Return for all my Love, my Friendship! and the confidence I repos’d in you. Oh! to what am I reduc’d by my too soft and easie Nature, hard fate of tenderness, which healing others, only wounds it’s self.-----Just Heavens!------here she stopp’d, the violence of her Resentment, endeavouring to vent it self in sighs, rose in her Breast with such an impetuosity as choak’d the Passage of her Words, and she fell in a Swoon. Tho’ the Count, and Alovisa were both in the greatest Consternation imaginable, yet neither of ’em were negligent in trying to Recover her; as they were busi’d about her, that fatal Letter which had been the Cause of this Disturbance, fell out of her Bosom, and both being eager to take it up (believing it might make some discovery) had their Hands on it at the same time; it was but slightly folded, and immediately shew’d ’em from what source Amena’s despair proceeded: Her upbraidings of Alovisa, and the Blushes and Confusion which he observed in that Ladies Face, as soon as ever she saw it open’d, put an end to the Mistery, and one less quick of Apprehension than D’elmont, wou’d have made no difficulty in finding his unknown Admirer in the Person of Alovisa: She, to conceal the Disorder she was in at this Adventure as much as possible, call’d her Women, and order’d ’em to Convey Amena into another Chamber where there was more Air; as she was preparing to follow, turning a 34 little towards the Count. but still extreamly confus’d, you’ll Pardon, me, my Lord, said she, if my concern for my Friend obliges me to leave you. Ah Madam, reply’d he, forbear to make any Apologies to me, rather Summon all your goodness to forgive a Wretch so blind to happiness as I have been: She either cou’d not, or wou’d not make any answer to these Words, but seeming as tho’ she heard ’em not, went hastily into the Room where Amena was, leaving the Count full of various and confus’d Reflections; the sweetness of his Disposition made him regret his being the Author of Amena’s Misfortunes, but how miserable is that Woman’s Condition, who by her Mismanagement is reduc’d to so poor a Comfort as the pity of her Lover; that Sex is generally too Gay to continue long uneasy, and there was little likelihood he cou’d be capable of lamenting Ills, which his small Acquaintance with the Passion from which they sprung, made him not comprehend. The pleasure the Discovery gave him of a Secret he had so long desir’d to find out, kept him from being too much concern’d at the Adventure that occasion’d it; but he could not forbear accusing himself of intollerable Stupidity, when he consider’d the Passages of Alovisa’s Behaviour, her swooning at the Ball, her constant Glances, her frequent Blushes when he talk’d to her, and all his Cogitations whether on Alovisa, or Amena, were mingled with a wonder that Love should have such Power. The diversity of his Thoughts wou’d have entertain’d him much longer, if they had not been interrupted by his Page, who came in a great hurry, to acquaint him, that his Brother, the young Chevalier Brillian was just come to Town, and waited with Impatience for his coming Home: As much a Stranger as D’elmont was to the Affairs of Love, he was none to those of Friendship, and making no doubt but that the former ought to yield to the latter in every respect; contented himself with telling one of Alovisa’s Servants, as he went out, that he wou’d wait on 35 her in the Evening, and made what hast he cou’d to give his beloved Brother the welcome he expected after so long an absence; and indeed the manner of their Meeting, express’d a most intire and sincere Affection on both sides. The Chevalier was but a Year younger than the Count, they had been bred together from their Infancy, and there was such a sympathy in their Souls, and so great a Resemblance in their Persons, as very much contributed to endear ’em to each other with a Tenderness far beyond that which is ordinarily found among Relations. After the first Testimonies of it were over, D’elmont began to Question him how he had pass’d his Time since their Separation, and to give him some little Reproaches for not writing so often as he might have Expected. Alas! my dearest Brother, reply’d the Chevalier, such various Adventures have hap’ned to me since we parted, as when I relate ’em, will I hope excuse my seeming Negligence; these Words were accompany’d with Sighs, and a Melancholly Air immediately overspreading his Face, and taking away great part of the Vivacity, which lately sparkled in his Eyes, rais’d an impatient Desire in the Count to know the Reason of it, which when he had express’d, the other (after having engag’d him, that whatever Causes he might find to ridicule his Folly, he wou’d suspend all appearance of it till the end of his Narration) began to satisfy in this Manner. 36 THE STORY OF THE Chevalier Brillian. At St. Omers, where you left me, I happen’d to make an Acquaintance with one Monsieur Belpine, a Gentleman who was there on some Business; we being both pretty much Strangers in the Place, occasion’d an Intimacy between us, which the disparity of our Tempers, wou’d have prevented our Commencing at Paris; but you know I was never a lover of Solitude, and for want of Company more agreeable, was willing to encourage his. He was indeed so obliging as to stay longer at St. Omers then his Affairs required, purposely to engage me to make Amiens in my way to Paris. He was very Vain, and fancying himself happy in the esteem of the fair Sex, was desirous I should be witness of the Favours they bestow’d on him. Among the Number of those he used to talk of, was Madamoiselle Ansellina de la Tour, a Parisian Lady, and Heiress of a great Estate, but had been 37 some time at Amiens with Madam the Baroness de Beronville her God-Mother. The Wonders he told me of this young Lady’s Wit, and Beauty, inclin’d me to a desire of seeing her; and as soon as I was in a Condition to Travel, we took our Way towards Amiens, he us’d me with all the Friendship he was capable of expressing; and soon after we arriv’d, carry’d me to the Baronesses: But oh Heavens! How great was my Astonishment when I found Ansellina as far beyond his faint Description, as the Sun Beams the Imitation of Art; besides the regularity of her Features, the delicacy of her Complexion, and the just Simmetry of her whole Composition, she has an undescribable Sweetness that plays about her Eyes and Mouth, and softens all her Air: But all her Charms, dazling as they are, would have lost their captivating Force on me, if I had believ’d her capable of that weakness for Belpine, that his Vanity would have me think. She is very Young and Gay, and I easily perceiv’d she suffer’d his Addresses more out of Diversion then any real Regard she had for him; he held a constant Correspondence at Paris, and was continually furnish’d with every thing that was Novel, and by that means introduc’d himself into many Companies, who else wou’d not have endured him; but when at any time I was so happy as to entertain the lovely Ansellina alone, and we had Opportunity for serious Discourse, (which was impossible in his Company) I found that she was Mistress of a Wit, Poynant enough to be Satyrical, yet it was accompanied with a Discretion as very much heighten’d her Charms, and compleated the Conquest that her Eyes begun. I will confess to you, Brother, that I became so devoted to my Passion, that I had no leisure for any other Sentiments. Fears, Hopes, Anxities, jealous Pains, uneasie Pleasures, all the Artillery of Love, were garrison’d in my Heart, and a thousand various half form’d Resolutions fill’d my Head. Ansellina’s insensibility among a Crow’d of Admirers, and the disparity of our Fortunes, 38 wou’d have given me just Causes of Despair, if the Generosity of her Temper had not dissipated the one, and her Youth, and the hope her Hour was not yet come, the other. I was often about letting her know the Power she had over me, but something of an awe which none but those who truly Love can guess at, still prevented my being able to utter it, and I believ’d should have languish’d ’till this Moment in an unavailing silence, if an accident had not hapen’d to embolden me: I went one Day to visit my Adorable, and being told she was in the Garden, went thither in hopes to see her, but being deceiv’d in my Expectation, believ’d the Servant who gave me that Information was mistaken, and fancying she might be retir’d to her Closet, as she very often did in an Afternoon, and the pleasantness of the Place inducing me to stay there till she was willing to admit me. I sat down at the Foot of a DIANA, curiously carv’d in Marble, and full of melancholy Reflections without knowing what I did, took a black lead Pen out of my Pocket, and writ on the Pedestal these two Lines. Hopeless, and Silent, I must still adore, Her Heart’s more hard than Stone whom I’d implore. I had scarce finish’d ’em, when I perceiv’d Ansellina at a good distance from me, coming out of a little Arbour; the respect I had for her, made me fear she should know I was the Author of ’em, and guess, what I found, I had not gain’d Courage enough to tell her. I went out of the Alley, as I imagin’d, unseen, and design’d to come up another, and meet her, before she cou’d get into the House. But tho’ I walk’d pretty fast, she had left the Place before I cou’d attain it; and in her stead (casting my Eyes toward the Statue with an Intention to rub out what I had writ) I found this Addition to it. You wrong your Love, while you conceal your Pain, Flints will dissolve with constant drops of Rain. 39 But, my dear Brother, if you are yet insensible of the wonderful Effects of Love, you will not be able to imagine what I felt at this View; I was satisfy’d it could be writ by no Body but Ansellina, there being no other Person in the Garden, and knew as well she could not design that Encouragement for any other Man, because on many Occasions she had seen my Hand; and the Day before had written a Song for her, which she desir’d to learn, with that very Pen I now had made use of; and going hastily away at the sight of her, had forgot to take with me. I gaz’d upon the dear obliging Characters, and kiss’d the Marble which contain’d ’em, a thousand times before I cou’d find in my Heart to efface ’em; as I was in this agreeable Amazement, I heard Belpine’s Voice calling to me as he came up the walk, which oblig’d me to put an end to it, and the Object which occasion’d it. He had been told as well as I, that Ansellina was in the Garden, and expressing some wonder to see me alone, ask’d where she was, I answer’d him with a great deal of real Truth, that I knew not, and that I had been there some Time, but had not been so happy as to Entertain her. He seem’d not to give Credit to what I said, and began to use me after a Fashion as would have much more astonish’d me from any other Person. I would not have you, said he, be concern’d at what I am about to say, because you are one of those for whom I am willing to preserve a Friendship; and to convince you of my Sincerity, give you leave to address after what manner you please to any of the Ladies with whom I have brought you acquainted, excepting Ansellina. But I take this Opportunity to let you know, I have already made choice of her, with a design of Marriage, and from this time forward, shall look on any Visits you shall make to her, as injurious to my Pretensions. Tho’ I was no Stranger to the Vanity and Insolence of Belpine’s Humour, yet not being accustomed to such arbitrary Kind of Treatment, had 40 certainly resented it (if we had been in any other Place) in a very different Manner than I did, but the consideration that to make a Noise there, would be a Reflection, rather than a Vindication on Ansellina’s Fame; I contented myself with telling him he might be perfectly easie, that whatever Qualifications the Lady might have that should encourage his Addresses, I should never give her any Reason to boast a Conquest over me. These Words might have born two Interpretations, if the disdainful Air with which I spoke ’em, and which I could not dissemble, and going immediately away had not made him take ’em, as they were really design’d, to affront him; He was full of Indignation and Jealousy (if it is possible for a Person to be touch’d with that Passion, who is not capable of the other, which generally occasions it) but however, having taken it into his Head to imagine I was better receiv’d by Ansellina than he desired; Envy, and a sort of a Womanish Spleen transported him so far as to go to Ansellina’s Apartment, and rail at me most profusely (as I have since been told) and threaten how much he’d be reveng’d, if he heard I ever should have the assurance to Visit there again. Ansellina at first laugh’d at his Folly, but finding he persisted, and began to assume more Liberty than she ever meant to afford him; instead of list’ning to his Entreaties, to forbid me the Privilege I had enjoy’d of her Conversation; she pass’d that very Sentence on him, and when next I waited of her, receiv’d me with more Respect than ever; and when at last I took the boldness to acquaint her with my Passion; I had the Satisfaction to observe from the frankness of her Disposition, that I was not indifferent to her; nor indeed did she, even in Publick, affect any reservedness more than the decencies of her Sex and Quality requir’d; for after my Pretensions to her were commonly talk’d of, and those who were intimate with her, wou’d rally her about me; she pass’d it off with a Spirit of Gaity and good Humour peculiar to her self, and bated nothing of her usual freedom to me; she permitted me to Read to 41 her, to Walk and Dance with her, and I had all the Opportunities of endeavouring an encrease of her Esteem that I cou’d wish, which so incens’d Belpine, that he made no scruple of reviling both her and me in all Companies wherever he came; saying, I was a little worthless Fellow, who had nothing but my Sword to depend upon; and that Ansellina having no hopes of Marrying him, was glad to take up with the first that ask’d her. These scandalous Reports on my first hearing of ’em had assuredly been fatal to one of us, if Ansellina had not commanded me by all the Passion I profess’d, and by the Friendship she freely acknowledged to have for me, not to take any Notice of ’em. I set too high a Value on the favours she allow’d me, to be capable of Disobedience; and she was too nice a Judge of the Punctillio’s of our Sexes Honour, not to take this Sacrifice of so just a Resentment, as a very great proof how much I submitted to her will, and suffer’d not a Day to pass without giving me some new mark how nearly she was touch’d with it. I was the most contented and happy Person in the World, still hoping that in a little time, (she having no Relations that had Power to contradict her Inclinations) I should be able to obtain every thing from her that an honourable Passion could require; ’till one Evening coming Home pretty late from her, my Servant gave me a Letter, which he told me was left for me, by one of Belpine’s Servants; I presently suspected the Contents, and found I was not mistaken; it was really a Challenge to meet him the next Morning, and must confess, tho’ I long’d for an Opportunity to Chastise his Insolence, was a little troubled how to excuse my self to Ansellina but there was no possibility of evading it, without rendering my self unworthy of her, and hop’d that Circumstance wou’d be sufficient to clear me to her. I will not trouble you, Brother, with the particulars of our Duel, since there was nothing material, but that at the third pass (I know not whether I may call it the effect of my good or evil Fortune) he receiv’d my Sword a good depth 42 in his Body, and fell with all the Symptoms of a Dying-Man. I made all possible hast to send a Surgeon to him. In my way I met two Gentlemen, who it seems he had made acquainted with his Design (probably with an intention to be prevented). They ask’d me what Success, and when I had inform’d ’em, advis’d me to be gone from Amiens before the News should reach the Ears of Belpine’s Relations, who were not inconsiderable in that Place. I made ’em those Retributions their Civilities deserv’d; but how eminent soever the Danger appear’d that threatned me, cou’d not think of leaving Amiens, without having first seen Ansellina. I went to the Baronesses, and found my Charmer at her Toylet, and either it was my Fancy, or else she really did look more amiable in that Undress, than ever I had seen her, tho’ adorn’d with the utmost Illustrations. She seem’d surpriz’d at seeing me so early, and with her wonted good Humour, asking me the reason of it, put me into a mortal Agony how to answer her, for I must assure you, Brother, that the fears of her Displeasure were a thousand times more dreadful to me, than any other apprehensions; she repeated the Question three or four times before I had Courage to Reply, and I believe she was pretty near guessing the Truth by my Silence, and the disorder in my Countenance before I spoke; and when I did, she receiv’d the account of the whole Adventure with a vast deal of trouble, but no anger; she knew too well, what I ow’d to my Reputation, and the Post his Majesty had honour’d me with, to believe, I cou’d, or ought to dispence with submitting to the Reflections which must have fallen on me, had I acted otherwise than I did. Her Concern and Tears, which she had not Power to contain at the thoughts of my Departure, joyn’d with her earnest Conjurations to me to be gone, let me more than ever into the Secrets of her Heart, and gave me a Pleasure as inconceivable as the necessity of parting did the contrary. Nothing cou’d be more moving than our taking leave, and when she tore her self half willing, and half unwilling, from 43 my Arms, had sent me away inconsolable, if her Promises of coming to Paris, as soon as she could, without being taken notice of, and frequently writing to me in the mean time, had not given me a Hope, tho’ a distant one, of Happiness. Thus Brother, have I given you, in as few Words as I cou’d, a Recital of every thing that has happen’d to me of Consequence since our Separation, in which I dare believe you will find more to Pity than Condemn. The afflicted Chevalier cou’d not conclude without letting fall some Tears; which the Count perceiving, ran to him, and tenderly embracing him, said all that cou’d be expected from a most affectionate Friend to mitigate his Sorrows, nor suffered him to remove from his Arms ’till he had accomplish’d his Design; and then believing the hearing of the Adventures of another, (especially one he was so deeply interested in) would be the surest Means to give a Truce to the more melancholy Reflections on his own; related every thing that had befallen him since his coming to Paris. The Letters he receiv’d from a Lady Incognito, his little Gallantries with Amena, and the accident that presented to his View, the unknown Lady in the Person of one of the greatest Fortunes in all France. Nothing cou’d be a greater Cordial to the Chevalier, than to find his Brother was belov’d by the Sister of Ansellina; he did not doubt but that by this there might be a possibility of seeing her sooner than else he cou’d have hop’d, and the two Brothers began to enter into a serious consultation of this Affair, which ended with a Resolution to fix their Fortunes there. The Count had never yet seen a Beauty formidable enough to give him an Hours uneasiness (purely for the sake of Love) and would often say, Cupid’s Quiver never held an Arrow of force to reach his Heart; those little Delicacies, those trembling aking Transports, which every sight of the belov’d Object occasions, and so visibly distinguishes a real Passion from a Counterfeit, he look’d on as the Chimera’s of an idle Brain, form’d to inspire Notions of an imaginary Bliss, and make Fools 44 lose themselves in seeking; or if they had a Being; it was only in weak Souls, a kind of a Disease with which he assur’d himself he should never be infected. Ambition was certainly the reigning Passion in his Soul, and Alovisa’s Quality and vast Possessions, promising a full Gratification of that, he ne’er so much as wish’d to know a farther Happiness in Marriage. But while the Count and Chevalier were thus Employ’d, the Rival Ladies past their Hours in a very different Entertainment, the despair and bitter Lamentations that the unfortunate Amena made, when she came out of her swooning, were such as mov’d even Alovisa to Compassion, and if any thing but resigning D’elmont cou’d have given her Consolation, she wou’d willing have apply’d it. There was now no need of further Dissimulation, and she confessed to Amena, that she had Lov’d the Charming Count with a kind of Madness from the first Moment she beheld him: That to favour her Designs on him, she had made use of every Stratagem she cou’d invent, that by her means, the Amour was first discover’d to Monsieur Sanseverin, and his Family Alarm’d the Night before; and Lastly, that by her Persuasions, he had resolv’d to send her to a Monastry, to which she must prepare her self to go in a few Days without taking any leave even of her Father; have you (cry’d Amena hastily interrupting her) have you prevail’d with my Father to send me from this hated Place without the Punishment of hearing his upbraidings? Which the other answering in the Affirmative, I thank you, resum’d Amena, that Favour has cancell’d all your Score of Cruelty, for after the Follies I have been guilty of, nothing is so dreadful as the Sight of him. And, who wou’d, oh Heavens! (continued she bursting into a Flood of Tears) wish to stay in a World so full of Falshood. She was able to utter no more for some Moments, but at last, raising herself on the Bed where she was laid, and endeavouring to seem a little more compos’d: I have two Favours, Madam, yet to ask of you (rejoin’d she) neither of 45 ’em will, I believe, seem difficult to you to grant, that you will make use of the Power you have with my Father, to let my Departure be as sudden as possible, and that while I am here, I may never see Count D’elmont. It was not likely that Alovisa shou’d deny Requests so suitable to her own Inclinations, and believing, with a great deal of Reason, that her Presence was not very grateful, left her to the Care of her Women, whom she order’d to attend her with the same Diligence as herself. It was Evening before the Count came, and Alovisa spent the remainder of the Day in very uneasie Reflections; she knew not, as yet, whether she had Cause to rejoyce in, or blame her Fortune in so unexpectedly discovering her Passion, and an incessant vicissitude of Hope and Fears, rack’d her with most intollerable Inquietude, till the darling Object of her Wishes appear’d; and tho’ the first sight of him, added to her other Passions, that of Shame, yet he manag’d his Address so well, and so modestly and artfully hinted the Knowledge of his Happiness, that every Sentiment gave place to a new Admiration of the Wonders of his Wit; and if before she lov’d, she now ador’d, and began to think it a kind of Merit in herself, to be sensible of his. He soon put it in her Power to oblige him, by giving her the History of his Brother’s Passion for her Sister, and she was not at all backward in assuring him how much she approv’d of it, and that she wou’d write to Ansellina by the first Post, to engage her coming to Paris with all imaginable Speed. In fine, there was nothing He cou’d ask, refus’d, and indeed it would have been ridiculous for her to have affected Coyness, after the Testimonies she had long since given him of one of the most violent Passions that ever was; this fore-Knowledge sav’d abundance of Dissimulation on both Sides, and she took care that if he should be wanting in his kind Expressions after Marriage, he should not have it in his Power to pretend (as some Husbands have done) that his Stock was exhausted in a tedious Courtship. Everything was presently 46 agreed upon, and the Wedding Day appointed, which was to be as soon as every thing cou’d be got ready to make it Magnificent; tho’ the Count’s good Nature made him desirous to learn something of Amena, yet he durst not enquire, for fear of giving an Umbrage to his intended Bride; but she, imagining the Reason of his Silence, very frankly told him, how she was to be dispos’d of, this Knowledge made no small Addition to his Contentment, for had she stay’d in Paris, he could expect nothing but continual Jealousies from Alovisa; besides, as he really wish’d her happy, tho’ he could not make her so, he thought Absence might banish a hopeless Passion from her Heart, and Time and other Objects efface an Idea, which could not but be destructive to her Peace. He stay’d at Alovisa’s House ’till it was pretty late, and perhaps they had not parted in some Hours longer, if his impatience to inform his Brother his Success, had not carried him away. The young Chevalier was infinitely more transported at the bare Hopes of being something nearer the Aim of all his Hopes, than D’elmont was at the Assurance of losing his in Possession, and could not forbear rallying him for placing the ultimate of his Wishes on such a Toy, as he argu’d Woman was, which the Chevalier endeavouring to confute, there began a very warm Dispute, in which, neither of ’em being able to convince the other, Sleep at last interpos’d as Moderator. The next Day they went together to visit Alovisa, and from that time were seldom asunder: But in Compassion to Amena, they took what Care they could to conceal the Design they had in Hand, and that unhappy Lady was in a few Days, according to her Rival’s Contrivance, hurried away, without seeing any of her Friends. When she was gone, and there was no farther need of keeping it a Secret, the News of this great Wedding was immediately spread over the whole Town, and every one talk’d of it as their particular Interests or Affections dictated. All D’elmont’s Friends were 47 full of Joy, and he met no inconsiderable Augmentation of it himself, when his Brother receiv’d a Letter from Ansellina, with an Account, that Belpine’s Wound was found not Dangerous, and that he was in a very fair way of Recovery. And it was concluded, that as soon as the Wedding was over, the Chevalier should go in Person to Amiens, and fetch his belov’d Ansellina, in order for a Second, and as much desir’d Nuptial. There was no Gloom now left to Cloud the Gaiety of the happy Day, nothing could be more Grand than the Celebration of it, and Alovisa now thought her self at the end of all her Cares; but the Sequel of this glorious Beginning, and what Effect the Despair and Imprecations of Amena (when she heard of it) produc’d, shall, with the continuance of the Chevalier Brillian’s Adventures, be faithfully related in the next Part. End of the First Part. LOVE in Excess: OR, THE Fatal Inquiry A NOVEL. Part the Second. By Mrs. HAYWOOD. Each Day we break the bond of Humane Laws For Love, and vindicate the common Cause. Laws for Defence of civil Rights are plac’d; Love throws the Fences down, and makes a gen’ral waste Maids, Widows, Wives, without distinction fall, The sweeping deluge Love, comes on and covers all. Each Day we break the bond of Humane Laws For Love, and vindicate the common Cause. Laws for Defence of civil Rights are plac’d; Love throws the Fences down, and makes a gen’ral waste Maids, Widows, Wives, without distinction fall, The sweeping deluge Love, comes on and covers all. [deleted publication information] 51 The Contentment that appear’d in the Faces of the new Married Pair, added so much to the Impatience of the Chevalier >Brillian to see his belov’d Ansellina, that in a few Days after the Wedding, he took leave of them, and departed for Amiens: But as human Happiness is seldom of long continuance, and Alovisa placing the Ultimate of her’s in the Possession of her Charming Husband, secure of that, despis’d all future Events, ’twas time for Fortune, who long enough had smil’d, now to turn her Wheel, and punish the presumption that defy’d her Power. 52 As they were one Day at Dinner, a Messenger came to Acquaint CountD’elmont that MonsieurFrankville was taken, suddenly, so violently Ill, that his Physicians despair’d of his Life; and that he beg’d to speak with him immediately: This Gentleman had been Guardian to theCount during his Minority, and the Care and Faithfulness with which that Trust had been Discharg’d, made him, with Reason, to regret the danger of losing so good a Friend: He delay’d the Visit not a Moment, and found him as the Servant had told him, in a Condition which cou’d cherish no hopes of Recovery, as soon as he perceiv’d theCount come into the Chamber, he desir’d to be left alone with him, which Order being presently obey’d, My dear Charge, (said he taking him by the Hand, and pressing to his trembling Bosom) you see me at the point of Death, but the knowledge of your many Virtues, and the Confidence I have that you will not deny me the request I am about to ask, makes me support the Thoughts of it with Moderation. The other assuring him of his readiness to serve him in any Command, encourag’d the old Gentleman to prosecute his Discourse in this manner: You are not Ignorant, my Lord (Rejoin’d He) that my Son (the only one have) is on his Travels, gone by my Approbation, and his own Desires to make the Tour of Europe; but I have a Daughter, whose Protection I wou’d entreat you to undertake; her Education in a Monastery has hitherto kept her intirely unacquainted with the Gayeties of a Court, or the Conversation of the Beau Monde, and I have sent for her to Paris purposely to Introduce her into Company, proper for a young Lady, who I never design’d for a Recluse; I know not whether she will be here time enough to close my Eyes, but if you will promise to receive her into your House, and not suffer her artless and unexperienc’d Youth to fall into those Snares which are daily laid for Innocence, and take so far a Care, that neither she, nor the Fortune I leave her, be thrown away upon a Man unworthy of her, I shall dye well satisfy’d.D’elmont answer’d this 53 Request, with repeated assurances of fulfilling it, and frankly offer’d, if he had no other Person in whom he rather wou’d confide, to take the management of the whole Estate he left behind him, till youngFrankville should return----The anxious Father was transported at this Favour, and thank’d him in Terms full of Gratitude and Affection; they spent some Hours in settling this Affair, and perhaps had not ended it so soon, if Word had not been brought that the young Lady his Daughter was alighted at the Gate; ’tis impossible to express the Joy which fill’d the old Gentleman’s Heart at this News, and he began afresh to put theCount in mind of what he had promis’d concerning her: As they were in this endearing, tho’ mournful Entertainment, the matchless Melliora enter’d, the Surprize and Grief for her Father’s Indisposition (having heard of it but since she came into the House) hindered her from regarding any thing but him, and throwing herself on her Knees by the Bed-side, wash’d the Hand which he stretch’d out to raise her with, in a flood of Tears, accompany’d with Expressions, which, unstudy’d and incoherent as they were, had a delicacy in ’em, that show’d her Wit not inferiour to her Tenderness; and that no Circumstance cou’d render her otherwise than the most lovely Person in the World; when the first transports of her Sorrow were over, and that with much ado she was persuaded to rise from the Posture she was in: The Affliction I see thee in my Dear Child, (said her Father) wou’d be a vast addition to the Agonies I feel, were I not so happy as to be provided with Means for a mitigation of it, think not in losing me thou wilt be left wholly an Orphan, this worthy Lord will dry thy Tears. Therefore, my last Commands to thee shall be, to oblige thee to endeavour to deserve the Favours he is pleas’d to do us in accepting thee for---He wou’d have proceeded, but his Physicians (who had been in Consultation in the next Room) coming in prevented him, and Count D’elmont taking the charming Melliora by the Hand, led her to the Window, 54 and beginning to speak some Words of Consolation to her, the softness of his Voice, and graceful Manner with which he deliver’d himself (always the inseparable Companions of his Discourse, but now more particularly so) made her cast her Eyes upon him; but alas, he was not an Object to be safely gaz’d at, and in spight of the Grief she was in, she found something in his Form which dissipated it; a kind of painful Pleasure, a mixture of Surprize, and Joy, and doubt, ran thro’ her in an instant; her Fathers Words suggested to her Imagination, that she was in a possibility of calling the charming Person that stood before her, by a Name more tender than that of Guardian, and all the Actions, Looks, and Address of D’elmont serv’d but to confirm her in that Belief. For now it was, that this insensible began to feel the Power of Beauty, and that Heart which had so long been Impregnable, surrender’d in a Moment; the first sight of Melliora gave him a Discomposure he had never felt before, he Sympathiz’d in all her Sorrows, and was ready to joyn his Tears with hers, but when her Eyes met his, the God of Love seem’d there to have united all his Lightnings for one effectual Blaze, their Admiration of each others Perfections was mutual, and tho’ he had got the start in Love, as being touch’d with that Almighty Dart, before her Affliction had given her leave to regard him, yet the softness of her Soul made up for that little loss of time, and it was hard to say whose Passion was the Strongest; she listned to his Condolements, and assurances of everlasting Friendship, with a pleasure which was but too visible in her Countenance, and more enflam’d theCount. As they were exchanging Glances, as if each vyed with the other who should dart the fiercest Rays, they heard a sort of ominous Whispering about the Bed, and presently one of those who stood near it, beckon’d them to come thither; the Physicians had found MonsieurFrankville in a much worse Condition than they left him in, and soon after perceiv’d evident Symptoms in him of approaching Death, and indeed there were but a very few Moments 55 between him and that other unfathomable World; the use of Speech had left him, and he cou’d take no other leave of his dear Daughter than with his Eyes; which sometimes were cast tenderly on her, sometimes on theCount, with a beseeching Look, as it were, to Conjure him to be careful of his Charge; then up to Heaven, as witness of the Trust he reposed in him. There cou’d not be a Scene more Melancholly than this dumb Farewell, and Melliora, whose soft Disposition had never before been shock’d, had not Courage to support so dreadful a one as this, but fell upon the Bed just as her Father Breath’d his last, as motionless as he. It is impossible to represent the Agony’s which fill’d the Heart of D’elmont at this View, he took her in his Arms, and assisted those who were endeavouring to recover her, with a wildness in his Countenance, a trembling Horror shaking all his Fabrick in such a manner, as might have easily discover’d to the Spectators (if they had not been too busily employ’d to take notice of it) that he was Actuated by a Motive far more powerful than that of Compassion. As soon as she came to herself, they forc’d her from the Dead Body of her Father (to which she Clung) and carried her into another Room, and it being judg’d convenient that she should be remov’d from that House, where every thing wou’d serve but to remind her of her Loss, theCount desir’d the Servants of MonsieurFrankville shou’d be call’d, and then in the presence of ’em all, declar’d their Master’s last Request, and order’d an Account of all Affairs shou’d be brought to his House, where he wou’d immediately Conduct their young Lady, as he had promis’d to her Father. If Melliora had been without any other cause of Grief, this Eclaircissment had been sufficient to have made her Miserable: She had already entertained a most tender Affection for theCount, and had not so little discernment as not to be sensible she had made the like Impression on him; but now she wak’d as from a Dream of promis’d Joys, to certain Woes, and the same Hour 56 which gave Birth to her Passion, commenc’d an adequate Despair, and kill’d her Hopes just budding. Indeed there never was any Condition so truly deplorable as that of this unfortunate Lady; she had just lost a dear and tender Father, whose Care was ever watchful for her, her Brother was far off, and she had no other Relation in the World to apply her self to for Comfort, or Advice; not even an Acquaintance at Paris, or Friend, but him who but newly was become so, and whom she found it dangerous to make use of, whom she knew it was a Crime to Love, yet cou’d not help Loving; the more she thought, the more she grew Distracted, and the less able to resolve on any Thing; a thousand Times she call’d on Death to give her ease, but that pale Tyrant flies from the Pursuer, she had not been yet long enough acquainted with the ills of Life, and must endure (how unwilling soever) her part of Sufferings in common with the rest of human kind. As soon as D’elmont had given some necessary Directions to the Servants, he came to the Couch, where she was sitting in a fix’d and silent Sorrow (tho’ inwardly toss’d with various and violent Agitations) and offering her his Hand, entreated her to permit him to wait on her from that House of Woe. Alas! Said she, to what purpose shou’d I remove, who bear my Miseries about me? Wretch that I am!---a flood of Tears, here interpos’d, and hindred her from proceeding, which falling from such lovely Eyes, had a Magnetick Influence to draw the same from every beholder; but D’elmont who knew that was not the way to Comfort her, dry’d his as soon as possible, and once more beg’d she wou’d depart; suffer my return then (answer’d she) to the Monastery, for what have I to do in Paris since I have lost my Father? By no means, Madam (resum’d the Count hastily) that were to disappoint your Fathers Designs, and contradict his last Desires; believe most lovely Melliora (continu’d he taking her by the Hand and letting fall some Tears which he cou’d 57 not restrain, upon it) that I bear at least an equal Share in your Affliction, and lament for you, and for my self: Such a regard my grateful Soul paid Monsieur >Frankville for all his wondrous Care and Goodness to me, that in his Death methinks I am twice an Orphan. But Tears are fruitless to reinspire his now cold Clay, therefore must transmit the Love and Duty I owed him living, to his Memory Dead, and an exact performance of his Will; and since he thought me worthy of so vast a Trust as Melliora, I hope she will be guided by her Fathers Sentiments, and believe that D’elmont (tho’ a Stranger to her) has a Soul not uncapable of Friendship. Friendship! Did I say? (rejoyn’d he softning his Voice) that term is too mean to express a Zeal like mine, the Care, the Tenderness, the Faith, the fond Affection of Parents,---Brothers, ---Husbands,---Lovers, all Compriz’d in one! One great Unutterable! Comprehensive Meaning, is mine! for Melliora! She return’d no Answer but Sighs, to all he said to her; but he renewing his Entreaties, and urging her Father’s Commands, she was at last prevail’d upon to go into his Chariot, which had waited at the Door all the Time of his being there. As they went, he left nothing unsaid that he believ’d might tend to her Consolation, but she had Griefs which at present he was a Stranger to; and his Conversation, in which she found a thousand Charms, rather Encreas’d, than Diminish’d the trouble she was in: Every Word, every Look of his, was a fresh Dagger to her Heart, and in spight of the Love she bore her Father, and the unfeign’d Concern his sudden Death had given her, she was now convinc’d that Count D’elmont’s Perfections were her severest Wounds. When they came to his House, He presented her to Alovisa, and giving her a brief Account of what had happened, engag’d that Lady to receive her 58 with all imaginable Demonstrations of Civility and Kindness. He soon left the two Ladies together, pretending Business, but indeed to satisfie his Impatience, which long’d for an opportunity to meditate on this Adventure. But his Reflections were now grown far less pleasing than they used to be; real Sighs flew from his Breast uncall’d: And Melliora’s Image in dazling Brightness! In terrible Array of killing Charms; Fir’d Him with (impossible to be attain’d) Desires: he found by sad Experience what it was to Love, and to Despair. He Admir’d! Ador’d! And wish’d, even to Madness! Yet had too much Honour, too much Gratitude for the Memory of Monsieur Frankville; and too sincere an Awe for the lovely Cause of his Uneasiness, to form a Thought that cou’d encourage his new Passion. What wou’d he not have given to have been Unmarried? How often did he Curse the Hour in which Alovisa’s fondness was discover’d? And how much more his own Ambition, which prompted him to take Advantage of it, and hurry’d him Precipitately to a Hymen, where Love, (the noblest Guest) was wanting? It was in these racks of Thought, that the unfortunateAmena was remembr’d, and he cou’d not forbear acknowledging the Justice of that Doom, which inflicted on him, these very Torments he had given her. A severe Repentance seiz’d on his Soul, and Alovysa for whom he never had any thing more than an Indifferency; now began to seem Distasteful to his Fancy, he look’d on her, as indeed she was, the chief Author ofAmena’s Misfortunes, and abhorr’d her for that Infidelity. But when he consider’d her, as the Bar ’twixt Him and Melliora she appear’d like his ill Genius to him, and he cou’d not support the Thoughts of being oblig’d to love her (or at least to seem as if he did) with Moderation. In the midst of these Reflections his Servant came in and deliver’d a Letter to him which had been just left by the Post. TheCount immediately knew the Hand to beAmena’s, and 59 was cover’d with the utmost Confusion and Remorse when he read these Lines. To the too Charming and Perfidious D’elmont. Now Hopes, and Fears, and Jealousies are over! Doubt is no more! You are for ever lost! And my unfaithful, happy Rival! Triumphs in your Arms, and my Undoing!----I need not wish you Joy, the haste you made to enter into Hymen’s Bonds, and the more than ordinary Pomp with which that Ceremony was Celebrated, assures me you are highly satisfied with your Condition; and that any future Testimonies of the Friendship of so wretched a Creature asAmena, wou’d be receiv’d by you, with the same Disregard, as those she has given you of a more tender Passion.----Shameful Remembrance! Oh that I cou’d Blot it out!----Erace from the Book of Time those fond deluded Hours! Forget I ever saw the Lovely false D’elmont! Ever listned to his soft persuasive Accents! And thought his love a mighty Price for Ruin------My Father writes that you are Married, Commands my Return to Paris, and assume an Air as Gay, and Chearful as that with which I used to appear.----Alas! How little does he know his Daughters Heart? And how impossible is it, for me to Obey him, can I look on you as the Husband of Alovysa, without remembring you were once the Lover of Amena? Can Love like mine, so fierce, so passionately, tender, e’re sink to a calm, cold Indifference? Can I behold the fond Endearments of your bridal Joys (which you’d not be able to Restrain, even before me) and not burst with Envy? No, the Sight wou’d turn me quite Distracted, and I shou’d commit some Desperate Violence that wou’d Undoe us all.---Therefore, I hide my self for ever from it, bid an everlasting 60 Adieu to all the gay Delights and Pleasures of my Youth.-----To all the Pomp and Splendor of the Court.-----To all that the mistaken World calls Happiness.---To Father, Friends, Relations, all that’s Dear----But your Idea, and that, not even these consecrated Walls, nor Iron Gates keep out; Sleeping or Waking you are ever with me, you mingle with my most solemn Devotions; and while I Pray to Heaven that I may think on you no more, a guilty Pleasure rises in my Soul, and contradicts my Vows! All my Confessions are so many Sins, and the same Breath which tells my Ghostly Father I abjure your Memory, speaks your dear Name with Transport. Yes----Cruel! Ungrateful!---Faithless as you are, I still do Love you----Love you to that infinite degree, that now, methinks fir’d with thy Charms (repenting all I’ve said) I cou’d wish even to renew those Moments of my Ruin!----Pity me D’elmont, if thou hast Humanity.-----Judge what the rackings of my Soul must be, when I resolve, with all this Love, this Languishment about me; never to see you more. Every thing is preparing for my Reception into holy Orders, (how unfit I am Heaven knows) and in a few Days I shall put on the Vail which excludes me from the World for ever; therefore, if these distracted Lines are worth an Answer, it must be Speedy, or it will not come to my Hands. Perhaps not find me Living.-----I can no more-----Farewel (thou dear Destroyer of my Soul) Eternally Farewel, Amena. P.S. I do not urge you to write, Alovisa (I wish I cou’d not say your Wife) will perhaps think it too great a Condescention, and not suffer you so long from her Embraces.----Yet if you can get loose.----But you know best what’s proper to be done----Forgive the restlesness of a dispairing Wretch, who cannot cease to Love, tho’ from this Moment she must cease to tell you so---Once more, and for Ever,Adieu. 61 Had this Letter came a Day sooner, ’tis probable it wou’d have had but little Effect on the Soul of D’elmont, but his Sentiments of Love were now so wholly chang’d, that what before he wou’d but have laugh’d at, and perhaps despis’d, now fill’d him with Remorse and serious Anguish. He read it over several Times, and found so many Proofs in it of a sincere and constant Affection, that he began to pity Her, with a Tenderness like that of a Relation, but no more: The charming Melliora had Engross’d all his fonder Wishes; else it is not impossible but that >Alovisa might have had more Reason to fear her Rivalship after Marriage, than before. That Lady having been without the presence of her dear Husband some Hours, had not patience to remain any longer without seeing Him, and making an excuse to Melliora for leaving her alone, came running to the Closet where he was; how unwelcome she was grown, the Reader may imagine, he receiv’d her, not as he was wont; the Gaity which used to sparkle in his Eyes, (at once declaring, and creating Amorous desires) now gave Place to a sullen Gloominess, he look’d not on her, or if by chance he did; ’twas more with Anger than with Love, in spite of his endeavours to conceal it, she was too quick sighted (as all are that truly Love) not to be sensible of this Alteration. However she took no notice of it, but Kissing and Embracing him (according to her Custom whenever they were alone) beg’d him to leave his solitary Amusement, and help her to Comfort the afflicted Lady he brought there. Her Endearments serv’d but to encrease his Peevishness, and heighten her Surprize at his Behaviour; and indeed, the Moment that she enter’d the Closet was the last of her Tranquility. When with much perswasions she had prevail’d with him to go with her into the Room where Melliora was, he appeared so disorder’d at the second Sight of that Charmer, as wou’d certainly have let 62 Alovysa into the secret of his Passion, had she not been retir’d to a Window to recover herself from the Confusion her Husbands coldness had thrown her in, and by that fortunate disregard of his Looks at that critical Instant, given him (who never wanted presence of Mind) leave to form both his Countenance and manner of Address, so as to give no suspicion of the Truth. This little Company was very far from being Entertaining to one another; every one had their particular Cogitations, and were not displeas’d not to be Interrupted in them. It growing late, Alovysa conducted Melliora to a Chamber which she had order’d to be prepar’d for her, and then retir’d to her own, hoping that when theCount shou’d come to Bed, she might be able to make some Discovery of the Cause of his Uneasiness. But she was deceiv’d, he spoke not to her, and when by a thousand little Inventions she urg’d him to reply to what she said, it was in such a fashion as only let her see, that he was extreamly troubled at something, but cou’d not guess at what. As soon as Day broke, he rose, and shutting himself into his Closet, left her in the greatest Consternation imaginable; she cou’d not think it possible that the Death of MonsieurFrankville shou’d work this Transformation, and knew of no other Misfortune that had happened. At last she remembred she had heard one of the Servants say, a Letter was brought to their Master by the Post, and began to reflect on every Thing (in the power of Fortune to determine) that cou’d threaten a Disturbance, yet was still as ignorant as ever. She lay not long in Bed, but putting on her Cloaths with more Expedition than usual went to the Closet, resolving to speak to him in a manner as shou’d oblige him to put an end to the uncertainty she was in, but finding the Door lock’d, her Curiosity made her look thro’ the Keyhole, and she saw him sometimes very intirely reading a Letter, and sometimes writing, as tho’ it were an Answer to it. A sudden Thought came into her Head, and 63 she immediately went softly from the place where she was, without knocking at the Door, and stay’d in a little Chamber adjacent to it, where none could pass to, or from the Closet without being perceiv’d by her; she had not waited long, before she heard the Count Ring, and presently saw a Servant enter, and soon after return with a Letter in his Hand; she wou’d not speak to him then, for fear of being over heard by her Husband, but followed him down Stairs, and when he came towards the bottom, call’d to him in a low Voice to tarry ’till she came to him; the Fellow durst not but Obey, and there being no body near ’em, commanded him to deliver her the Letter: But he either afraid or unwilling to betray his Trust, excus’d himself from it as well as he cou’d, but she was resolv’d to have it; and when Threats wou’d not avail, condescended to Entreaties, to which she added Bribes, which last Article join’d to the promise she made of never revealing it, won him to her Purpose. She had scarce patience to forbear opening it before she got to her Chamber: The Superscription (which she saw was forAmena) fir’d her with Disdain and Jealousie, and it is hardly possible to imagine, much less to describe the Torrent of her Indignation, when she found that it contain’d these Words. To the Lovely Amena. You accuse me of Cruelty, when at the same Time you kill me with yours: How Vile! How despicable, must I be grown in your Opinion, when you believe I can be Happy, when you are Miserable?---Can I enjoy the Pleasures of a Court, while you are shut within a Cloyster?----Shall I suffer the World to be depriv’d of such a Treasure asAmena? For the Crime of worthless D’elmont-----No, no Fair, injur’d Softness, Return, and bless the Eyes of every Beholder! Shine out 64 again in your native Lustre, uneclips’d by Grief, the Star of Beauty and the guide of Love.---And, if my unlucky Presence will be a Damp to the Brightness of your Fires, I will for ever quit the Place.----Tho’ I cou’d wish, you’d give me leave sometimes to gaze upon you, and draw some hop’d Presages of future Fortune from the Benignity of your Influence,---Yes,Amena, I wou’d sigh out my Repentance at your Feet, and try at least to obtain a Pardon for my Infidelity.----For, ’tis true, what you have heard,----I am Marry’d---But ohAmena! Happiness is not always an Attendant on Hymen.--However, I yet may call you Friend--I yet may Love you, tho’ in a different way from what I once pretended to; and believe me, that the Love of Souls, as it is the most uncommon, especially in our Sex, so ’tis the most refin’d and noble of all Passions, and such a Love shall be for ever yours. Even Alovisa (who has robb’d you of the rest) cannot justly resent my giving you that part,----You’ll wonder at this Alteration in my Temper, but ’tis sincere, I am no more the Gay, the Roving D’elmont, and when you come to Paris, perhaps you will find me in a Condition more liable to your Pity than Indignation. What shall I sayAmena? My Crime is my Punishment, I have offended against Love, and against you, and am, if possible, as Miserable, as Guilty: Torn with Remorse, and Tortur’d with----I cannot----must not Name it----but ’tis something which can be term’d no other than the utmost severity of my Fate.---Haste then to Pity me, to comfort, to advise me, if (as you say) you yet retain any remains of your former Tenderness for this Ungrateful Man, D’elmont. Ungrateful indeed! Cry’d Alovisa (Transported with Excess of Rage and Jealousie) Oh the Villain!---What Miseries! What Misfortunes are these thou talk’st of? What Unhappiness has waited on thy Himen? ’Tis I alone am wretched! base Deceiver! 65 Then, as if she wanted to discover something farther to heighten the Indignation she was in, she began to read it over again, and indeed the more she consider’d the meaning of what she read, the more her Passions swell’d, ’till they got at last the entire Dominion of her Reason: She tore the Letter in a thousand pieces, and was not much less unmerciful to her Hair and Garments. ’Tis possible, that in the Violence of her Fury, she might have forgot her promise to the Servant, to vent some part of it on her Husband, if her Woman coming into the Room to know if she was ready to dress, had not prevented her, by telling her the Count was gone abroad, and had left Word, that he shou’d not return ’till the Evening. Alovisa had thrown herself on the Bed, and the Curtains being drawn discover’d not the disorder she was in, and which her Pride made her willing shou’d be still a Secret, therefore dismist her with saying, she wou’d call her when she wanted any thing. Tho’ Alovisa was too apt to give a loose to her Passions on every occasion, to the Destruction of her own Peace, yet she knew well enough how to disguise ’em, when ever she found the Concealing of them wou’d be an Advantage to her Designs: And when the Transports of her Rage was so far over, as to give her Liberty of Reflection, and she began to Examine the State of her Affection to the Count, she soon perceiv’d it had so much the better of all other Considerations, that in spite of the injustice she thought him guilty of to her, she cou’d not perswade her self to do any thing that might give him a pretence to Quarrel with her. She thought she had done enough in Intercepting this Letter, and did not doubt but thatAmena wou’d take his not writing to her so much to Heart, as to prevent her ever returning to Paris, and resolv’d to omit nothing of her former Endearments, or make a shew of being in the least disoblig’d; this sort of Carriage she imagin’d wou’d not only lay him more open and unguarded to the diligent watch she design’d to make on all 66 his Words and Actions, but likewise awaken him to a just Sense of her Goodness, and his own Ingratitude.-----She rightly judg’d that when People are Marry’d, Jealousie was not the proper Method to revive a decay’d Passion, and that after Possession it must be only Tenderness, and constant Assiduity to please, that can keep up desire, fresh and gay: Man is too Arbitrary a Creature to bear the least Contradiction, where he pretends an absolute Authority, and that Wife who thinks by ill humour and perpetual Taunts, to make him weary of what she wou’d reclaim him from, only renders her self more hateful, and makes that justifiable which before was blameable in him. These, and the like Considerations made Alovysa put on a Countenance of Serenity, and she so well acted the part of an Unsuspecting Wife, that D’elmont was far from imagining what she had done: However he still behav’d with the same Caution as before, to Melliora; and certainly never did People disguise the Sentiments of their Souls more artfully than did these three---Melliora vail’d her secret Languishments, under the Covert of her grief for her Father, theCount his Burning anguish, in a gloomy Melancholy for the Loss of his Friend; but Alovysa’s Task was much the hardest, who had no pretence for grief (raging, and bleeding with neglected Love, and stifled Pride) to frame her Temper to a seeming Tranquility----All made it their whole study to deceive each other, yet none but Alovysa was intirely in the dark; for the Count and Melliora had but too true a guess at one another’s meaning, every look of his, for he had Eyes that needed no Interpreter, gave her Intelligence of his Heart, and the Confusion which the understanding those looks gave her, sufficiently told him how sensible she was of ’em.----Several Days they liv’d in this Manner, in which time Monsieur >Frankville was Interr’d. Which Solemnity, the Count took care shou’d be perform’d with a Magnificence suitable to the Friendship he publickly profest 67 to have born him, and the secret Adoration his Soul paid to his Remains. Nothing happned of Moment,’till a Day or two after the Funeral, a Gentleman newly arriv’d at Paris, came to visit the Count, and gave him an Account of >Amena’s having taken the Habit; how, (said D’elmont Interrupting him) is it possible?----Has she then profest? Yes, answer’d the Gentleman, having a Sister whom I always tenderly lov’d at the Monastery at St. Dennis, my affection oblig’d me to make it in my way to visit her.Amena was with her at the Grate, when she receiv’d me; I know not how, among other Discourses, we hapned to talk of the fine Gentlemen of Paris, which it was Impossible to do, without mentioning Count D’elmont, theCount answer’d not this Complement as he wou’d have done at another time, but only bowing with an humble Air, gave him Liberty to prosecute his Discourse; the moment (resum’d he) thatAmena heard your Name, the Tears run from her fair Eyes; in such abundance, and she seem’d opprest with so violent a Grief, that she was not able to stay any longer with us. When she was gone, my Sister whom she had made her Confidant, gave me the History of her Misfortunes, and withal, told me, that the next Day she was to be Initiated into Holy Orders: My Curiosity engag’d me to stay at St. Dennis, to see the Ceremony perform’d, which was Solemn; but not with that Magnificence which I expected; it seems it wasAmena’s desire that it should be as private as possible, and for that Reason, none of her Relations were there, and several of the Formalities of Entrance omitted: After it was over, my Sister beckon’d me to come to the Grate, where I saw her before, and Conjur’d me in the Name of her new Sister, to give this to your Hands; in speaking these Words, he took a Letter out of his Pocket, which theCount immediately opening, to his great surprise, found it contain’d, as follows. 68 To the Inhuman D’elmont. To be pity’d by you, and that you shou’d tell me so, was all the recompence I ask’d for Loss of Father, Friends, Reputation, and Eternal Peace; but now, too late, I find that the fond Maid who scorns the World for Love, is sure to meet for her reward the scorn of him she Loves----Ungrateful Man! Cou’d you not spare one Moment from that long Date of Happiness, to give a last farewel to her you have undone? What wou’d not this Barbarous Contempt have drawn upon you, were I of Alovisa’s Temper? Sure I am, all that disdain and rage, cou’d Inspire Malice with, had been Inflicted on you, but you well know my Soul is of a another Stamp.----Fool that I was, and little vers’d in the base Arts of Man, believ’d I might by tenderness, and faithful Friendship, gain esteem; tho’ Wit and Beauty the two great Provocatives to create Love were wanting. But do not think that I am yet so mean as to desire to hear from you; no, I have put all future Correspondence with you out of my Power, and hope to drive it even from my wish: Whether your disdain, or the Holy Banner I am listed under, has wrought this Effect, I know not, but methinks I breath another Air, think on you with more Tranquility, and bid you without dying, Eternally Adieu, Amena. P.S.Let Alovisa know I am no more her Rival, Heaven has my Soul, and I forgive you both. D’elmont was strangely fir’d at the reading these Lines, which left him no Room to doubt that his Letter had miscarried, he could not presently imagine by what means, but was resolv’d if possible, to find it out. However, he dissembled his Thoughts ’till the Gentleman had taken his leave; then calling for the 69 Servant, whom he had entrusted with the carrying it, he took him by the Throat, and holding his drawn Sword directly to his Breast, swore that Moment should be his last, if he did not immediately confess the Truth; the poor Fellow, frighted almost to Death, trembling, and falling on his Knees, implor’d Forgiveness, and discover’d all. Alovisa who was in the next Chamber, hearing her Husband call for that Servant, with a Tone somewhat more imperious than what he was accustom’d to, and a great Noise soon after, imagin’d some Accident had happen’d to betray her, and ran in to know the Certainty, just as the Count had discharg’d the Servant, at once from his Service and his Presence. You have done well Madam (said D’elmont, looking on her with Eyes sparkling with Indignation) you have done well, by your impertinent Curiosity and Imprudence, to rouze me from my Dream of Happiness, and remind me, that I am that wretched Thing a Husband! ’Tis well indeed (answer’d Alovisa, who saw now that there was no need of farther Dissimulation) that any thing can make you remember, both what you are, and what I am. You, (resum’d he, hastily interrupting her) have taken an effectual Method to prove your self a Wife!----a very Wife!----Insolent---Jealous---and Censorious!---But Madam (continued he frowning) since you are pleas’d to assert your Priveledge, be assur’d, I too shall take my turn, and will exert the---Husband! In saying this, he flung out of the Room in spite of her Endeavours to hinder him, and going hastily through a Gallery which had a large Window that looked into the Garden, he perceived Melliora lying on a green Bank, in a melancholy, but a charming Posture, directly opposite to the Place where he was; her Beauties appear’d, if possible, more to Advantage than ever he had seen them, or at least, he had more Opportunity thus unseen by her, to gaze upon ’em; he in a Moment lost all the Rage of Temper he had been in, and his whole Soul was taken up with softness; he stood for some Moments fix’d in 70 silent Admiration, but Love has small Dominion in a Heart, that can content it self with a distant Prospect, and there being a Pair of back-Stairs at the farther end of the Gallery, which led to the Garden. He either forgot, or not regarded what Construction > Alovisa might make on this private Interview, if by Chance, from any of the Windows she should be Witness of it. Melliora was so intent on a Book she had in her Hand, that she saw not the Count ’till he was close enough to her to discern what was the Subject of her Entertainment, and finding it the Works of Monsieur >L’fontenelle; Philosophy, Madam, at your Age (said he to her with an Air, which exprest surprize) is as wond’rous as your other Excellencies; but I am confident, had this Author ever seen Melliora, his Sentiments had been otherwise than now they seem to be, and he would have been able to write of nothing else but Love and her. Melliora blush’d Extremely at his unexpected Presence, and the Complement he made Her; but recollecting her self as soon as she cou’d; I have a better Opinion of MonsieurL’fontenelle, (answer’d she) but if I were really Mistress of as many Charms as you wou’d make me believe, I should think my self little beholding to Nature, for bestowing them on me, if by their means I were depriv’d of so choice an Improvement as this Book has given me. Thank Heaven, then Madam, (resum’d he) that you were born in an Age successive to that which has produc’d so many fine Treatises of this kind for your Entertainment; since (I am very Confident) this, and a long space of future Time will have no other Theme, but that which at present you seem so much averse to. Melliora found so much difficulty in endeavouring to Conceal the disorder she was in at this Discourse, that it rendered her unable to reply; and He, (who possibly guest the occasion of her silence) taking one of her Hands and tenderly pressing it between his, look’d so full in 71 her Eyes, as heighten’d her Confusion, and discover’d to his ravish’d View, what most he wish’d to find: Ambition, Envy, Hate, Fear, or Anger, every other Passion that finds Entrance in the Soul; Art, and Discretion, may Disguise, but Love, tho’ it may be feign’d, can never be Conceal’d, not only the Eyes (those true and most Perfect Intelligencers of the Heart) but every Feature, every Faculty betrays it! It fills the whole Air of the Person possest with it; it wanders round the Mouth! Plays in the Voice! trembles in the Accent! And shows it self a thousand different, nameless ways! Even Melliora’s Care to hide it, made it more apparent, and the Transported D’elmont not considering where he was, or who might be a witness of his Rapture, cou’d not forbear catching her in his Arms, and grasping her with an Extasie, which plainly told her what his thoughts were, tho’ at that time he had not Power to put ’em into Words; and indeed there is no greater proof of a vast and elegant Passion, than the being uncapable of Expressing it:-----He had perhaps held her in this strict embrace, ’till some Accident had discover’d and separated him from her; if the Alarm this manner of Proceeding gave her Modesty, had not made her force her self from him.---They both stood in a silent Consternation, nor was he much less disorder’d at the Temerity, the violence of his ungovernable Passion had made him guilty of, than she was at the Liberty he had taken; he knew not how to Excuse, nor she, to Reproach; Respect (the constant Attendant on a sincere Affection) had tyed his Tongue, and shame mixed with the uncertainty after what manner she shou’d resent it, Hers. At last, the Natural Confidence of his Sex Encourag’d him to break this mute Entertainment,--There are Times Madam (said he) in which the wisest have not Power over their own Actions---If therefore I have offended, impute not the Crime to me, but that unavoidable impulse which for a Moment hurry’d me from my self; for be assured while D’elmont can Command his Thoughts, they shall be 72 most obedient to your Wishes----As Melliora was about to reply, she saw a Servant coming hastily to speak to theCount, and was not a little glad of so favourable an opportunity to retire without being oblig’d to continue a Discourse in which she must either lay a severe Punishment on her Inclinations by making a quarrel with him, or by forgiving him too easily, Trespass against the strict Precepts of Virtue she had always profess’d: She made what haste she cou’d into her chamber, and carry’d with her a World of troubled Meditations, she now no longer doubted of theCount’s Passion, and trembled with the Apprehension of what he might in time be prompted to; but when she Reflected how dear that Person she had so much cause to fear, was to her, she thought her self, at once the most unfortunate and most Guilty of her Sex. The Servant who gave ’em this seasonable Interruption delivered a Letter to his Master, which he opening hastily, knowing that it came from his Brother by the Seal, found the Contents as follows. I hop’d (my Dearest Friend, and Brother) by this day to have Embrac’d you, but Fortune takes delight to disappoint our wishes, when highest rais’d, and nearest to their Aim.----The Letter I carry’d from her, whom I think it my Happiness to call Sister, joyn’d with my own Faith, Love, and Assiduity; at length Triumph’d over all the little niceties and objections my Charmer made against our Journey, and she Condescended to order every thing requisite for our departure from Amiens shou’d be got ready.----But how shall I Express the Grief, the Horrour, the Distraction of my Soul, when the very Evening before the Day we shou’d have set out, as I was sitting with her, a sudden, but terrible Illness, like the Hand of Death seiz’d on her, she fell (oh! my Brother) Cold, and Speechless in my Arms------Guess, what I endur’d at that Afflicting Moment, all that I had of Man, or Reason left me; and sure had 73 not the Care of the Baroness and some other Ladies (whom my Cries drew in to her Assistance) in a little time recover’d her, I had not now surviv’d to give you this Account: Again, I saw the Beauties of her Eyes! again, I heard her Voice, but her Disorder was yet so great, that it was thought convenient she should be put to Bed; the Baroness seeing my Despair, desired me not to quit her House, and by that Means I had News every Hour, how her Fevor encreas’d, or abated, for the Physicians being desir’d to deal freely, assur’d us, that was her Distemper: For several Days she continued in a Condition that could give us no Hopes of her Recovery; in which Time, as you may imagine, I was little capable of Writing.-----The wildness of my unruly Grief, made me not be permitted to come into her Chamber; but they cou’d not, without they had made use of Force, hinder me from lying at her Door: I counted all her Groans, heard every Sigh the Violence of her Pain drew from her, and watch’d the Countenance of every Person who came out of her Chamber, as Men who wou’d form a Judgment of future Consequences, do the Signs in Heaven.----But I trouble you with this tedious recital, she is now, if there is any Dependance on the Doctors Skill, past Danger, tho’ not fit to Travel, at least this Month, which gives no small Aleviation to the greatness of my Joys (which otherwise wou’d be unbounded) for her Recovery, since it occasions so long a Separation from the best of Brothers, and of Friends: Farewell, may all your Wishes meet Success, and an Eternal round of Happiness attend you; to add to mine, I beg you’ll write by the first Post, which, next to seeing you, is the greatest I can Taste. I am, my Lord, with all imaginable Tenderness and Respect, your most Affectionate Brother and Humble Servant, Brillian. The Count judg’d it proper that Alovisa shou’d see this Letter, because it so much concern’d her 74 Sister, and was ordering the Servant to carry it to her, (not being himself willing to speak to her) just as she was coming towards him: She had receiv’d a Letter from the BaronessDe Beronvill, at the same time that the ChevalierBrillian’s was brought, and was glad to take the Opportunity of Communicating the Contents of it, in hopes by this Conversation, to be reconcil’d to her Husband: But the gloomy Sullenness of the Humour he had left her with, return’d at Sight of her, and after some little Discourse of Family Affairs, which he could not avoid answering, walk’d carelesly away: She follow’d him at a distance, ’till he was got up to the Gallery, and perceiving he went toward his Closet, mended her Pace, and was close to him when he was going in. My Lord, (said she) with a Voice but half assured, and which would not have given her leave to utter more, if he had not interrupted her, by telling her he would be alone, and shutting the Door hastily upon her, but she prevented his Locking of it, by pushing against it with all her Force, and he, not exerting his, for fear of hurting her, suffer’d her Entrance: But look’d on her with a Countenance so forbidding, as in spite of the natural Haughtiness of her Temper, and the Resolution she had made to speak to him, render’d her unable for some Moments to bring forth a Word; but the silent Grief, which appear’d in her Face, pleaded more with the good Nature of the Count, than any thing she could have said: He began to pity the unhappiness of her too violent Affection, and to wish himself in a Capacity of returning it, however, he (like other Husbands) thought it best to keep up his Resentments, and take this Opportunity of Quelling all the Woman in her Soul, and humbling all the little Remains of Pride that Love had left her. Madam, (resum’d he) with an Accent, which tho’ something more softned, was still imperious enough, if you have any Thing of Consequence to impart to me, I desire you will be as brief as you can, for I would be left to the Freedom 75 of my Thoughts---Alovisa cou’d not yet answer, but letting fall a Shower of Tears, and throwing her self on the Ground, Embrac’d his Knees with so Passionate a Tenderness, as sufficiently exprest her Repentance for having been guilty of any thing to disoblige him: D’elmont was most sensibly touch’d at this Behaviour, so vastly different from what he cou’d have expected from the greatness of her Spirit, and raising her with an obliging Air. I am sorry (said he) that any thing should happen to occasion this Submission, but since what’s past, is out of either of our Powers to recall: I shall endeavour to think of it no more, provided you’ll promise me, never for the future to be guilty of any thing which may give me an uneasiness by the sight of yours----’Tis impossible to represent the Transport of Alovisa at this kind Expression, she hung upon his Neck, kissed the dear Mouth which had pronounc’d her Pardon, with Raptures of unspeakable Delight, she sigh’d with Pleasure, as before she had done with Pain, she wept, she even dy’d with Joy!----No, no, my Lord, my Life, my Angel, (cry’d she, as soon as she had Power to speak) I never will Offend you more, no more be Jealous, no more be doubtful of my Happiness! You are!--you will be only mine, I know you will----Your kind Forgiveness of my Folly, assures me that you are mine, not more by Duty than by Love! A Tye far more valuable than that of Marriage. The Count conscious of her Mistake, had much ado to conceal his Disorder at these Words, and being unwilling she should proceed; as soon as he could (without seeming unkind or rude) disingag’d himself from her Arms, and took a Pen in his Hand, which he told her he was about to employ in answering the Chevalier >Brillian’s Letter; Alovisa who now resolv’d an entire Obedience to his Will, and remembring he had desired to be alone, withdrew, full of the Idea of an imagin’d Felicity----Her Heart was now at ease, she believ’d, that if her Husband had any Remains of Passion forAmena, the impossibility of 76 ever seeing her again, would soon extinguish them, and since she was so happily reconcil’d, was far from repenting her intercepting of his Letter: But poor Lady, she did not long enjoy this Peace of Mind, and this Interval of Tranquility serv’d but to heighten her ensuing Miseries. The Count’s secret Passion for Melliora grew stronger by his endeavouring to suppress it, and perceiving that she carefully avoided all Opportunities of being alone with him one Moment, since his Behaviour to her in the Garden, he grew almost Distracted with the continual Restraint he was forc’d to put on all his Words and Actions: He durst not Sigh nor send an amorous Glance, for fear of offending her, and alarming his Wive’s Jealousy, so lately lull’d to Sleep: He had no Person in whom he had Confidence enough to trust with his Misfortune, and had certainly sunk under the Pressure of it, if Alovisa, who observing an Alteration in his Countenance and Humour, fearing he was really indispos’d (which was the excuse he made for his Melancholly) had not perswaded him to go into the Country, hoping that change of Air might do him good: He had a very fine Seat near Anjerville in the Province of Le Beausse, which he had not been at for some Years, and he was very willing to comply with Alovisa’s Desires of passing the remainder of the Summer in a Solitude, which was now become agreeable to him; the greatest Difficulty was, in perswading Melliora to accompany them thither; he guess’d by her reserv’d Behaviour, that she only waited an Opportunity to leave the Place where he was, and was not mistaken in his Conjecture: One Day as they were talking of it, she told them she was resolv’d to return to the Monastery where she had been Educated, that the World was too noisy a Place for one of her Taste, who had no relish for any of the Diversions of it: Every Word she spoke, was like a Dagger to D’elmont’s Heart; yet, he so artfully manag’d his Endeavours, between the Authority 77 of a Guardian, and the Entreaties of a Friend, that she was at last overcome. ’Tis hard for the severest Virtue to deny themselves the Sight of the Person belov’d, and whatever Resolutions we make, there are but few, who like Melliora might not by such a Lover be prevail’d upon to break them. As soon as their coming into the Country was spread abroad, they were visited by all the Neighbouring People of Quality, but there was none so welcome to D’elmont as the BaronD’espernay; they had before theCount’s going into the Army been very intimate Acquaintance, and were equally glad of this opportunity to renew a Friendship, which Time and Absence had not entirely erac’d. The Baron had a Sister young, and very agreeable, but gay even to Coquetry; they liv’d together, being both single, and he brought her with him, hearing the Count was Married, to visit his Lady: There were several other young Noble Men and Ladies there, at the same time, and the Conversation grew so delightfully Entertaining, that it was impossible for Persons less prepossest than the Count and Melliora, to retain their Chagrin; but, tho’ there were scarce any in the Company that might not have list’ned with a pleas’d Attention, to what those two admirable Persons were capable of saying, yet their secret Sorrows kept them both in silence, ’tillMelantha, for that was the Name of the Barons Sister, took upon her to divert the Company with some Verses on Love; which she took out of her Pocket-Book and read to ’em: Every Body extoll’d the softness of the Stile, and the Subject they were upon. But Melliora who was willing to take all opportunities of Condemning that Passion, as well to conceal it in her self as to check what ever hopes the Count might have, now discovered the force of her Reason, the Delicacy of her Wit, and the Penetration of her Judgment, in a manner so sweetly surprizing to all that were Strangers to her, that they presently found, that it was not want of Noble, and truly agreeable Thoughts or Words 78 to express ’em, that had so long depriv’d them of the Pleasure of hearing her; she urg’d the Arguments she brought against the giving way to Love, and the Danger of all softning Amusements, with such a becoming fierceness, as made every Body of the Opinion that she was born only to create Desire, not be susceptible of it her self. The Count as he was most Concern’d, took the most particular Notice of all she said, and was not a little alarm’d to see her appear so much in earnest, but durst not answer, or Endeavour to confute her, because of Alovysa’s presence: But it was not long before he had an opportunity, a few Days after he met with one, as full as he cou’d wish. Returning one Evening from the BaronD’espernay’s, whom he had now made the Confident of his Passion, and who had Encourag’d him in it, he was told that Alovysa was gone out to take the Air, and hearing no mention of Melliora’s being with her, he stay’d not to enquire, but running directly to her Chamber, made his Eyes his best Informers: He found her lying on a Couch in a most charming Dissabillee, she had but newly come from Bathing, and her Hair unbraided, hung down upon her Shoulders with a negligence more Beautiful than all the Aids of Art cou’d form in the most exact Decorum of Dress; part of it fell upon her Neck and Breast, and with it’s Lovely Shadiness, being of a Delicate dark Brown, set off to vast Advantage, the matchless whiteness of her Skin: Her Gown and the rest of her Garments were white, and all ungirt, and loosely flowing, discover’d a Thousand Beauties, which Modish Formalities conceal. A Book lay open by her, on which she had reclin’d her Head, as if been tir’d with Reading, she Blush’d at sight of the Count, and rose from off the Couch with a Confusion which gave new Lustre to her Charms, but he not permitting her to stir from the place she was in, sat down by Her, and casting his Eyes on the Book which lay there, found it to be Ovid’s-Epistles, How Madam (cry’d he, not a little pleas’d with the Discovery) dare you, who the other Day so warmly 79 inveigh’d against Writings of this Nature, trust your self with so Dangerous an Amusement? How happens it, that you are so suddenly come over to our Party? Indeed my Lord (answer’d she, growing more disorder’d) it was Chance rather than Choice, that directed this Book to my Hands, I am yet far from approving Subjects of this Kind, and believe I shall be ever so: Not that I can perceive any Danger in it, as to my self, the Retirement I have always liv’d in, and the little Propensity I find to entertain a Thought of that uneasie Passion, has hitherto secur’d me from any Prepossession, without which, Ovid’s Art is Vain. Nay, Madam, reply’d the Count, now you Contradict your former Argument, which was, that these sort of Books were, as it were, Preparatives to Love, and by their softning Influence, melted the Soul, and made it fit for amorous Impressions, and so far, you certainly were in the right, for when once the Fancy is fixed on a real Object, there will be no need of Auxillary Forces, the Dear Idea will spread it self thro’ every Faculty of the Soul, and in a Moment inform us better, than all the Writings of the most Experienc’d Poets, cou’d do in an Age. Well, my Lord, (said she endeavouring to Compose her self) I am utterly unambitious of any Learning this way, and shall endeavour to retain in Memory, more of the Misfortunes that attended the Passion of Sappho, than the Tender, tho’ never so Elegant Expressions it produc’d: And if all Readers of Romances took this Method, the Votaries of Cupid wou’d be fewer, and the Dominion of Reason more Extensive. You speak (Answer’d D’elmont) as tho’ Love and Reason were Incompatible, there is no Rule (said she) my Lord, without Exception, they are indeed sometimes united, but how often they are at Variance, where may we not find Proofs, History is full of them, and daily Examples of the many Hair-brain’d Matches, and slips, much less excusable, sufficiently evince how little Reason has to do in the Affairs of Love, I mean (continu’d she, with a very serious Air) that sort of Love, for 80 there are two, which hurries People on to an immediate Gratification of their Desires, tho’ never so prejudicial to themselves, or the Person they pretend to Love. Pray Madam (said the Count a little nettled at this Discourse) what Love is that which seems at least to Merit the Approbation of a Lady so extreamly nice? It has many Branches (reply’d she) in the first Place that which we owe to Heaven, in the next to our King, our Country, Parents, Kindred, Friends, and Lastly, that which Fancy inclines, and Reason guides us to, in a Partner for Life, but here every Circumstance must agree, Parity of Age, of Quality, of Fortune, and of Humour, Consent of Friends, and Equal Affection in each other, for if any one of these particulars fail, it renders all the rest of no Effect. Ah, Madam (cry’d the Count not able to suffer her to proceed). What share of Pity then can you afford to a Man who, loves where almost all these Circumstances are wanting, and what Advice wou’d you give a wretch so Curst? I wou’d have him think, (said she more Gravely than before) How Madam, (resum’d he) think did you say? Alas! ’Tis Thought that has undone him, that’s very possible (answer’d she) but yet ’tis want of thinking justly, for in a Lovers Mind Illusions seem Realities, and what at an other time wou’d be look’d on as Impossible, appears easie then: They indulge, and feed their new-born Folly with a prospect of a Hope, tho’ ne’re so distant a one, and in the vain pursuit of it, fly Consideration, ’till dispair starts up in the midway, and bar’s their promis’d View; whereas if they gave way to due Reflection, the Vanity of the Attempt wou’d presently be shown, and the same cause that bid ’em cease to hope, wou’d bid ’em cease to wish: Ah Madam (said he) how little do you know of that Passion, and how easily cou’d I disprove you by the Example of my Friend; despair and Love are of an equal Age in him, and from the first Moment he beheld his Adorable Charmer, he has Languished without the least mixture of a flattering Hope. I Grant the Flames with which our Modern Gallants are ordinarily animated, cannot long 81 subsist without Fewel, but where Love is kindled in a Generous Heart by a just Admiration of the real Merits of the Object belov’d, Reason goes Hand in Hand with it, and makes it lasting as our Life. In my Mind (answer’d Melliora Coldly) an Esteem so Grounded may more properly be ascribed to Friendship, then be it so Madam, (rejoyn’d the Count briskly) Friendship and Love, where either are sincere, vary but little in their meaning, there may indeed be some Distinctions in their Ceremonies, but their Essentials are still the same: And if the Gentleman I speak of were so happy as to hope his Friendship wou’d be acceptable, I dare promise that he never wou’d complain his Love were not so. You have a strange way (said she) to Confound Idea’s, which in my Opinion are so vastly different, that I shou’d make no Difficulty in granting my Friendship to as many of my Acquaintance, as had Merit to deserve it; but if I were to Love in that general Manner, ’twould be a Crime wou’d justly render me Contemptible to Mankind: Madam (replyed the Count) when I spoke of the Congruity of Love and Friendship, I did not mean that sort, which to me, seems unworthy of the Name of either, but that Exalted one, which made Orestes and Pilades, Theseus and Perithous so Famous. That, which has no Reserve, no separate Interest, or divided Thoughts, That which fills all,----gives all the Soul, and esteems even Life a Trifle, to prove it self sincere----What can Love do more than yield every thing to the object Belov’d? And Friendship must do so too, or it is not Friendship! Therefore take heed fair Angel (continu’d he, taking her Hand, and kissing it) how you Promise Friendship, where you ne’re mean to Love: And observing she was Silent, your Hand, (said he) your Lip, your Neck, your Breast, your All.----All this whole Heaven of Beauty must be no longer in your own Disposal----All is the Prize of Friendship! As much Confus’d as Melliora was, at these Words, which gave her sufficient Reason to fear he wou’d now declare himself more fully than she desir’d; 82 she had Spirit and Resolution enough to withdraw her Hand from his, and with a look, that spoke her Meaning but too plainly for the repose of the Enamour’d D’elmont: I shall take care my Lord (said she) how I Commence a Friendship with any Person who shall make use of it to my Prejudice. The Count was now sensible of his Error in going so far, and fearing he had undone himself in her Esteem by his rash Proceeding, thought it was best at once to throw off a Disguise which, in spight of his Endeavours wou’d fall off, of itself, and by making a bold and free Confession of his real Sentiments, oblige her to a Discovery of hers.----I do not doubt your Caution, Madam, (answer’d he) in this point: Your Reserved Behaviour, even to me, convinces me, but too fully, how little you are disposed to give, or receive any Proofs of Friendship: But perhaps (continu’d he, with a deep sigh) my too presuming Eyes have rendred me a suspected Person, and while you find in me the Wretch I have discrib’d, you find nothing in me worthy of a happier Fortune; you are worthy every thing my Lord, (said Melliora quite beside her self at these Words) nor are you less happy than you deserve to be, and I wou’d rather that these Eyes shou’d loose their sight than view you otherwise than now I see you, blest in every Circumstance, the Darling of the World, the Idol of the Court, and Favourite of Heaven! Oh stop! (Cry’d D’elmont hastily Interrupting her) forbear to Curse me farther, rather Command my Death, than wish the Continuance of my present Miseries. Cruel Melliora too well, alas, you know what I have endur’d from the first fatal Moment I beheld you, and only feign an Ignorance to distract me more: A Thousand times you have read my Rising wishes, sparkling in my Eyes, and glowing on my Cheeks, as often seen my Virtue struggling in silent Tremblings, and Life-wasting Anguish to suppress desire. Nay, Madam (said he Catching fast hold of both her Hands, seeing her about to rise) by all my sleepless Nights, and restless 83 Days, by all my countless burning Agonies; by all the Torments of my gall’d, bleeding Heart, I swear, that you shall hear me: I have heard too much (cry’d Melliora not able to contain her self) and tho’ I am unwilling to believe you have any farther aim in this Discourse than your Diversion, yet I must tell your Lordship, that there are Themes more proper for it, than the Daughter of your Friend, who was entrusted to your Care with a far different Opinion of your Behaviour to her. What have I done (resum’d the almost the Distracted Count, falling at her Feet, and grasping her Knees) what have I done, Inhuman Melliora! To deserve this Rigour? My Honour has hitherto prevail’d above desire, fierce, and raging as it is, nor had I any other hopes by making this Declaration, than to meet that pity my Misfortunes merit; and you cannot without Ingratitude deny: Pity, even to Criminals is allow’d, and sure, where the offence is unvoluntary, like mine, ’tis due: ’Tis impossible to guess the Conflict in Melliora’s Breast at this Instant, she had heard a most Passionate Declaration of Love from a married Man, and by Consequence, whatever his Pretences were, cou’d look on his Designs no otherwise than aim’d at the Destruction of her Honour, and was fir’d with a virtuous Indignation. But then she saw in this married Man, the only Person in the World, who was capable of Inspiring her with a tender Thought, she saw him reduc’d to the last Extremity of Despair for her sake: She heard his sighs, she felt his Tremblings as he held her, and cou’d not refrain shedding some Tears, both for him, and for her self, who indeed suffer’d little less; but the Count was not so happy as to be Witness of this Testimony of her Compassion: He had reclin’d his Head on her Lap, possibly to hide those that forc’d their way thro’ his Eyes, at the same time; and Alovisa’s Voice which they heard below, giving them both an Alarm; they had no further opportunity for Speech, and the Count was but just gone out of the Room, and Melliora 84 laid on the Couch in the same careless Possture which he had found her in; when Alovisa enter’d the Chamber, and after having a little pleasantly Reproach’d her, for being so lazy as not to accompany her in the Walk she had been taking, ask’d her if she had not seen the Count, who she had been told was come home: Poor Melliora had much ado to conceal the Disorder she was in at this Question, but recovering her self as well as she could, answer’d in the Affirmative; but that he had not staid there longer than to enquire where she was gone, and that she knew not but he might be gone in search of her: This was enough to make Alovisa take her leave, impatient for the Sight of her dear Lord, a Happiness she had not enjoy’d since Morning, but she was disappointed of her Hope. The Count, as late as it was in the Evening, went into his Chaise, which had not been set up since he came from the BaronD’espernay’s and drove thither again with all the Speed he could. The Baron was extreamly surpriz’d at his sudden Return, and with so much Confusion and Melancholy in his Countenance. But much more so, when he had given him an Account of what had pass’d between him and Melliora and cou’d not forbear rallying him excessively on the Occasion. What, said he, a Man of Wit, and Pleasure like CountD’elmont a Man, who knows the Sex so well, could he let slip so favourable an Opportunity with the finest Woman in the World; One, for whose Enjoyment he wou’d Die.----Cou’d a Frown, or a little angry Coyness, (which ten to one was but affected) have Power to freeze such fierce Desires. The Count was not at present in a Humour to relish this Merriment, he was too seriously in Love to bear that any thing relating to it, should be turn’d into Ridicule, and was far from repenting he had done no more, since what he had done, had occasion’d her Displeasure: But the Baron, who had Designs in his Head, which he knew cou’d 85 not by any means be brought to succeed, but by keeping the Count’s Passion warm, made Use of all the Artifice he was Master of, to embolden this respective Lover, to the Gratification of his Wishes: And growing more grave than he had been, My Lord, said he, you do not only injure the Dignity of our Sex in general, but your own Merits in particular, and perhaps even Melliora’s secret Inclinations, by this unavailing distant Carriage: and causeless Despair.----Have you not confess’d that she has look’d on you with a Tenderness, like that of Love, that she has blush’d at your Sight, and trembled at your Touch?----What would you more that she should do, or what indeed, can she do more, in Modesty, to prove her Heart is yours? A little Resolution on your side would make her all yours----Women are taught by Custom to deny what most they covet, and to seem Angry, when they are best Pleas’d; believe me, D’elmont, that the most rigid Virtue of ’em all, never yet hated a Man for those Faults, which Love occasions: All this answer’d the Count, is what I readily agree to:---But O her Father’s Memory! My Obligation to him! Her Youth and Innocence are Daggers to my cool Reflections---Wou’d it not be Pity (D’espernay! continued he with a deep Sigh) even if she shou’d consent, to ruin so much Sweetness? The Baron could not forbear laughing at these Words, and the Count who had started these Objections, only with the Hope of having them remov’d, easily suffer’d himself to be perswaded to follow his Inclinations; and it was soon concluded betwixt them, that on the first Opportunity, Melliora should fall a Sacrifice to Love. The Count came not Home ’till the next Morning, and brought the Baron with him, for they were now become inseparable Friends: At his return, he found Alovisa in a very ill Humour for his being abroad all Night, and in spite of the Resolution she had made of shewing a perfect Resignation to her Husband’s 86 Will, could not forbear giving him some Hints, how unkindly she took it, which he but little regarded, all his Thoughts were now bent on the gaining Melliora. But that Lady alarm’d at his late Behaviour, and with Reason, doubting her own Power of resenting it as she ought, or indeed resisting any future Attempts he might make, feign’d the necessity of performing some private Rules of Devotion, enjoyn’d her as a Pennance, and kept her Chamber that she might not see him. The Disquietudes of D’elmont for being forc’d to live, but for three or four Days without the happiness of beholding her, convinc’d him how impossible it was for him to overcome his Passion, tho’ he should never so vigorously endeavour it, and that whatever Method he shou’d make use of to satisfy it, might be excus’d by the Necessity. What is it that a Lover cannot accomplish when Resolution is on his Side? D’elmont after having formed a Thousand fruitless Inventions, at last pitch’d on One, which promis’d him an assurance of Success: In Melliora’s Chamber there was a little Door that open’d to a Pair of Back Stairs, for the Convenience of the Servants coming to clean the Room, and at the Bottom of that Descent, a Gate into the Garden. The Count set his Wits to work, to get the Keys of those two Doors; that of the Garden stood always in it, nor cou’d he keep it without its being miss’d at Night, when they shou’d come to fasten the Gate, therefore he carefully took the Impression in Wax, and had one made exactly like it: The other he cou’d by no means compass without making some excuse to go to Melliora’s Chamber, and she had desired that none might visit her: But he overcome this Bar to his Design at last; there was a Cabinet in it, where he told Alovisa he had put some Papers of great Concern, which now he wanted to look over, and desired she would make an Apology for his coming 87 in, to fetch them. Melliora imagin’d this was only a Pretence to see her, but his Wife being with him, and he saying nothing to her, or taking any further notice than what common Civility required, was not much troubled at it. While Alovisa was paying a Complement to the Recluse, he was dext’rous enough to slip the Key out of the Door, unperceiv’d by either of them. As soon as he had got the Passport to his expected Joys in his Possession, he order’d a couple of Saddle Horses to be made ready, and only attended by one Servant, rid out, as if to take the Air; but when they were got about two or three Miles from his House, Commanded him to return and tell his Lady, that he should lye that Night at the BaronD’espernay’s, the Fellow obey’d, and clapping Spurs to his Horse, was immediately lost in a Cloud of Dust. D’elmont had sent this Message to prevent any of the Family sitting up expecting him, and instead of going to the Barons, turn’d short, and went to Angerville, where meeting with some Gentlemen of his Acquaintance, he pass’d the Hours ’till between Twelve and One, as pleasantly as his Impatience to be with Melliora would give him leave: He had not much above a Furlong to ride, and his Desires made him not spare his Horse, which he ty’d by the Bridle, hot and foaming as he was, to a huge Oak, which grew pretty near his Garden; it was incompass’d only with a Hedge, and that so low, that he got over it without any Difficulty; he look’d carefully about him, and found no Tell-tale Lights in any of the Rooms, and concluding all was as hush’d as he cou’d wish, open’d the first Door, but the encreasing Transports of his Soul, as he came up Stairs, to be so near the end of all his Wishes, are more easily imagin’d than express’d; but as violent as they were, they presently receiv’d a vast Addition, when he came into the happy Chamber, and by a most delightfull 88 Gloom, a Friend to Lovers, (for it was neither Dark nor Light), he beheld the lovely Melliora in her Bed, and fast asleep, her Head was reclin’d on one of her Arms; a Pillow softer and whiter far than that it lean’d on, the other was stretch’d out, and with its extension had thrust down the Bed-cloths so far, that all the Beauties of her Neck and Breast appear’d to View. He took an inexpressible Pleasure in gazing on her as she lay, and in this silent Contemplation of her thousand Charms, his Mind was agitated with various Emotions, and the resistless Posture he beheld her in, rouz’d all that was honourable in him, he thought it Pity even to wake her, but more to wrong such Innocence; and he was sometimes prompted to return and leave her as he found her. But whatever Dominion, Honour and Virtue may have over our waking Thoughts, ’tis certain that they fly from the clos’d Eyes, our Passions then exert their forceful Power, and that which is most Predominant in the Soul, agitates the Fancy, and brings even Things impossible to pass: Desire, with watchful Diligence repell’d, returns with greater Violence in unguarded Sleep, and overthrows the vain Efforts of Day. Melliora in spite of her self, was often happy in Idea, and possess’d a Blessing which Shame and Guilt deter’d her from in reality. Imagination at this Time was active, and brought the charming Count much nearer than indeed he was, and he, stooping to the Bed, and gently laying his Face close to hers, (possibly designing no more than to steal a Kiss from her, unperceiv’d) that Action concurring at that Instant with her Dream, made her throw her Arm (still slumbering) about his Neck, and in a soft and languishing Voice, cry out, O! D’elmont, cease, cease to Charm, to such a height----Life cannot bear these Raptures!---And then again Embracing him yet closer,---O! too, too lovely Count---Extatick Ruiner! 89 Where was now the Resolution he was forming some Moments before? If he had now left her, some might have applauded an Honour so uncommon, but more wou’d have condemn’d his Stupidity, for I believe there are very few Men, how Stoical soever they pretend to be, that in such a tempting Circumstance would not have lost all Thoughts, but those, which the present Opportunity inspir’d. That he did, is most certain, for he tore open his Wastecoat, and joyn’d his panting Breast to hers, with such a tumultuous Eagerness! Seiz’d her with such a rapidity of transported Hope-crown’d Passion, as immediately wak’d her from an imaginary Felicity, to the Approaches of a solid one. Where have I been (said she, just opening her Eyes) where am I?---(And then coming more perfectly to her self) Heaven! What’s this?--I am D’elmont (cry’d the o’erjoy’d Count) the happy D’elmont! Melliora’s, the charming Melliora’s D’elmont! Oh, all ye Saints, (resum’d the surpriz’d, trembling Fair) ye ministring Angels! Whose Business it is to guard the Innocent! Protect and shield my Virtue! O! say, how came you here, my Lord? Love, said he, Love that does all, that Wonder-working Power has sent me here, to charm thee, sweet Resister, into yielding. O! hold, (cry’d she, finding he was proceeding to Liberties, which her Modesty could not allow of) forbear, I do conjure you, even by that Love you plead, before my Honour I’ll resign my Life! Therefore, unless you wish to see me dead, a Victim to your cruel, fatal Passion, I beg you to desist, and leave me:---I cannot---must not (answer’d he, growing still more bold) what, when I have thee thus! Thus naked in my Arms, trembling, defenceless, yielding, panting with equal Wishes, thy Love confess’d, and every Thought, Desire! What could’st thou think if I should leave thee? How justly would’st thou scorn my easy Tameness; my Dulness, unworthy the Name of Lover, or even of Man!--Come, come, no more 90 Reluctance (continued he, gathering Kisses from her soft Snowy Breast at every Word) Damp not the Fires thou hast rais’d with seeming Coyness! I know thou art mine! All mine! And thus I--yet think (said she, interrupting him, and struggling in his Arms) think what ’tis that you wou’d do; nor, for a Moment’s Joy, hazard your Peace for ever. By Heaven, cry’d he, I will this Night be Master of my Wishes, no matter what to Morrow may bring forth: As soon as he had spoke these Words, he put it out of her Power either to deny or reproach him, by stopping her Mouth with Kisses, and was just on the Point of making good what he had vow’d, when a loud knocking at the Chamber Door, put a stop to his beginning Extacy, and chang’d the sweet Confusion Melliora had been in, to all the Horrors, of a Shame and Guilt-distracted Apprehension: They made no Doubt but that it was Alovisa, and that they were betray’d; the Count’s greatest Concern was for Melliora, and the Knocking still continuing louder, all he cou’d do in this Exigence, was to make his Escape the Way he came: There was no time for taking leave, and he could only say, perceiving she was ready to faint with her Fears-----Be comforted my Angel, and resolute in your Denials, to whatever Questions the natural Insolence of a Jealous Wife may provoke mine to ask you; and we shall meet again (if D’elmont survives this Disappointment) without Danger, of so quick, so curst a Separation. Melliora was in too much Distraction to make any Answer to what he said, and he had left the Room some Moments, before she cou’d get Spirit enough to ask who was at the Door? But when she did, was as much surpriz’d to find it was >Melantha, who desir’d to be let in, as before she was frighted at the Belief it was Alovisa, however, she immediately slipt on her Night-Gown and Slippers, and open’d the Door. You are a sound Sleeper indeed (Cry’dMelantha laughing) that all the Noise I have made cou’d not 91 wake you. I have not been all this time asleep (answer’d Melliora) but not knowing you were in the House, cou’d not imagine who it was that gave me this Disturbance. I heartily ask your Pardon (said >Melantha) and I know, my Dear, you are too good Natur’d to refuse it me, especially when you know the Occasion, which is so very Whimsical, that as grave as you are, you cannot help being diverted with it----But come (continu’d she) get on your Cloaths, for you must go along with me. Where, said Melliora, Nay, nay, ask no Questions (resum’d >Melantha) but make haste, every Minute that we Idle away here, loses us the Diversion of an Age. As she spoke these Words, she fell into such an excessive Laughter, that Melliora thought her Mad, but being far from Sympathizing in her Gaiety; it has always (said she) been hitherto my Custom to have some Reason for what I do, tho’ in never so trifling an Affair, and you must excuse me, if I do not break it now. Pish (cry’dMelantha) you are of the oddest Temper,----but I will give you your Way for once,-----provided you’ll get your self ready in the mean time. I shall certainly put on my Cloaths (said Melliora) lest I should take cold, for I expect you’ll not permit me to sleep any more this Night. You may be sure of it (rejoyn’dMelantha.) But to the Purpose,-----You must know, having an Hour or two on my hands, I came this Evening to visit Alovysa, and found her in the strangest Humour!----Good God! What unaccountable Creatures these married Women are?----her Husband it seems had sent her Word that he wou’d lye at my Brothers, and the poor loving Soul cou’d not bear to live a Night without him. I stay’d to condole with her, (tho’ on my Life, I cou’d scarce forbear Laughing in her Face) ’till it was too late to go Home.----About twelve a Clock she yawn’d, stretch’d, and grew most horridly out of Temper; rail’d at Mankind prodigiously, and curs’d Matrimony as heartily as one of Fourscore cou’d do, that had been twice a Widow, and was left a Maid!----With much 92 ado, I made her Women thrust her into Bed, and retired to a Chamber which they shew’d me, but I had no Inclination to sleep, I remember’d my self of five or six Billet-Doux I had to answer,----a Lover, that growing foolishly troublesome, I have some thoughts of discharging to Morrow----Another that I design to Countenance, to pique a third----a new Suit of Cloaths, and Trimmings for the next Ball----Half a hundred new Songs---and---a thousand other Affairs of the utmost Consequence to a young Lady, came into my Head in a Moment; and the Night being extreamly pleasant, I set the Candle in the Chimney, open’d the Window, and fell to considering---But I had not been able to come to a conclusion what I should do in any one thing I was thinking of, before I was interrupted in my Cogitations, with a noise of something rushing hastily thro’ the Myrtles under my Window, and presently after, saw it was a Man going hastily along toward the great Alley of the Garden.----At first I was going to cry out and Alarm the Family, taking it for a Thief; But, Dear Melliora, how glad am I that I did not?----For who do you think, when I look’d more heedfully, I perceiv’d it was? Nay, how should I know? (cry’d Melliora peevishly, fearing the Count’s Inadvertency had expos’d himself and her to this foolish Woman’s Curiosity) It was CountD’elmont (resum’dMelantha) I’ll lay my Life, that he has been on some Intreague to Night: And met with a Disappointment in it, by his quick Return.---But prithee make hast, for I long to rally him about it. What wou’d you do Madam? (said Melliora) you wou’d not sure go to him? Yes, (answer’dMelantha): I will go down into the Garden, and so shall you.---I know you have a back Way from your Chamber---Therefore lay aside this unbecoming Demureness, and let us go, and talk him to Death. You may do as you please, (said Melliora) but for my part, I am for no such Frolicks. Was ever any thing so young, so Formal as you are! (Rejoyn’dMelantha) but I am resolv’d to Teaze 93 you out of a humour so directly opposite to the Beau-Monde, and, if you will not Consent to go down with me: I will fetch him up to your Chamber----Hold! Hold, (cry’d Melliora perceiving she was going) what do you mean, for Heavens sake stay, what will Alovysa think?---I care not, reply’d the other; I have set my Heart on an hours Diversion with him and will not be baulk’d, if the repose of the World, much less, that of a Jealous, silly Wife, depended on it. Melliora saw into the Temper of this Capricious young Lady too well not to believe she wou’d do, as she had said, and perhaps, was not over willing to venture her with the Count alone, at that Time of Night, and in the Humour she knew he was, therefore putting on an Air more chearful than that she was Accustom’d to wear, well (said she) I will Accompany you into the Garden, since it will so much oblige you; but if the Count be wise, he will, by quitting the Place, as soon as he sees us, disappoint you worse than I shou’d have done, if I had kept you here. With these Words she took her by the Hand, and they went down the Stairs, where the Count was but just past before them. He had not Power to go away, without knowing who it was, that had given him that Interruption, and had stood all this Time, on the upper Step behind the inner Door. His Vexation, and Disdain when he heard it wasMelantha gave him as much Pain, as his Concern while he believ’d it Alovysa, and he cou’d not forbear muttering a thousand Curses on her Impertinence. He always despis’d, but now abhor’d her: She had behav’d her self to him in a Fashion, as made him sufficiently Sensible she was desirous of engaging him, and he resolv’d to Mortifie by the bitterest Slights, both her Pride, and Love, if ’tis proper, to call that sort of liking which Agitates the Soul of Coquet, by that Name. 94 The Ladies walk’d in the Garden for some time, andMelantha search’d every Bush, before she found the Count who stood Conceal’d in the Porch, which being cover’d with Jessamin, and Fillaree, was Dark enough to hide him from their View, tho’ they had pass’d close to him as they came out. He had certainly remain’d there ’till Morning, and disappointed >Melantha’s search in part of the Revenge he ow’d her, if his Desires to be with Melliora, on any Terms, had not prevail’d, even above his Anger to the other. But he cou’d not see that Charmer of his Soul, and imagine there might be yet an opportunity that Night of stealing a Kiss from her (now he believ’d resistless Lips) of Touching her Hand! Her Breast! And repeating some farther Freedoms which his late Advantage over her had given him, without being fill’d with Wishes too Fiery and too Impatient to be restrain’d. He watch’d their turning, and when he saw that they were near an Ally which had another that led to it, he went round and met them. Melantha was overjoy’d at sight of him, and Melliora, tho’ equally pleas’d, was Cover’d with such a Confusion, at the Remembrance of what had pass’d, that it was happy for her that her Companion’s Volubility gave her no room for Speech. There is nothing more certain, than that Love, tho’ it fills the mind with a thousand charming Ideas, which those untouch’d by that Passion, are not capable of conceiving, yet it entirely takes away the Power of Utterance, and the deeper Impression it had made on the Soul, the less we are able to express it, when willing to indulge and give a loose to Thought; what Language can furnish us with Words sufficient, all are too poor, all wanting both in Sublimity, and Softness, and only Fancy! A lovers Fancy! can reach the Exalted soaring of a Lovers Meaning! But, if so impossible to be Describ’d, if of so Vast, so Wonderful a Nature as nothing but it’s self can Comprehend, 95 how much more impossible must it be, entirely to conceal it! What Strength of boasted Reasons? What Force of Resolution? What modest Fears, or cunning Artifice can correct the Fierceness of its fiery Flashes in the Eyes, keep down the struggling Sighs, command the Pulse, and bid trembling cease? Honour and Virtue may distance Bodies, but there is no Power in either of those Names, to stop the Spring, that with a rapid Whirl transports us from our selves, and darts our Souls into the Bosom of the darling Object. This may seem strange to many, even of those who call, and perhaps believe that they are Lovers, but the few who have Delicacy enough to feel what I but imperfectly attempt to speak, will acknowledge it for Truth, and pity the Distress of Melliora. As they were passing thro’ a Walk of Trees on each Side, whose intermingling Boughs made a friendly Darkness, and every thing Undistinguishable, the Amorous D’elmont throwing his eager Arms round the Waist of his (no less transported) Melliora, and Printing burning Kisses on her Neck, reap’d painful Pleasure, and created in her a racking kind of Extasie, which might perhaps, had they been now alone, prov’d her Desires were little different from his. After Melantha had vented part of the Raillery, she was so big with, on the Count, which he but little regarded, being wholly taken up with other Thoughts, she propos’d, going into the Wilderness, which was at the farther end of the Garden, and they readily agreeing to it. Come, my Lord, (said she) to the Count, you are Melancholly, I have thought of a way which will either indulge the Humour you are in, or divert it, as you shall chuse: There are several little Paths in this Wilderness, let us take each a separate one, and when we meet, which shall be here, where we part, agree to tell an entertaining Story, which, whoever fails in, shall be 96 doom’d to the Punishment of being left here all Night: The Count at these Words, forgot all his Animosity, and was ready to hug her for this Proposal. Melliora did a little oppose it; but the others were too Powerful, and she was forc’d to submit: Thou art the dullest Creature, I’ll lay my Life, (my Lord, cry’dMelantha, taking hold of the Count in a gay manner) that it falls to her Lot to stay in the Wilderness. Oh Madam, (reply’d the Count) you are too severe, we ought always to suspend our Judgment ’till after the Tryal, which I confess my self so pleas’d with, that I am Impatient for its coming on: Well then, (said she, laughing) farewel for half an Hour. Agreed (cry’d the Count) and walk’d away:Melantha saw which way he went, and took another Path, leaving Melliora to go forward in that, in which they were, but I believe the Reader will easily imagine that she was not long to enjoy the Priviledge of her Meditations. After the Count had gone some few Paces, he planted himself behind a Thicket, which, while it hid him, gave the Opportunity of observing them, and when he found the Coast clear, rush’d out, and with unhurting Gripe, seiz’d once more on the unguarded Prey. Blest turn of Fortune, (said he in a Rapture,) Happy, happy Moment!---Lost, lost Melliora, (said she) most unhappy Maid!---Oh why, my Lord, this quick Return? This is no Place to answer thee, (resum’d he, taking her in his Arms, and bearing her behind that Thicket, where he himself had stood) ’twas in vain for her to resist, if she had had the Power over her Inclinations, ’till he, sitting her softly down, and beginning to Caress her in the manner he had done when she was in Bed, she assum’d Strength enough to raise her self a little, and catching hold of his Transgressing Hands, laid her Face on them, and Bath’d them in a shower of Tears: O! D’elmont (said she) Cruel D’elmont! Will you then take Advantage of my Weakness? I confess I 97 feel for you, a Passion, far beyond all, that yet, ever bore the Name of Love, and that I can no longer withstand the too powerful Magick of your Eyes, nor deny any Thing that charming Tongue can ask; but now’s the Time to prove your self the Heroe! subdue your self, as you have Conquer’d me! be satisfied with Vanquishing my Soul, fix there your Throne, but leave my Honour free! Life of my Life (cry’d he) wound me no more by such untimely Sorrows: I cannot bear thy Tears, by Heaven they sink into my Soul, and quite unman me, but tell me (continu’d he tenderly Kissing her) coud’st thou, with all this Love, this charming----something more than softness-----cou’dst thou I say, consent to see me Pale and Dead, stretch’d at thy Feet, consum’d with inward Burnings, rather than blest, than rais’d by Love, and thee, to all a Deity in thy Embraces? For O! Believe me when I swear, that ’tis impossible to live without thee. No more, no more (said she letting her Head fall gently on his Breast) too easily I guess thy sufferings by my own. But yet, D’elmont ’tis better to die in Innocence, than to live in Guilt. O! Why (Resum’d he, sighing as if his Heart wou’d burst) shou’d what we can’t avoid, be call’d a Crime? Be Witness for me Heaven! How much I have struggl’d with this rising Passion, even to Madness struggl’d!---but in vain, the mounting Flame blazes the more, the more I wou’d suppress it---my very Soul’s on Fire---I cannot bear it---Oh Melliora! Didst thou but know the thousandth Part, of what this Moment I endure, the strong Convulsions of my warring Thoughts, thy Heart steel’d as it is, and Frosted round with Virtue, wou’d burst it’s icy Shield, and melt in Tears of Blood, to pity me. Unkind and Cruel! (answer’d she) do I not partake them then?----Do I not bear, at least, an equal share in all your Agonies? Have---you no Charms---or have not I a Heart?---A most susceptible and tender Heart?----Yes, you may feel it Throb, it beats against my Breast, like an Imprison’d Bird, and fain wou’d burst it’s Cage! to fly to you, the aim of all it’s Wishes!--Oh D’elmont!--With 98 these Words she sunk wholly into his Arms unable to speak more: Nor was he less dissolv’d in Rapture, both their Souls seem’d to take Wing together, and left their Bodies Motionless, as unworthy to bear a part in their more elevated Bliss. But D’elmont at his returning Sense, repenting the Effects of the violent Transport, he had been in was now, preparing to take from the resistless Melliora, the last, and only remaining Proof that she was all his own, whenMelantha (who had contriv’d this separation only with a Design to be alone with the Count, and had carefully observ’d which way he took) was coming towards them. The rustling of her Cloaths among the Bushes, gave the disappointed Couple leave to rise from the Posture they were in, and Melliora to abscond behind a Tree, before she could come near enough to discern who was there. Melantha, as soon as she saw the Count, put on an Air, of Surprize, as if it were but by Chance, that she was come into his walk, and Laughing with a visible Affectation, bless me! You here, my Lord! (said she) I vow this has the look of Assignation, but I hope you will not be so vain as to believe I came on purpose to seek you. No Madam (answer’d he coldly) I have not the least Thought of being so happy. Lord! You are strangely grave (Rejoyn’d she) but suppose I really had come with a Design to meet you, what kind of Reception might I have expected? I know no Reason Madam (said he) that can oblige me to entertain a Supposition so unlikely. Well then (resum’d she) I’ll put it past a Supposition, and tell you plainly, that I did walk this way on purpose to divert your Spleen. I am sorry (reply’d he, tir’d to Death with her Impertinence) that you are disappointed; for I am not in a Humour at present, of receiving any Diversion. Fie (said she) is this an answer for the gay, Gallant, engaging Count D’elmont, to give a Lady who makes a Declaration of admiring him----who thinks it not 99 too much to make the first Advances, and who wou’d believe her self fully recompenc’d for breaking thro’ the nice Decorums of her Sex, if he receiv’d it kindly---Madam (said he, not a little amaz’d at her Imprudence) I know of no such Person, or if I did, I must confess, shou’d be very much puzled how to behave in an Adventure so uncommon: Pish (answer’d she, growing vext at his coldness) I know that such Adventures are not uncommon with you: I’m not to learn the Story of Alovysa, and if you had not been first Address’d, perhaps might have been ’till now unmarried. Well Madam (said he, more out of humour) put the Case that what you say were true, I am married; and therefore, (interrupted she) you ought to be better acquainted with the Temper of our Sex, and know, that a Woman, where she says she Loves, expects a thousand fine things in Return. But there is more than a possibility (answer’d he) of her being disappointed, and methinks Madam, a Lady of your Gaity shou’d be conversant enough with Poetry, to remember those too Lines of a famous English Poet. All naturally fly, what does Pursue ’Tis fit Men shou’d be Coy, when Women Woe. Melantha was fretted to the Heart to find him so insensible, but not being one of those who are apt to repent any thing they have done, she only pretended to fall into a violent fit of Laughter, and when she came out of it, I confess (said she) that I have lost my Aim, which was, to make you believe I was dying for Love of you, raise you to the highest Degree of Expectation, and then have the pleasure of baulking you at once, by letting you know the jest.----But your Lordship is too hard for me, even at my own Weapon, ridicule! I am mightly obliged to you Madam (answer’d he, more briskly than before) for your Intention, however; but ’tis probable, if I cou’d have been drawn into a Belief that you were in earnest, I might, at such a Time, and such a Place as this, have 100 taken some Measures which wou’d have sufficiently reveng’d me on you----but come Madam, (continu’d he) the Morning begins to break, if you please we will find out Melliora, and go into the House: As he spoke these Words, they perceiv’d her coming towards them, who had only taken a little round to meet ’em, and they all three made what hast they cou’d in: Count D’elmont asked a formal leave of Melliora to go thro’ her Chamber, none of the Servants being yet stirring, to let him into the House any other way, which being granted, he cou’d not help sighing as he passed by the Bed, where he had been lately so cruelly disappointed, but had no opportunity to speak his Thoughts at that time to Melliora. The Count rung for his Gentleman to rise to undress him, and order’d him to send somebody to take care of his Horse, and went to Bed, Alovysa was very much surpriz’d at his return from the Baron’s at so unseasonable an Hour, but much more so, when in the Morning,Melantha came laughing into the Chamber, and told her, all that she knew of the Adventure of the Night before; her old fit of Jealousie now resum’d it’s Dominion in her Soul, she cou’d not forbear thinking, that there was something more in it, thanMelantha had discover’d: And presently imagin’d that her Husband stay’d not at the Baron’s, because she was abroad; but she was more confirm’d in this Opinion, whenMelantha calling for her Coach to go home; the Count told her that he wou’d accompany her thither, having urgent Business with her Brother. ’Tis almost impossible to guess the rage Alovysa was in, but she dissembled it ’till they were gone, then going to Melliora’s Chamber, she vented part of it there, and began to question her about their Behaviour in the Wilderness. Tho’ Melliora was glad to find, since she was jealous, that she was jealous of any Body rather than her self, yet she said all that she cou’d, to perswade her, that she had no Reason to be uneasie. 101 But Alovysa was always of too fiery a Nature to listen patiently to any thing that cou’d be offer’d, to alter the Opinion she had taken up, tho’ it were with never so little an appearance of Reason, but much more now, when she thought her self, in a manner Confirm’d: Forbear (said she) Dear Melliora to take the part of perfidy: I know he hates me, I read it in his Eyes, and feel it on his Lips, all Day he shuns my Converse, and at night, colder than Ice, receives my warm Embraces, and when, (oh that I cou’d tear the tender folly from me Heart) with Words as soft as Love can Form, I urge him to disclose the Cause of his Disquiet, he answers but in sighs, and turns away: Perhaps (reply’d Melliora) his Temper naturally is gloomy, and love it self, has scarce the Power to alter Nature. Oh no, (Interrupted Alovysa) far from it: Had I ne’er known him otherwise, I cou’d forgive what now I know, but he was once as kind as tender Mothers to their new born Babes, and fond as the first Wishes of desiring Youth: Oh! With what eagerness has he approach’d me, when absent but an Hour!---Hadst thou ’ere seen him in those Days of Joy, even, thou, cold Cloyster’d Maid, must have ador’d him What Majesty, then sat upon his Brow?-----What Matchless Glories shone around him!----Miriads of Cupids, shot resistless Darts in every Glance,---his Voice when softned in amorous Accents, boasted more Musick, than the Poet Orpheus! When e’re he spoke, methought the Air seem’d Charm’d, the Winds forgot to blow, all Nature listn’d, and like Alovisa melted into Transport----but he is chang’d in all----the Heroe, and the Lover are Extinct, and all that’s left, of the once gay D’elmont, is a dull senceless Picture: Melliora was too sensibly Touch’d with this Discourse, to be able presently to make any Answer to it, and she cou’d not forbear accompanying her in Tears, while Alovysa renew’d her Complaints in this manner; his Heart (said she) his Heart is lost, for ever Ravish’d from me, that Bosom where I had Treasur’d all my Joys, my Hopes, my 102 Wishes, now burns and pants, with longings for a rival Curst! Curst,Melantha, by Heaven they are even impudent in Guilt, they Toy, they Kiss, and make Assignations before my Face, and this Tyrant Husband braves me with his falsehood, and thinks to awe me into Calmness, but, if I endure it---No (continu’d she stamping, and walking about the Room in a disorder’d Motion) I’ll be no longer the tame easie wretch I have been---all France shall Eccho with my Wrongs---The ungrateful Monster!---Villain, whose well nigh wasted Stream of Wealth had dry’d, but for my kind of supply, shall he enslave me!--Oh Melliora shun the Marriage Bed, as thou woud’st a Serpents Den, more Ruinous, more Poysonous far, is Man. ’Twas in vain that Melliora endeavour’d to pacifie her, she continu’d in this Humour all Day, and in the Evening receiv’d a considerable Addition to her former Disquiet: The Count sent a Servant of the Barons (having not taken any of his own with him) to acquaint her, that he shou’d not be at home that Night. ’Tis well (said she ready to burst with Rage) let the Count know that I can change as well as he, and shall excuse his Absence tho’ it lasts to all Eternity, (go continu’d she, seeing him surpriz’d) deliver this Message, and withal, assure him, that what I say, I mean. She had scarce made an end of these Words, when she flung out of the Room, unable to utter more, and lock’d her self into her Chamber, leaving Melliora no less distracted, tho’ for different Reasons, to retire to her’s. She had not ’till now, had a moments Time for reflection since her Adventure in the Wilderness, and the Remembrance of it, joyn’d with the Despair, and Grief of Alovisa, which she knew her self the sole occasion of, threw her into most terrible Agonies. She was ready to die with shame, when she consider’d how much the secret of her Soul was laid open to him, who of all the World she ought most to have conceal’d it from, and with remorse, for 103 the Miseries her fatal Beauty was like to bring on a Family for whom she had the greatest Friendship. But these Thoughts soon gave way to another, equally as shocking, she was present when the Servant brought Word the Count wou’d lie abroad, and had all the Reason imaginable to believe that Message was only a feint, that he might have an opportunity to come unobserv’d to her Chamber, as he had done the Night before. She cou’d not presently guess by what means he had got in, and therefore was at a loss how to prevent him, ’till recollecting all the Circumstances of that tender interview, she remembred that whenMelantha had surpriz’d them, he made his escape by the back Stairs into the Garden, and that when they went down, the Door was lock’d: Therefore concluded it must be by a Key, that he had gain’d admittance: And began to set her Invention to Work, how to keep this dangerous Enemy to her Honour, from coming in a second Time. She had no Keys that were large enough to fill the Wards, and if she had put one in, on the inside, it wou’d have fallen out immediately on the least touch, but at last, after trying several ways, she tore her Handkerchief into small pieces, and thrust it into the hole with her Busk, so hard, that it was impossible for any Key to enter. Melliora thought she had done a very Heroick Action, and sate her self down on the Bed-side in a pleas’d Contemplation of the Conquest, she believ’d her Virtue had gain’d over her Passion: But alas, How little did she know the true State of her own Heart? She no sooner heard a little noise at the Door, as presently after she did, but she thought it was the Count, and began to tremble not with fear, but desire. It was indeed Count D’elmont, who had borrow’d Horses and a Servant of the Baron, and got into the Garden as before, but with a much greater Assurance now of making himself entirely happy in 104 the Gratification of his utmost Wishes. But ’tis impossible to represent the greatness of his vexation and surprize, when all his Efforts to open the Door, were in vain: He found something had been done to the Lock, but cou’d not discover what, nor by any means remove the obstacle which Melliora had put there. She, on the other hand, was in all the confusion imaginable: Sometimes prompted by the violence of her Passion, she wou’d run to the Door, resolving to open it; and then, frighted with the apprehension of what wou’d be the Consequence, as hastily fly from it: If he had stay’d much longer, ’tis possible love wou’d have got the better of all other Considerations, but a light appearing on the other side of the Garden, oblig’d the thrice disappointed Lover, to quit his Post. He had sent away the Horses by the Servant who came with him, and had no opportunity of going to the Barons that Night, so came to his own Fore-gate, and thunder’d with a force, suitable to the fury he was possest with; it was presently open’d, most of the Family being up. Alovisa had rav’d her self into Fits, and her disorder created full Employment for the Servants, who busily running about the House with Candles fetching things for her, occasion’d that reflection which he had seen. The Count was told of his Lady’s Indisposition, but he thought he had sufficient pretence not to come where she was, after the Message she had sent him by the Baron’s Servant, and order’d a Bed to be made ready for him in another Chamber. Alovisa soon heard he was come in, and it was with much ado, that her Women prevail’d on her not to rise and go to him that moment, so little did she remember what she had said. She pass’d the Night in most terrible Inquietudes, and early in the Morning went to his Chamber, but finding it shut, she was oblig’d to wait, tho’ with a World of impatience, ’till she heard he was stirring, which not being till towards 105 Noon, she spent all that Time in considering how she shou’d accost him. As soon as the Servant whom she had order’d to watch, brought her Word that his Lord was dressing, she went into the Room, there was no body with him but his Gentleman, and he withdrawing out of respect, imagining by both their Countenances, there might something be said, not proper for him to hear. I see (said she) my Presence is unwish’d, but I have learn’d from you to scorn Constraint, and as you openly avow your falshood, I shall my Indignation, and my just Disdain! Madam (answer’d he suddenly) if you have any thing to reproach me with, you cou’d not have chose a more unlucky Time for it, than this, nor was I ever less dispos’d to give you Satisfaction. No, barbarous cold Insulter! (resum’d she) I had not the least hope you wou’d, I find that I am grown so low in your Esteem, I am not worth pains of an Invention.----By Heaven, this damn’d indifference is worse than the most vile Abuse!---’Tis plain Contempt!----O that I cou’d resent it as I ought----then Sword, or Poison shou’d revenge me---why am I so Curst to Love you still?---O that those Fiends (continu’d she, bursting into Tears) that have deform’d thy Soul, wou’d change thy Person too, turn every Charm to horrid Blackness, grim as thy Cruelty, and foul as thy Ingratitude, to free that Heart, thy Perjury has ruin’d. I thought Madam (said he, with an Accent maliciously Ironical) that you had thrown off, even the appearances of Love for me, by the Message you sent me Yesterday---O thou Tormenter (interrupted she) hast thou not wrong’d me in the tenderest Point, driven me to the last Degree of Misery! To Madness!---To Despair? And dost thou----can’st thou Reproach me for complaining?---Your coldness; your unkindness stung me to the Soul, and then I said, I know not what---but I remember well, that I wou’d have seem’d careless, and indifferent like you. You need not (reply’d he) give your self the trouble of an Apology, 106 I have no design to make a quarrel of it: And wish, for both our Peace, you cou’d as easily moderate your Passions, as I can mine, and that you may the better do so, I leave you to reflect on what I have said, and the little Reason I have ever given you for such intemperance. He left the Chamber with these Words, which instead of quelling, more enflam’d Alovysa’s Rage. She threw her self down into an Elbow Chair that stood there, and gave a loose to the Tempest of her Soul, Sometimes she curst, and vow’d the bitterest Revenge: Sometimes she wept, and at others, was resolv’d to fly to Death, the only Remedy for neglected Love: In the midst of these confus’d Meditations, casting her Eye on a Table by her, she saw Paper, and something written on it, which hastily taking up, found it the Count’s Character, and read (to her inexpressible Torment) these Lines. The Dispairing D’elmont to his Repenting Charmer. What Cruel Star last Night, had Influence over my Inhumane Dear? Say, to what Cause must I ascribe my Fatal Disappointment? For I wou’d fain believe I owe it not to Thee!----Such an Action, after what thou hast confest, I cou’d expect from nothing but a Creature ofMelantha’s Temper---no, ’tis too much of the vain Coquet, and indeed too much of the Jilt, for my Adorable to be guilty of--and yet---Oh how shall I excuse thee? when every thing was hush’d, Darkness my Friend, and all my Wishes rais’d, when every Nerve trembled with fierce Desires, and my Pulse beat a call to Love, or Death,----(For if I not enjoy thee, that will soon arrive) then, then what, but thy self, forgetting all thy Vows, 107 thy tender Vows of the most Ardent Passion, cou’d have destroyed my Hopes?---Oh where was then that Love which lately flatter’d my fond doating Soul, when sinking, dying in my Arms, my Charmer lay! And suffer’d me to reap each Prologue favour to the greatest Bliss----But they are past, and rigid Honour stands to Guard those joys, which---- There was no more written, but there needed no more to make Alovysa, before half distracted, now quite so. She was now convinc’d that she had a much more dangerous Rival thanMelantha, and her Curiosity who it might be, was not much less troublesome to her than other Passions. She was going to seek her Husband with this Testimony of his Infidelity in her Hand, when he, remembring he had left it there, was coming hastily back to fetch it. The Excess of Fury which she met him with, is hardly to be imagin’d, she upbraided him in such a Fashion as might be called reviling, and had so little regard to good Manners, or even decency in what she said, that it dissipated all the confusion he was in at first, to see so plain a Proof against him in her Hands, and rouz’d him to a rage not much Inferior to her’s. She endeavour’d (tho’ she took a wrong Method) to bring him to a Confession, he had done amiss; and he, to lay the Tempest of her Tongue, by storming louder, but neither succeeded in their wish: And he, stung with the bitterness of her Reproaches, and tired with Clamour, at last flung from her with a solemn Vow never to eat, or Sleep with her more. A Wife if equally haughty and jealous, if less fond than Alovysa will scarce be able to comprehend the greatness of her Sufferings: And it is not to be wonder’d at, that she, so violent in all her Passions, and agitated by so many, at once, committed a thousand Extravagancies, which those who know the force but of one, by the Aid of Reason, may avoid. She tore 108 down the Count’s Picture which hung in the Room, and stamp’d on it, then the Letter, her own Cloaths, and Hair, and whoever had seen her in that Posture, wou’d have thought she appear’d more like what the Furies are represented to be, than a Woman. The Count when he took leave the Night before of the BaronD’espernay, had promis’d to return to him in the Morning, and give him an Account of his Adventure with Melliora, but the vexation of his disappointment, and quarrel with his Wife, having hindred him all this time, the Baron came to his House, impatient to know the Success of an Affair on which his own hopes depended. He was told by the Servants that their Lord was above, and running hastily without Ceremony, the first Person he saw was Alovisa, in the condition I have describ’d. The Baron had passionately lov’d this Lady from the first Moment he had seen her, but it was with that sort of Love, which considers more it’s own gratification, than the Interest, or quiet, of the object beloved. He imagin’d by the Wildness of Alovysa’s Countenance and Behaviour, that the Count had given her some extraordinary occasion of distaste, and was so far from being troubled at the Sorrow he beheld her in, that he rejoyc’d in it, as the advancement of his Designs. But he wanted not cunning to disguise his Sentiments, and approaching her with a tender, and submissive Air, entreated her to tell him the Cause of her disorder. Alovysa had always consider’d him as a Person of worth, and one who was entitled to her Esteem by the vast respect he always paid her, and the Admiration, which in every opportunity, he exprest for her Wit and Beauty. She was not perhaps far from guessing the Extent of his Desires, by some Looks, and private Glances he had given her, and, notwithstanding her Passion, for the Count, was too vain to be offended at it. On the contrary, it pleas’d her Pride, and confirm’d her in the good Opinion she 109 had of her self, to think a Man of his Sense shou’d be compell’d by the force of her irresistible Attractions to adore and to despair, and therefore made no Difficulty of disburthening all the anguish of her Soul, in the Bosom of this, as she believ’d, so faithful Friend. The Baron seem’d to receive this Declaration of her Wrongs, with all imaginable concern: And accus’d the Count of Stupidity in so little knowing the value of a Jewel he was Master of, and gave her some hints, that he was not unsensible who the Lady was, that had been the Cause of it, which Alovisa presently taking hold on, O speak her Name (said she) quick, let me know her, or own thy Friendship was but feign’d to undo me, and that thou hatest the wretched Alovisa. O far (resum’d he) far be such thoughts, first let me Die, to prove my Zeal---my Faith, sincere to you, who only next to Heaven, are worthy Adoration---but forgive me, if I say, in this, you must not be obey’d. O why, said she? Perhaps, (answer’d he) I am a trusted Person---A confident, and if I should reveal the secret of my Friend, I know, tho’ you approv’d the Treachery, you wou’d detest the Traytor. O! Never (rejoyn’d she impatiently) ’twou’d be a Service, more than the whole Study of my Life can pay----am I not Rack’d,----Stab’d---and Mangled in Idea, by some dark Hand shaded with Night and Ignorance? And shou’d I not be grateful for a friendly Clue to guide me from this Labyrinth of Doubt, to a full Day of Certainty, where all the fiend may stand expos’d before me, and I have Scope to Execute my Vengeance? Besides, (continu’d she, finding he was silent and seemingly extreamly mov’d at what she said) ’tis joyning in the Cause of Guilt to hide her from me----come, you must tell me---your Honour suffers else---both that, and pity, plead the Injur’d’s Cause. Alas (said he) Honour can ne’er consent to a Discovery of what, with solemn Vows I have promis’d to Conceal; but Oh!---There is something in my Soul, more Powerful, which 110 says, that Alovysa must not be deny’d. Why then (cry’d she) do you delay? Why keep me on the Rack, when one short Word wou’d ease me of my Torment? I have consider’d (answer’d he after a pause) Madam, you shall be satisfied, depend on it you shall, tho’ not this Moment, you shall have greater Proofs than Words can give you----Occular Demonstration shall strike denial Dumb. What mean you? Interrupted she; you shall behold (said he) the guilty pair, link’d in each others Arms. OhEspernay (rejoyn’d she) coud’st thou do that?---’Tis easie (answer’d he) as I can order Matters---but longer Conferrence may render me suspected---I’ll go seek the Count, for he must be my Engine to betray himself---In a Day or two, at farthest you shall enjoy all the Revenge Detection can bestow. Alovysa wou’d fain have perswaded him to have told her the Name of her Rival, in part of that full Conviction he had promis’d her, but in vain, and she was oblig’d to leave the Issue of this Affair entirely to his Management. The Baron was extreamly pleas’d with the Progress he had made, and did not doubt, but for the purchase of this secret he shou’d obtain every thing he desired of Alovysa. He found Count D’elmont full of troubled and perplexed Thoughts, and when he had heard the History of his disappointment: I am sorry to hear (said he) that the foolish Girl does not know her own mind---but come (my Lord continued he, after a little pause) do not suffer your self to sink beneath a Caprice, which all those who converse much with that Sex must frequently meet with---I have a Contrivance in my Head, that cannot fail to render all her peevish Virtue frustrate: And make her happy in her own despite. OhEspernay! (reply’d the Count) thou talkest as Friendship prompts thee, I know thou wishest my Success, but alas! So many, and such unforeseen Accidents 111 have happen’d hitherto to prevent me, that I begin to think the Hand of Fate has set me down for lost. For shame my Lord (Interrupted the Baron) be not so poor in Spirit----Once more I tell you that she shall be yours---a Day or two shall make her so---and because I know you Lovers are unbelieving, and impatient----I will Communicate the Means. A Ball, and Entertainment shall be provided at my House, to which, all the Neighbouring People of Condition shall be invited, amongst the number, your self, your Lady, and Melliora; it will be late before ’tis done, and I must perswade your Family, and some others who live farthest off, to Countenance the Design to stay all Night; all that you have to do, is to keep up your Resentment to Alovysa, that you may have a pretence to sleep from her: I shall take care to have Melliora plac’d where no Impediment may bar your Entrance. Impossible Suggestion! (cry’d D’elmont shaking his Head) Alovysa is in too much Rage of Temper to listen to such an Invitation, and without her, we must not hope for Melliora. How Industrious are you (resum’d the Baron) to create difficulties where there is none: Tho’ I confess this may have, to you, a reasonable Appearance of one. But know, my Friendship builds it’s hopes to serve you on a sure Foundation---this jealous furious Wife, makes me the Confident of her imagin’d Injuries, Conjures me to use all my Interest with you for a reconcilement, and believes I am now pleading for her----I must for a while rail at your Ingratitude, and Condemn your want of Taste, to keep my Credit with her, and now and then sweeten her with a doubtful Hope that it may be possible at last to bring you to acknowledge, that you have been in an Error; this at once confirms her, that I am wholly on her side, and engages her to follow my Advice. Tho’ nothing Palls desire so much as too easie an Assurance of Means to gratifie it, yet a little hope is 112 absolutely necessary to preserve it. The fiery Wishes of D’elmont’s Soul, before chill’d by despair, and half supprest with clouding Griefs, blaz’d now, as fierce, and vigorous as ever, and he found so much probability in what the Baron said, that he was ready to adore him for the Contrivance. Thus all Parties, but Melliora, remain’d in a sort of a pleas’d Expectation. TheCount doubted not of being happy, nor Alovisa of having her curiosity satisfy’d by the Baron’s Assistance, nor himself of the reward he design’d to demand of her for that good Service, and each long’d impatiently for the Day, or rather Night, which was to bring this great Affair to a Period. Poor Melliora was the only Person, who had no interval of Comfort. Restrain’d by Honour, and enflam’d by Love, her very Soul was torn: And when she found that Count D’elmont made no attempt to get into her Chamber again, as she imagin’d he wou’d, she fell into a Despair more terrible than all her former Inquietudes; she presently fancy’d that the disappointment he had met with the Night before, had driven the hopeless Passion from his Heart, and the Thoughts of being no longer beloved by him, were unsupportable. She saw him not all that Day, nor the next, the quarrel between him and Alovisa having caus’d separate Tables, she was oblig’d in Decency, to eat at that where she was, and had the Mortification of hearing her self Curs’d every Hour, by the enrag’d Wife, in the Name of her unknown Rival, without daring to speak a Word in her own Vindication. In the mean time the Baron diligent to make good the Promises he had given the Count and Alovisa, for his own Ends, got every thing ready, and came himself to D’elmont’s House, to entreat their Company at his. Now Madam (said he) to Alovisa the time is come to prove your Servants Faith: This Night shall put an end to your uncertainty: They had no opportunity for further Speech; 113 Melliora came that Moment into the Room, who being ask’d to go to the Ball, and seeming a little unwilling to appear at any publick Diversion, by Reason of the late Death of her Father, put the Baron in a Mortal Apprehension for the Success of his Undertaking: But Alovysa joyning in his Entreaties, she was at last prevail’d upon: TheCount went along with the Baron in his Chariot: And the Ladies soon follow’d in an other. There was a vast deal of Company there, and the Count danc’d with several of the Ladies, and was extreamly gay amongst them: Alovysa watch’d his Behaviour, and regarded every one of them, in their Turn, with Jealousie, but was far from having the least Suspicion of her whom only she had Cause. Tho’ Melliora’s greatest Motive to go, was, because she might have the happiness of seeing her admir’d Count; a Blessing, she had not enjoy’d these two Days, yet she took but little Satisfaction in that View, without an opportunity of being spoke to by him. But that uneasiness was remov’d, when the serious Dances being over, and they all joyning in a grand Ballet: He every now and then, got means to say a Thousand tender Things to her, press’d her Hand whenever he turn’d her, and wou’d sometimes, when at a distance from Alovisa, pretend to be out, on purpose to stand still, and talk to her. This kind of Behaviour banish’d part of her Sufferings, for tho’ she cou’d consider both his, and her own Passion in no other View, than that of a very great Misfortune to them both, yet there are so many Pleasures, even in the Pains of Love. Such tender thrillings, such Soul-ravishing Amusements, attend some happy Moments of Contemplation, that those who most Endeavour, can wish but faintly to be freed from. 114 When it grew pretty late, the Baron made a sign to the Count to follow him into a little Room joyning to that where they were, and when he had, now my Lord, (said he) I doubt not but this Night will make you entirely Possessor of your Wishes: I have prolonged the Entertainment, on purpose to detain those, who ’tis necessary for our Design, and have ordered a Chamber for Melliora, which has no Impediment to Bar your Entrance: O! Thou best of Friends, (answer’d D’elmont) how shall I requite thy Goodness? In making (resum’d the Baron) a right Use of the Opportunity I give you, for if you do not, you render fruitless all the Labours of my Brain, and make me wretched, while my Friend is so. Oh! fear me not (cry’d D’elmont in a Rapture) I will not be deny’d, each Faculty of my Soul is bent upon Enjoyment, tho’ Death in all its various Horrors glar’d upon me, I’d scorn ’em all in Melliora’s Arms---O! the very Name transports me---New fires my Blood, and tingles in my Veins---Imagination points out all her Charms--Methinks I see her lie in sweet Confusion--Fearing--Wishing--Melting---Her glowing Cheeks--Her closing dying Eyes--her every kindling--Oh ’tis too vast for Thought! Even Fancy flags, and cannot reach her Wonders! As he was speaking,Melantha, who had taken notice of his going out of the Room, and had follow’d him with a Design of talking to him, came time enough to hear the latter part of what he said, but seeing her Brother with him, withdrew with as much haste as she came, and infinitely more uneasiness of Mind; she was now but too well assur’d that she had a greater difficulty than the Count’s Matrimonial Engagement to get over, before she could reach his Heart, and was ready to burst with Vexation to think she was supplanted: Full of a Thousand tormenting Reflections she return’d to the Ball Room, and was so out of Humour all the Night, that she 115 could hardly be commonly Civil to any Body that spoke to her. At last, the Hour so much desired by the Count, the Baron, and Alovisa (tho’ for various Reasons) was arriv’d: The Company broke up; those who liv’d near, which were the greatest part, went home, the others being entreated by the Baron, stay’d. When they were to be conducted to their Chambers, he call’d >Melantha, and desired she would take care of the Ladies as he should direct, but above all, charg’d to place Alovisa and Melliora in two Chambers which he shewed her. Melantha was now let into the Secret she so much desired to know, the Name of her Rival, which she had not come time enough to hear, when she did the Count’s Rapturous Description of her. She had before found out, that her Brother was in Love with Alovysa, and did not doubt, but that there was a double Intrigue to be carry’d on that Night, and was the more confirm’d in that Opinion, when she remembred, that the Baron had order’d the Lock that Day to be taken off the Door of that Chamber where Melliora was to be lodg’d. It presently came into her Head, to betray all she knew to Alovisa, but she soon rejected that Resolution for another, which she thought would give her a more pleasing Revenge: She conducted all the Ladies to such Chambers as she thought fit, and Alovisa to that her Brother had desired, having no design of disappointing him, but Melliora she led to one where she always lay her self, resolving to supply her Place in the other, where the Count was to come: Yes, (said she to her self) I will receive his Vows in Melliora’s Room, and when I find him rais’d to the highest pitch of Expectation, declare who I am, and awe him into Tameness; ’twill be a charming Piece of Vengeance, besides, if he be not the most ungrateful Man on Earth, he must 116 Adore my Generosity in not exposing him to his Wife, when I have him in my Power, after the Coldness he has us’d me with. She found something so pleasing in this Contrivance, that no Considerations whatever, could have Power to deter her from pursuing it. When the Baron found every thing was silent and ready for his Purpose, he went softly to Count D’elmont’s Chamber, where he was impatiently expected; and taking him by the Hand, led him to that, where he had ordered Melliora to be Lodg’d. When they were at the Door, you see my Lord, (said he) I have kept my Promise; there lies the Idol of your Soul, go in, be bold, and all the Happiness, you wish attend you. The Count was in too great a hurry of disorder’d Thoughts to make him any other Answer than a passionate Embrace, and gently pushing open the Door which had no fastning to it, left the Baron to prosecute the remaining part of his treacherous Design. Alovisa had all the time of her being at the Baron’s, endur’d most grievous Racks of Mind, her Husband appear’d to her that Night, more gay and lovely, if possible than ever, but that Contentment which sat upon his Face, and added to his Graces, stung her to the Soul, when she reflected how little Sympathy there was between them: Scarce a Month (said she to her self) was I bless’d with those looks of Joy, a pensive sullenness has dwelt upon his Brow e’er since, ’till now; ’tis from my Ruin that his Pleasure flows, he hates me, and rejoyces in a Pretence, tho’ never so poor a one, to be absent from me. She was inwardly toss’d with a Multitude of these and the like perturbations, tho’ the Assurance the Baron had given her of Revenge, made her conceal them tolerably well, while she was in Company, but when she was left alone in the Chamber, and perceiv’d the Baron did not come so soon as she expected. Her Rage 117 broke out in all the Violence imaginable: She gave a loose to every furious Passion, and when she saw him enter, Cruel D’Espernay (said she) where have you been!---Is this the Friendship which you vow’d? To leave me here distracted with my Griefs, while my perfidious Husband, and the cursed she, that robs me of him, are perhaps, as happy, as their guilty Love can make them? Madam (answer’d he) ’tis but a Moment since they are met: A Moment! (interrupted she) a Moment is too much, the smallest Particle of undivided Time, may make my Rival blest, and vastly recompence for all that my Revenge can do. Ah Madam (resum’d the Baron) how dearly do you still Love that most ungrateful Man: I had hopes that the full Knowledge of his Falshood might have made you scorn the scorner, I shall be able by to Morrow (reply’d the Cunning Alovisa who knew his drift well enough) to give you a better account of my Sentiments than now I can:---But why do we delay (continued she impatiently) are they not together?---The Baron saw this was no time to press her farther, and therefore taking a Wax Candle which stood on the Table, in one Hand, and offering the other to lead her, I am ready Madam (said he) to make good my Promise, and shall esteem no other Hours of my Life happy, but those which may be serviceable to you: They had only a small part of a Gallery to go thro’, and Alovisa had no time to answer to these last Words, if she had been compos’d enough to have done it, before they were at the Door, which as soon as the Baron had brought her to, he withdrew with all possible Speed. Tho’ the Count had been but a very little time in the Arms of his suppos’d Melliora, yet he had made so good use of it, and had taken so much Advantage of her complying Humour, that all his Fears were at an End, he now thought himself the most Fortunate of all Mankind; and Melantha was far from repenting the Breach of the Resolution she 118 had made of discovering her self to him. His Behaviour to her was all Rapture, all killing extacy, and she flatter’d her self with a Belief, that when he shou’d come to know to whom he ow’d that bliss he had possess’d, he would not be ungrateful for it. What a confus’d Consternation must this Pair be in, when Alovysa rush’d into the Room;---’tis hard to say, which was the greatest, the Count’s concern for his imagin’d Melliora’s Honour, or >Melantha’s for her own; but if one may form a Judgment from the Levity of the one’s Temper, and generosity of the other’s, one may believe that his had the Preheminence: But neither of them were so lost in Thought, as not to take what measures the Place and Time wou’d permit, to baffle the Fury of this Incens’d Wife:Melantha slunk under the Cloaths and theCount started up in the Bed at the first Appearance of the Light, which Alovysa had in her Hand, and in the most angry Accent he cou’d turn his Voice to, ask’d her the Reason of her coming there: Rage, at this sight (prepar’d and arm’d for it as she was) took away all Power of utterance from her; but she flew to the Bed, and began to tear the Cloaths (whichMelantha held fast over her Head) in so violent a manner, that the Count found the only way to Tame her, was to meet Force with Force; so jumping out, he seiz’d on her, and throwing her into a Chair, and holding her down in it, Madam, Madam (said he) you are Mad, and I as such shall use you, unless you promise to return quietly, and leave me. She cou’d yet bring forth no other Words, than Villain,----Monster! And such like Names, which her Passion and Injury suggested, which he but little regarding but for the noise she made; for shame (resum’d he) expose not thus your self and me, if you cannot command your Temper, at least confine your Clamours---I will not stir (said she, raving and struggling to get loose) ’till I have seen the Face that has undone me, I’ll tear out her bewitching Eyes---the 119 curst Adultress! And leave her Mistress of fewer Charms than thou canst find in me: She spoke this with so elevated a Voice, that the Count endeavour’d to stop her Mouth, that she might not alarm the Company that were in the House, but he cou’d not do it time enough to prevent her from shrieking out Murder.---Help! Or the barbarous Man will kill me! At these Words the Baron came running in immediately, full of Surprize and Rage at something he had met with in the mean time: How came this Woman here, cry’d the Count to him: Ask me not my Lord (said he) for I can answer nothing, but every thing this cursed Night, I think, has happened by Enchantment; he was going to say something more, but several of his Guests hearing a noise, and cry of Murder, and directed by the Lights they saw in that Room, came in, and presently after a great many of the Servants, that the Chamber was as full as it cou’d hold: The Count let go his Wife on the sight of the first stranger that enter’d; and indeed, there was no need of his confining her in that Place (tho’ he knew not so much) for the violence of so many contrary Passions warring in her Breast at once, had thrown her into a Swoon, and she fell back when he let go his hold of her, Motionless, and in all appearance Dead. The Count said little, but began to put on his Cloaths, asham’d of the Posture he had been seen in; but the >Baron endeavour’d to perswade the Company, that it was only a Family Quarrel of no Consequence, told them he was sorry for the disturbance it had given them, and desir’d them to return to their Rest, and when the Room was pretty clear, order’d two or three of the Maids to carry Alovysa to her Chamber, and apply Things proper for her Recovery; as they were bearing her out, Melliora who had been frighted as well as the rest, with the noise she heard, was running along the Gallery to see what had happen’d, and met them; her Trouble to find Alovysa in that Condition, was unfeign’d, and she assisted those 120 that were employ’d about her, and accompany’d them where they carry’d her. The Count was going to the Bed-side to comfort the conceal’d Fair, that lay still under the Cloaths, when he saw Melliora at the Door: What Surprize was ever equal to his, at this View?-----He stood like one transfix’d with Thunder, he knew not what to think, or rather cou’d not think at all, confounded with a seeming Impossibility. He beheld the Person, whom he thought had lain in his Arms, whom he had enjoy’d, whose Bulk and Proportion he still saw in the Bed, whom he was just going to Address to, and for whom he had been in all the Agonies of Soul imaginable, come from a distant Chamber, and unconcern’d, ask’d cooly, how Alovisa came to be taken ill! He look’d confusedly about, sometimes on Melliora, sometimes towards the Bed, and sometimes on the Baron; am I awake, (said he) or is every thing I see and hear, Illusion? The Baron could not presently resolve after what manner he should answer, tho’ he perfectly knew the Truth of this Adventure, and who was in the Bed; for, when he had conducted Alovisa to that Room, in order to make the Discovery he had promised, he went to his Sister’s Chamber, designing to abscond there, in case the Count should fly out on his Wife’s Entrance, and seeing him there, imagine who it was that betray’d him; and finding the Door shut, knock’d and call’d to have it opened; Melliora, who began to think she should lye in quiet no where, ask’d who was there, and what he would have? I would speak with my Sister, (reply’d he, as much astonish’d then, to hear who it was that answer’d him, as the Count was now to see her) and Melliora having assur’d him that she was not with her, left him no Room to doubt, by what means the Exchange had been made: Few Men, how amorous soever themselves, care that the Female part of their Family should be so, and he was most sensibly 121 mortify’d with it, but reflecting that it could not be kept a Secret, at least from the Count, my Lord, (said he, pointing to the Bed) there lies the Cause of your Amazement, that wicked Woman has betray’d the Trust I repos’d in her, and deceiv’d both you and me; rise, continued he, throwing open the Curtains, thou shame of thy Sex, and everlasting Blot and Scandal of the Noble House thou art descended from; rise, I say, or I will stab thee here in this Scene of Guilt; in speaking these Words, he drew out his Sword, and appear’d in such a real Fury, that the Count, tho’ more and more amaz’d with every thing he saw and heard, made no doubt but he wou’d do as he said, and ran to hold his Arm. As no Woman that is Mistress of a great share of Wit, will be a Coquet, so no Woman that has not a little, can be one:Melantha, tho’ frighted to Death with these unexpected Occurrences, feign’d a Courage, which she had not in reality, and thrusting her Head a little above the Cloaths, Bless me Brother (said she) I vow I do not know what you mean by all this Bustle, neither am I guilty of any Crime: I was vex’d indeed to be made a Property of, and chang’d Beds with Melliora for a little innocent Revenge; for I always design’d to discover my self to the Count, time enough to prevent Mischief. The Baron was not so silly as to believe what she said, tho’ the Count, as much as he hated her, had too much Generosity to contradict her, and keeping still hold of the Baron, come D’Espernay, (said he) I believe your Sisters Stars and mine, have from our Birth been at Variance, for this is the third Disappointment she has given me; once in Melliora’s Chamber, then in the Wilderness, and now here; but I forgive her, therefore let us retire and leave her to her Repose. The Baron was sensible that all the Rage in the World could not recall what had been done, and only giving her a furious Look, went with the Count out of the Room, without saying any thing more to her at that Time. 122 The Baron with much Entreating, at last prevail’d on Count D’elmont to go into his Bed, where he accompany’d him; but they were both of them too full of troubled Meditations, to Sleep: His Sister’s Indiscretion vex’d the Baron to the Heart, and took away great part of the Joy, for the fresh Occasion the Count had given Alovisa to withdraw her Affection from him. But with what Words can the various Passions that agitated the Soul of D’elmont be described? The Transports he had enjoy’d in an imaginary Felicity, were now turn’d to so many real Horrors; he saw himself expos’d to all the World, for it would have been Vanity to the last Degree, to believe this Adventure would be kept a Secret, but what gave him the most bitter Reflection, was, that Melliora when she should know it, as he could not doubt but she immediately wou’d be told it by Alovisa, wou’d judge of it by the Appearance, and believe him, at once, the most vicious, and most false of Men. As for his Wife, he thought not of her, with any Compassion for his Sufferings, but with Rage and Hate, for that jealous Curiosity, which he suppos’d had led her to watch his Actions that Night; (for he had not the least Suspicion of the Baron.)Melantha he always despised, but now detested, for the Trick she had put upon him; yet thought it would be not only unmanly, but barbarous to let her know he did so: It was in vain for him to endeavour to come to a Determination after what manner he should behave himself to any of them, and when the Night was past, in forming a thousand several Resolutions, the Morning found him as much to seek as before: He took his Leave early of the Baron, not being willing to see any of the Company after what had happened, ’till he was more Compos’d. He was not deceiv’d in his Conjectures concerning Melliora, for Alovisa was no sooner recover’d 123 from her Swoon, than, she, with bitter Exclamations, told her what had been the Occasion, and put that astonish’d Fair one into such a visible Disorder, as had she not been too full of Misery, to take Notice of it, had made her easily perceive that she was deeply interested in the Story: But whatever she said against the Count, as she could not forbear something, calling him Ungrateful, Perjur’d, Deceitful, and Inconstant, Alovisa took only, as a Proof of Friendship to her self, and the Effects of that just Indignation all Women ought to feel for him, that takes a Pride in Injuring any one of them. When the Count was gone, the Baron sent to Alovisa to enquire of her Health, and if he might have leave to visit her in her Chamber, and being told she desired he shou’d, resolv’d now to make his Demand. Melliora had but just parted from her, in order to get herself ready to go Home, and she was alone when he came in. As soon as the first Civilities were over, she began afresh to conjure him to let her know the Name of her Rival, which he artfully evading, tho’ not absolutely denying, made her almost distracted; the Baron carefully observ’d her every Look and Motion, and when he found her Impatience was rais’d to the highest degree; Madam (said he, taking her by the Hand, and looking tenderly on her) you cannot blame a Wretch who has lavish’d all he had away to one poor Jewel, to make the most he can of that, to supply his future Wants: I have already forfeited all pretence to Honour, and even common Hospitality, by betraying the Trust that was repos’d in me, and exposing under my own Roof, the Man who takes me for his dearest Friend, and what else I have suffer’d from that unavoidable Impulse which compell’d me to do all this, your self may judge, who too well know, the Pangs and Tortures of neglected Love---Therefore, (continued he with a deep Sigh) since this last reserve is all my Hopes dependance, do not, Oh Charming 124 Alovisa, think me Mercinary, if I presume to set a Price upon it, which I confess too high, yet nothing less can Purchase: No Price (reply’d Alovisa, who thought a little Condescension was necessary to win him to her purpose) can be too dear to buy my Peace, nor Recompence too great for such a Service: What, not your Love, said the Baron, eagerly kissing her Hand? No (resum’d she, forcing herself to look kindly on him) not even that, when such a Proof of yours engages it; but do not keep me longer on the Rack, give me the Name and then.---She spoke these last Words with such an Air of Languishment, that the Baron thought his Work was done, and growing bolder, from her Hand he proceeded to her Lips, and answer’d her only in Kisses, which distastful as they were to her, she suffer’d him to take, without Resistance, but that was not all he wanted, and believing this the Critical Minute, he threw his Arms about her Waist, and began to draw her by little and little toward the Bed; which she affected to permit with a kind of an unwilling Willingness; saying, Well, if you wou’d have me able to deny you nothing you can ask, tell me the Name I so much wish to know: But the Baron was as cunning as she, and seeing thro’ her Artifice, was resolv’d to make sure of his Reward first: Yes, yes, my adorable Alovisa (answer’d he, having brought her now very near the Bed) you shall immediately know all, thy Charms will force the Secret from my Breast, close as it is lodg’d within my inmost Soul.---Dying with Rapture I will tell thee all.---If that a Thought of this injurious Husband, can interpose amidst Extatick Joys. What will not some Women venture, to satisfy a jealous Curiosity? Alovisa had feign’d to consent to his Desires, (in hopes to engage him to a Discovery) so far, and had given him so many Liberties, that now, it was as much as she cou’d do to save herself, from the utmost Violence, and perceiving she had been outwitted, and that nothing but the really yielding up her Honour, cou’d oblige him to 125 reveal what she desired. Villain, said she, (struggling to get loose from his Embrace) dare thy base Soul believe so vilely of me? Release me from thy detested Hold, or my Cries shall force thee to it, and proclaim thee what thou art, a Monster! The Baron was not enough deluded by her pretence of Kindness, to be much surpriz’d at this sudden turn of her Behaviour, and only cooly answer’d, Madam, I have no design of using Violence, but perceive, if I had depended on your Gratitude, I had been miserably deceiv’d. Yes (said she, looking contemptibly on him) I own thou would’st; for whatsoever I might say, or thou could’st hope, I love my Husband still, with an unbated Fondness, doat upon him! Faithless and Cruel as he is, he still is lovely! His Eyes lose nothing of their brightness, nor his Tongue its softness! His very Frowns have more Attraction in them than any others Smiles! and canst thou think! Thou, so different in all from him, that thou seemest not the same Species of Humanity, nor ought’st to stile thy self a Man since he is no more: Canst thou, I say, believe a Woman, bless’d as Alovisa has been, can e’er blot out the dear Remembrance, and quit her Hopes of re-gain’d Paradise in his Embrace, for certain Hell in Thine? She spoke these Words with so much Scorn, that the Baron skill’d as he was in every Art to tempt, cou’d not conceal the Spite he conceiv’d at them, and letting go her Hand, (which perforce he had held) I leave you Madam (said he) to the Pleasure of enjoying your own Humour; neither that, nor your Circumstances are to be envy’d, but I’d have you to remember, that you are your own Tormentor, while you refuse the only means can bring you Ease. I will have Ease another way (said she, incens’d at the Indignity she imagin’d he treated her with) and if you still persist in refusing to discover to me the Person who has injur’d me, I shall make no difficulty of letting the Count know how much of his Secrets you have imparted, and for what Reason you conceal the other: You may do so (answer’d 126 he) and I doubt not but you will---Mischief is the darling Favourite of Woman! Blood is the Satisfaction perhaps, that you require, and if I fall by him, or he by me, your Revenge will have its aim, either on the Unloving or the Unlov’d; for me, I set my Life at nought, without your Love ’tis Hell; but do not think that even dying, to purchase Absolution, I’d reveal one Letter of that Name, you so much wish to hear, the Secret shall be buried with me.----Yes, Madam (continued he, with a malicious Air) that happy Fair unknown, whose Charms have made you wretched, shall undiscover’d, and unguess’d at, Triumph in those Joys you think none but your Count can give. Alovisa had not an Opportunity to make any Answer to what he said; Melliora came that Moment into the Room, and ask’d if she was ready to go, and Alovisa saying that she was, they both departed from the Baron’s House, without much Ceremony on either side. Alovisa had not been long at home before a Messenger came to acquaint her, that her Sister having miss’d of her at Paris, was now on her Journey to Le Beausse, and wou’d be with her in a few Hours: She rejoyc’d as much at this News, as it was possible for one so full of disquiet to do, and order’d her Chariot and Six to be made ready again, and went to meet her. D’elmont heard of Ansellina’s coming almost as soon as Alovisa, and his Complaisance for Ladies, join’d with the extream desire he had of seeing his Brother, whom he believ’d was with her, wou’d certainly have given him Wings to have flown to them with all imaginable Speed, had not the late Quarrel between him and his Wife, made him think it was improper to join Company with her on any Account whatever: He was sitting in his Dressing-Room Window in a melancholly and disturb’d Meditation, ruminating on every Circumstance of his 127 last Nights Adventure, when he perceiv’d a couple of Horsemen come galloping over the Plain, and make directly toward his House. The Dust they made, kept him from distinguishing who they were, and they were very near the Gate before he discover’d them to be the ChevalierBrillian, and his Servant: The Surprize he was in to see him without Ansellina was very great, but much more so, when running down, as soon as he saw he was alighted, and opening his Arms eagerly to Embrace him; the other drawing back, No, my Lord (said he) since you are pleas’d to forget I am your Brother, I pretend no other way to merit your Embraces: Nor can think it any Happiness to hold him in my Arms, who keeps me distant from his Heart. What mean you (cry’d D’elmont, extreamly astonish’d at his Behaviour) you know so little (resum’d the Chevalier) of the power of Love, your self, that perhaps, you think I ought not to resent what you having done to ruin me in mine: But, however Sir, Ambition is a Passion which you are not a Stranger to, and have settled your own Fortune according to your Wish, methinks you shou’d not wonder that I take it ill, when you endeavour to prevent my doing so to: The Count was perfectly Confounded at these Words, and looking earnestly on him; Brother (said he) you seem to lay a heavy Accusation on me, but if you still retain so much of that former Affection which was between us, as to desire I shou’d be clear’d in your Esteem, you must be more plain in your Charge, for tho’ I easily perceive that I am wrong’d, I cannot see by what means I am so. My Lord, you are not wrong’d (cry’d the Chevalier hastily) you know you are not: If my Tongue were silent, the despair that sits upon my Brow, my alter’d Looks, and grief-sunk Eyes, wou’d proclaim your Barbarous---most unnatural Usage of me. Ungrateful >Brillian (said theCount, at once inflam’d with Tenderness and Anger) is this the Consolation I expected from your Presence? I know not for what Cause I am upbraided, being Innocent of any, 128 nor what your Troubles are, but I am sure my own are such, as needed not this Weight to overwhelm me. He spoke this so feelingly, and concluded with so deep a sigh as most sensibly touch’d the Heart of >Brillian. If I cou’d believe that you had any (reply’d he) it were enough to sink me quite, and rid me of a Life which Ansellina’s loss has made me hate. What said you, (interrupted the Count)Ansellina’s loss? If that be true, I pardon all the wildness of your unjust Reproaches, for well I know, despair has small regard to Reason, but quickly speak the Cause of your Misfortune:---I was about to enquire the Reason that I saw you not together, when your unkind Behaviour drove it from my Thoughts. That Question (answer’d the Chevalier) ask’d by you some Days since, wou’d have put me past all the Remains of Patience, but I begin to hope I am not so unhappy as I thought, but still am blest in Friendship, tho’ undone in Love----but I’ll not keep you longer in suspence, my Tale of Grief is short in the Repeating, tho’ everlasting in its Consequence. In saying this, he sat down, and the Count doing the like, and assuring him of Attention, he began his Relation in this manner. Your Lordship may remember that I gave you an Account by Letter, of Ansellina’s Indisposition, and the Fears I was in for her; but by the time I receiv’d your Answer, I thought my self the happiest of Mankind: She was perfectly recover’d, and every Day I receiv’d new Proofs of her Affection: We began to talk now of coming to Paris, and she seem’d no less Impatient for that Journey than my self, and one Evening, the last I ever had the Honour of her Conversation; she told me, that in spite of the Physicians Caution, she wou’d leave Amiens in three or four Days; You may be sure I did not disswade her from that Resolution; but, how great was my Astonishment, when going the next Morning to the Baronesses, to give the Ladies the Bonjour, as I constantly 129 did every Morning, I perceiv’d an unusual coldness in the Face of every one in the Family; the Baroness herself spoke not to me, but to tell me that Ansellina wou’d see no Company: How, Madam, said I, am I not excepted from those general Orders, what can this sudden alteration in my Fortune mean? I suppose (reply’d she) that Ansellina has her Reasons for what she does: I said all that despair cou’d suggest, to oblige her to give me some light into this Mistery, but all was in vain, she either made me no Answers, or such as were not Satisfactory, and growing weary with being Importun’d, she abruptly went out of the Room, and left me in a confusion not to be Express’d: I renew’d my visit the next Day, and was then deny’d admittance by the Porter: The same, the following one, and as Servants commonly form their Behaviour, according to that of those they serve, it was easy for me to observe I was far from being a welcome Guest: I writ to Ansellina, but had my Letter return’d unopen’d: And that Scorn so unjustly thrown upon me, tho’ it did not absolutely cure my Passion, yet it stirr’d up so much just Resentment in me, that it abated very much of its Tenderness: About a Fortnight I remain’d in this perplexity, and at the end of it was plung’d into a greater, when I receiv’d a little Billet from Ansellina, which as I remember, contain’d these Words. Ansellina to the Chevalier >Brillian. I sent your Letter back without Perusing, believing it might contain something of a Subject which I am resolv’d to encourage no farther: I do not think it proper at present to acquaint you with my Reasons for it; but 130 if I see you at Paris, you shall know them: I set out for thence to Morrow, but desire you not to pretend to Accompany me thither, if you wou’d preserve the Esteem of, Ansellina. I cannot but say, I thought this manner of proceeding very odd, and vastly different from that openness of Nature, I always admir’d in her, but as I had been always a most obsequious Lover; I resolv’d not to forfeit that Character, and give a Proof of an implicite Obedience to her Will, tho’ with what Anxiety of Mind you may imagine. I stood at a distance, and saw her take Coach, and as soon as her Attendants were out of sight, I got on Horseback, and follow’d; I several Times lay at the same Inn where she did, but took care not to appear before her: Never was any sight more pleasing to me, than that of Paris, because I there hop’d to have my Destiny unravell’d; but your being out of Town, preventing her making any stay, I was reduc’d to another tryal of Patience; about Seven Furlongs from hence, hap’ning to Bait at the same Cabaret with her, I saw her Woman, who had been always perfectly obliging to me, walking alone in the Garden; I took the liberty to show my self to her, and ask her some Questions concerning my future Fate, to which she answer’d with all the Freedom I cou’d desire, and observing the Melancholly, which was but too apparent in my Countenance: Sir, said she, tho’ I think nothing can be more blame-worthy than to betray the Secrets of our Superiors, yet I hope I shall stand excus’d for declaring so much of my Lady’s as the Condition you are in, seems to require; I wou’d not therefore have you believe that in this Separation, you are the only Sufferer, I can assure you, my Lady bears her part of Sorrow too.----How can that be possible (cry’d I) when my Misfortune is brought upon me, only by the change of her Inclination? Far from it (answer’d she) you have a Brother--he only is to blame, she has receiv’d Letters from 131 Madam D’elmont which have---as she was speaking, she was call’d hastily away, without being able to finish what she was about to say, and I was so Impatient to hear: Her naming you in such a manner, planted ten thousand Daggers in my Soul!----What cou’d I imagine by those Words, You have a Brother, he only is to Blame, and her mentioning Letters from that Brother’s Wife; but that it was thro’ you I was made wretched? I repeated several times over to my self, what she had said, but cou’d wrest no other Meaning from it, than that you being already possess’d of the Elder Sister’s Fortune, were willing to Engross the other’s too, by preventing her from Marrying: Pardon me, my Lord, if I have Injur’d you, since I protest, the Thoughts of your designing my undoing, was, if possible, more dreadful to me than the Ill it self. You will, reply’d the Count, be soon convinc’d how little Hand I had in those Letters, whatever they contain’d, when you have been here a few Days. He then told him of the disagreement between himself and Alovisa, her perpetual Jealousy, her Pride, her Rage, and the little probability there was of their being ever reconcil’d, so as to live together as they ought, omitting nothing of the Story, but his Love for Melliora, and the Cause he had given to create this uneasiness. They both concluded, that Ansellina’s alteration of Behaviour was entirely owing to something her Sister had written, and that she wou’d use her utmost endeavour to break off the Match wholly in Revenge to her Husband: As they were discoursing on means to prevent it, the Ladies came to the Gate; they saw them thro’ the Window, and ran to receive them immediately: The Count handed Ansellina out of the Coach, with great Complaisance, while the Chevalier wou’d have done the same by Alovisa, but she wou’d not permit him, which the Count observing, when he had paid those Complements to her Sister, which he thought civility requir’d, 132 Madam (said he, turning to her and frowning) is it not enough, you make me wretched by your continual Clamours, and Upbraidings, but that your ill Nature must extend to all, whom you believe I love? She answer’d him only with a disdainful Look, and haughty Toss, which spoke the Pleasure she took in having it in her Power to give him Pain, and went out of the Room with Ansellina. D’elmont’s Family was now become a most distracted one, every Body was in confusion, and it was hard for a disinterested Person, to know how to behave among them: The Count was ready to die with Vexation, when he reflected on the Adventure at theBaron’s withMelantha, and how hard it wou’d be to clear his Conduct in that point with Melliora: She, on the other Hand, was as much tormented at his not attempting it. The Chevalier, was in the height of despair, when he found that Ansellina continued her Humour, and still avoided letting him know the occasion of it: And Alovisa, tho’ she contented herself for some Hours with relating to her Sister, all the Passages of her Husband’s unkind usage of her, yet when that was over, her Curiosity return’d, and she grew so madly Zealous to find out, who her rival was, that she repented her Behaviour to the Baron, and sent him the next Day privately, a Billet, wherein she assur’d him, that she had acquainted the Count with nothing that had pass’d between them, and that she desir’d to speak with him. ’Tis easy to believe he needed not a second Invitation; he came immediately, and Alovisa renew’d her Entreaties in the most pressing manner she was capable of, but in vain, he told her plainly, that if he cou’d not have her Heart, nothing but the full Possession of her Person shou’d Extort the Secret from him. ’Twould swell this Discourse beyond what I design, to recount her various Starts of Passions, and different Turns of Behaviour, sometimes louder than the Winds she rav’d! Commanded! Threatned! Then, still as April Showers, 133 or Summer Dews she wept, and only whisper’d her Complaints, now dissembling Kindness, then declaring unfeign’d Hate; ’till at last, finding it impossible to prevail by any other means, she promis’d to admit him at Midnight into her Chamber: But as it was only the force of her too passionate Affection for her Husband, which had work’d her to this pitch of raging Jealousie, so she had no sooner made the Assignation, and the Baron had left her (to seek the Count to prevent any suspicion of their long Conversation) but all D’elmont’s Charms came fresh into her Mind, and made the Thoughts of what she had promis’d, Odious and Insupportable; she open’d her Mouth more than once to call back the Baron, and Recant all that she had said; but her ill Genius, or that Devil, Curiosity, which too much haunts the Minds of Women, still prevented Her: What will become of me, (said she to her self) what is it I am about to do? Shall I foregoe my Honour---quit my Virtue,---sully my yet unspotted Name with endless Infamy---and yield my Soul to Sin, to Shame, and Horror, only to know what I can ne’er Redress? If D’elmont hates me now, will he not do so still?---What will this curs’d Discovery bring me but added Tortures, and fresh weight of Woe: Happy had it been for her if these Considerations cou’d have lasted, but when she had been a Minute or two in this Temper, she wou’d relapse and cry, what! must I tamely bear it then?---Endure the Flouts of the malicious World, and the contempt of every saucy Girl, who while she pities, scorns my want of Charms--Shall I neglected tell my Tale of Wrongs, (O, Hell is in that Thought) ’till my despair shall reach my Rival’s Ears, and Crown her Adulterous Joys with double Pleasure.---Wretch that I am!--Fool that I am, to hesitate, my Misery is already past Addition, my everlasting Peace is broke! Lost even to hope, what can I more endure?---No, since I must be ruin’d, I’ll have the Satisfaction of dragging with me to Perdition, the Vile, the Cursed she that has undone me: I’ll be reveng’d on her, then 134 die my self, and free me from Pollution. As she was in this last Thought, she perceiv’d at a good distance from her, the ChevalierBrillian and Ansellina in Discourse; the sight of him immediately put a new contrivance into her Head, and she compos’d her self as she cou’d, and went to meet them. Ansellina having been left alone, while her Sister was Entertaining the Baron, had walk’d down into the Garden to divert her self, where the Chevalier, who was on the watch for such an opportunity, had follow’d her; he cou’d not forbear, tho’ in Terms full of Respect, taxing her with some little Injustice for her late Usage of him, and Breach of Promise, in not letting him know her Reasons for it: She, who by Nature was extreamly averse to the disguising her Sentiments, suffer’d him not long to press her for an Eclaircissment, and with her usual Freedom, told him what she had done, was purely in compliance with her Sister’s Request; that she cou’d not help having the same Opinion of him as ever, but that she had promis’d Alovisa to defer any Thoughts of marrying him, till his Brother shou’d confess his Error: The obliging things she said to him, tho’ she persisted in her Resolution, dissipated great part of his Chagreen, and he was beginning to excuse D’elmont, and persuade her that her Sister’s Temper was the first occasion of their quarrel, when Alovisa interrupted them. Ansellina was a little out of Countenance at her Sister’s Presence, imagining she wou’d be Incens’d at finding her with the Chevalier; but that distressed Lady was full of other Thoughts, and desiring him to follow her to her Chamber, as soon as they were set down, confess’d to him, how, fir’d with his Brother’s Falshood, she endeavour’d to revenge it upon him, that she had been his Enemy, but was willing to enter into any Measures for his Satisfaction, provided he wou’d comply with one, which she should propose, which he faithfully promising, after she had sworn him to Secrecy, discover’d to him every 135 Circumstance, from her first Cause of Jealousy, to the Assignation she had made with the Baron; now, said she, it is in your Power to preserve both your Brother’s Honour, and my Life (which I sooner will resign than my Vertue) if you stand conceal’d in a little Closet, which I shall convey you to, and the Moment he has satisfy’d my Curiosity, by telling me her Name that has undone me, rush out, and be my Protector. The Chevalier was infinitely Surpriz’d at what he heard, for his Brother had not given him the least hint of his Passion, but thought the request she made, too reasonable to be deny’d. While they were in this Discourse, Melliora, who had been sitting indulging her Melancholly in that Closet which Alovisa spoke of, and which did not immediately belong to that Chamber, but was a sort of an Entry, or Passage, into another, and tir’d with Reflection, was fallen asleep, but on the noise which Alovysa and the Chevalier made in coming in, wak’d, and heard to her inexpressible trouble, the Discourse that pass’d between them: She knew that unknown Rival was herself, and condemn’d the Count of the highest Imprudence, in making a confidant, as she found he had, of the Baron; she saw her Fate, at least that of her Reputation was now upon the Crisis, that, that very Night she was to be expos’d to all the Fury of an enrag’d Wife, and was so shook with apprehension, that she was scarce able to go out of the Closet time enough to prevent their discovering she was there; what cou’d she do in this Exigence, the Thoughts of being betray’d, was worse to her than a thousand Deaths, and it was to be wondred at, as she has since confest, that in that height of Desparation, she had not put an end to the Tortures of Reflection, by laying violent Hands on her own Life: As she was going from the Closet hastily to her own Appartment, the Count and Baron pass’d her, and that sight heightening the distraction she was in, she stept 136 to the Count, and in a faultring, scarce intelligible Accent, whisper’d, for Heaven’s Sake let me speak with you before Night, make some pretence to come to my Chamber, where I’ll wait for you. And as soon as she had spoke these Words, darted from him so swift, that he had no opportunity of replying, if he had not been too much overwhelm’d with Joy at this seeming Change of his Fortune to have done it; he misunderstood part of what she said, and instead of her desiring to speak with him before Night, he imagin’d, she said at Night. He presently communicated it to the Baron, who congratulated him upon it; and never was any Night more impatiently long’d for, than this was by them both. They had indeed not many Hours of Expectation, but Melliora thought them Ages; all her hopes were, that if she cou’d have an opportunity of discovering to Count D’elmont what she had heard between his Wife and Brother, he might find some means to prevent the Baron’s Treachery from taking Effect. But when Night grew on, and she perceiv’d he came not, and she consider’d how near she was to inevitable Ruin, what Words can sufficiently express her Agonies? So I shall only say, they were too violent to have long kept Company with Life; Guilt, Horrour, Fear, Remorse, and Shame at once oppress’d her, and she was very near sinking beneath their Weight, when somebody knock’d softly at the Door; she made no doubt but it was the Count, and open’d it immediately, and he catching her in his Arms with all the eagerness of transported Love, she was about to clear his Mistake, and let him know it was not an amourous Entertainment she expected from him; when a sudden cry of Murder, and the noise of clashing Swords, made him let go his hold, and draw his own, and run along the Gallery to find out the occasion, where being in the dark, and only directed by the noise he heard in his Wife’s Chamber, something met the point, and a great shriek following it, he cry’d for Lights but none coming immediately; he stepping farther stumbled at the Body which had fallen, he then redoubled his outcrys, 137 and Melliora, frighted as she was, brought one from her Chamber, and at the same Instant that they discover’d it was Alovisa, who coming to alarm the Family, had by Accident run on her Husband’s Sword, they saw the Chevalier pursuing the Baron, who mortally wounded, dropt down by Alovisa’s side; what a dreadful View was this? The Count, Melliora, and the Servants, who by this time were most of them rowz’d, seem’d without Sence or Motion, only the Chevalier had Spirit enough to speak, or think, so stupify’d was every one with what they saw. But he ordering the Servants to take up the Bodies, sent one of ’em immediately for a Surgeon, but they were both of them past his Art to cure; Alovisa spoke no more, and the Baron liv’d but two Days, in which time the whole Account, as it was gather’d from the Mouths of those chiefly concern’d, was set down, and the Tragical part of it being laid before the KING, there appear’d so much of Justice in the Baron’s Death, and Accident in Alovisa’s, that the Count and Chevalier found it no difficult matter to obtain their Pardon. The Chevalier was soon after Married to his beloved Ansellina; but Melliora look’d on herself as the most guilty Person upon Earth, as being the primary Cause of all the Misfortunes that had happen’d, and retir’d immediately to a Monastery, from whence, not all the entreaties of her Friends, nor the implorations of the Amorous D’elmont cou’d bring her, she was now resolv’d to punish, by a voluntary Banishment from all she ever did, or cou’d love; the Guilt of Indulging that Passion, while it was a Crime. He, not able to live without her, at least in the same Climate, committed the Care of his Estate to his Brother, and went to Travel, without an Inclination ever to return:Melantha who was not of a Humour to take any thing to Heart, was Married in a short Time, and had the good Fortune not to be suspected by her Husband, though she brought him a Child in Seven Months after her Wedding. LOVE in Excess: OR, THE Fatal Inquiry, A NOVEL. The Third and Last Part. Success can then alone your Vows attend, When Worth’s the Motive, Constancy the End. Epilogue to the Spartan Dame. By Mrs. Haywood. [deleted publication information] 141 Tho’ Count D’elmont never had any tenderness for Alovisa, and her Extravagance of Rage and Jealousie, join’d to his Passion for Melliora, had every Day abated it, yet the manner of her Death was too great a shock to the sweetness of his Disposition, to be easily worn off; he cou’d not remember her Uneasiness, without reflecting that it sprung only from her too violent Affection for him; and tho’ there was no possibility of living happily with her, when he consider’d that she died, not only for him, but by his Hand, his Compassion for the Cause, and Horror for the unwish’d, as well as undesign’d Event, drew Lamentations from him, more sincere, perhaps, than one of those Husbands, 142 who call themselves very loving ones, wou’d make. To alleviate the troubles of his Mind, he had endeavour’d all he cou’d, to persuade Melliora to continue in his House; but that afflicted Lady was not to be prevail’d upon, she look’d on her self, as in a manner, accessary to Alovisa’s Death, and thought the least she ow’d to her Reputation was to see the Count no more, and tho’ in the forming this Resolution, she felt Torments unconceivable, yet the strength of her Virtue enabled her to keep it, and she return’d to the Monastery, where she had been Educated, carrying with her nothing of that Peace of Mind with which she left it. Not many Days pass’d between her Departure, and the Count’s; he took his way towards Italy, by the Persuasions of his Brother, who, since he found him bent to Travel, hop’d that Garden of the World might produce something to divert his Sorrows; he took but two Servants with him, and those rather for conveniency than State: Ambition, once his darling Passion, was now wholly extinguish’d in him by these Misfortunes, and he no longer thought of making a Figure in the World; but his Love nothing cou’d abate, and ’tis to be believ’d that the violence of that wou’d have driven him to the use of some fatal Remedy, if the Chevalier Brillian, to whom he left the Care of Melliora’s and her Brother’s Fortune as well as his own, had not, tho’ with much difficulty, obtain’d a Promise from her, of conversing with him by Letters. This was all he had to keep hope alive, and indeed it was no inconsiderable Consolation, for she that allows a Correspondence of that Kind with a Man that has any Interest in her Heart, can never persuade herself, while she does so, to make him become indifferent to her. When we give our selves the liberty 143 of even talking of the Person we have once lov’d, and find the least pleasure in that Discourse, ’tis ridiculous to imagine we are free from that Passion, without which, the mention of it would be but insipid to our Ears, and the remembrance to our Minds, tho’ our Words are never so Cold, they are the Effects of a secret Fire, which burns not with less Strength for not being Dilated. The Count had too much Experience of all the Walks and Turns of Passion to be ignorant of this, if Melliora had endeavour’d to disguise her Sentiments, but she went not so far, she thought it a sufficient vindication of her Virtue, to withold the rewarding of his Love, without feigning a coldness to which she was a stranger, and he had the satisfaction to observe a tenderness in her Stile, which assur’d him, that her Heart was unalterably his, and very much strengthen’d his Hopes, that one Day her Person might be so too, when time had a little effac’d the Memory of those Circumstances, which had obliged her to put this constraint on her Inclinations. He wrote to her from every Post-Town, and waited till he receiv’d her Answer, by this means his Journey was extreamly tedious, but no Adventures of any moment, falling in his way ’till he came to Rome, I shall not trouble my Readers with a recital of particulars which cou’d be no way Entertaining. But, how strangely do they deceive themselves, who fancy that they are Lovers, yet on every little turn of Fortune, or Change of Circumstance, are agitated, with any Vehemence, by Cares of a far different Nature? Love is too jealous, too arbitrary a Monarch to suffer any other Passion to equalize himself in that Heart where he has fix’d his Throne. When once enter’d, he becomes the whole Business of our Lives, we think----we Dream of nothing else, nor have a Wish not inspir’d by him: Those who have the Power to apply themselves so seriously to any other Consideration as to forget him, tho’ but for a Moment, 144 are but Lovers in Conceit, and have entertain’d Desire but as an agreeable Amusement, which when attended with any Inconvenience, they may without much difficulty shake off. Such a sort of Passion may be properly enough call’d Liking, but falls widely short of Love. Love, is what we can neither resist, expel, nor even alleviate, if we should never so vigorously attempt it; and tho’ some have boasted, Thus far will I yield and no farther, they have been convinc’d of the Vanity of forming such Resolutions by the impossibility of keeping them. Liking is a flashy Flame, which is to be kept alive only by ease and delight. Love, needs not this fewel to maintain its Fire, it survives in Absence, and disappointments, it endures, unchill’d, the wintry Blasts of cold Indifference and Neglect, and continues its Blaze, even in a storm of Hatred and Ingratitude, and Reason, Pride, or a just sensibility of conscious Worth, in vain oppose it. Liking, plays gaily round, feeds on the Sweets in gross, but is wholly insensible of the Thorns which guard the nicer, and more refin’d Delicacies of Desire, and can consequently give neither Pain, nor Pleasure in any superlative degree. Love creates intollerable Torments! Unspeakable Joys! Raises us to the highest Heaven of Happiness, or sinks us to the lowest Hell of Misery. Count D’elmont experienc’d the Truth of this Assertion; for neither his just concern for the manner of Alovisa’s Death cou’d curb the Exuberance of his Joy, when he consider’d himself belov’d by Melliora, nor any Diversion of which Rome afforded great Variety, be able to make him support being absent from her with Moderation. There are I believe, but few modern Lovers, how Passionate and constant soever they pretend to be, who wou’d not in the Count’s Circumstances have found some matter of Consolation; but he seem’d wholly dead to Gaiety. In vain, all the Roman Nobility courted his acquaintance; in vain the Ladies made use of their utmost Artifice to engage him: He prefer’d a solitary Walk, a lonely Shade, or the 145 Bank of some purling Stream, where he undisturb’d might contemplate on his belov’d Melliora, to all the noisy Pleasures of the Court, or the endearments of the inviting Fair. In fine, he shun’d as much as possible all Conversation with the Men, or Correspondence with the Women; returning all their Billet-Doux, of which scarce a Day past, without his receiving some, unanswer’d. This manner of Behaviour in a little time deliver’d him from the Persecutions of the Discreet; but having receiv’d one Letter which he had us’d as he had done the rest, it was immediately seconded by another; both which contain’d as follows: Letter I. To the never Enough Admir’d Count D’elmont. In your Country, where Women are allow’d the priveledge of being seen and Address’d to, it wou’d be a Crime unpardonable to Modesty, to make the first Advances. But here, where rigid Rules are Bar’s, as well to Reason, as to Nature: It wou’d be as great one, to feign an Infidelity of your Merit. I say, feign, for I look on it, as an impossibility really to behold you with Indifferency: But, if I cou’d believe that any of my Sex were in good earnest so dull, I must confess, I shou’d Envy that happy Stupidity, which wou’d secure me from the Pains such a Passion, as you create, must Inflict; unless, from the Millions whom your Charms have preach’d; you have yet a corner of your Heart Unpreposess’d; 146 and an Inclination willing to receive the Impression of, Your most Passionate and Tender, (but ’till she receives a favourable Answer) Your unknown Adorer. 147 Letter II. To the Ungrateful D’elmont. Unworthy of the Happiness design’d you! Is it thus, That you return the Condescention of a Lady? How fabulous is Report, which speaks those of your Country, warm and full of amorous Desires?--Thou, sure, art colder than the bleak northern Islanders--dull, stupid Wretch! Insensible of every Passion which give Lustre to the Soul, and differ Man from Brute!--Without Gratitude--Without Love--Without Desire--Dead, even to Curiosity!--How I cou’d despise Thee for this narrowness of Mind, were there not something in thy Eyes and Mein which assure me, that this negligent Behaviour is but affected; and that there are within thy Breast, some Seeds of hidden Fire, which want but the Influence of Charms, more potent perhaps, than you have yet beheld, to kindle into Blaze. Make hast then to be Enliven’d, for I flatter my self ’tis in my Power to work this wonder, and long to inspire so Lovely a Form with Sentiments only worthy of it.--The Bearer of this, is a Person who I dare Confide in--Delay not to come with him, for when once you are Taught what ’tis to Love; you’ll not be Ignorant that doubtful Expectation is the worst of Racks, and from your own Experience. Pity what I feel, thus chill’d with Doubt, yet burning with Desire. Yours, Impatiently. The Count was pretty much surpriz’d at the odd Turn of this Billet; but being willing to put an End to the Ladies Trouble, as well as his own; sat down, and without giving himself much Time to think, writ these Lines in Answer to Hers. To the FairIncognita. Madam, If you have no other design in Writing to me, than your Diversion, methinks my Mourning Habit, to which my Countenance and Behaviour are no way Unconformable, might inform you, I am little dispos’d for Raillery. If in Earnest you can find any thing in me which pleases you, I must confess my self entirely unworthy of the Honour, not only by my personal Demerits, but by the Resolution I have made, of Conversing with none of your Sex while I continue in Italy. I shou’d be sorry however to incurr the Aspersion of an unmannerly Contemner of Favours, which tho’ I do not desire, I pretend not to deserve. I therefore beg you will believe that I return this, as I did your Former, only to let you see, that since I decline making any use of your Condescentions to my Advantage; I am not ungenerous enough to do so to your Prejudice, and to all Ladies deserving the regard of a Disinterested Well-wisher; shall be an Humble Servant, D’Elmont. The Count order’d one of his Servants to deliver this Letter to the Person who brought the other; but he return’d immediately with it in his Hand, and told his Lordship that he cou’d not prevail on the Fellow to take it; that he said he had business with the Count, 148 and must needs see him, and was so Importunate, that he seem’d rather to Demand, than Entreat a Grant of his Request. D’elmont was astonish’d, as well he might, but commanded he should be admitted. Nothing cou’d be more comical than the appearance of this Fellow, he seem’d to be about three-score Years of Age, but Time had not been the greatest Enemy to his Face, for the Number of Scars, was far exceeding that of Wrincles, he was tall above the common Stature, but so lean, that, till he spoke, he might have been taken for one of those Wretches who have pass’d the Hands of the Anatomists, nor wou’d his Walk have dissipated that Opinion, for all his Motions, as he enter’d the Chamber, had more of the Air of Clock-work, than of Nature; his Dress was not less particular; he had on a Suit of Cloaths, which might perhaps have been good in the Days of his Great Grand-father, but the Person who they fitted must have been five times larger about the Body than him who wore them; a large broad buff Belt however remedy’d that Inconvenience, and girt them close about his Waste, in which hung a Faulchion, two Daggers, and a Sword of a more than ordinary Extent; the rest of his Equipage was a Cloak, which buttoning round his Neck fell not so low as his Hips, a Hat, which in rainy weather kept his Shoulders dry much better than an Indian Umbrella, one Glove, and a formidable pair of Whiskers. As soon as he saw the Count, my Lord, said he, with a very impudent Air, my Orders were to bring your self, not a Letter from you, nor do I use to be employ’d in Affairs of this Nature, but to serve one of the richest and most beautiful Ladies in Rome, who I assure you, it will be dangerous to disoblige. D’elmont ey’d him intentively all the time he spoke, and cou’d scarce, notwithstanding his Chagreen, forbear Laughing at the Figure he made, and the manner of his Salutation. I know not, answer’d he, Ironically, what Employments you have been us’d to, but certainly you appear to me, one 149 of the most unfit Persons in the World for what you now undertake, and if the Contents of the Paper you brought me, had not inform’d me of your Abilities this Way, I should never have suspected you for one of Cupid’s Agents: You are merry, my Lord, reply’d the other, but I must tell you, I am a Man of Family and Honour, and shall not put up an Affront; but, continued he, shaking the few Hairs which frequent Skirmishes had left upon his Head, I shall defer my own satisfaction ’till I have procur’d the Ladies; therefore, if your Lordship will prepare to follow, I shall walk before, at a perceivable Distance, and without St. Peter’s Key, open the Gate of Heaven. I should be apt (said the Count, not able to keep his Countenance at these Words) rather to take it for the other Place; but be it as it will; I have not the least Inclination to make the Experiment, therefore, you may walk as soon as you please without expecting me to accompany you. Then you absolutely refuse to go (cry’d the Fellow, clapping his Hand on his Forhead, and staring at him, as if he meant to scare him into Compliance!) Yes (answer’d the Count, laughing more and more) I shall neither go, nor waste any farther time or Words with you, so wou’d advise you not to be saucy, or tarry till my Anger gets the better of my Mirth, but take the Letter and be gone, and trouble me no more. The other, at these Words laid his Hand on his Sword, and was about to make some very impudent Reply, when D’elmont, growing weary of his Impertinence, made a Sign to his Servants, that they should turn him out, which he perceiving, took up the Letter without being bid a second time, and muttering some unintelligible Curses between his Teeth, march’d out, in the same affected Strut, with which he enter’d. This Adventure, tho’ surprizing enough to a Person so entirely unacquainted with the Character and Behaviour of these Bravo’s, as D’elmont was, gave him but very little matter of Reflection, and it being 150 the time for Evening Service at St. Peter’s, he went, according to his Custom, to hear Vesper’s there. Nothing is more Common, than for the Nobility and Gentry of Rome, to divert themselves with Walking, and talking to one another in the Collonade after Mass, and the Count, tho’ averse to all other publick Assemblies, wou’d sometimes spend an Hour or two there. As he was walking there this Evening, a Lady of a very gallant Mein pass’d swiftly by him, and flurting out her Handkerchief with a careless Air, as it were by Chance, drop’d an Agnus Dei set round with Diamonds at his Feet, he had too much Complaisance to neglect endeavouring to overtake the Lady, and prevent the Pain he imagin’d she wou’d be in, when she shou’d miss so rich a Jewel: But she, who knew well enough what she had done, left the Walk where the Company were, and cross’d over to the Fountain, which being more retir’d was the most proper for her Design: She stood looking on the Water, in a thoughtful Posture, when the Count came up to her, and bowing, with an Air peculiar to himself, and which all his Chagreen could not deprive of an irresistable Power of attraction, Presented the Agnus Dei to her. I think my self, Madam, said he, highly indebted to Fortune, for making me the means of your recovering a Jewel, the Loss of which wou’d certainly have given you some disquiet: Oh Heavens! cry’d she, receiving it with an affected Air of Surprize, could a Trifle like this, which I knew not that I had let fall, nor perhaps shou’d have thought on more, cou’d this, and belonging to a Woman too, meet the Regard of him, who prides in his Insensibility? Him! Who has no Eyes for Beauty, nor no Heart for Love! As she spoke these Words she contriv’d to let her Vail fall back as if by Accident, and discover’d a Face, Beautiful even to Perfection! Eyes black and sparkling, a Mouth form’d to Invite, a Skin dazlingly white, thro’ which 151 a most delightful Bloom diffus’d a chearful Warmth, and glow’d in amorous Blushes on her Cheeks. The Count could not forbear gazing on her with Admiration, and perhaps, was, for a Moment, pretty near receeding from that Insensibility she had reproach’d him with; but the Image of Melliora, yet unenjoy’d, all ravishingly Kind and Tender, rose presently in his Soul, fill’d all his Faculties, and left no Passage free for rival Charms. Madam, said he after a little Pause, the Italian Ladies take care to skreen their too dazling Lustre behind a Cloud, and, if I durst take that Liberty, have certainly reason to Tax your Accusation of Injustice; he, on whom the Sun has never vouchsafed to shine, ought not to be condemn’d for not acknowledging its brightness; yours is the first Female Face I have beheld, since my Arrival here, and it wou’d have been as ridiculous to have feign’d my self susceptible of Charms which I had never seen, as it wou’d be Stupidity, not to confess those I now do, worthy Adoration. Well, resum’d she smiling, if not the Lover’s, I find, you know how to Act the Courtier’s Part, but continued she, looking languishingly on him, all you can say, will scarce make me believe, that there requires not a much brighter Sun than mine, to Thaw a certain Frozen Resolution, you pretend to have made. There need no more to confirm the Count in the Opinion he had before conceiv’d, that this was the Lady from whom he had receiv’d the two Letters that Day, and thought he had now the fairest Opportunity in the World to put an End to her Passion, by assuring her how impossible it was for him ever to return it, and was forming an Answer to that purpose; when a pretty deal of Company coming toward them, she drew her Vail over her Face, and turning hastily from him, mingled with some Ladies, who seem’d to be of her Acquaintance. The Count knew by experience, the unutterable Perturbations of Suspence, and what agonizing Tortures rend an amorous Soul, divided betwixt Hope 152 and Fear: Despair itself is not so Cruel as Uncertainty, and in all Ills, especially in those of Love, it is less Misery to Know, than Dread the worst. The Remembrance of what he had suffer’d thus agitated, in the Beginning of his Passion for Melliora, made him extreamly pity the unknown Lady, and regret her sudden Departure; because it had prevented him from setting her into so much of his Circumstances, as he believ’d were necessary to induce her to recall her Heart. But when he consider’d how much he had struggled, and how far he had been from being able to repel Desire, he began to wonder that it cou’d ever enter into his Thoughts that there was even a possibility for Woman, so much stronger in her Fancy, and weaker in her Judgment, to suppress the Influence of that powerful Passion; against which, no Laws, no Rules, no Force of Reason, or Philosophy, are sufficient Guard. These Reflections gave no small Addition to his Melancholy; Amena’s Retirement from the World; Alovisa’s Jealousy and Death; Melliora’s Peace of Mind and Reputation, and the Despair of several, whom he was sensible, the Love of him, had rendred miserable, came fresh into his Memory, and he look’d on himself as most unhappy, in being the occasion of making others so. The Night which succeeded this Day of Adventures, chancing to be abroad pretty late; as he was passing thro’ a Street, he heard a Clashing of Swords, and going nearer to the place where the Noise was, he perceiv’d by some Lights which glimmer’d from a distant Door, a Gentleman defending himself with much Bravery against Three, who seem’d eager for his Death. D’elmont was mov’d to the highest Indignation at the sight of such Baseness; and drawing his Sword, flew furiously on the Assassins, just as one of them was about to run his Sword into the Breast of the Gentleman; who, by the breaking of his own Blade, was left unarm’d. Turn Villain, cry’d D’elmont, or while you are acting that Inhumanly, receive 153 the just Reward of it from me. The Ruffian fac’d about immediately, and made a Pass at him, while one of his Comrades did the same on the other side; and the third was going to execute on the Gentleman, what his fellows Surprize had made him leave undone: But he now gain’d Time to pull a Pistol out of his Pocket, with which he shot him in a Moment dead, and snatching his Sword from him as he fell, ran to assist the Count, who ’tis likely wou’d have stood in need of it, being engag’d with two, and those the most desparate sort of Bravo’s, Villains that make a Trade of Death. But the Noise of the Pistol made them apprehensive there was a farther Rescue, and put ’em to flight. The Gentleman seem’d agitated with a more than ordinary Fury; and instead of staying to Thank the Count, or enquire how he had escap’d, ran in pursuit of those who had assaulted him, so swiftly, that it was in vain for the Count, not being well acquainted with the Turnings of the Streets, to attempt to follow him, if he had a Mind to it: But seeing there was a Man kill’d, and not knowing either the Persons who fought, or the occasion of their Quarrel, he rightly judg’d, that being a Stranger in the place, his Word wou’d not be very readily taken in his own Vindication; therefore thought his wisest Course wou’d be to make off, with what Speed he cou’d, to his Lodging. While he was considering, he saw something on the Ground which glitter’d extreamly; and taking it up, found that it was part of the Sword which the assaulted Gentleman had the Misfortune to have broke: The Hilt was of a fine Piece of Agate, set round on the Top with Diamonds, which made him believe the Person whom he had preserv’d, was of considerable Quality, as well as Bravery. He had not gone many Paces from the place where the Skirmish happened, before a Cry of Murder met his Ears, and a great Concourse of People his Eyes: He had receiv’d two or three slight Wounds, which, 154 tho’ not much more than Skin-deep, had made his Linnen bloody, and he knew wou’d be sufficient to make him be apprehended, if he were seen, which it was very difficult to avoid: He was in a narrow Street, which had no Turning, and the Crowd was very near him, when looking round him with a good deal of Vexation in his Thoughts, he discern’d a Wall, which in one part of it seem’d pretty low: He presently resolv’d to climb it, and trust to Fortune for what might befall him on the other side, rather than stay to be expos’d to the Insults of the Outrageous Mob; who, ignorant of his Quality, and looking no farther than the outside of Things, wou’d doubtless have consider’d him no otherwise, than a Midnight Rioter. When he was got over the Wall, he found himself in a very fine Garden, adorn’d with Fountains, Statues, Groves, and every Ornament, that Art, or Nature, cou’d produce, for the Delight of the Owner: At the upper End there was a Summer-house, into which he went, designing to stay ’till the Search was over. But He had not been many Moments in his Concealment before he saw a Door open from the House, and two Women come out; they walk’d directly up to the place where he was; he made no doubt but that they design’d to enter, and retir’d into the farthest Corner of it: As they came pretty near, he found they were earnest in Discourse, but cou’d understand nothing of what they said, ’till she, who seem’d to be the Chief, raising her Voice a little higher than she had done: Talk no more, Brione said she, if e’re thy Eyes are Blest to see this Charmer of my Soul, thou wil’t cease to wonder at my Passion; great as it is, ’tis wanting of his Merit.----Oh! He is more than Raptur’d Poets feign, or Fancy can invent! Suppose Him so, (cry’d the other,) yet still he wants that Charm which shou’d Endear the others to you---Softness,---Heavens! To Return your Letters! To Insult your Messenger! To slight such Favours as any Man of Soul wou’d die to 155 obtain! Methinks such Usage shou’d make him odious to you,---even I shou’d scorn so spiritless a Wretch. Peace, thou Prophaner, said the Lady in an angry Tone, such Blasphemy deserves a Stab----But thou hast never heard his Voice, nor seen his Eyes, and I forgive Thee. Have you then spoke to him, interrupted the Confidant, Yes, answer’d the Lady, and by that Conversation, am more undone than ever; it was to tell thee this Adventure, I came to Night into this agreeable Solitude. With these Words they came into the Summer-house, and the Lady seating her self on a Bench; Thou know’st, resum’d she, I went this Evening to Saint Peter’s, there I saw the glorious Man; saw him in all his Charms; and while I bow’d my Knee, in show to Heaven, my Soul was prostrate only to him. When the Ceremony was over, perceiving he stay’d in the Collonade, I had no power to leave it, but stood, regardless who observ’d me, gazing on him with Transports, which only those who Love like me, can guess!---God! With what an Air he walk’d! What new Attractions dwelt in every Motion---And when he return’d the Salutes of any that pass’d by him, how graceful was his Bow! How lofty his Mein, and yet, how affable!----A sort of an inexpressible awful Grandeur, blended with tender Languishments, strikes the amaz’d Beholder at once with Fear and Joy!---Something beyond Humanity shines round him! Such looks descending Angels wear, when sent on Heavenly Embassies to some Favourite Mortal! Such is their Form! Such Radient Beams they dart; and with such Smiles they temper their Divinity with Softness!---Oh! With what Pain did I restrain my self from flying to him! from rushing into his Arms! From hanging on his Neck, and wildly uttering all the furious Wishes of my burning Soul!-----I trembled-----panted----rag’d with inward Agonies. Nor was all the Reason I cou’d muster up, sufficient to bear me from his Sight, without having first spoke to him. To that end I ventur’d to pass by him, and drop’d an Agnus 156 Dei at his Feet, believing that wou’d give him an Occasion of following me, which he did immediately, and returning it to me, discover’d a new Hoard of unimagin’d Charms----All my fond Soul confess’d before of his Perfections, were mean to what I now beheld! Had’st thou but seen how he approach’d me--with what an awful Reverence---with what a soft beseeching, yet commanding Air, he kiss’d the happy Trifle, as he gave it me, thou would’st have envy’d it as well as I! At last he spoke, and with an Accent so Divine, that if the sweetest Musick were compar’d to the more Celestial Harmony of his Voice, it wou’d only serve to prove how vastly Nature do’s excell all Art. But, Madam, cry’d the other, I am impatient to know the End of this Affair; for I presume you discover’d to him both what, and who you were? My Face only, reply’d the Lady, for e’re I had opportunity to do more, that malicious Trifler, Violetta, perhaps envious of my Happiness, came toward us with a Crowd of Impertinents at her Heels. Curse on the Interruption, and broke off our Conversation, just at that Blest, but Irrecoverable Moment, when I perceiv’d in my Charming Conqueror’s Eyes, a growing Tenderness, sufficient to encourage me to reveal my own. Yes, Brione, those lovely Eyes, while fix’d on mine, shone, with a Lustre, uncommon, even to themselves---A livelier Warmth o’erspread his Cheeks----Pleasure sat smiling on his Lips----those Lips, my Girl, which even when they are silent, speak; but when unclos’d, and the sweet Gales of balmy Breath blow on you, he kills you in a Sigh; each hurry’d Sense is ravish’d and your Soul glows with Wonder and Delight. Oh! To be forc’d to leave him in this Crisis, when new desire began to dawn; when Love its most lively Symptoms was apparent, and seem’d to promise all my Wishes covet, what Separation ever was so cruel? Compose your self, dear Madam, said Brione, if he be really in Love; as who so Insensible as not to be so, that once has seen your 157 Charms? That Love will teach him speedily to find out an opportunity as favourable as that which you have lately miss’d; or if he shou’d want Contrivance to procure his own Happiness, ’tis but your writing to appoint a Meeting. He must---He shall be mine! Cry’d the Lady in a Rapture, My Love, fierce as it was before, from Hope receives Addition to its Fury; I rave---I burn---I am mad with wild Desires---I die, Brione, if I not possess him. In speaking these Words, she threw her self down on a Carpet which was spread upon the Floor; and after sighing two or three times, continued to discover the Violence of her impatient Passion in this manner: Oh that this Night, said she, were past,---the Blisful Expectation of to morrows Joys, and the distracting Doubts of Disappointment, swell my unequal beating Heart by turns, and rack me with Vicissitudes of Pain-----I cannot live and bear it----soon as the Morning breaks, I’ll know my Doom----I’ll send to him----but ’tis an Age till then----Oh that I cou’d sleep---Sleep might perhaps anticipate the Blessing, and bring him in Idea to my Arms----but ’tis in vain to hope one Moment’s cool Serenity in Love like mine--my anxious Thoughts hurry my Senses in Eternal Watchings!---Oh D’elmont! D’elmont! Tranquill, Cold, and Calm D’elmont! Little doest thou guess the Tempest thou hast rais’d within my Soul, nor know’st to pity these consuming Fires! The Count list’ned to all this Discourse with a World of Uneasiness and Impatience; and tho’ at the first he fancy’d he remember’d the Voice, and had Reason enough from the beginning, especially when the Agnus Dei was mention’d, to believe it cou’d be no other than himself, whom the Lady had so passionately describ’d; yet he had not Confidence to appear till she had nam’d him; but then, no consideration was of force to make him neglect this opportunity of undeceiving her; his good Sense, as well as good Nature, kept him from that Vanity, too many of his Sex imitate 158 the weaker in, of being pleas’d that it was in his Power to create Pains, which it was not in his Power, so devoted as he was, to Ease. He stept from his Retirement as softly as he cou’d, because he was loath to alarm them with any Noise, ’till they shou’d discover who it was that made it, which they might easily do, in his advancing toward them never so little, that part of the Bower being much lighter than that where he had stood; but with his over-caution in sliding his Feet along, to prevent being heard, one of them tangled in the Corner of the Carpet, which happened not to lie very smooth, and not being sensible presently what it was that Embarrass’d him: He fell with part of his Body cross the Lady, and his Head in Brione’s Lap, who was sitting on the Ground by her. The Manner of his Fall was lucky enough, for it hinder’d either of them from rising, and running to alarm the Family, as certainly in such a fright they wou’d have done, if his Weight had not detain’d them; they both gave a great Shriek, but the House being at a good distance, they cou’d not easily be heard; and he immediately recovering himself, beg’d Pardon for the Terror he had occasion’d them; and addressing to the Lady, who at first was dying with her Fears, and now with Consternation: D’elmont, Madam, said he, cou’d not have had the Assurance to appear before you, after hearing those undeserv’d Praises your Excess of Goodness has been pleas’d to bestow upon him, but that his Soul wou’d have reproach’d him of the highest Ingratitude, in permitting you to continue longer in an Error, which may involve you in the greatest of Misfortunes, at least I am----As he was speaking, three or four Servants with Lights came running from the House; and the Lady, tho’ in more Confusion than can be well exprest, had yet Presence of Mind enough to bid the Count retire to the place where he had stood before, while she and Brione went out of the Summer-house to learn the Cause of this 159 Interruption: Madam, cry’d one of the Servants, as soon as he saw her, the Officers of Justice are within; who being rais’d by an Alarm of Murther, come to beg your Ladyships Permission to search your Garden, being, as they say, inform’d that the Offender made his Escape over this Wall. ’Tis very improbable, reply’d the Lady, for I have been here a considerable Time, and have neither heard the least Noise, nor seen any Body: However they may search, and satisfy themselves----go you, and tell them so. Then turning to the Count, when she had dismiss’d her Servants; My Lord, said she Trembling, I know not what strange Adventure brought you here to Night, or whether you are the Person for whom the Search is made; but am sensible, if you are found here, it will be equally injurious to your Safety, and my Reputation; I have a Back-door, thro’ which you may pass in Security: But, if you have Honour, (continu’d she) Sighing, Gratitude, or good Nature, you will let me see you to morrow Night. Madam, (reply’d he,) assure your self that there are not many things I more earnestly desire than an opportunity to convince you, how sensibly I am touch’d with your Favours, and how much I regret my want of Power to---you, (interrupted she,) can want nothing but the Will to make me the happiest of my Sex---but this is no Time for you to Give, or me to Receive any Proofs of that Return which I expect----Once more I conjure you to be here to morrow Night at Twelve, where the Faithful Brione shall attend to admit you. Farewell---be punctual and sincere--’Tis all I ask---when I am not, (answer’d he,) may all my Hopes forsake me. By this time they were come to the Door, which Brione, opening softly, let him out, and shut it again immediately. The Count took care to Remark the place that he might know it again, resolving nothing more than to make good his Promise at the appointed Hour, but 160 cou’d not help being extreamly troubled, when he consider’d how unwelcome his Sincerity wou’d be, and the Confusion he must give the Lady, when instead of those Raptures the Violence of her mistaken Passion made her hope, she shou’d meet with only cold Civility, and the killing History of the Pre-engagement of his Heart. In these and the like melancholly Reflections he spent the Night; and when Morning came, receiv’d the severest Augmentation of them, which Fate cou’d load him with. It was scarce full Day when a Servant came into his Chamber to acquaint him, that a young Gentleman, a Stranger, desir’d to be admitted, and seem’d so impatient till he was, That, said the Fellow, not knowing of what Consequence his Business may be, I thought it better to Risque your Lordship’s Displeasure for this early Disturbance, than by dismissing him, fill you with an unsatisfy’d Curiosity. The Count was far from being Angry, and commanded that the Gentleman should be brought up, which Order being immediately obey’d, and the Servant withdrawn out of Respect: Putting his Head out of the Bed, he was surpriz’d with the Appearance of one of the most beautiful Chevaliers he had ever beheld, and in whose Face, he imagin’d he trac’d some Features not Unknown to him. Pardon, me Sir, said he, throwing the Curtains more back than they were before, that I receive the Honour you do me, in this manner---but being ignorant of your Name, Quality, the Reason of your desire to see me, or any thing but your Impatience to do so, in gratifying that, I fear, I have injur’d the Respect, which I believe, is due, and which, I am sure, my Heart is inclinable to pay to you. Visits, like mine, reply’d the Stranger, require but little Ceremony, and I shall easily remit that Respect you talk of, while I am unknown to you, provided you will give me one Mark of it, that I shall ask of you, when you do. There are very few, reply’d 161 D’elmont, that I cou’d refuse to one, whose Aspect Promises to deserve so many. First then, cry’d the other pretty warmly, I demand a Sister of you, and not only her, but a Reparation of her Honour, which can be done no otherwise than by your Blood. It is impossible to represent the Count’s astonishment at these Words, but conscious of his Innocence in any such Affair: I shou’d be sorry Seignior, said he cooly, that Precipitation should hurry you to do any Action you wou’d afterwards Repent; you must certainly be mistaken in the Person to whom you are talking--Yet, if I were rash like you, what fatal Consequences might ensue; but there is something in your Countenance which engages me to wish a more friendly Interview than what you speak of: Therefore wou’d persuade you to consider calmly, and you will soon find, and acknowledge your Mistake; and, to further that Reflection, I assure you, that I am so far from Conversing with any Lady, in the Manner you seem to hint, that I scarcely know the Name, or Face of any one.---Nay, more, I give you my Word, to which I joyn my Honour, that, as I never have, I never will make the least Pretensions of that kind to any Woman during the Time of my Residence here. This poor Evasion, reply’d the Stranger with a Countenance all inflam’d, ill suits a Man of Honour.---This is no Roman, no, Italian Bono-Roba, who I mean----but French like you----like both of us.----And if your Ingratitude had not made it necessary for your Peace, to erace all Memory of Monsieur Frankville, you wou’d before now, by the near resemblance I bear to him, have known me for his Son, and that ’tis Melliora’s---the fond---the lost---the ruin’d Melliora’s Cause which calls for Vengeance from her Brother’s Arm! Never was any Soul agitated with more violent Emotions, than that of Count D’elmont at these Words. Doubt, Grief, Resentment, and Amazement, made such a Confusion in his Thoughts, that he was unable for some Moments to answer this cruel Accusation; and when he did, the Brother of 162 Melliora said he with a deep Sigh, wou’d certainly have been, next to her self, the most welcome Person upon Earth to me; and my Joy to have Embrac’d him as the dearest of my Friends, at least have equall’d the Surprize I am in, to find him without Cause, my Enemy.---But, Sir, if such a Favour may be granted to an unwilling Foe, I wou’d desire to know, Why you joyn Ruin to your Sisters Name? Oh! Give me Patience Heaven, cry’d young Frankville more enrag’d; is this a Question fit for you to ask, or me to Answer? Is not her Honour Tainted---Fame betray’d.---Her self a Vagabond, and her House abus’d, and all by you; the unfaithful Guardian of her injur’d Innocence?---And can you ask the Cause?----No, rather rise this Moment, and if you are a Man, who dare maintain the ill you have done, defend it with your Sword; not with vain Words and Womanish Excuses: All the other Passions which had warr’d within D’elmont’s Breast, now gave way to Indignation: Rash young Man, said he, jumping hastily out of the Bed, and beginning to put his Cloaths on: Your Father wou’d not thus have us’d me; nor, did he Live, cou’d blame me, for vindicating as I ought my wounded Honour----That I do Love your Sister, is as True, as that you have wrong’d me---Basely wrong’d me. But that her Virtue suffers by that Love, is false! And I must write the Man that speaks it, Lyar, tho’ in her Brother’s Heart. Many other violent Expressions to the same Effect, pass’d between them, while the Count was dressing himself, for he wou’d suffer no Servant to come in, to be Witness of his Disorder. But the steady Resolution with which he had attested his Innocence, and that inexpressible sweetness of Deportment, equally Charming to both Sexes, and which, not even Anger cou’d render less graceful, extreamly cool’d the Heat Frankville had been in a little before, and he in secret, began to recede very much from the ill Opinion he had conceiv’d, tho’ the greatness of his Spirit kept him from acknowledging he had been 163 in an Error; ’till chancing to cast his Eyes on a Table which stood in the Chamber, he saw the hilt of the broken Sword which D’elmont had brought home the Night before, lying on it; he took it up, and having first look’d on it with some Confusion in his Countenance. My Lord, said he, turning to the Count, I conjure you, before we proceed further, to acquaint me truely, how this came into your Possession, Tho’ D’elmont had as great a Courage, when any laudable Occasion appear’d to call it forth, as any Man that ever liv’d, yet his natural Disposition had such an uncommon Sweetness in it, as no Provocation cou’d sowre; it was always a much greater Pleasure to him to Forgive than Punish Injuries; and if at any time he was Angry, he was never Rude, or Unjust. The little starts of Passion, Frankville’s rash Behaviour had occasion’d, all dissolv’d in his more accustomary Softness, when he perceiv’d the other growing Calm. And answering to his Question, with the most obliging Accent in the World: It was my good Fortune, (said he) to be instrumental last Night, in the Rescue of a Gentleman who appear’d to have much Bravery, and being Attack’d by odds, behav’d himself in such a Manner, as wou’d have made him stand but little in need of my Assistance, if his Sword had been equal to the Arm which held it; but the breaking of that, gave me the Glory of not being unserviceable to him. After the Skirmish was over, I took it up, hoping it might be the means sometime or other of my discovering who the Person was, who wore it; not out of Vanity of receiving Thanks for the little I have done, but that I shou’d be glad of the Friendship of a Person, who seems so worthy my Esteem. Oh far! (cry’d Frankville, with a Tone and Gesture quite alter’d,) infinitely far from it--It was my self whom you preserv’d; that very Man whose Life you but last Night so generously redeem’d, with the hazard of your own, comes now prepar’d to make the first use of it against you---Is it possible that you can be so heavenly good to Pardon my wild Passions Heat? Let 164 this be witness, with what Joy I do, answer’d the Count, tenderly Embracing him, which the other eagerly returning; they continu’d lock’d in each others Arms for a considerable Time, neither of them being able to say more, than---And was it Frankville I Preserv’d!----And was it to D’elmont I owe my Life! After this mutual Demonstration of a perfect Reconcilement was over: See here, my Lord, said Frankville, giving a Paper to the Count, the occasion of my Rashness, and let my just concern for a Sisters Honour, be at least some little Mittigation of my Temerity, in accosting your Lordship in so rude a Manner. D’elmont made no Answer, but looking hastily over the Paper found it contain’d these Words. To Monsieur Frankville. While your Sisters Dishonour was known but to few, and the injurious Destroyer of it, out of the reach of your Revenge; I thought it would ill become the Friendship I have always profess’d to your Family, to disquiet you with the Knowledge of a Misfortune, which it was no way in your Power to Redress. But Count D’elmont, having by the Solicitation of his Friends, and the remembrance of some slight Services, obtain’d a Pardon from the KING, for the Murder of his Wife; has since taken but little care to conceal the Reasons which induc’d him to that barbarous Action; and all Paris is now sensible that he made that unhappy Lady’s Life a Sacrifice to the more attractive 165 Beauties of Melliora, in bloody Recompence for the Sacrifice she had before made him of her Virtue. In short, the Noble Family of the Frankvilles is for ever dishonour’d by this Unfaithful Guardian; and all who wish you well, rejoice to hear that his ill Genius has led him to a place which, if he knew you were at, certainly Prudence wou’d make him of all others most avoid; for none believes you will so far degenerate from the Spirit of your Ancestors, as to permit him to go unpunish’d. In finding the Count, you may probably find your Sister too; for tho’, after the Death of Alovisa, shame made her retire to a Monastry, she has since privately left it without acquainting the Abbess, or any of the Sisterhood, with her Departure; nor is it known to any one, where, or for what Cause she absconds; but most People imagine, as indeed it is highly reasonable, that the Violence of her guilty Passion for D’elmont has engag’d her to follow him. I am not unsensible how much I shock your Temper by this Relation, but have too much real concern for your Honour, to endure you shou’d, thro’ Ignorance of your Wrongs, remain Passive in such a Cause, and perhaps hug the Treacherous Friend in your most strict Embrace? Nor can I forbear, tho’ I love not Blood, urging you to take that just Revenge, which next to Heaven you have the greatest Claim to. I am, Sir, with all due Respect, Yours, Sanseverin. The Count swell’d with Indignation at every Paragraph of this malicious Letter; but when he came to that, which mention’d Melliora’s having withdrawn her self from the Monastry, he seem’d to be wholly abandon’d by his Reason; all Endeavours to represent his 166 Agonies wou’d be vain, and none but those who have felt the same, can have any Notion of what he suffer’d. He read the fatal Scroll again and again, and every time grew wilder than before; he stamp’d, bit his Lips, look’d furiously about him, then, starting from the place where he had stood, measur’d the Room in strange, disorder’d, and unequal Paces; all his Motions, all his Looks, all his Air were nothing but Distraction: He spoke not for some time, one Word, either prevented by the rising Passions in his Soul, or because it was not in the Power of Language to express the greatness of his Meaning; and when, at last, he open’d his Mouth, it was but to utter half Sentences, and broken Complainings: Is it possible, he cry’d,----gone,---left the Monastry unknown---and then again----false----false Woman?----Wretched----wretched Man! There’s no such Thing on Earth as Faith---is this the Effect of all her tender Passion?--So soon forgot---what can be her Reason?---This Action suits not with her Words, or Letters. In this manner he rav’d with a Thousand such like Breathings of a tormented Spirit, toss’d and confounded between various Sentiments. Monsieur Frankville stood for a good while silently observing him; and if before, he were not perfectly assur’d of his Innocence, the Agonies he now saw him in, which were too natural to be suspected for Counterfeit, entirely convinc’d him he was so. When the first gust of Passion was blown over, and he perceiv’d any likelyhood of being heard, he said a Thousand tender and obliging Things to perswade him to Moderation, but to very little Effect, till finding, that that which gave him the most stinging Reflection was, the Belief that Melliora had forsook the Monastry, either because she thought of him no more, and was willing to divert her enfranchis’d Inclination with the Gaieties of the Town, or that some happier Man had supplanted him in her Esteem. Judge not, my Lord, 167 (said he) so rashly of my Sister’s Fidelity, nor know so little of your own unmatch’d Perfections, as to suspect that she, who is Blest with your Affection, can consider any other Object as worthy her Regard; For my part, since your Lordship knows, and I firmly believe, that this Letter contains a great many Untruths, I see no Reason why we should not imagine it all of a piece: I declare I think it much more improbable that she should leave the Monastry, unless sollicited thereto by you, than that she had the Power to deny you any thing your Passion might request. The Count’s Disorder visibly abated at this Remonstrance; and stepping hastily to his Cabinet, he took out the last Letter he receiv’d from Melliora, and found it was dated but two Days before that from Monsieur Sanseverin; he knew she had not Art, nor was accustom’d to endeavour to disguise her Sentiments; and she had written so many tender things in that, as when he gave himself leave to consider, he could not, without believing her to be either the most Dissembling, or most fickle of her Sex, continue in the Opinion which had made him, a few Moments before, so uneasy, that she was no longer, what she always subscrib’d her self, Entirely His. The Tempest of Rage and Grief being hush’d to a little more Tranquillity, Count D’elmont, to remove all Scruples which might be yet remaining in the Breast of Monsieur Frankville, entertain’d him with the whole History of his Adventures, from the Time of his Gallantry with Amena, to the Misfortunes which had induc’d him to Travel, disguising nothing of the Truth, but some part of the Discourses which had pass’d between him and Melliora that Night when he surpriz’d her in her Bed, and in the Wilderness: For tho’ he freely confess’d the Violence of his own unbounded Passion, had hurry’d him beyond all Considerations but those of gratifying it; yet he was too tender of Melliora’s Honour, to relate anything of her, 168 which her Modesty might not acknowledge, without the Expence of a Blush. Frankville list’ned with abundance of Attention to the Relation he made him, and could find very little in his Conduct to accuse: He was himself too much susceptible of the Power of Love, not to have Compassion for those that suffer’d by it, and had too great a share of good Sense not to know that, that Passion is not to be Circumscrib’d; and being not only, not Subservient, but absolutely Controller of the Will, it would be meer Madness, as well as ill Nature, to say a Person was Blame-worthy for what was unavoidable. When Love once becomes in our Power, it ceases to be worthy of that Name; no Man really possest with it, can be Master of his Actions; and whatever Effects it may Enforce, are no more to be Condemn’d, than Poverty, Sickness, Deformity, or any other Misfortune incident to Humane Nature. Methinks there is nothing more absur’d than the Notions of some People, who in other Things are wise enough too; but wanting Elegance of Thought, Delicacy, or Tenderness of Soul, to receive the Impression of that harmonious Passion, look on those to be mad, who have any Sentiments elevated above their own, and either Censure, or Laugh, at what they are not refin’d enough to comprehend. These Insipids, who know nothing of the Matter, tell us very gravely, that we ought to Love with Moderation and Discretion,---and take Care that it is for our Interest,--that we should never place our Affections, but where Duty leads, or at least, where neither Religion, Reputation, or Law, may be a Hindrance to our Wishes.---Wretches! We know all this, as well as they; we know too, that we both do, and leave undone many other Things, which we ought not; but Perfection is not to be expected on this side the Grave: And since ’tis impossible for Humanity to avoid Frailties 169 of some kind or other, those are certainly least blamable, which spring only from a too great Affluence of the nobler Spirits. Covetousness, Envy, Pride, Revenge, are the Effects of an Earthly, Base, and Sordid Nature, Ambition, and Love, of an Exalted one; and if they are Failings, they are such as plead their own Excuse, and can never want Forgiveness from a generous Heart, provided no indirect Courses are taken to procure the Ends of the former, nor Inconstancy, or Ingratitude, stain the Beauty of the latter. Notwithstanding all that Monsieur Frankville could say, the Count, tho’ not in the Rage of Temper he had been in, was yet very melancholly; which the other perceiving, Alas, my Lord, said he Sighing, if you were sensible of the Misfortunes of others, you would think your own more easy to be born: You Love, and are Belov’d; no Obstacle remains between you and your Desires; but the Formality of Custom, which a little time will Remove, and at your return to Paris you will doubtless be happy, if ’tis in my Sister’s Power to make you so: You have a sure Prospect of Felicity to come, but mine is past, never, I fear, to be retriev’d. What mean you? Cry’d the Count pretty much surpriz’d at his Words, and the Change which he observ’d in his Countenance; I am in Love! Reply’d He, Belov’d! Nay, have Enjoy’d----Ay, there’s the Source of my Despair----I know the Heaven I have lost, and that’s my Hell.----The Interest D’elmont had in his Concerns, as being Son to the Man whom he had loved with a kind of filial Affection, and Brother to the Woman whom he ador’d above the World, made him extreamly desirous to know what the Occasion of his Disquiet was, and having exprest himself to that purpose; I shall make no Difficulty, reply’d Frankville, to reveal the Secret of my Love, to him who is a Lover, and knows so well, how to pity, and forgive, the Errors which that Passion will sometimes lead us into. The Count was too impatient to hear the Relation he was about to give him, 170 to make any other Answer to these Words than with a half Smile; which the other perceiving, without any farther Prelude, began to satisfy his Curiosity in this manner. The History of MonsieurFrankville. You know, my Lord, said he, that I was bred at Rheims with my Uncle, the Bishop of that Place, and continu’d with him, till after, prompted by Glory, and hope of that Renown you have since so gallantly acquir’d; you left the Pleasures of the Court for the Fatigues and Dangers of the Field: When I came home, I never ceas’d solliciting my Father to permit me to Travel, ’till weary’d with my continual Importunies, and perhaps, not much displeas’d with my Thirst of Improvement, he at last gave leave. I left Paris a little before the Conclusion of the Peace, and by that means remain’d wholly a Stranger to your Lordship’s Person, tho’ perfectly acquainted with those admirable Accomplishments which Fame is every where so full of. I have been in the Courts of England, Spain, and Portugal, but nothing very material hapning to me in any of those Places, it would be rather Impertinent, than Diverting, to defer, for Trifles, the main Business of my Life, that of my Love, which had not a Being ’till I came into this City. I had been here but a little Time before I had a great many Acquaintance, among the Number of them, was Seignior Jaques Honorius Cittolini: He, of all the rest, I was most intimate with; and tho’ to the Generality of People he behav’d himself with an Air of Imperiousness, he was to me, all free, and easy; he seem’d as if he took a Pleasure in Obliging me; carry’d me every where with him; introduc’d me to the best Company: When I was absent he spoke of me, as of 171 a Person who he had the highest Esteem for; and when I was present, if there were any in Company whose rank oblig’d him to place them above me in the Room; he took care to testify that I was not below them in his Respect; in fine, he was never more happy than when he was giving me some Proof how much he was my Friend; and I was not a little satisfy’d that a Man of almost twice my Years should believe me qualify’d for his Companion in such a manner as he made me. When the melancholly Account of my Fathers Death came to my Ears, he omitted nothing to persuade me to sell my Estate in France, and settle in Rome; he told me he had a Daughter, whose Heart had been the aim of the chiefest Nobility; but that he wou’d buy my Company at that Price and to keep me here, wou’d give me her. This Proposition was not altogether so pleasing to me, as perhaps, he imagin’d it wou’d be: I had heard much Talk or this Lady’s Beauty, but I had never seen her; and at that Time, Love was little in my Thoughts, especially that sort which was to end in Marriage. However, I wou’d not absolutely refuse his Offer, but evaded it, which I had the better pretence for, because Violetta, (so was his Daughter call’d) was gone to Vitterbo to Visit a sick Relation, and I cou’d not have the opportunity of seeing her. In the mean time, he made me acquainted with his deepest Secrets; among many other Things he told me, that tho’ their Family was one of the greatest in Rome, yet by the too great Liberality of his Father, himself and one Sister was left with very little to Support the Grandeur of their Birth; but that his Sister who was acknowledg’d a Woman of an uncommon Beauty, had the good Fortune to appear so, to Seignior Marcarius Fialasco: he was the possessor of immense Riches, but very Old; but the young Lady found Charms enough in his Wealth to ballance all other Deficiencies; She Married, and Buried him in a Month’s Time, and he dy’d so full of fondness to his lovely Bride; that he left her Mistress of all he had in the 172 World; giving only to a Daughter he had by a former Wife, the Fortune which her Mother had brought him, and that too, and herself to be dispos’d of, in Marriage, as this Triumphant Widow should think fit; and she, like a kind Sister, thought none worthy of that Alliance, but her Brother; and in a few Days he said, he did not doubt but that I shou’d see him a Bridegroom. I ask’d him if he was happy enough to have made an Interest in the young Lady’s Heart; and he very frankly answer’d, That he was not of a Humour to give himself much uneasiness about it, since it was wholly in his Sister’s Power to make him Master of her Person, and she resolv’d to do that, or Confine her in a Monastry for ever. I cou’d not help feeling a Compassionate concern for this Lady, tho’ she was a Stranger to me, for I cou’d not believe, so Beautiful and accomplish’d a Woman, as he had often describ’d her to be, cou’d find any thing in her design’d Husband which cou’d make this Match agreeable. Nothing can be more different from Graceful, than the Person of Cittolini; he is of a black swarthy Complexion, hook’d-Nos’d, wall Ey’d, short of Stature; and tho’ he is very Lean, the worst shap’d Man I ever saw; then for his Temper, as friendly as he behav’d to me, I discern’d a great deal of Treachery, and Baseness in it to others; a perpetual peevishness and Pride appear’d in his Deportment to all those who had any dependance on him: And I had been told by some who knew him perfectly well, that his cruel Usage of his first Lady had been the means of her Death; but this was none of my Business, and tho’ I pity’d the Lady, yet my gratitude to him engag’d me to wish him Success in all his Undertakings. ’Till one Day, unluckily both for him and me, as it has since prov’d; he desir’d me to Accompany him to the House of Ciamara, for so is his Sister call’d, being, willing I suppose, that I shou’d be a Witness of the extraordinary State she liv’d in; and indeed, in all the Courts I had been at, I never saw any thing more Magnificent than her Apartments; the vast quantity of Plate; the Richness 173 of the Furniture; and the number of Servants attending on Her, might have made her be taken rather for a Princess, than a private Woman. There was a very noble Collation, and she sat at Table with us her self, a particular Favour from an Italian Lady: She is by many Years younger than her Brother, and extreamly Handsome; but has, I know not what, of fierceness in her Eyes, which renders her, at least to me, a Beauty, without a Charm. After the Entertainment, Cittolini took me into the Gardens, which were answerable to what I had seen within, full of Curiosities; at one end there was a little Building of Marble, to which he led me, and entering into it, see here, Monsieur, said he, the Place where my Sister spends the greatest part of her Hours, and tell me if ’tis in this kind of Diversion that the French Ladies take Delight. I presently saw it was full of Books, and guess’d those Words were design’d as a Satyr on our Ladies, whose disposition to Gallantry seldom affords much time for Reading; but to make as good a Defence for their Honour as I was able. Seignior, reply’d I, it must be confest, that there are very few Ladies of any Nation, who think the Acquisition of Knowledge, worth the Pains it must cost them in the Search, but that ours is not without some Examples, that all are not of that Mind; our famous D’anois, and D’acier may evince. Well, Well, interrupted he laughing; the propensity which that Sex bears to Learning is so trifling, that I shall not pretend to hold any Argument on its Praise; nor did I bring you here so much to engage you to Admire my Sisters manner of Amusement, as to give you an Opportunity of diverting your self, while I go to pay a Compliment to my Mistress; who, tho’ I have a very great Confidence in you, I dare not trust with the sight of so accomplish’d a Chevalier. With these Words he left me, and I, designing to do as he had desir’d; turn’d to the Shelves to take down what Book I cou’d find most suitable to my Humour; but good God! As I was tumbling them over, I saw thro’ a Window which look’d into 174 a Garden behind the Study; tho’ both belonging to one Person: A Woman, or rather Angel, coming down a Walk directly opposite to where I was, never did I see in one Person such various Perfections blended, never did any Woman wear so much of her Soul in her Eyes, as did this Charmer: I saw that moment in her Looks, all I have since experienc’d of her Genius, and her Humour; Wit, Judgment, good Nature and Generosity are in her Countenance, conspicuous as in her Actions; but to go about to make a Description, were to wrong her; She has Graces so peculiar, that none without knowing her, can be able to conceive; and tho’ nothing can be finer than her Shape, or more regular than her Features; yet those, our Fancy or a Painters Art may Copy: There is something so inexpressibly striking in her Air; such a delightful Mixture of awful and attractive in every little Motion, that no Imagination can come up to. But if Language is too poor to paint her Charms, how shall I make you sensible of the Effects of them on me! The Surprize---the Love---the Adoration which this fatal View involv’d me in, but by that which, you say, your self felt at the first Sight of Melliora. I was, methought all Spirit,---I beheld her with Raptures, such as we imagine Souls enjoy when freed from Earth, they meet each other in the Realms of Glory; ’twas Heaven to gaze upon her: But Oh! The Bliss was short, the Envious Trees obscur’d her Lustre from me.---The Moment I lost Sight of her, I found my Passion by my Pain, the Joy was vanish’d, but the Sting remain’d---I was so bury’d in Thought, that I never so much as stirr’d a Step to endeavour to discover which way she went; tho’ if I had consider’d the Situation of the Place, it would have been easy for me to have known, there was a Communication between the two Gardens, and if I had gone but a few Paces out of the Study, must have met her; but Love had for the present depriv’d me of my Sences; and it but just enter’d into my Head that there was a Possibility of renewing my Happiness, when I perceiv’d Cittolini 175 returning. When he came pretty near; Dear Frankville, said he, pardon my Neglect of you; but I have been at Camilla’s Apartment, and am told she is in the lower Garden; I will but speak to her, snatch a Kiss and be with you again: He went hastily by me without staying for any Answer, and it was well he did so, for the Confusion I was in, had made me little able to reply. His Words left me no room to hope it was any other than Camilla I had seen, and the Treachery I was guilty of to my Friend, in but wishing to invade his Right, gave me a Remorse which I had never known before: But these Reflections lasted not long; Love generally exerts himself on these Occasions, and is never at a loss for means to remove all the Scruples that may be rais’d to oppose him. Why, said I to my self, should I be thus Tormented? She is not yet married, and ’tis almost impossible she can with Satisfaction, ever yield to be so, to him. Could I but have opportunity to Talk to her, to let her know my Passion,---to endeavour to deliver her from the Captivity she is in, perhaps she would not condemn my Temerity: I found a great deal of Pleasure in this Thought, but I was not suffer’d to enjoy it long; Honour suggested to me, that Cittolini lov’d me, had Oblig’d me, and that to supplant him would be Base and Treacherous: But would it not be more so, cry’d the Dictates of my Love, to permit the Divine Camilla to fall a Sacrifice to one so every way undeserving of her; one who ’tis likely she abhors; one who despises her Heart, so he may but possess her Fortune to support his Pride, and her Person to gratify a Passion far unworthy of the Name of Love; One! who ’tis probable, when Master of the one, and satiated with the other, may treat her with the utmost Inhumanity. Thus, for a time, were my Thoughts at Strife; but Love at length got the Victory, and I had so well compos’d my self before Cittolini’s Return that he saw nothing of the Disorder I had been in; but it was not so with him, his Countenance, at the best displeasing enough, was now the perfect 176 Representative of Ill Nature, Malice, and Discontent. Camilla had assur’d him, that nothing could be more her Aversion, and that she was resolv’d, tho’ a Monastick Life was what she had no Inclination to, yet she would fly to that Shelter, to avoid his Bed. You may imagine, my Lord, I was Transported with an Excess of Joy, when he told me this; but Love taught me to dissemble it, ’till I had taken leave of him, which I made an Excuse to do, as soon as possible. Now all that troubled me was to find an Opportunity to declare my Passion; and, I confess, I was so dull in Contrivance, that tho’ it took up all my Thoughts, none of them were to any purpose: Three or four Days I spent in fruitless Projections, the last of which I met with a new Embarrassment; Cittolini’s Daughter was return’d, he renew’d his Desires of making me his Son, and invited me the next Evening to his House, where I was to be entertain’d with the sight of her; I could not well avoid giving him my Promise to be there, but resolv’d in my Mind to behave my self in such a manner as should make her disapprove of me. While I was thus busied in Contriving how to avoid Violetta, and engage Camilla, a Woman wrapt up very closely in her Vail came to my Lodgings, and brought me a Note, in which I found these Words. To MonsieurFrankville. My Father is resolv’d to make me Yours; and if he has your Consent, mine will not be demanded; he has Commanded me to receive you to morrow, but I have a particular Reason to desire to see you sooner; I am to pass this Night with Camilla at my Aunt Ciamara’s; 177 there is a little Wicket that opens from the Garden, directly opposite to the Convent of St. Francis, if you will favour me so far as to come there at Ten a Clock to Night, and give Seven gentle Knocks at the Gate: You shall know the Cause of my Entreating this private Interview, which is of more Moment than the Life of Violetta. Never had I been more pleasingly surpriz’d, than at the Reading these Lines; I could not imagine the Lady could have any other Reason for seeing me in private, than to confess that her Heart was pre-engag’d, and disswade me from taking the Advantage of her Father’s Authority, a secret Hope too, sprung within my Soul, that my Adorable Camilla might be with her; and after I had dismiss’d the Woman, with an Assurance that I would attend her Lady, I spent my Time in vast Idea’s of approaching Happiness ’till the appointed Hour arriv’d. But how great was my Disappointment, when being admitted, I cou’d distinguish, tho’ the Place was very dark, that I was receiv’d but by one, and accosted by her, in a manner very different from what I expected: I know not, Monsieur, said she, how you interpret this Freedom I have taken; but whatever we pretend, our Sex, of all Indignities, can the least support those done to our Beauty; I am not vain enough of mine to assure my self of making a Conquest of your Heart; and if the World should know you have seen, and refus’d me, my slighted Charms would be the Theme of Mirth to those whose Envy now they are: I therefore beg, that if I am dislik’d, none but my self may know it; when you have seen my Face, which you shall do immediately, give me your Opinion freely; and if it is not to my Advantage, make some pretence to my Father to avoid coming to our House. I protest to you, my Lord that I was so much surpriz’d 178 at this odd kind of proceeding, that I knew not presently how to Reply, which she imagining by my Silence: Come, come, Monsieur, said she, I am not yet on even Terms with you, having often seen your Face, and you wholly a Stranger to mine: But when our Knowledge of each other is Mutual, I hope you will be as free in your Declaration as I have been in my Request. These Words I thought were as proper for my purpose as I cou’d wish, and drawing back a little, as she was about to lead me: Madam, said I, since you have that Advantage, methinks it were but just, you shou’d reveal what sort of Sentiments the sight of me has inspir’d, for I have too much Reason from the Knowledge of my Demerit, to fear, you have no other design in exposing your Charms, than to Triumph in the Captivating a Heart you have already doom’d to Misery; I will tell you nothing, answer’d she, of my Sentiments ’till I have a perfect knowledge of yours. As she spoke this, she gave me her Hand to conduct me out of that Place of Darkness; as we went, I had all the Concern at the apprehension of being too much approv’d of by this young Lady, as I shou’d have had for the contrary, if I had imagin’d who it was I had been talking with, for as soon as we came out of the Grotto, I saw by the light of the Moon, which shone that Night, with an uncommon Lustre, the Face which in those Gardens had before so Charm’d me, and which had never since been absent from my Thoughts. What Joy, what a mixture of Extacy and Wonder, then fill’d my raptur’d Soul at this second view, I cou’d not presently trust my Eyes, or think my Happiness was real: I gaz’d, and gaz’d again, in silent Transport, for the big Bliss, surpass’d the reach of Words. What Monsieur, said she, observing my Confusion, are you yet Dumb, is there any thing so dreadful in the form of Violetta, to deprive you of your Speech? No Madam, reply’d I, ’tis not Violetta has that Power, but she, who unknowing that she did so, caught at first sight the Victory o’re my Soul; she! for whom I have vented so 179 Sighs! she for whom I languish’d and almost dy’d for; while Violetta was at Vitterbo: She! The Divine Camilla only cou’d inspire a Passion such as mine!--Oh Heavens! cry’d she, and that instant I perceiv’d her lovely Face all crimson’d o’re with Blushes; is it then possible that you know me, have seen me before, and that I have been able to make any Impression on you? I then told her of the Visit I had made to Ciamara with Cittolini, and how by his leaving me in the Marble-Study, I had been blest with the sight of her; and from his Friend became his Rival: I let her know the Conflicts my Honour and my Obligations to Cittolini had engag’d me in; the thousand various Inventions Love had suggested to me, to obtain that Happiness I now enjoy’d, the opportunity of declaring my self her Slave; and in short, conceal’d not the least Thought, tending to my Passion, from Her. She, in requital, acquainted me, that she had often seen me from her Window, go into the Convent of St. Francis, walking in the Collonade at St. Peter’s, and in several other Places, and, prompted by an extravagance of good Nature, and Generosity, confess’d, that her Heart felt something at those Views, very prejudicial to her Repose: That Cittolini, always disagreeable, was now grown Odious; that the Discourse she had heard of my intended Marriage with his Daughter, had given her an alarm impossible to be express’d, and that, unable longer to support the Pangs of undiscover’d Passion, she had writ to me in that Ladies Name, who she knew I had never seen, resolving, if I lik’d her as Violetta, to own her self Camilla, if not, to go the next Day to a Monastry, and devote to Heaven those Charms which wanted force to make a Conquest where alone she wish’d they shou’d. I must leave it to your Lordship’s imagination to conceive the wild tumultuous hurry of disorder’d Joy which fill’d my ravish’d Soul at this Condescention; for I am now as unable to describe it, as I was then to thank the Dear, the tender Author of it; but what 180 Words had not Power to do, Looks and Actions testified: I threw myself at her Feet, Embrac’d her Knees, and kiss’d the Hand she rais’d me with, with such a Fervor, as no false Love cou’d feign; while she, all softness, all divinely Kind, yielded to the pressure of my glowing Lips, and suffer’d me to take all the freedom which Honour and Modesty wou’d permit. This interview was too felicitous to be easily broken off, it was almost broad Day when we parted, and nothing but her Promise, that I shou’d be admitted the next Night, cou’d have enabled me to take leave of her. I went away highly satisfy’d, as I had good Reason, with my Condition, and after recollecting all the tender Passages of our Conversation; I began to consider after what manner I shou’d proceed with Cittolini: To Visit and Address his Daughter, I thought, wou’d be Treacherous and Deceitful to the last degree; and how to come off, after the Promise I made of seeing her that Evening. I cou’d not tell; at last, since Necessity oblig’d me to one I resolv’d of, the two Evils to chuse the least, and rather to seem Rude, then Base, which I must have been, had I by counterfeiting a Desire to engage Violetta, left room for a possibility of creating one in her. I therefore, writ, to Cittolini an Excuse for not waiting on Him and his Daughter, as I had promis’d, telling him that I, on more serious Reflection found it wholly inconsistent, either with my Circumstances, or Inclinations, to think of passing all my Life in Rome; that I thank’d him for the Honour he intended me, but that it was my Misfortune, not to be capable of accepting it. Thus, with all the Artifice I was Master of, I endeavour’d to sweeten the bitter Pill of Refusal, but in vain; for he was so much Disgusted at it, that he visited me no more: I cannot say, I had Gratitude enough to be much concern’d at being compell’d to use him in this Fashion; for, since I had beheld, and Ador’d Camilla, I cou’d consider him no longer as a Friend, but as the most dangerous Enemy to my Hopes and 181 me. All this time I spent the best part of the Nights with Camilla; and in one of them, after giving, and receiving a thousand Vows of everlasting Faith, I snatch’d a lucking Moment, and obtain’d from the Dear, melting Charmer, all that my Fondest, and most eager Wishes cou’d aspire to. Yes, my Lord, the soft, the trembling Fair, dissolv’d in Love; yielded without Reserve, and met my Transports with an equal Ardor; and I truly protest to your Lordship, that what in others, palls Desire, added fresh Force to mine; the more I knew, the more I was Inflam’d, and in the highest Raptures of Enjoyment, the Bliss was dash’d with Fears, which prov’d alas, but too Prophetick, that some curst Chance might drive me from my Heaven: Therefore, to secure it mine for ever, I press’d the lovely Partner of my Joys, to give me leave to bring a Priest with me the next Night; who by giving a Sanction to our Love, might put it past the Power of Malice to Disunite us: Here, I experienc’d the greatness of her Soul, and her almost unexampled Generosity; for in spite of all her Love, her Tenderness, and the unbounded Condescentions she had made me, it was with all the difficulty in the World, that I persuaded her to think of Marrying me without a Fortune; which by her Father’s Will, was wholly in the Disposal of Ciamara, who it wou’d have been Madness to Hope, wou’d ever bestow it upon me. However, my Arguments at last prevail’d; I was to bring a Fryar of the Order of St. Francis, who was my intimate Friend, the next Night to join our Hands; which done, she told me, she wou’d advise to leave Rome with what speed we cou’d, for she doubted not but Cittolini wou’d make use of any means, tho’ never so base or Bloody, to Revenge his Disappointment. This Proposal infinitely pleas’d me, and after I had taken leave of her, I spent the remainder of the Night, in contriving the means of our Escape: Early in the Morning I secur’d Post-Horses, and then went to the Convent of St. Francis; a Purse of 182 Lewis D’ors soon engag’d the Fryar to my Interest, and I had every thing ready in wonderful Order, considering the shortness of the Time, for our Design: When returning Home towards Evening, as well to take a little rest after the Fatigue I had had, as to give some other necessary Directions, concerning the Affair to my Servants, when one of them gave me a Letter, which had been just left for me. Monsieur Frankville cou’d not come to this Part of his Story, without some Sighs, but suppressing them as well as he was able, he took some Papers out of his Pocket, and singling out one, read to the Count as follows. To Monsieur Frankville. With what Words can I represent the greatness of my Misfortune, or Exclaim against the Perfidy of my Woman? I was oblig’d to make her the Confidant of my Passion, because without her Assistance, I cou’d not have enjoy’d the Happiness of your Conversation, and ’tis by her that I am now Betray’d----undone,---lost to all hopes of ever seeing you more---What have I not endur’d this Day, from the upbraidings of Ciamara and Cittolini, but that I shou’d despise, nay, my own Ruin too, if you were safe----But Oh! their Malice aims to wound me most, through you----Bravo’s are hir’d, the Price of your Blood is paid, and they have sworn to take your Life---Guard it I conjure you, if you wou’d preserve that of Camilla’s. Attempt not to come near this House, nor walk alone, when Night may be an Umbrage to their Designs.---I hear my cruel Enemies returning to renew their Persecutions, and I have Time to inform you no more, than that ’tis 183 to the Generous Violetta you are indebted for this Caution: She, in pity of my Agonies, and to prevent her Father from executing the Crime he intends; conveys this to you, slight it not, if you wou’d have me believe you Love, Camilla. What a turn was here (continu’d he, sadly) in my Fortune? How on a sudden was my Scene of Happiness chang’d to the blackest Despair?---But not to tire your Lordship, and spin out my Narration, which is already too long with unavailing Complainings. I every Day expected a Challenge from Cittolini, believing he wou’d, at least, take that Method at first, but it seems he was for chusing the surest, not the fairest way: And I have since prov’d, that my Dear Camilla had too much Reason for the Caution she gave me. Ten Days I lingred out without being able to invent any means, either to see her, or write to Her; at the end of which, I receiv’d another Letter from Her, which, if I were to tell you the Substance of, wou’d be to wrong her; since no Words but her own are fit to Express her Meaning, and ’tis for that Reason only, I shall Read it. To MonsieurFrankville. Of all the Woes which wait on humane Life, sure there is none Equal to that a Lover feels in Absence; ’tis a kind of Hell, an earnest of those Pains, we are told, shall be the Portion of the Damn’d----Ten whole Nights, and Days, according to the vulgar Reckoning, but in mine, as many Ages, have roll’d their tedious Hours away since last I saw you, in all which time, my Eyes have never known one Moments cessation 184 from my Tears, nor my sad Heart from Anguish; restless I wander thro’ this hated House---Kiss the clos’d Wicket---stop, and look at every Place which I remember your dear steps have blest, then, with wild Ravings, think of past Joys, and curse my present Woes---yet you perhaps are Calm, no sympathizing Pang invades your Soul, and tells you what mine suffers, else, you wou’d, you must have found some Means to ease your self and me--’tis true, I bid you not attempt it--but Oh! If you had lov’d like me, you cou’d not have obey’d----Desire has no regard to Prudence, it despises Danger, and over-looks even Impossibilities---but whither am I going?---I say, I know not what---Oh, mark not what Distraction utters! Shun these detested Walls!---’tis Reason now commands! fly from this House, where injur’d Love’s enslav’d, and Death and Treachery reign---I charge thee come not near, nor prove thy Faith so hazardous a way---forgive the little Fears, which ever dwell with Love---I know thou art all sincerity!---all God-like Truth, and can’st not change---yet, if thou shouldst,---tormenting Thought!----Why then, there’s not a Heaven-abandon’d Wretch, so lost---so Curst as I---What shall I do to shake off Apprehension? in spite of all thy Vows---thy ardent Vows, when I but think of any Maid, by Love, and fond Belief undone, a deadly cold runs thro’ my Veins, congeals my Blood, and chills my very Soul!---Gazing on the Moon last Night, her Lustre brought fresh to my Memory those transporting Moments, when by that Light I saw you first a Lover, and, I think Inspired me, who am not usually fond of Versifying, to make her this Complaint. 185 The Unfortunate Camilla’s Complaint to the Moon, for the Absence of her Dear Henricus Frankville. Mild Queen of Shades! Thou sweetly shining Light! Once, more than Phœbus, welcome to my Sight: ’Twas by thy Beams I firstHenricus saw Adorn’d with softness, and disarm’d of awe! Never did’st thou appear more fair! more bright! Than on that Dear, that Cause-remembred Night! When the dull Tyes of Friendship he disclaim’d, And to Inspire a tend’rer Passion aim’d: Alas! he cou’d not long, in vain, implore For that, which tho’ unknown, was his before; Nor had I Art the Secret to Disguise, My Soul spoke all her Meaning thro’ my Eyes, And every Glance bright’ned with glad Surprize! Lost to all Thought, but His Transporting Charms, I sunk, unguarded! Melting in his Arms! Blest at that lavish rate, my State, that Hour I’d not have Chang’d for all in fortune’s Pow’r, Nay, had descending Angel’s from on High Spread their bright Wings to waft me to the Sky, Thus clasp’d! Cœlestial Charms had fail’d to move And Heav’n been slighted, forHenricus Love. How did I then thy happy Influence Bless? How watch each joyful Night, thy Lights encrease? But Oh! How alter’d since---Despairing now, I View thy Lustre with contracted Brow: Pensive, and sullen from the Rays wou’d hide, And scarce the glimmering Star’s my Griefs abide, In Death-like darkness wou’d my Fate deplore, And wish Thee to go down, to Rise no more! 186 Pity the Extravagance of a Passion which only Charms like thine cou’d Create, nor too severely chide this soft Impertinence, which I cou’d not refrain sending you, when I can neither see you, nor hear from you: to write, gives some little respite to my Pains, because I am sure of being in your Thoughts, while you are Reading my Letters. The Tender Hearted Violetta, preferring the Tyes of Friendship to those of Duty, gives me this happy opportunity, but my Ill-fortune deprives me too of her, she goes to Morrow to her Fathers Villa, and Heaven knows when I shall find means to send to you again. Farewel, Thou Loveliest, Dearest, and Divine Charmer---Think of me with a Concern full of Tenderness, but that is not enough; and you must pardon me, when I confess, that I cannot forbear wishing you might feel some of those Pains, impatient longing brings.---All others be far away, as far, as Joy is, when you are Absent from Your Unfortunate Camilla. P.S. Since I writ this, a Fancy came into my Head, that if you cou’d find a Friend Trusty enough to confide in, and one unknown to our Family, he might gain admittance to me in Cittolini’s Name, as sent by him, while he is at the Villa. I flatter my self you will take as much pleasure in endeavouring to let me hear from you, as I do in the hope of it. Once more Adieu. Your Lordship may judge, by what I have told you of the Sincerity of my Passion, how glad I should have been to have comply’d with her Request, but it was utterly impossible to find any body fit for such a Business: I pass’d three or four Days more, in Disquietudes too great to be exprest; I saunter’d up and 187 down the Street where she liv’d, in hopes to see her at some of the Windows, but Fortune never was so favourable to me, thus I spent my Days, and left the sight of those dear Walls at Nights, but in obedience to the Charge she had given me of preserving my Life. Thus, my Lord, has the business of my Love engrossed my Hours, ever since your Lordships arrival, and tho’ I heard that you were here, and extreamly wish’d to kiss your Hands, yet I cou’d never get one Moment compos’d enough to wait on you in, ’till what my Desires cou’d not do, the rashness of my Indignation effected: Last Night, being at my Bankers where all my Bills and Letters are directed, I found this, from Monsieur Sanseverin, the Rage which the Contents of it put me in, kept me from remembring that Circumspection, which Camilla had enjoyn’d, and I thought of nothing but revenging the injury I imagin’d you had done me: As I was coming Home, I was attack’d as you saw, when you so generously preserv’d me, the just Indignation I conceiv’d at this base procedure of Cittolini’s transported me so far, as to make me forget what I owed to my Deliverer, to run in pursuit of those who assaulted me, but soon lost sight of them, and returning, as Gratitude and Honour call’d me, to seek, and thank you for your timely Assistance, I found a Throng of People about the Body of the Villain I had killed, some of them were for Examining me, but finding no Wounds about me, nor any marks of the Engagement I had been in, I was left at my Liberty. Thus, my Lord, have I given you, in as brief a manner as the Changes of my Fortune wou’d permit, the Account of my present melancholly Circumstances, in which, if you find many things blameable, you must acknowledge there are more which require Compassion. 188 I see no Reason, answer’d the Count, either for the one or the other, you have done nothing but what any Man who is a Lover, wou’d gladly have it in his Power to do, and as for your Condition, it certainly is more to be envy’d than pity’d: The Lady loves, is Constant, and doubtless will some way or other, find means for her Escape,----Impossible! Cry’d Frankville, interrupting him, she is too strictly watch’d to suffer such a Hope. If you will prepare a Letter, resum’d D’elmont, my self will undertake to be the Bearer of it; I am entirely a Stranger to the People you have been speaking of, or if I should chance to be known to them, cannot be suspected to come from you, since our Intimacy, so lately born, cannot yet be talk’d of, to the prejudice of our Design; and how do you know, continu’d he smiling, but, if I have the good Fortune to be introduc’d to this Lady, that I shall not be able to assist her Invention to form some Scheme, for both your future Happiness. This offer was too agreeable to be refus’d, Frankville accepted it with all the Demonstrations of Gratitude and Joy imaginable, and setting himself down to the Count’s Scrutore, was not long Writing the following Billet which he gave him to read before he seal’d it. To the most Lovely and Adorable Camilla. “If to consume with inward Burnings, to have no Breath but Sighs, to wish for Death, or Madness to relieve me from the racks of Thought, be Misery consummate, such is mine! And yet my too unjustCamilla thinks I feel no Pain, and chides my cold Tranquility; cou’d I be so, I were 189 indeed a Wretch deserving of my nate, but far unworthy of your Pity or Regard. No, no, thou Loveliest, Softest, most angelic Creature, that Heaven, in lavish Bounty, ever sent to charm the adoring World; he that cou’d know one Moments stupid Calm in such an Absence, ought never to be blest with those unbounded Joys thy Presence brings: What wou’d I not give, what wou’d I not hazard but once more to behold thee, to gaze upon thy Eyes, those Suns of kindling Transports! to touch thy enlivening Hand! to feed upon the ravishing sweetness of thy Lips! Oh the Imagination’s Extacy! Life were too poor to set on such a Cast, and you shou’d long e’re this, have prov’d the little Value I have for it, in competition with my Love if your Commands had not restrain’d me. Cittolini’s Malice, however, had last Night been gratify’d, if the Noble Count D’elmont had not been inspir’d for my Preservation, it is to him I am indebted, not only for my Life, but a much greater Favour, that of conveying to you the Assurance, how much my Life, my Soul, and all the Faculties of it are eternally Yours. Thank him, my Camilla, for your Frankville, for Words like thine are only fit to Praise, as it deserves, such an exalted Generosity; ’tis with an infinite deal of Satisfaction I reflect how much thy Charms will justify my Conduct when he sees thee, all that excess of Passion, which my fond Soul’s too full of to conceal, that height of Adoration, which offer’d to any other Woman wou’d be Sacriledge, the wonders of thy Beauty and thy Wit, claim as their due, and prove Camilla, like Heaven, can never be too much Reverenc’d! Be too much Lov’d!----But, Oh! How poor is Language to express what ’tis I think, thus Raptur’d with thy Idea, thou best, thou Brightest----thou most Perfect----thou something more than Excellence it self--thou far surpassing all that Words can speak, or Heart, unknowing thee, conceive: 190 yet I cou’d dwell for ever on the Theme, and swell whole Volumes with enervate, tho’ well-meaning Praises, if my Impatience, to have what I have already writ, be with you, did not prevent my saying any more than, that but in you I live, nor cou’d support this Death-like absence, but for some little intervals of Hope, which sometimes flatter me, that Fortune will grow weary of persecuting me, and one Day re-unite my Body to my Soul and make both inseparably Yours, Frankville.” These new made Friends having a fellow-feeling of each others Sufferings, as proceeding from one Source, pass’d the time in little else but amorous Discourses, till it was a proper Hour for the Count to perform his Promise, and taking a full Direction from Frankville how to find the House, he left him at his Lodgings to wait his return from Ciamara’s, forming, all the way he went, a thousand Projects to communicate to Camilla for her Escape, he was still extreamly uneasy in his Mind concerning Melliora, and long’d to be in Paris to know the Truth of that Affair, but thought he cou’d not in Honour leave her Brother in this Embarrassment, and resolv’d to make use of all his Wit and Address to perswade Camilla to hazard every thing for Love, and was not a little pleas’d with the Imagination, that he should lay so considerable an obligation on Melliora, as this Service to her Brother wou’d be. Full of these Reflections he found himself in the Portico of that magnificent House he was to enter, and seeing a Crowd of Servants about the Door, desir’d to be brought to the presence of Donna Camilla Fialaso, one of them, immediately conducted him into a stately Room, and leaving him there, told him, the Lady shou’d be made acquainted with his Request; presently after came in a Woman, who, tho’ very Young, seem’d to be in the nature of a Duenna, the Count stood with his Back toward her as 191 she enter’d, but hearing somebody behind him, and turning hastily about, he observ’d she startled at sight of him, and appear’d so confus’d that he knew not what to make of her Behaviour, and when he ask’d if he might speak with Camilla, and said he had a Message to deliver from Cittolini, she made no other Answer than several times, with an amaz’d Accent, Ecchoing the names of Camilla and Cittolini, as if not able to comprehend his Meaning; he was oblig’d to repeat his Words over and over before she cou’d recollect herself enough to tell him, that she wou’d let him know her Lady’s pleasure instantly. She left him in a good deal of Consternation, at the Surprize he perceiv’d the Sight of him had put her into, he form’d a thousand uncertain Guesses what the occasion shou’d be, but the Mistery was too deep for all his Penetration to fathom, and he waited with abundance of Impatience for her return, or the appearance of her Lady, either, of which, he hop’d, might give a Solution to this seeming Riddle. He attended a considerable time, and was beginning to grow excessive uneasy, at this Delay, when a magnificent Anti-porta being drawn up, he saw thro’ a Glass Door, which open’d into a Gallery, the Duenna approaching: She had now entirely compos’d her Countenance, and with an obliging Smile told him, she wou’d conduct him to her Lady. She led him thro’ several Rooms, all richly furnish’d and adorn’d, but far inferior to the last he came into, and in which he was again left alone, after being assur’d that he should not long be so. Count D’elmont cou’d not forbear giving Truce to his more serious Reflections, to admire the Beauties of the Place he was in; where e’er he turn’d his Eyes, he saw nothing but was splendidly Luxurious, and all the Ornaments contriv’d in such a manner, as might fitly be a Pattern, to Paint the Palace of the 192 Queen of Love by: The Ceiling was vastly high and beautify’d with most curious Paintings, the Walls were cover’d with Tapestry, in which, most artificially were woven, in various colour’d Silk, intermix’d with Gold and Silver, a great number of Amorous Stories; in one Place he beheld a Naked Venus sporting with Adonis, in another, the Love transform’d Jupiter, just resuming his Shape, and rushing to the Arms of Leda; there, the seeming Chast Diana Embracing her entranc’d Endimion; here, the God of soft Desires himself, wounded with an Arrow of his own, and snatching Kisses from the no less enamour’d Psiche: betwixt every one of these Pieces hung a large Looking-Glass, which reach’d to the top of the Room, and out of each sprung several crystal Branches, containing great Wax-Tapers, so that the number of Lights vy’d with the Sun, and made another, and more glorious Day, than that which lately was withdrawn. At the upper End of this magnificent Chamber, there was a Canopy of Crimson Velvet, richly emboss’d, and trim’d with Silver, the Corners of which were supported by two golden Cupids, with stretch’d out Wings, as if prepar’d to fly; two of their Hands grasp’d the extremity of the Valen, and the other, those nearest to each other, joyn’d to hold a wreath of Flowers, over a Couch, which stood under the Canopy. But tho’ the Count was very much taken at first with what he saw, yet he was too sincere a Lover to be long delighted with any thing in the absence of his Mistress: How Heavenly (said he to himself Sighing) wou’d be this Place, if I expected Melliora here! But Oh! how preferable were a Cottage blest with her, to all this Pomp and Grandeur with any other; this Consideration threw him into a deep Musing, which made him forget either where he was, or the Business which brought him there, till rous’d from it by the dazling Owner of this sumptuous Apartment. Nothing could be more glorious than her Appearance; she was by Nature, a Woman of a most excellent Shape, to which, her desire of Pleasing, had made her add all 193 the aids of Art; she was drest in a Gold and Silver stuff Petticoat, and a Wastcoat of plain blew Sattin, set round the Neck and Sleeves, and down the Seams with Diamonds, and fastned on the Breast, with Jewels of a prodigeous largeness and lustre; a Girdle of the same encompass’d her Waste; her Hair, of which she had great quantity, was black as Jet, and with a studied Negligence, fell part of it on her Neck in careless Ringlets, and the other was turn’d up, and fasten’d here and there with Bodkins, which had pendant Diamonds hanging to ’em, and as she mov’d, glittered with a quivering Blaze, like Stars darting their fires from out a sable Sky; she had a Vail on, but so thin, that it did not, in the least, obscure the shine of her Garments, or her Jewels, only she had contriv’d to double that part of it which hung over her Face, in so many folds, that it serv’d to conceal her as well as a Vizard Mask. The Count made no doubt but this was the Lady for whom he waited, and throwing off that melancholly Air he had been in, assum’d one, all gay and easy, and bowing low, as he advanc’d to meet her; Madam, said he, if you are that incomparable Camilla, whose Goodness nothing but her Beauty can equalize, you will forgive the intrusion of a Stranger, who confesses himself no other way worthy of the Honour of your Conversation, but by his Desires to serve him who is much more so: A Friend of Cittolini’s, answer’d she, can never want admittance here, and if you had no other Plea, the Name you come in, is a sufficient Warrant for your kind Reception: I hope, resum’d he in a low Voice, and looking round to see if there were no Attendants in hearing, I bring a Better, from Frankville, Madam, the adoring Frankville, I have these Credentials to Justify my Visit; in speaking this, he deliver’d the Letter to her, which she retiring a few Paces from him to read, gave him an opportunity of admiring the Majesty of her Walk, 194 and the agreeable loftiness of her Mein, much more than he had time to do before. She dwelt not long on the Contents of the Letter, but throwing it carelesly down on a Table which stood near her, turn’d to the Count, and with an Accent which express’d not much Satisfaction; and was it to you, my Lord! said she, that Monsieur Frankville ow’d his Preservation? I was so happy, reply’d he, to have some little hand in it, but since I have known how dear he is to you, think my self doubly blest by Fortune for the means of acting any thing conducive to your Peace: If you imagine that this is so, resum’d she hastily, you are extreamly mistaken, as you will always be, when you believe, where Count D’elmont appears, any other Man seems worthy the regard of a discerning Woman; but, continu’d she, perceiving he look’d surpriz’d, to spare your suspence, and my self the trouble of repeating what you know already, behold who she is, you have been talking to, and tell me now, if Frankville has any Interest in a Heart to which this Face belongs? With these Words she threw off her Vail, and instead of lessening his Amazement, very much encreas’d it, in discovering the Features of the Lady, with whom he had discoursed the Night before in the Garden, He knew not what to think, or how to reconcile to Reason, that Camilla, who so lately lov’d, and had granted the highest Favours to Frankville, shou’d on a sudden be willing, uncourted, to bestow them on another, nor cou’d he comprehend how the same Person shou’d at once live in two several Places, for he conceiv’d the House he was in, was far distant from the Garden which he had been in the Night before. They both remain’d for some Moments in a profound Silence, the Lady expecting when the Count shou’d speak, and he endeavouring to recollect himself enough to do so, ’till she, at last, possibly guessing at his Thoughts, resum’d her Discourse in this manner: 195 My Lord, said she, wonder not at the Power of Love, a Form like yours might soften the most rugged Heart, much more one, by Nature so tender as is mine.----Think but what you are, continu’d she sighing, and making him sit down by her on the Couch, and you will easily excuse whatever my Passion may enforce me to commit. I must confess Madam, answer’d he very gravely, I never in my Life wanted presence of mind so much as at this juncture, to see before me here, the Person, who, I believ’d, liv’d far from hence, who, by Appointment, I was to wait on this Night at a different Place.----To find in the Mistress of my Friend, the very Lady, who seems unworthily to have bestow’d her Heart on me, are Circumstances so Incoherent, as I can neither account for, or make evident to Reason, tho’ they are too truly so to Sense: It will be easy, reply’d she, to reconcile both these seeming Contradictions, when you shall know that the Gardens belonging to this House, are of a very large Extent, and not only that, but the turning of the Streets are so order’d, as make the Distance between the fore, and back Door appear much greater than really it is: And for the other, as I have already told you, you ought to be better acquainted with your self, than to be surpriz’d at Consequences which must infallibly attend such Charms: In saying this, she turn’d her Head a little on one side, and put her Handkerchief before her Face, affecting to seem confus’d at what she spoke; but the Count redned in good Earnest, and with a Countenance which express’d Sentiments, far different from those she endeavour’d to Inspire: Madam, said he, tho’ the good Opinion you have of me is owing entirely to the Error of your Fancy, which too often, especially in your Sex, blinds the Judgment, yet, ’tis certain, that there are not many Men, whom such Praises, coming from a Mouth like yours, wou’d not make Happy and Vain; but if I was ever of a Humour to be so, it is now wholly mortify’d in me, and ’tis but with the utmost regret, that I must receive the Favours you confer on me to the prejudice of my 196 Friend: And is that, interrupted she hastily, is that the only Cause? Does nothing but your Friendship to Frankville prevent my Wishes? That, of itself, answer’d he, were a sufficient Bar to sunder us for ever, but there’s another, if not a greater, a more tender one, which, to restore you to the Path, which Honour, Gratitude, and Reason call you to, I must inform you of, yes, I must tell you, Madam, all lovely as you are, that were there no such Man as Frankville, in the World,----were you as free as Air, I have a defence within, which all your Charms can never pierce, nor softness melt---I am already bound, not with the weak Ties of Vows or formal Obligations, which confine no farther than the Body, but Inclination!----the fondest Inclination! That ever swell’d a Heart with Rapturous Hopes: The Lady had much ado to contain herself till he had done speaking; she was by Nature extreamly Haughty, Insolent of her Beauty, and impatient of any thing she thought look’d like a flight of it, and this open Defyance of her Power, and acknowledging anothers, had she been less in Love wou’d have been insupportable to her: Ungrateful and uncourtly Man, said she, looking on him with Eyes that sparkled at once with Indignation and Desire, you might have spar’d yourself the trouble of Repeating, and me the Confusion of hearing, in what manner you stand Engag’d, it had been enough to have told me you never cou’d be mine, without appearing transported at the Ruin which you make; if my too happy Rival possesses Charms, I cannot boast, methinks your good Manners might have taught you, not to insult my Wants, and your good Nature, to have mingled Pity with your Justice; with these Words she fell a Weeping, but whether they were Tears of Love or Anger, is hard to determine, ’tis certain that both those Passions rag’d this Moment in her Soul with equal Violence, and if she had had it in her Power, wou’d doubtless have been glad to have hated him, but he was, at all times, too lovely to suffer a possibility of that, and much more so at this, for in 197 spite of the Shock, that Infidelity he believ’d her guilty of to Frankville, gave him; he was by Nature so Compassionate, he felt the Woes he saw, or heard of, even of those who were most indifferent to him, and cou’d not now behold a Face, in which all the Horrors of Despair were in the most lively manner represented, without displaying a Tenderness in his, which in any other Man, might have been taken for Love; the dazling Radience of his Eyes, gave place to a more dangerous, more bewitching softness, and when he sigh’d, in Pity of her Anguish, a Soul Inchanting Languishment diffus’d itself thro’ all his Air, and added to his Graces; she presently perceiv’d it, and forming new Hopes, as well from that, as from his Silence, took hold of his Hand, and pressing it eagerly to her Bosom, Oh my Lord! resum’d she, you cannot be ungrateful if you wou’d,----I feel you cannot----Madam, interrupted he, shaking off as much possible that show of Tenderness, which he found had given her Incouragement; I wish not to convince you how nearly I am touch’d, with what you suffer, lest it shou’d encrease an Esteem, which, since prejudicial to your Repose, and the Interest of my Friend; I rather ought to endeavour to lessen.----But, as this is not the Entertainment I expected from Camilla, I beg to know an Answer of the Business I came upon, and what you decree for the unfortunate Frankville: If the Lady was agitated with an extremity of Vexation at the Count’s Declaration of his Passion for another, what was she now, at this Disappointment of the Hopes she was so lately flatter’d with! instead of making any direct reply to what he said, she rag’d, stamp’d, tore her Hair, curs’d Frankville, all Mankind, the World, and in that height of Fury, scarce spar’d Heaven itself; but the violence of her Pride and Resentment being a little vented, Love took his turn, again she wept, again she prest his Hand, nay she even knelt and hung upon his Feet, as he wou’d have broke from her, and beg’d him with Words as eloquent as Wit cou’d Form, and desperate dying Love Suggest, to 198 pity and relieve her Misery: But he had now learn’d to dissemble his Concern, lest it shou’d a second time beguile her, and after raising her, with as careless and unmov’d an Air, as he was capable of putting on: My Presence, Madam, said he, but augments your Disorder, and ’tis only by seeing you no more, that I am qualify’d to conduce to the recovery of your Peace: With these Words he turn’d hastily from her, and was going out of the Room, when she, quick as Thought, sprung from the Place where she had stood, and being got between him and the Door, and throwing her self into his Arms, before he had time to prevent her; you must not, shall not go, she cry’d, till you have left me dead: Pardon me, Madam, answer’d he fretfully, and struggling to get loose from her Embrace, to stay after the Discovery you have made of your Sentiments, were to be guilty of an Injustice almost equal to your’s, therefore I beg you’d give me liberty to pass.----Hear me but speak, resum’d she, grasping him yet harder; return but for a Moment,----lovely Barbarian,----Hell has no torments like your Cruelty. Here, the different Passions working in her Soul, with such uncommon Vehemence, hurry’d her Spirits beyond what Nature cou’d Support; her Voice faulter’d in the Accent, her trembling Hands by slow degrees relinquish’d what so eagerly they had held, every Sense forgot its Use, and she sunk, in all appearance, lifeless on the Floor. The Count was, if possible, more glad to be releas’d, than griev’d at the occasion, and contented himself with calling her Women to her Assistance, without staying to see when she wou’d recover. He went out of that House with Thoughts much more discompos’d than those with which he had entered it, and when he came Home, where Frankville impatiently waited his Return, he was at the greatest loss in the World, how to discover his Misfortune to him; the other observing the trouble of his Mind, which was very visible in his Countenance; 199 my Lord, said he, in a melancholly Tone, I need not ask you what Success, the gloom which appears on your Brow, tells me, my ill Fortune has deny’d you the means of speaking to Camilla? Accuse not Fortune, answer’d D’elmont, but the influence of malicious Stars which seldom, if ever, suits our Dispositions to our Circumstances; I have seen Camilla, have talk’d to her, and ’tis from that Discourse that I cannot forbear reflection on the Miseries of Humanity, which, while it mocks us with a show of Reason, gives us no Power to curb our Will, and guide the erring Appetites to Peace. Monsieur Frankville at these Words first felt a jealous Pang, and as ’tis natural to believe every Body admires what we do, he presently imagin’d Count D’elmont had forgot Melliora in the presence of Camilla, and that it was from the Consciousness of his own Weakness and Inconstancy, that he spoke so feelingly: I wonder not my Lord, said he coldly, that the Beauties of Camilla shou’d inspire you with Sentiments, which, perhaps, for many Reasons, you wou’d desire to be free from, and I ought, in Prudence, to have consider’d, that tho’ you are the most excellent of your Kind, you are still a Man, and not have the Passions incident to Man, and not have expos’d you to those Dangers the sight of Camilla must necessarily involve you in: I wish to Heaven answer’d the Count, easily guessing what his Thoughts were, no greater threatned you, and that you cou’d think on Camilla with the same indifference as I can, or she of me with more; then, in as brief a manner as he cou’d, he gave him the Substance of what had happen’d. Frankville, whose only Fault was rashness, grew almost wild at the Recital of so unexpected a Misfortune, he knew not for a good while what to believe, loath he was to suspect the Count, but loather to suspect Camilla, yet flew into extremities of Rage against both, by turns: The Count pitied, and forgave all that the violence of his Passion made him utter, but offer’d not to argue with him, ’till he found him 200 capable of admitting his Reasons, and then, that open Sincerity, that honest noble Assurance which always accompany’d his Sweetness, and made it difficult to doubt the Truth of any thing he said, won the disorder’d Lover to an entire Conviction; he now concludes his Mistress false, repents the tenderness he has had for her, and tho’ she still appears as lovely to his Fancy as ever, she grows odious to his Judgment, and resolves to use his utmost Efforts to banish her Idea from his Heart. In this Humour he took leave of the Count, it growing late, and his last Nights Adventure taught him the danger of Nocturnal Walks, but how he spent his time till Morning, those can only guess, who have loved like him, and like him, met so cruel a Disappointment. The Count pass’d not the Night in much less Inquietude than Frankville, he griev’d the powerful Influence of his own Attractions, and had there not been a Melliora in the World, he wou’d have wish’d himself Deform’d, rather than have been the Cause of so much Misery, as his Loveliness produc’d. The next Morning the Count design’d to visit Frankville, to strengthen him in his Resolution of abandoning all Thoughts of the unconstant Camilla, but before he cou’d get drest, the other came into his Chamber: My Lord, said he, assoon as they were alone, my perfidious Mistress, failing to make a Conquest of your Heart, is still willing to preserve that she had attain’d over mine, but all her Charms and her Delusions are but vain, and to prove to your Lordship that they are so, I have brought the Letter I receiv’d from her, scarce an Hour past, and the true Copy of my Answer to it. 201 To Monsieur Frankville. Tho’ nothing proves the value of our Presence, so much as the Pangs our absence occasions, and in my last I rashly wish’d you might be sensible of mine, yet on examining my Heart, I presently recall’d the hasty Prayer, and found I lov’d with that extravagance of Tenderness, that I had rather you return’d it too little than too much, and methinks cou’d better bear to represent you to my Fancy, careless and calm as common Lovers are, than think, I saw you, Burning,--Bleeding,---Dying, like me, with hopeless Wishes, and unavailing Expectations; but Ah! I fear such Apprehensions are but too un-necessary----You think not of me, and, if in those happy days, when no cross Accident interven’d to part me from your Sight, my Fondness pleas’d, you now find nothing in Camilla worth a troubled Thought, nor breath one tender sigh in memory of our Transports past.----If I wrong your Love, impute it to Distraction, for Oh! ’tis sure, I am not in my Senses, nor know to form one regular Desire: I act, and speak, and think, a thousand Incoherent things, and tho’ I cannot forbear Writing to you, I write in such a manner, so wild, so different from what I wou’d, that I repent me of the Folly I am guilty of, even while I am committing it; but to make as good a Defence as I am able for these, perhaps, unwelcome Lines, I must inform you that they come not so much to let you know my Sentiments, as to engage a Discovery of yours: Ciamara has discharg’d one of her Servants from her Attendance, who no longer courting her Favour or regarding her Frowns, I have prevail’d upon, not only to bring this to you, but to convey an Answer back to me, by the help of a String which I am to let down to him from my Window, therefore, if you are but as Kind, as he has promis’d to be 202 Faithful, we may often enjoy the Blessing of this distant Conversation; Heaven only knows when we shall be permitted to enjoy a nearer. Cittolini is this Evening return’d from his Villa, and nothing but a Miracle can save me from the necessity of making my Choice of him, or a Monastery, either of which is worse than Death, since it must leave me the Power to wish, but take away the means, of being what I so oft have swore to be Eternally Yours, and, Yours alone, Camilla. The Count could not forbear lifting up his Eyes and Hands in token of Amazement, at the unexampled Falshood this Woman appeared guilty of, but perceiving Monsieur Frankville was about to read the following Answer, wou’d not Interrupt him, by asking any Questions ’till he had done. To DonnaCamilla. If Vows are any constraint to an Inclination so addicted to Liberty as Yours, I shall make no difficulty to release you of all you ever made to me! Yes Madam, you are free to dispose both of your Heart and Person wheresoever you think fit, nor do I desire you shou’d give your self the pains of farther Dissimulation. I pay too entire an Obedience to your Will, to continue in a Passion which is no longer pleasing: Nor will, by an ill tim’d and unmannerly Constancy, disturb the serenity of your future Enjoyments with any happier Man than Frankville. 203 You see, my Lord, said he with a sigh, that I have put it out of her Power to Triumph over my Weakness, for I confess my Heart still wears her Chains, but e’er my Eyes or Tongue betray to her the shameful Bondage, these Hands shou’d tear them out; therefore I made no mention of her Behaviour to you, nor of my sending any Letter by you, not only because I knew not if your Lordship wou’d think it proper, but lest she shou’d imagine my Resentment proceeded from Jealousy, and that I lov’d her still.----No, she shall ne’er have Cause to guess the truth of what I suffer.----Her real perfidy shall be repaid with seeming Inconstancy and Scorn---Oh! How ’twill sting her Pride,----By Heaven, I feel a gloomy kind of Pleasure in the Thought, and will indulge it, even to the highest insults of Revenge. I rather wish, reply’d the Count, you cou’d in earnest be indifferent, than only feign to be so, her unexampled Levity Deceit, renders her as unworthy of your Anger as your Love, and there is too much Danger while you preserve the one, that you will not be able to throw off the other.----Oh! I pretend not to it, cry’d Frankville, interrupting him, she has too deep a root within my Soul ever to be remov’d---I boast no more than a concealment of my Passion, and when I dress the horrors of a bleeding, breaking Heart, in all the calm of cold Tranquility; methinks, you shou’d applaud the Noble Conquest: Time, said the Count, after a little Pause, and a just Reflection how little she deserves your Thoughts, will teach you to obtain a Nobler; that of numbering your Love, among things that were, but are no more, and make you, with me, acknowledge that ’tis as great an argument of Folly and meanness of Spirit to continue the same Esteem when the Object ceases to deserve, which we profess’d before the discovery of that unworthiness, as it wou’d be of Villany and Inconstancy of Mind, to change, 204 without an Efficient Cause: A great deal of Discourse pass’d between them to the same Effect, and it was but in vain that Count D’elmont endeavour’d to perswade him to a real forgetfulness of the Charmer, tho’ he resolv’d to seem as if he did so. While they were disputing, one of D’elmont’s Servants gave him a Letter, which, he told him, the Person who brought it, desir’d he wou’d answer immediately; he no sooner broke it open, and cast his Eye over it, than he cry’d out in a kind of Transport, Oh, Frankville, what has Fate been doing! You are Happy.----Camilla is Innocent, and perhaps the most deserving of her Sex; I only am Guilty, who, by a fatal Mistake have wrong’d her Virtue, and Tormented you; but Read, continu’d he, giving him the Letter, Read, and Satisfy your self. Monsieur Frankville was too much astonish’d at these Words to be able to make any reply, but immediately found the Interpretation of them in these Lines. To the dear cruel Destroyer of my Quiet, the never too much Admir’d CountD’elmont. “’Tis no longer the Mistress of your Friend, a perjur’d and unjust Camilla, who languishes and dies by your Contempt, but one, whom all the Darts of Love had strove in vain to reach, ’till from your Charms they gain’d a God-like Influence, and un-erring Force! One, who tho’ a Widow, brings you the Offering of a Virgin Heart. 205 “As I was sitting in my Closet, watching the progress of the lazy Hours, which flew not half so swift as my Desires to bring on the appointed time in which you promis’d to be with me in the Garden; my Woman came running in, to acquaint me, that you were in the House, and waited to speak with Camilla: Surprize, and Jealousy at once Assaulted me, and I sunk beneath the Apprehension that you might, by some Accident, have seen her, and also loved her, to ease my self of those tormenting Doubts I resolv’d to appear before you, in her stead, and kept my Vail over my Face, ’till I found that hers was unknown to you:-----You are not Ignorant what follow’d, the Deceit pass’d upon you for Truth, but I was sufficiently punish’d for it, by the severity of your Usage: I was just going to discover who I was, when the violence of my Love, my Grief, and my Despair threw me into that Swoon, in which, to compleat your Cruelty, you left me; ’twou’d be endless to endeavour to represent the Agonies of my Soul, when I recovered, and heard you were gone, but all who truly Love, as they fear much, so they hope much, my Tortures at length abated, at least, permitted me to take some intervals of Comfort, and I began to flatter my self that the Passion you seem’d transported with, for a nameless Mistress, was but a feint to bring me back to him you thought I was oblig’d to Love, and that there was a possibility, that my Person and Fortune might not appear despicable to you, when, you shou’d know, I have no Ties but those of Inclination, which can be only yours while I am Ciamara. “P.S.If you find nothing in me worthy of your Love, my Sufferings are such, as justly may deserve your Pity; either relieve or put an end to them I conjure you---Free me from the ling’ring Death 206 of Doubt, at once decree my Fate, for, like a God, you rule my very Will, nor dare I, without your Leave, throw off this wretched Being; Oh then, permit me once more to behold you, to try at least, to warm you into Kindness with my Sighs, to melt you with my Tears,---to sooth you into softness by a thousand yet undiscover’d Fondnesses---and, if all fail to die before your Eyes.” Those who have experienc’d the force of Love, need not to be inform’d what Joy, what Transport swell’d the Heart of Monsieur Frankville, at this unexpected Eclaircissment of his dear Camilla’s Innocence; when every thing concurs to make our Woes seem real, when Hopes are dead, and even Desire is hush’d by the loud Clamours of Despair and Rage, then,---then, to be recall’d to Life, to Light, to Heaven and Love again, is such a torrent of o’re powering Happiness,--such a surcharge of Extacy, as Sense can hardly bear. What now wou’d Frankville not have given that it had been in his Power to have recall’d the last Letter he sent to Camilla? his Soul severely reproach’d him for so easily believing she cou’d be False; tho’ his Experience of the sweetness of her Disposition, made him not doubt of a Pardon from her, when she shou’d come to know what had been the Reason of his Jealousy; his impatience to see her, immediately put it into his Head, that as Ciamara had been the occasion of the mis-understanding between them, Ciamara might likewise be made the property to set all right again; to this end, he entreated the Count to write her an answer of Compliance, and a promise to come to her the next Day, in which Visit, he wou’d, in a Disguise attend him, and being once got into the House, he thought it wou’d be no difficulty to steal to Camilla’s Apartment. But he found it not so easy a Task as he imagin’d, to persuade Count D’elmont to come into this Design, 207 his generous Heart, averse to all Deceit, thought it base and unmanly to abuse with Dissimulation the real tenderness this Lady had for him, and tho’ press’d by the Brother of Melliora, and conjur’d to it, even by the Love he profess’d for her, it was with all the reluctance in the World, that he, at last, consented, and his Servant came several times into the Room to remind him that the Person who brought the Letter, waited impatiently for an Answer, before he cou’d bring himself into a Humour to write in the manner Monsieur Frankville desir’d; and tho’, scarce any Man ever had so sparkling a Fancy, such a readiness of Thought, or aptitude of Expression, when the dictates of his Soul, were the Employment of his Tongue or Pen, yet he now found himself at a loss for Words, and he wasted more time in these few Lines, than a Thousand times as many on any other Subject wou’d have cost him. To the Beautiful and Obliging >Ciamara. Madam, “If I did not Sin against Truth when I assur’d you that I had a Mistress to whom I was engag’d by Inclination, I certainly did, when I appear’d guilty of a harshness which was never in my Nature; the Justice you do me in believing the Interest of my Friend was the greatest Motive for my seeming Unkindness I have not the Power sufficiently to acknowledge, but, cou’d you look into my Soul, you wou’d there find the Effects of your Inspiration, something so tender, and so grateful, as only favours, such as you confer, cou’d merit or create. 208 “I design to make my self happy in waiting on you to Morrow Night about Eleven, if you will order me admittance at that Back-gate, which was the Place of our first Appointment, ’till then, I am the lovely Ciamara’s Most Devoted Servant D’elmont. “P.S. There are some Reasons why I think it not safe to come alone, therefore beg you’ll permit me to bring a Servant with me, on whose secrecy I dare rely.” When the Count had sent away this little Billet, Monsieur Frankville grew very gay on the hopes of his Design succeeding; and laughing, my Lord said he, I question whether Melliora wou’d forgive me, for engaging you in this Affair; Ciamara is extreamly handsome, has Wit, and where she attempts to Charm, has doubtless, a thousand Artifices to obtain her wish; the Count was not in a temper to relish his Raillery, he had a great deal of Compassion for Ciamara, and thought himself inexcusable for deceiving her, and all that Frankville cou’d do to dissipate the Gloom that reflection spread about him, was but vain. They spent the greatest part of this Day together, as they had done the former; and when the time came that Frankville thought it proper to take Leave, it was with a much more chearful Heart, than he had the Night before; but his Happiness was not yet secure, and in a few Hours he found a considerable alteration in his Condition. As soon as it was dark enough forCamilla to let down her String to the Fellow whom she had order’d to wait for it, he receiv’d another Letter fasten’d to it, and finding it was Directed as the other, for Monsieur Frankville, he immediately brought it to him. 209 It was with a mixture of Fear and Joy, that the impatient Lover broke it open, but both these Passions gave Place to an adequate Despair, when having un-seal’d it, he read these Lines. To MonsieurFrankville. “>I have been already so much deceiv’d, that I ought not to boast of any skill in the Art of Divination, yet, I fancy, ’tis in my Power to form a juster Guess than I have done, what the Sentiments of your Heart will be when you first open this----Methinks, I see you put on a scornful Smile, resolving to be still unmov’d, either at Upbraidings or Complaints; for to do one of these, I am satisfied, you imagine is the reason of my troubling you with a Letter: But Sir, I am not altogether silly enough to believe the tenderest Supplications the most humble of my Sex cou’d make, has efficacy to restore Desire, once Dead, to Life; or if it cou’d, I am not so mean Spirited as to accept a return thus caus’d; nor wou’d it be less impertinent to Reproach; to tell you that you are Perjur’d---Base---Ungrateful, is what you know already, unless your Memory is so Complaisant as not to remind you of either Vows or Obligations: But, to assure you, that I reflect on this sudden Change of your Humour without being fir’d with Rage, or stupify’d with Grief, is perhaps, what you least expect.----Yet, strange as it may seem, it is most certain, that she, whom you have found the Softest, Fondest, Tenderest of her Kind, is in a moment grown the most Indifferent, for in spight of your Inconstancy, I never shall deny that I have Lov’d you,---Lov’d you, even to Dotage, my Passion took birth long before I knew you had a thought of feigning one for 210 me, which frees me from that Imputation Women too frequently deserve, of loving for no other Reason than because they are beloved, for if you ne’er had seem’d to love, I shou’d have continu’d to do so in Reality. I found a thousand Charms in your Person and Conversation, and believ’d your Soul no less transcending all others in excellent Qualities, than I still confess your Form to be in Beauty; I drest you up in vain Imagination, adorn’d with all the Ornaments of Truth, Honour, good Nature, Generosity, and every Grace that raise mortal Perfection to the highest pitch, and almost reach Divinity,---but you have taken care to prove your self, meer Man, to like, dislike, and wish you know not what, nor why! If I never had any Merits, how came you to think me worthy the pains you have taken to engage me? And if I had, how am I so suddenly depriv’d of them?---No, I am still the same, and the only reason I appear not so to you, is, that you behold me now, no more, with Lover’s Eyes; the few Charms, I am Mistress of, look’d lovely at a distance, but lose their Lustre, when approach’d too near; your Fancy threw a glittering Burnish o’re me, which free Possession has worn off, and now, the Woman only stands expos’d to View, and I confess I justly suffer for the guilty Folly of believing that in your Sex Ardors cou’d survive Enjoyment, or if they cou’d, that such a Miracle was reserv’d for me; but thank Heaven my Punishment is past, the Pangs, the Tortures of my bleeding Heart, in tearing your Idea thence, already are no more! The fiery Tryal is over, and I am now arriv’d at the Elizium of perfect Peace, entirely unmolested by any warring Passion; the Fears, the Hopes, the Jealousies, and all the endless Train of Cares which waited on my hours of Love and fond Delusion, serve but to endear re-gain’d Tranquility; and I can cooly Scorn, not hate your Falshood; and tho’ it is a Maxim very much in use among the Women of my Country, 211 that, not to Revenge, were to deserve Ill-usage, yet I am so far from having a wish that way, that I shall always esteem your Virtues, and while I pardon, pity your Infirmities; shall praise your flowing Wit, without an Indignant remembrance how oft it has been employ’d for my undoing; shall acknowledge the brightness of your Eyes, and not in secret Curse the borrow’d softness of their Glances, shall think on all your past Endearments, your Sighs, your Vows, your melting Kisses, and the warm Fury of your fierce Embraces, but as a pleasing Dream, while Reason slept, and with not to renew at such a Price. “I desire no Answer to this, nor to be thought of more, go on in the same Course you have begun, Change ’till you are tir’d with roving, still let your Eyes Inchant, your Tongue Delude, and Oaths Betray, and all who look, who listen, and believe, be ruin’d and forsaken like Camilla.” The calm and resolute Resentment which appear’d in the Stile of this Letter, gave Frankville very just Grounds to fear, it would be no small Difficulty to obtain a Pardon for what he had so rashly Written; but when he reflected on the seeming Reasons, which mov’d him to it, and that he should have an Opportunity to let her know them, he was not altogether Inconsolable, he pass’d the Night however in a World of Anxiety, and as soon as Morning came, hurried away, to communicate to the Count this fresh Occasion of his Trouble. It was now D’elmont’s turn to Rally, and he laugh’d as much at those Fears, which he imagin’d Causeless, as the other had done, at the Assignation he had perswaded him to make with Ciamara, but tho’ as most of his Sex are, he was pretty much of 212 the Count’s Opinion, yet, the Re-instating himself in Camilla’s Esteem, was a Matter of too great Importance to him, to suffer him to take one Moment’s ease ’till he was perfectly Assur’d of it. At last, the wish’d for Hour arriv’d, and he, disguis’d so, as it was impossible for him to be known, attended the Count to that dear Wicket, which had so often given him Entrance to Camilla; they waited not long for Admittance, Brione was ready there to Receive them; the Sight of her, inflam’d the Heart of Monsieur Frankville with all the Indignation imaginable, for he knew her to be the Woman, who, by her Treachery to Camilla, had gain’d the Confidence of Ciamara, and involv’d him in all the Miseries he had endur’d! but he contain’d himself, ’till she taking the Count by the Hand, in order to lead him to her Lady, bad him wait her Return, which she told him should be immediately, in an outer Room which she pointed him to. In the mean Time she conducted the Count to the Door of that magnificent Chamber, where he had been receiv’d by the suppos’d Camilla, and where he now beheld the real Ciamara, drest, if possible, richer than she was the Night before, but loose as wanton Fancy cou’d invent; she was lying on the Couch when he enter’d, and affecting to seem as if she was not presently Sensible of his being there, rose not to receive him ’till he was very near her; they both kept silence for some Moments, she, waiting till he should speak, and he, possibly, prevented by the uncertainty after what manner he should Form his Address, so as to keep an equal Medium between the two Extreams, of being Cruel, or too Kind, till at last the Violence of her impatient Expectation burst out in these Words,----Oh that this Silence were the Effect of Love!----and then perceiving he made no Answer; tell me, continu’d she, am I forgiven for thus intruding on your Pity for a Grant, 213 which Inclination would not have allow’d me? Cease Madam, reply’d he, to encrease the Confusion which a just Sense of your Favours, and my own Ingratitude has cast me in: How can you look with Eyes so tender and so kind, on him who brings you nothing in Return? Rather despise me, hate me, drive me from your Sight, believe me as I am, unworthy of your Love, nor squander on a Bankrupt Wretch the noble Treasure: Oh Inhuman! interrupted she, has then that Mistress of whose Charms you boasted, engross’d all your stock of Tenderness? and have you nothing, nothing to repay me for all this waste of Fondness,----this lavish Prodigality of Passion, which forces me beyond my Sexes Pride, or my own natural Modesty, to sue, to Court, to kneel and weep for Pity: Pity, resum’d the Count wou’d be a poor Reward for Love like yours, and yet alas! continu’d he Sighing, ’tis all I have to give; I have already told you, I am ty’d by Vows, by Honour, Inclination, to another, who tho’ far absent hence, I still preserve the dear Remembrance of! My Fate will soon recall me back to her, and Paris; yours fixes you at Rome, and since we are doom’d to be for ever separated, it wou’d be base to Cheat you with a vain Pretence, and lull you with Hopes pleasing Dreams a while, when you must quickly wake to added Tortures, and redoubled Woe: Heavens, cry’d she, with an Air full of Resentment, are then my Charms so mean, my Darts so weak, that near, they cannot intercept those, shot at such a Distance? And are you that dull, cold Platonist, which can prefer the visionary Pleasures of an absent Mistress, to the warm Transports of the Substantial present: The Count was pretty much surpriz’d at these Words, coming from the Mouth of a Woman of Honour, and began now to perceive what her Aim was, but willing to be more confirm’d, Madam, said he, I dare not hope your Virtue wou’d permit.----Is this a Time (Interrupted she, looking on him with Eyes which sparkled with wild Desires, and left no want of further 214 Explanation of her meaning) Is this an Hour to preach of Virtue?----Married,----betroth’d, engag’d by Love or Law, what hinders but this Moment you may be mine, this Moment, well improv’d, might give us Joys to baffle a whole Age of Woe; make us, at once, forget our Troubles past, and by its sweet remembrance, scorn those to come; in speaking these Words, she sunk supinely on D’elmont’s Breast; but tho’ he was not so ill-natur’d, and unmannerly as to repel her, this sort of Treatment made him lose all the Esteem, and great part of the Pity he had conceiv’d for her. The Woes of Love are only worthy Commiseration, according to their Causes; and tho’ all those kinds of Desire, which the difference of Sex creates, bear in general, the name of Love, yet they are as vastly wide, as Heaven and Hell; that Passion which aims chiefly at Enjoyment, in Enjoyment ends, the fleeting Pleasure is no more remembred, but all the stings of Guilt and Shame remain; but that, where the interiour Beauties are consulted, and Souls are Devotees, is truly Noble, Love, there is a Divinity indeed, because he is immortal and unchangeable, and if our earthy part partake the Bliss, and craving Nature is in all obey’d; Possession thus desired, and thus obtain’d, is far from satiating, Reason is not here debas’d to Sense, but Sense elevates itself to Reason, the different Powers unite, and become pure alike. It was plain that the Passion with which Ciamara was animated, sprung not from this last Source; she had seen the Charming Count, was taken with his Beauty, and wish’d no farther than to possess his lovely Person, his Mind was the least of her Thoughts, for had she the least Ambition to reign there, she wou’d not have so meanly sought to obtain the one, after he had assured her, the other, far more noble part of him was dispos’d of. The Grief he had been in, that it was not in his Power to return her Passion, while 215 he believ’d it meritorious, was now chang’d to the utmost Contempt, and her Quality, and the State she liv’d in, did not hinder him from regarding of her, in as indifferent a manner, as he wou’d have done a common Courtezan. Lost to all Sense of Honour, Pride or Shame, and wild to gratify her furious Wishes, she spoke, without reserve, all they suggested to her, and lying on his Breast, beheld, without concern, her Robes fly open, and all the Beauties of her own expos’d, and naked to his View: Mad at his Insensibility, at last she grew more bold, she kiss’d his Eyes,---his Lips, a thousand times, then press’d him in her Arms with strenuous Embraces,----and snatching his Hand and putting it to her Heart, which fiercely bounded at his Touch, bid him be witness of his mighty Influence there. Tho’ it was impossible for any Soul to be capable of a greater, or more constant Passion than his felt for Melliora, tho’ no Man that ever liv’d, was less addicted to loose Desires,----in fine, tho’ he really was, as Frankville had told him, the most excellent of his Kind, yet, he was still a Man! And, ’tis not to be thought strange, if to the force of such united Temptations, Nature and Modesty a little yielded; warm’d with her fires, and perhaps, more mov’d by Curiosity, her Behaviour having extinguish’d all his respect, he gave his Hands and Eyes a full Enjoyment of all those Charms, which had they been answer’d by a Mind worthy of them, might justly have inspir’d the highest Raptures, while she, unshock’d, and unresisting, suffer’d all he did, and urg’d him with all the Arts she was Mistress of, to more, and it is not altogether improbable, that he might not entirely have forgot himself, if a sudden Interruption had not restor’d his Reason to the consideration of the Business which had brought him here. 216 Monsieur Frankville had all this time been employ’d in a far different manner of Entertainment; Brione came to him, according to her promise, assoon as she had introduc’d the Count to Ciamara, and having been commanded by that Lady to Discourse with the supposed Servant, and get what she cou’d out of him, of the Count’s Affairs, she sat down and began to talk to him with a great deal of Freedom; but he who was too impatient to lose much time, told her he had a Secret to discover, if the place they were in was private enough to prevent his being over-heard, and she assuring him that it was, he immediately discover’d who he was, and clap’d a Pistol to her Breast, swearing that Moment shou’d be the last of her Life, if she made the least Noise, or attempted to intercept his passage to Camilla: The terror she was in, made her fall on her Knees, and conjuring him to spare her Life, beg’d a thousand Pardons for her Infidelity, which she told him was not occasion’d by any particular Malice to him; but not being willing to leave Rome herself, the fear of being expos’d to the revenge of Ciamara and Cittolini, when they shou’d find out that she had been the Instrument of Camilla’s Escape, prevail’d upon her timerous Soul to that Discovery, which was the only means to prevent what she so much dreaded: Frankville contented himself with venting his Resentment in two or three hearty Curses, and taking her roughly by the Arm, bid her go with him to Camilla’s Apartment, and discover before her what she knew of Ciamara’s Entertaining Count D’elmont in her Name, which she trembling promis’d to obey, and they both went up a pair of back Stairs which led a private way to Camilla’s Chamber; when they enter’d, she was sitting in her night Dress on the Bed-side, and the unexpected sight of Brione, who, till now, had never ventured to appear before her, since her Infidelity, and a Man with her whom she thought a Stranger, fill’d her with such a surprize, that it depriv’d her of her 217 Speech, and gave Frankville time to throw off his Disguise, and catch her in his Arms, with all the Transports of unfeign’d Affection, before she cou’d enough recover her self to make any resistance, but when she did, it was with all the Violence imaginable, and indeavouring to tear herself away; Villain, said she, comest thou again to triumph o’re my Weakness,----again to Cheat me into fond Belief? There needed no more to make this obsequious Lover relinquish his Hold, and falling at her Feet, was beginning to speak something in his Vindication; when she, quite lost in Rage, prevented him, by renewing her Reproaches in this manner; have you not given me up my Vows? Resum’d she, have you not abandon’d me to ruin,---to Death--to Infamy,----to all the stings of self-accusing Conscience and Remorse? And come you now, by your detested Presence, to alarm Remembrance, and new point my Tortures?-----That Woman’s Treachery, continu’d she, looking on Brione, I freely Pardon, since by that little Absence it occasion’d, I have discovered the wavering disposition of your Soul, and learn’d to scorn what is below my Anger. Hear me but speak, cry’d Frankville, or if you doubt my Truth, as I confess you have almighty Cause, let her inform you, what seeming Reasons, what Provocations urg’d my hasty Rage to write that fatal,----that accursed Letter. I will hear nothing, reply’d Camilla, neither from you nor her,----I see the base Design, and scorn to joyn in the Deceit,--You had no Cause,----not even the least Pretence for your Inconstancy but one, which, tho’ you all are guilty of, you all Disown, and that is, being lov’d too well.----I Lavish’d all the fondness of my Soul, and you, unable to reward, despiz’d it:--But think not that the rage, you now behold me in, proceeds from my Despair--No, your Inconstancy is the Fault of Nature, a Vice which all your Sex are prone to, and ’tis we, the fond Believers only, are to blame, that I forgave, my Letter told you that I did----but thus to come----thus Insolent in Imagination, to dare to hope I were that mean Soul’d 218 Wretch, whose easy Tameness, and whose doating Love, with Joy would welcome your return, clasp you again in my deluded Arms, and swear you were as dear as ever, is such an affront to my Understanding, as merits the whole Fury of Revenge! as she spoke these Words, she turn’d disdainfully from him with a Resolution to leave the Room, but she could not make such hast to go away, as the despairing, the distracted Frankville did to prevent her, and catching hold of her Garments, stay Madam, said he, wildly, either permit me to clear my self of this barbarous Accusation, or, if you are resolv’d, Unhearing, to Condemn me, behold me, satiate all your Rage can wish, for by Heaven, continued he, holding the Pistol to his own Breast, as he had done a little before to Brione’s, by all the Joys I have Possest, by all the Hell I now endure, this Moment I’ll be receiv’d your Lover, or expire your Martyr. These Words pronounc’d so passionately, and the Action that accompany’d them, made a visible alteration in Camilla’s Countenance, but it lasted not long, and Resuming her fierceness; your Death, cry’d she, this way would give me little Satisfaction, the World would judge more Noble of my Resentment, if by my Hand you fell----Yet, continu’d she, snatching the Pistol from him, and throwing it out of the Window, which happen’d to be open, I will not---cannot be the Executioner.--No, Live! And let thy Punishment be, in Reality, to endure what thou well Dissemblest, the Pangs, the racking Pangs, of hopeless, endless Love!--May’st thou indeed, Love Me, as thou a thousand Times hast falsely sworn,---for ever Love, and I, for ever Hate! In this last Sentence, she flew like Lightning to her Closet, and shut her self in, leaving the amaz’d Lover still on his Knees, stupify’d with Grief and Wonder, all this while Brione had been casting about in her Mind, how to make the best use of this Adventure with Ciamara, and encourag’d by Camilla’s Behaviour and taking advantage of Frankville’s Confusion, made but one Step to the Chamber Door, and running out into the Gallery, and down 219 Stairs, cry’d Murder,----Help, a Rape----Help, or Donna Camilla will be carry’d away.---She had no occasion to call often, for the Pistol which Camilla threw out of the Window chanc’d to go off in the fall, and the report it made, had alarm’d some of the Servants who were in an out-House adjoyning to the Garden, and imagining there were Thieves, were gathering to search: some arm’d with Staves, some with Iron Bars, or any thing they could get in the Hurry they were in, as they were running confusedly about, they met Monsieur Frankville pursuing Brione, with a design to stop her Mouth, either by Threatnings or Bribes, but she was too nimble for him, and knowing the ways of the House much better than he did, went directly to the Room where Ciamara was Caressing the Count in the manner already mention’d: Oh Madam, said she, you are impos’d on, the Count has deceiv’d your Expectations, and brought Monsieur Frankville in Disguise to rob you of Camilla. These Words made them both, tho’ with very different Sentiments, start from the posture they were in, and Ciamara changing her Air of Tenderness for one all Fury, Monster! Cry’d she to D’elmont, have you then betray’d me? This is no time, reply’d he, hearing a great Bustle, and Frankville’s Voice pretty loud without, for me to answer you, my Honour calls me to my Friend’s assistance; and drawing his Sword, run as the Noise directed him to the Place where Frankville was defending himself against a little Army of Ciamara’s Servants, she was not much behind him, and enrag’d to the highest degree, cry’d out, kill, kill them both! But that was not a Task for a much greater Number of such as them to Accomplish, and tho’ their Weapons might easily have beat down, or broke the Gentlemens Sword; yet their Fears kept them from coming too near, and Ciamara had the Vexation to see them both Retreat with Safety, and her self disappointed, as well in her Revenge, as in her Love. 220 Nothing cou’d be more surpriz’d, than Count D’elmont was, when he got Home, and heard from Frankville all that had pass’d between him and Camilla, nor was his Trouble less, that he had it not in his Power to give him any Advice in any Exigence so uncommon: He did all he cou’d to comfort and divert his Sorrows, but in vain, the Wounds of bleeding Love admit no Ease, but from the Hand which gave them; and he, who was naturally rash and fiery, now grew to that height of Desparation and violence of Temper, that the Count fear’d some fatal Catastrophe, and wou’d not suffer him to stir from him that Night, nor the next Day, till he had oblig’d him to make a Vow, and bind it with the most solemn Imprecations, not to offer any thing against his Life. But, tho’ plung’d into the lowest depth of Misery, and lost, to all Humane probability, in an inextricable Labyrinth of Woe, Fortune will find, at last some way, to raise, and disentangle those, whom she is pleas’d to make her Favourites, and that Monsieur Frankville was one, an unexpected Adventure made him know. The third Day from that, in which he had seen Camilla, as he was sitting in his Chamber, in a melancholly Conversation with the Count, who was then come to Visit him, his Servant brought him a Letter, which he said had been just left, by a Woman of an extraordinary Appearance, and who the Moment she had given it into his Hand, got from the Door with so much speed, that she seem’d rather to vanish than to walk. While the Servant was speaking, Frankville look’d on the Count with a kind of a pleas’d Expectation in his Eye, but then casting them on the Direction of the Letter, Alas! Said he, how vain was my Imagination, this is not Camilla’s, but a Hand, to which I am utterly a Stranger; these Words were clos’d with a sigh, and he open’d it with Negligence which wou’d have been unpardonable, cou’d he have guess’d at 221 the Contents, but assoon as he saw the Name of Violetta at the bottom, a flash of Hope re-kindled in his Soul, and trembling with Impatience he Read. To Monsieur Frankville. I think it cannot be call’d Treachery, if we betray the Secrets of a Friend, only when Concealment were an Injury, but however I may be able to answer this breach of Trust, I am about to make to my self, ’tis your Behaviour alone, which can absolve me to Camilla, and by your Fidelity she must judge of mine. Tho’ Daughter to the Man she hates, she finds nothing in me Unworthy of her Love and Confidence, and as I have been privy, ever since your mutual Misfortunes, to the whole History of your Amour, so I am now no Stranger to the Sentiments, your last Conversation has inspir’d her with--She loves you still, Monsieur--with an extremity of Passion loves you,----But, tho’ she ceases to believe you unworthy of it, her Indignation for your unjust Suspicion of her will not be easily remov’d--She is resolv’d to act the Heroine, tho’ to purchase that Character it shou’d cost her Life: She is determin’d for a Cloyster, and has declared her Intention, and a few Days will take away all Possibility of ever being yours; but I, who know the conflicts she endures, wish it may be in your Power to prevent the Execution of a Design, which cannot, but be fatal to her: My Father and Ciamara, I wish I cou’d not call her Aunt, were last Night in private Conference, but I over heard enough of their Discourse, to know there has been some ungenerous Contrivance carry’d on to make you, and Camilla appear guilty to each other, and ’tis from that Knowledge I derive my Hopes, that you have Honour enough to make a right Use of this 222 Discovery, if you have anything to say, to further the Intercessions I am imploy’d in, to serve you; Prepare a Letter, which I will either prevail on her to read, or oblige her, in spite of the Resolution she has made, to Hear: But take care, that in the least, you hint not that you have receiv’d one from me, for I shall perswade her that the Industry of your Love has found means of conveying it to me, without my Knowledge: Bring it with you this Evening to St. Peter’s, and assoon as Divine Service is over, follow her who shall drop her Handkerchief as she passes you, for by that Mark you shall distinguish her whom you yet know, but by the Name of Violetta. P.S. One thing, and indeed not the least, which induc’d me to write, I had almost forgot, which is, that your Friend the Accomplish’d Count D’elmont, is as much endangered by the Resentment of Ciamara, as your self by that of my Father, bid him beware how he receives any Letter, or Present from a Hand unknown, lest he should Experience, what he has doubtless heard of, our Italian Art of Poysoning by the smell. When Monsieur Frankville had given this Letter to the Count to read, which he immediately did, they both of them broke into the highest Encomiums on this young Lady’s Generosity, who contrary to the custom of her Sex, which seldom forgives an affront of that kind, made it her study to serve the Man who had refus’d her, and make her Rival blest. These Testimonies of a grateful Acknowledgement being over, Frankville told the Count, he believ’d the most, and indeed the only effectual Means to extinguish Camilla’s Resentment wou’d be entirely to remove the Cause, which cou’d be done no other way, than by giving her a full Account of Ciamara’s behaviour, while she pass’d for her: D’elmont readily 223 consented, and thought it not at all inconsistent with his Honour to Expose that of a Woman who had shewn so little Value for it herself: And when he saw that Frankville had finish’d his Letter, which was very long, for Lovers cannot easily come to a Conclusion, he offer’d to write a Note to her, enclos’d in the other, which shou’d serve as an Evidence of the Truth of what he had alledged in his Vindication: Frankville gladly embrac’d the kind Proposal, and the other immediately made it good in these Words. To DonnaCamilla. Madam, If the Severity of your Justice requires a Victim, I only am Guilty, who being Impos’d upon my self, endeavour’d, for I cannot say I cou’d Accomplish it, to involve the Unfortunate Frankville in the same fatal Error, and at last, prevail’d on him to Write, what he cou’d not be brought, by all my Arguments to Think. Let the Cause which led me to take this Freedom, excuse the Presumption of it, which, from one so much a Stranger, wou’d be else unpardonable: But when we are conscious of a Crime, the first reparation we can make to Innocence, is, to acknowledge we have offended; and, if the Confession of my Faults, may purchase an Absolution for my Friend, I shall account it the noblest Work of Supererogation. 224 Be assur’d, that as inexorable as you are, your utmost Rigour wou’d find its Satisfaction, if you cou’d be sensible of what I suffer in a sad Repentance for my Sin of injuring so Heavenly a Virtue, and perhaps, in time be mov’d by it, to Pity and Forgive The Unhappily deceiv’d D’elmont. The time in which they had done Writing, immediately brought on that of Violetta’s Appointment, and the Count wou’d needs accompany Monsieur Frankville in this Assignation, saying, he had an acknowledgment to pay to that Lady, which he thought himself oblig’d, in good Manners and Gratitude, to take this Opportunity to do; and the other being of the same Opinion, they went together to St. Peter’s. When Prayers were done, which, ’tis probable, One of these Gentlemen, if not Both, might think too tedious, they stood up, and looking round, impatiently expected when the promis’d Signal shou’d be given; but among the great Number of Ladies, which pass’d by them, there were very few, who did not stop a little to gaze on these two Accomplish’d Chevaliers, and they were several times Tantaliz’d with an imaginary Violetta, before the real one appear’d. But when the Crowd were almost dispers’d, and they began to fear some Accident had prevented her coming, the long expected Token was let fall, and she who threw it, trip’d hastily away to the farther end of the Collonade, which hapned to be entirely void of Company: The Count and his Companion, were not long behind her, and Monsieur Frankville being the Person chiefly concern’d, address’d himself to her in this manner; With what Words, Madam, said he, can a Man so infinitely Oblig’d, and so desirous to be Grateful, as Frankville, sufficiently make 225 known his admiration of a Generosity like yours? Such an unbounded Goodness, shames all Discription! Makes Language vile, since it affords no Phrase to suit your Worth, or speak the mighty Sense my Soul has of it. I have no other Aim, reply’d she, in what I have done, than Justice; and ’tis only in the proof of your sincerity to Camilla, that I am to be thank’d. Frankville was about to answer with some assurances of his Faith, when the Count stepping forward, prevented him: My Friend, Madam, said he bowing, is most happy in having it in his Power to obey a Command, which is the utmost of his Wishes; but how must I acquit my self of any part of that Return which is due to you, for that generous Care you have been pleas’d to express for the preservation of my Life? There needs no more, interrupted she, with a perceivable alteration in her Voice, than to have seen Count D’elmont, to be interested in his Concerns--she paus’d a little after speaking these Words, and then, as if she thought she had said too much, turn’d hastily to Frankville, the Letter, Monsieur, continu’d she, the Letter,---’tis not impossible but we may be observ’d,---I tremble with the apprehension of a Discovery: Frankville immediately deliver’d it to her, but saw so much Disorder in her Gesture, that it very much surpriz’d him: She trembled indeed, but whether occasioned by any danger she perceiv’d of being taken notice of, or some other secret Agitation she felt within, was then unknown to any but herself, but whatever it was, it transported her so far, as to make her quit the Place, without being able to take any other Leave than a hasty Curtisie, and bidding Frankville meet her the next Morning at Mattins. Here was a new Cause of Disquiet to D’elmont; the Experience he had of the too fatal influence of his dangerous Attractions, gave him sufficient Reason to fear this young Lady was not insensible of them, and that his Presence was the sole Cause of her Disorder; however, he said nothing of it to Frankville ’till the 226 other mentioning it to him, and repeating her Words, they both joyn’d in the Opinion, that Love had been too busy in her Heart, and that it was the feeling the Effects of it in herself, had inclined her to so much Compassion for the Miseries she saw it inflicted upon others. The Count very well knew that when Desires of this Kind are springing in the Soul, every Sight of the beloved Object, encreases their growth, and therefore, tho’ her generous manner of Proceeding had created in him a very great Esteem, and he wou’d have been pleas’d with her Conversation, yet he ceas’d to wish a farther Acquaintance with her, lest it should render her more Unhappy, and forbore going the next Day to Church with Frankville, as else he wou’d have done. Violetta fail’d not to come as she had promis’d, but instead of dropping her Handkerchief, as she had done the Evening before, she knelt as close to him as she cou’d, and pulling him gently by the Sleeve, oblig’d him to regard her, who else, not knowing her, wou’d not have suspected she was so near, and slip’d a Note into his Hand, bidding him softly, not take any farther notice of her: He obey’d, but ’tis reasonable to believe, was too impatient to know what the Contents were, to listen with much Attention and Devotion to the remainder of the Ceremony; as soon he was releas’d, he got into a Corner of the Cathedral, where, unobserv’d he might satisfy a Curiosity, which none who Love, will condemn him for, any more than they will for the thrilling Extacy which fill’d his Soul at the Reading these Lines. 227 To Monsieur Frankville. For fear I should not have an Opportunity of speaking to you, in safety, I take this Method to inform you, that I have been so Successful in my Negotiation, as to make Camilla repent the Severity of her Sentence, and wish for nothing more than to recall it: you are now entirely justified in her Opinion, by the Artifice which was made use of to Deceive you, and she is, I believe, no less enrag’d at Ciamara, for depriving her of that Letter you sent by the Count, than she was at you for that unkind one, which came to her Hands. She is now under less restraint, since Brione’s Report of her Behaviour to you, and the everlasting Resentment she vow’d, and I have prevail’d on her to accompany me in a Visit I am to make, to morrow in the Evening, to Donna Clara Metteline, a Nun, in the Monastery of St. Augustine, and if you will meet us there, I believe it not impossible but she may be brought to a Confession of all I have discover’d to you of her Thoughts. The Count’s Letter was of no small Service to you, for tho’ without that Evidence she wou’d have been convinc’d of your Constancy, yet she wou’d hardly have acknowledged she was so! and if he will take the Pains to come with you to morrow I believe his Company will be acceptable, if you think it proper; you may let him know as much from Violetta. P.S. I beg a thousand Pardons both of you and the Count, for the abruptness of my Departure last Night; something happen’d to give me a Confusion from which I cou’d not at that time recover, but hope for the future to be more Mistress of my self. 228 Monsieur Frankville hasted to the Count’s Lodgings, to communicate his good Fortune, but found him in a Humour very unfit for Congratulations; the Post had just brought him a Letter from his Brother, the Chevalier Brillian, the Contents whereof were these. To CountD’elmont. My Lord, ’Tis with an inexpressible Grief that I obey the Command you left me, for giving you from Time to time an exact Account of Melliora’s Affairs, since what I have now to acquaint you with, will make you stand in Need of all your Moderation to support it. But, not to keep your Expectation on the Rack, loth as I am, I must inform you, that Melliora is, by some unknown Ravisher stolen from the Monastery----The manner of it, (as I have since learn’d from those who were with her) was thus: As she was walking in the Fields, behind the Cloyster Gardens, accompanied by some young Lady’s, Pensioners there as well as her self, four Men well mounted, but Disguis’d and Muffled, rode up to them, three of them jump’d off their Horses, and while one seiz’d on the defenceless Prey; and bore her to his Arms, who was not alighted, the other two caught hold of her Companions, and prevented the Out-cries they would have made, ’till she was carry’d out of sight, then Mounting again their Horses, immediately lost the amaz’d Virgins all Hopes of recovering her. I conjure my dearest Brother to believe there has been nothing omitted for the Discovery of this Villany, 229 but in spite of all the Pains and Care we have taken in the search; None of us have yet been happy enough to hear the least Account of her: That my next may bring you more welcome News, is the first wish of >My Lord, Your Lordship’s most Zealously Affectionate Brother, and Humble Servant Brillian. P.S. There are some People here, Malicious enough to Report, that the Design of carrying away Melliora, was contriv’d by you, and that it is in Rome she only can be found. It wou’d be of great Advantage to my Peace, if I cou’d be of the Number of those who believe it, but I am too well acquainted with your Principles to harbour such a Thought. Once more, my dear Lord, for this Time, Adieu. After the Count had given this Letter to Frankville to read, he told him, he was resolv’d to leave Rome the next Day, that nobody had so great an Interest in her Recovery as himself, that he would Trust the Search of her to no other, and swore with the most dreadful Imprecations he could make, never to rest, but wander, Knight-Errand like, over the whole World ’till he had found her. Tho’ Monsieur Frankville was extreamly concern’d at what had happen’d to his Sister, yet he endeavour’d to disswade the Count from leaving Rome, ’till he knew the result of his own Affair with Camilla; but all his Arguments were for a long time ineffectual, ’till, at last, showing him Violetta’s Letter, he prevail’d on him to defer his Journey ’till they had first seen Camilla, on Condition, that if she persisted in her Rigour, he shou’d give over any further fruitless Solicitations, and accompany him to Paris: This Frankville promis’d to perform, and they pass’d the time in very uneasy and impatient Cogitations, ’till the next Day about Five in the Evening they prepar’d for the Appointment. 230 Count D’elmont and his longing Companion, were the first at the Rendezvous, but in a very little while they perceiv’d two Women coming towards them: The Idea of Camilla was always too much in Frankville’s Thoughts, not to make him know her, by that charming Air (which he so much ador’d her for) tho’ she was Veil’d never so closely, and the Moment he had sight of them, Oh Heaven (cry’d he to D’elmont) yonder she comes, that,----that my Lord, is the divine Camilla, as they came pretty near, she that indeed prov’d to be Camilla, was turning on one Side, in order to go to the Grate where she expected the Nun. Hold! Hold Donna Camilla, cry’d Violetta, I cannot suffer you shou’d pass by your Friends with an Air so unconcern’d, if Monsieur Frankville has done any thing to merit your Displeasure, my Lord the Count certainly deserves your Notice, in the Pains he has taken to undeceive you. One so much a Stranger as Count D’elmont is, answer’d she, may very well excuse my Thanks for an explanation, which had he been acquainted with me he would have spar’d. Cruel Camilla! Said Frankville, is then the knowledge of my Innocence unwelcome?---Am I become so hateful, or are you so chang’d, that you wish me guilty, for a justification of your Rigour? If it be so, I have no Remedy but Death, which tho’ you depriv’d me of, the last time I saw you, I now can find a Thousand means to compass; he pronounc’d these Words in so Tender, yet so resolv’d an Accent; that Camilla cou’d not conceal part of the Impression they made on her, and putting her Handkerchief to her Eyes, which in spite of all she had done to prevent it, overflow’d with Tears; talk not of Death, said she, I am not Cruel to that degree, Live Frankville, Live!----but Live without Camilla! Oh, ’tis impossible! Resum’d he, the latter part of your Command entirely destroys the first.---Life without your Love, would be a Hell, which I confess my Soul’s a Coward, but to think of. The Count and Violetta were Silent all this Time, and perceiving they were in a fair way of Reconciliation, 231 thought the best they cou’d do to forward it, was to leave ’em to themselves, and walking a few Paces from them; You suffer my Lord, said the, for your Generosity in accompanying your Friend, since it condemns you to the Conversation of a Person, who has neither Wit, nor Gaiety sufficient to make her self Diverting. Those, reply’d he, who wou’d make the Excellent Violetta a Subject of Diversion, ought never to be blest with the Company of any, but such Women who merit not a serious Regard: But you indeed, were your Soul capable of descending to the Follies of your Sex, wou’d be extreamly at a Loss in Conversation so little Qualify’d as mine, to please the Vanities of the Fair; and you stand in need of all those more than Manly Virtues you possess, to pardon a Chagreen, which even your Presence cannot Dissipate: If it cou’d, interrupted she, I assure your Lordship, I shou’d much more rejoice in the happy Effects of it on you, than Pride my self in the Power of such an Influence--And yet continu’d she with a Sigh, I am a very Woman, and if free from the usual Affectations and Vanities of my Sex, I am not so from Faults, perhaps, less worthy of forgiveness: The Count cou’d not presently resolve what reply to make to these Words; he was unwilling she should believe he wanted Complaisance, and afraid of saying any thing that might give room for a Declaration of what he had no Power of answering to her wish; but after the consideration of a Moment or two, Madam, said he, tho’ I dare not Question your Sincerity in any other Point, yet you must give me leave to disbelieve you in this, not only, because, in my Opinion, there is nothing so contemptibly ridiculous as that self sufficiency, and vain desire of pleasing, commonly known by the Name of Coquetry, but also, because she who escapes the Contagion of this Error, will not without much difficulty be led into any other: Alas my Lord, cry’d Violetta, how vastly wide of Truth is this Affection? That very foible, which is most pernicious to our Sex, is chiefly by Coquetry prevented: I need not tell you that ’tis Love I mean, 232 and as blamable as you think the one, I believe the other wou’d find less favour from a Person of your Lordship’s Judgment: How Madam, interrupted the Count, pretty warmly, have I the Character of a Stoick?---Or do you, imagine that my Soul, is compos’d that course Stuff, not to be capable of receiving, or approving a Passion, which, all the Brave, and generous think it their glory to Profess, and which can only give refin’d delight, to Minds enobled.----But I perceive, continu’d he growing more cool, I am not happy enough in your Esteem, to be thought worthy the Influence of that God. Still you mistake my Meaning, said Violetta, I doubt not of your Sensibility, were there a possibility of finding a Woman worthy of Inspiring you with soft Desires; and if that shou’d ever happen, Love wou’d be so far from being a weakness, that it wou’d serve rather as an Embelishment to your other Graces; it’s only when we stoop to Objects below our Consideration, or vainly wing our wishes to those above our Hopes, that makes us appear ridiculous or contemptible; but either of these is a Folly which,----which the incomparable Violetta, interrupted D’elmont, never can be guilty of: You have a very good Opinion of my Wit resum’d she, in a melancholly Tone, but I shou’d be much happier than I am, if I were sure I cou’d secure my self from doing any thing to forfeit it: I believe, reply’d the Count there are not many things you have less Reason to apprehend than such a Change; and I am confident were I to stay in Rome as many Ages, as I am determin’d to do but Hours, I shou’d, at last, leave it, with the same Esteem and Admiration of your singular Vertues, as I now shall do. Violetta cou’d not prevent the Disorder these Words put her into, from discovering it self in the Accent of her Voice, when, How! My Lord, said she, are we then to lose you?---Lose you in so short a Time? As the Count was about to answer, Frankville and Camilla joyn’d them, and looking on Frankville, if any Credit, said he, may be given to the Language of the Eyes, I am certain 233 yours speak Success, and I may congratulate a Happiness you lately cou’d not be persuaded to hope; had I a thousand Eyes, cry’d the transported Lover, a thousand Tongues, they all wou’d be but insignificant to express the Joy!----the unbounded Extacy, my Soul is full of,----but take the mighty Meaning in one Word,----Camilla’s mine---for ever mine!---the Storm is past, and all the sunny Heaven of Love returns to bless my future Days with ceaseless Raptures: Now, my Lord, I am ready to attend you in your Journey, this Bright! This beauteous Guardian Angel, will partake our Flight! And we have nothing now to do, but to prepare with secrecy and speed fit means for our Escape. As soon as Frankville had left off speaking, Count D’elmont addressing himself to Camilla, made her abundance of Retributions, for the happiness she gave his Friend, which she receiving with a becoming Chearfulness, and unaffected Gaiety, I am afraid said she, your Lordship will think a Woman’s Resolution is, henceforth, little worth regarding; but, continu’d she, taking Violetta by the Hand, I see well, that this unfaithful Creature, has betray’d me, and to punish her Infidelity, will, by leaving her, put it out of her Power to deceive my Confidence again: Violetta either did not hear, or was not in a condition to return her Raillery, nor the Praises which the Count and Monsieur Frankville concurr’d in of her Generosity, but stood motionless and lost in Thought, till Camilla seeing it grow towards Night, told the Gentlemen, she thought it best to part, not only to avoid any Suspicion at Home of their being out so long, but also that the others might order every thing proper for their Departure, which it was agreed on between Frankville and her, should be the next Night, to prevent the Success of those mischievous Designs she knew Ciamara and Cittolini were forming, against both the Count and Monsieur Frankville. Matters being thus adjusted to the entire Satisfaction of the Lovers, and not in a much less proportion 234 to the Count, they all thought it best to avoid making any more Appointments till they met to part no more; which was to be at the Wicket at dead of Night. When the Count took leave of Violetta, this being the last time he cou’d expect to see her; she was hardly able to return his Civilities, and much less to answer those which Frankville made her, after the Count had turn’d from her to give him way; both of them guess’d the Cause of her Confusion, and D’elmont felt a concern in observing it, which nothing but that for Melliora cou’d surpass. The next Day found full Employment for them all; but the Count, as well as Frankville, was too impatient to be gone, to neglect any thing requisite for their Departure, there was not the least particular wanting, long before the time they were to wait at the Wicket for Camilla’s coming forth: The Count’s Lodging being the nearest, they stay’d there, watching for the long’d for Hour; but a little before it arriv’d, a Youth, who seem’d to be about 13 or 14 Years of Age, desir’d to be admitted to the Count’s presence, which being granted, pulling a Letter out of his Pocket, and blushing as he approach’d him: I come my Lord, said he, from Donna Violetta, the Contents of this will inform you on what Business; but lest the Treachery of others, shou’d render me suspected, permit me to break it open, and prove it carries no Infection: The Count look’d earnestly on him while he spoke, and was strangely taken with the uncommon Beauty and Modesty which he observ’d in him: You need not give your self the trouble of that Experiment, answer’d he, Donna Violetta’s Name, and your own engaging Aspect, are sufficient Credentials, if I were liable to doubt; in saying this, he took the Letter, and full of Fears that some Accident had happen’d to Camilla, which might retard their Journey, hastily read over these Lines. 235 To the Worthy Count D’elmont. MyLord, If any Part of that Esteem you Profess’d to have for me, be real, you will not deny the Request I make you to accept this Youth, who is my Relation, in Quality of a Page: He is inclin’d to Travel, and of all Places, France is that which he is most desirous of going to: If a diligent Care, a faithful Secresy, and an Unceasing watchfulness to please, can render him acceptable to your Service, I doubt not but he will, by those, Recomend himself, hereafter: In the mean Time beg you will receive him on my Word: And if that will be any Inducement to prejudice you in his Favour, I assure you, that tho’ he is one degree nearer in Blood to my Father, he is by many in Humour and Principles to Violetta. P.S. May Health Safety and Prosperity attend you in your Journey, and all the Happiness you wish for, crown the End. The Young Fidelio, for so he was call’d, cou’d not wish to be receiv’d with greater Demonstrations of Kindness than those the Count gave him: And perceiving that Violetta had trusted him with the whole Affair of their leaving Rome in private, doubted not of his Conduct, and consulted with him, who they found knew the Place perfectly well, after what manner they should Watch, with the least danger of being discover’d, for Camilla’s opening the Wicket: Frankville was for going alone, lest if any of the Servants shou’d happen to be about, one Person would be 236 less liable to suspicion, than it a Company were seen; the Count thought it most proper to go all together, remembring Frankville of the danger he had lately scap’d, and might again be brought into; but Fidelio told them, he wou’d advise that they two should remain conceal’d in the Portico, of the Convent of St. Francis, while himself wou’d watch alone at the Wicket for Camilla, and lead her to them, and then afterwards they might go altogether to that Place where the Horses and Servants shou’d attend them; the Page’s Counsel was approv’d by both of them, and the time being arriv’d, what they had contriv’d was immediately put in Execution. Every thing happen’d according to their Desire, Camilla got safely to the Arms of her impatient Lover, and they all taking Horse, rode with such Speed, as some of them wou’d have been little able to bear, if any thing less than Life and Love had been at Stake. Their eager wishes, and the goodness of their Horses brought them, before Day-break many Miles from Rome; but tho’ they avoided all high Roads, and travell’d cross the Country to prevent being met, or overtook by any that might know them, yet their desire of seeing themselves in a Place of Security was so great that they refus’d to stop to take any Refreshment ’till the next Day was almost spent; but when they were come into the House where they were to lye that Night, not all the fatigue they had endur’d, kept the Lovers from giving and receiving all the Testimonies imaginable of mutual Affection. The sight of their Felicity added new Wings to Count D’elmont’s impatience to recover Melliora, but when he consider’d the little probability of that hope, he grew inconsolable, and his new Page Fidelio, who lay on a Pallet in the same Room with him, put all his Wit, of which he had no small Stock, upon the 237 stretch to divert his Sorrows, he talk’d to him, sung to him, told him a hundred pretty Stories, and, in fine, made good the Character Violetta had given him so well, that the Count look’d on him as a Blessing sent from Heaven to lessen his Misfortunes, and make his Woes sit easy. They continu’d Travelling with the same Expedition as when they first set out, for three or four Days, but then, believing themselves secure from any Pursuit, began to slacken their Pace, and make the Journey more delightful to Camilla and Fidelio, who not being accustomed to ride in that manner, wou’d never have been able to support it, if the strength of their Minds, had not by far, exceeded that of their Bodies. They had gone so much about, in seeking the By-roads, that they made it three times as long before they arriv’d at Avigno, a small Village on the Borders of Italy, as any, that had come the direct way wou’d have done; but the Caution they had observ’d, was not altogether needless, as they presently found. A Gentleman who had been a particular Acquaintance of Monsieur Frankville’s, overtook them at this Place, and after expressing some Amazement to find ’em no farther on their Journey, told Monsieur Frankville he believ’d he cou’d inform him of some things which had happen’d since his Departure, and cou’d not yet have reach’d his Knowledge, which the other desiring him to do, the Gentleman began in this manner. It was no sooner Day, said he, than it was nois’d over all the City, that Donna Camilla, Count D’elmont, and your self, had privately left Rome; every Body spoke of it, according to their Humour; but the Friends of Ciamara and Cittolini were outragious, a Complaint was immediately made to the Consistory, and all imaginable Deligence us’d, to overtake, or stop 238 you, but you were so happy as to Escape, and the Pursuers return’d without doing any thing of what they went about: Tho’ Cittolini’s disappointment to all appearance, was the greatest, yet Ciamara bore it with the least Patience, and having vainly rag’d, offer’d all the Treasure she was Mistress of, and perhaps spent the best part of it in fruitless means to bring you back, at last she swallow’d Poison, and in the raving agonies of Death, confess’d, that it was not the loss of Camilla, but Count D’elmont which was the Cause of her Despair: Her Death gave a fresh occasion of Grief to Cittolini, but the Day in which she was interr’d, brought him yet a nearer; he had sent to his Villa for his Daughter Violetta to assist at the Funeral, and the Messenger return’d with the surprizing Account of her not having been there as she pretended she was, nothing was ever equal to the Rage, the Grief, and the Amazement of this distracted Father, when after the strictest Enquiry, and Search that cou’d be made, she was no where to be found or heard of, it threw him into a Fever, of which he linger’d but a small Time, and dy’d the same Day on which I left Rome. The Gentleman who made this recital, was entirely a Stranger to any of the Company but Monsieur Frankville, and they were retired into a private Room during the time of their Conversation, which lasted not long; Frankville, was impatient to communicate to Camilla and D’elmont what he had heard, and as soon as Civility wou’d permit, took leave of the Gentleman. The Count had too much Compassion in his Nature not to be extreamly troubled when he was told this melancholly Catastrophe; but Camilla said little; the ill usage of Ciamara, and the impudent, and interested Pretensions of Cittolini to her, kept her from being so much concern’d at their Misfortunes, as she wou’d have been at any other Persons, and the generosity of her Temper, or some other Reason which 239 the Reader will not be ignorant of, hereafter, from expressing any Satisfaction in the Punishment they had met: But when the Count, who most of all lamented Violetta, express’d his Astonishment and Affliction, at her Elopement, she joyn’d with him in the Praises of that young Lady, with an eagerness which testify’d, she had no part in the Hatred she bore her Father. While they were discoursing, Camilla observ’d, that Fidelio who was all this while in the Room, grew very pale, and at last saw him drop on the Ground, quite Senseless, she run to him, as did his Lord, and Monsieur Frankville, and after, by throwing Water in his Face, they brought him to himself again, he appear’d in such an Agony that they fear’d his Fit wou’d return, and order’d him to be laid on a Bed, and carefully attended. After they had taken a short Repast, they began to think of setting forward on their Journey, designing to reach Piedmont that Night: The Count went himself to the Chamber where his Page was laid, and finding he was very ill, told him he thought it best for him to remain in that Place, that he wou’d order Physicians to attend him, and that when he was fully recover’d, he might follow them to Paris with Safety. Fidelio was ready to faint a second time at the hearing these Words, and with the most earnest Conjurations, accompany’d with Tears, begg’d that he might not be left behind: I can but die, said he, if I go with you, but I am sure, that nothing if I stay can save me: The Count seeing him so pressing, sent for a Litter, but there was none to be got, and in spite of what Camilla or Frankville cou’d say to diswade him, having his Lord’s Leave, he ventured to attend him as he had done the former part of the Journey. They Travell’d at an easy rate, because of Fidelio’s Indisposition, and it being later than they imagin’d, Night came upon ’em before they were aware of it, 240 Usher’d in, by one of the most dreadful Storms that ever was; the Rain, the Hail; the Thunder, and the Lightning, was so Violent that it oblig’d ’em to mend their Pace to get into some Place of shelter, for there was no House near: But to make their Misfortune the greater, they miss’d the Road, and rode considerably out of their way, before they perceiv’d that they were wrong; the darkness of the Night, which had no Illumination than, now and then, a horrid flash of Lightning, the wildness of the Desart, which they had stray’d into, and the little Hopes they had of being able to get out of it, at least till Day, were sufficient to have struck Terror in the boldest Heart: Camilla stood in need of all her Love, to Protect her from the Fears which were beginning to Assault her; but poor Fidelio felt an inward Horror, which, by this dreadful Scene encreas’d, made him appear wholly desparate: Wretch that I am, cry’d he, ’tis for me the Tempest rises! I justly have incurr’d the wrath of Heaven,---and you who are Innocent, by my accurs’d Presence are drawn to share a Punishment only due to Crimes like Mine! In this manner he exclaim’d wringing his Hands in bitter Anguish, and rather Exposing his lovely Face to all the Fury of the Storm, than any way endeavouring to Defend it: His Lord, and the two generous Lovers, tho’ Harass’d almost to Death themselves, said all they cou’d to comfort him; the Count and Monsieur Frankville consider’d his Words, rather as the Effects of his Indisposition, and the fatigue he endur’d, than remorse for any Crime he cou’d have been guilty of, and the pity they had for one so young and innocent, made the cruelty of the Weather more insupportable to them. At last, after long wandring, and the Tempest still encreasing, one of the Servants, who was before, was happy enough to explore a Path, and cry’d out to his Lord with a great deal of Joy, of the Discovery he had made; they were all of Opinion that it must lead to some House, because the 241 Ground was beat down, as if with the Feet of Passengers, and entirely free from Stubble, Stones and stumps of Trees, as the other part of the Desart they come thro’ was Encumber’d with. They had not rode very far before they discern’d Lights, the Reader may imagine the Joy this Sight produc’d, and that they were not slow in making their approach, Encourag’d by such a wish’d for Signal of Success: When they came pretty near, they saw by the Number of Lights, which were dispers’d in several Rooms distant from each other, that it was a very large and magnificent House, and made no doubt, but that it was the Country-Seat of some Person of great Quality: The wet Condition they were in, made them almost asham’d of appearing, and they agreed not to Discover who they were, if they found they were unknown. They had no sooner knock’d, than the Gate was immediately open’d by a Porter, who asking their Business, the Count told him they were Gentlemen, who had been so Unfortunate to mistake the Road to Piedmont, and desir’d the Owners leave for Refuge in his House, for that Night; that is a Curtesy, said the Porter, which my Lord never refuses; and in Confidence of his Assent, I may venture to desire you to alight, and bid you welcome: They all accepted the Invitation, and were conducted into a stately Hall, where they waited not long before the Marquess De Saguillier, having been inform’d they appear’d like People of Condition, came himself to confirm the Character his Servant had given of his Hospitality. He was a Man perfectly well Bred, and in spite of the Disadvantages their Fatigue had subjected them to, he saw something in the Countenance of these Travellers, which commanded his Respect, and engag’d him to receive them with a more than ordinary Civility. 242 Almost the first thing the Count desir’d, was, that his Page might be taken care of; he was presently carry’d to Bed, and Camilla (to whom the Marquess made a thousand Apologies, that being a Batchellor, he cou’d not Accommodate her, as he cou’d the Gentlemen) was show’d to a Chamber, where some of the Maid Servants attended to put her on dry Cloaths. They were splendidly Entertain’d that Night, and when Morning came, and they were preparing to take Leave, the Marquess, who was strangely Charm’d with their Conversation, Entreated them to stay two or three Days with him, to recover themselves of the Fatigue they had suffer’d: The Count’s impatience to be at Paris, to enquire after his Dear Melliora, wou’d never have permitted him to consent, if he had not been oblig’d to it, by being told, that Fidelio was grown much worse, and not in a Condition to Travel; Frankville and Camilla had said nothing, because they wou’d not Oppose the Count’s Inclination, but were extreamly glad of an Opportunity to rest a little longer, tho sorry for the Occasion. The Marquess omitted nothing that might make their Stay agreeable; but tho’ he had a longing Inclination to know the Names, and Quality of his Guests, he forbore to ask, since he found they were not free to discover themselves: The Conversation between these accomplish’d Persons was extreamly Entertaining, and Camilla, tho’ an Italian, spoke French well enough to make no inconsiderable part of it; the Themes of their Discourse were various, but at last happning to mention Love, the Marquess spoke of that Passion so feelingly, and express’d himself so vigorously when he attempted to excuse any of those Errors, it leads its Votaries into, that it was easy to Discover, he felt the Influence he endeavour’d to represent. 243 Night came on again, Fidelio’s Distemper encreas’d to that degree, that they all began to despair of his Recovery, at least they cou’d not hope it for a long Time, if at all, and Count D’elmont fretted beyond measure at this unavoidable delay of the progress of his Journey to that Place, where he thought there was only a possibility of hearing of Melliora: As he was in Bed, forming a thousand various Idea’s, tho’ all tending to one Object, he heard the Chamber Door unlock, and opening his Curtains perceiv’d somebody come in; a Candle was burning in the next Room, and gave Light enough at the opening the Door, to show it was a Woman, but what Sort of one he cou’d not Discern, nor did he give himself the trouble of asking who was there, believing it might be one of the Servants come in to fetch something she wanted, ’till coming pretty near the Bed, she cry’d twice in a low Voice, are you a Sleep, no, answer’d he, a little surpriz’d at this Disturbance; what wou’d you have? I come said she, to talk to you, and I hope you are more a Chevalier, than to prefer a little Sleep, to the Conversation of a Lady, tho’ she Visits you at Midnight: These words made D’elmont believe he had met with a second Ciamara, and lest he shou’d find the same Trouble with this as he had done with the former, he resolv’d to put a stop to it at once, and with an Accent as peevish as he cou’d turn his Voice to, the Conversation of Ladies reply’d he, is a Happiness I neither Deserve, nor much Desire at any Time, especially at this; therefore whoever you are, to oblige me, you must leave me to the freedom of my Thoughts, which at present afford me matter of Entertainment more suitable to my Humour than any thing I can find here! Oh Heavens! Said the Lady, is this the Courtly, the Accomplish’d Count D’elmont? So fam’d for Complaisance and Sweetness? Can it be he, who thus rudely Repels a Lady, when she comes to make him a Present of her Heart? The Count was very much amaz’d to find he was known in a Place 244 where he thought himself wholly a Stranger, I perceive, answer’d he, with more Ill-humour if possible, than before, you are very well acquainted with my Name, which I shall never deny (tho’ for some Reasons I conceal’d it) but not at all with my Character, or you wou’d know, I can esteem the Love of a Woman, only when ’tis Granted, and think it little worth acceptance, Proffer’d. Oh unkind! Said she, but perhaps the sight of me, may inspire you with Sentiments less Cruel: With these Words she went hastily out of the Room to fetch the Candle she had left within; and the Count was so much surpriz’d and vex’d at the Immodesty and Imprudence he believ’d her Guilty of, that he thought he cou’d not put a greater affront upon her, than her Behaviour deserv’d, and turn’d himself with his Face the other way, designing to deny her the satisfaction even of a look; she return’d immediately, and having set down the Candle pretty near the Bed, came close to it her self, and seeing how he was laid; this is unkind indeed, said she, ’tis but one look I ask, and if you think me unworthy of another, I will for ever shun your Eyes: The Voice in which these Words were deliver’d, for those she spoke before were in a feign’d Accent, made the Heart-ravish’d D’elmont turn to her indeed, with much more hast, than he had done to avoid her; those Dear, those well-remember’d sounds infus’d an Extacy, which none but Melliora’s cou’d create; he hear’d---he saw,---’twas she, that very she, whose Loss he had so much deplor’d, and began almost to despair of ever being able to Retrieve! Forgetting all Decorum, he flew out of the Bed, catch’d her in his Arms, and almost stifl’d her with Kisses; which she returning with pretty near an equal eagerness, you will not chide me from you now she cry’d? Those who have Experienc’d any part of that Transport, D’elmont now was in, will know it was impossible for him to give her any other Answer, than repeating his Caresses; Words were too poor to Express what ’twas he felt, nor had he time to spare for Speech, employ’d in a far dearer, 245 softer Oratory, than all the force of Language cou’d come up to! But, when at last, to gaze upon her with more freedom, he releas’d her from that strict Embrace he had held her in, and she blushing, with down cast Eyes, began to reflect on the Effects of her unbounded passion, a sudden pang seiz’d on his Soul, and trembling, and convuls’d between extremity of Joy, and extremity of Anguish, I find thee Melliora, cry’d he; but Oh, my Angel! Where is it thou art found?---in the House of the young Amorous Marquess D’Sanguillier! Cease, cease, interrupted she, your causeless Fears,----where ever I am found, I am,----I can be only yours.----And if you will return to Bed, I will Inform you, not only what Accident brought me hither, but also every particular of my Behaviour since I came. These Words first put the Count in mind of the Indecency his Transport had made him Guilty of, in being seen in that manner, and was going hastily to throw on his Night Gown, when Melliora perceiving his Intent, and fearing he wou’d take cold, told him she wou’d not stay a Moment, unless he granted her Request of returning to his Bed, which he, after having made her sit down on the Side of it, at last consented to: And contenting himself with taking one of her Hands, and pressing it between his, close Prisoner in his Bosom, gave her Liberty to begin in this Manner, the Discovery she had Promis’d. After the sad Accident of Alovysa’s Death, said she, at my return to the Monastry I found a new Pensioner there; it was the young Madamoselle Charlotta D’Mezray, who being lately left an Orphan, was entrusted to the Care of our Abbess, being her near Relation ’till her time of Mourning was expir’d, and she shou’d be married to this Marquess D’Sanguillier, at whose House we are; they were Contracted by their Parents in their Infancy, and nothing but the sudden Death of 246 her Mother, had put a stop to the Consummation of what, then, they both wish’d with equal Ardour: But alas! Heaven which decreed the little Beauty I am Mistress of, shou’d be pernicious to my own repose, ordain’d it so, that this unfaithful Lover, seeing me one Day at the Grate with Charlotta, shou’d fancy he found something in Me more worthy of creating a Passion, than he had in her, and began to wish himself releas’d from his Engagement with her, that he might have Liberty to enter into another, which he imagin’d wou’d be more pleasing: Neither she, nor I had the least suspicion of his Sentiments, and we having commenc’d a very great Friendship, she wou’d for the most part, desire me to partake in the Visits he made her: He still continu’d to make the same protestations of Affection to her as ever; but if on any occasion, she but turn’d her Head, or cast her Eyes another way, he wou’d give me such looks, as, tho’ I then but little regarded, I have since understood the meaning of, but too well; in this manner he proceeded for some Weeks, ’till at last he came one Day extreamly out of Humour, and told Charlotta the occasion of it was, that he had heard she gave Encouragement to some other Lover; she, amaz’d, as well she might, Avow’d her Innocence, and endeavour’d to Undeceive him, but he, who resolv’d not to be convinc’d, at least not to seem as if he was, pretended to be more enrag’d at what he call’d weak Excuses; said, he was satisfy’d she was more Guilty, even than he wou’d speak,----that he knew not if it were consistent with his Honour, ever to see her more.---And in short, behav’d himself in so unaccountable a manner, that there was no room to Doubt that he was either the most Impos’d on, or most Base of Men: It wou’d be endless for me to endeavour to represent poor Charlotta’s affliction. So I shall only say, it was answerable to the Tenderness she had for him, which, cou’d by nothing be exceeded, but by that, continu’d she Sighing, and looking Languishingly on him, which contrary to all the Resolutions I had made, brings me 247 to seek the Arms of my Enchanting D’elmont, to rouze Remembrance of his former Passion! To strengthen my Idea in his Heart! And Influence him a new with Love and Softness! This kind Digression made the Count give Truce to his Curiosity, that he might Indulge the Raptures of his Love, and raising himself in Bed, and pressing her slender fine proportioned Body close to his, wou’d permit her no otherwise, than in this Posture to continue her Discourse. Several Days resum’d Melliora, were past, and we heard nothing of the Marquess, all which, as he has since told me, were spent in fruitless Projections to steal me from the Monastry; but at last, by the means of a Lay Sister, he found means to convey a Letter to me; the Contents of it, as near as I can remember, were these. To the DivineMelliora. ’Tis not the falshood of Charlotta, but the Charms of Melliora have produc’d this Change in my Behaviour, do not therefore, at the reading this, affect a surprize at Effects, which I am sure cannot be uncommon to such Excellence! Nor accuse an Inconstancy, which I rather esteem a Virtue than a Vice: To Change from you indeed wou’d be the highest Sin, as well as Stupidity: but to Change for you, is what all must, and ought to do, who boast a Capacity of distinguishing. I love you, Oh Divinest Melliora, I burn, I languish for you in unceasing Torments, and you wou’d find it impossible for you to condemn the boldness 248 of this Declaration, if you cou’d be sensible of the Racks which force me to it, and which must shortly End me, if not happy enough to be receiv’d Your Lover, D’Sanguillier. ’Tis impossible for me to express the Grief, and Vexation this Letter gave me, but I forbore showing it to Charlotta, knowing how much it would encrease her Anguish, and resolv’d when next I saw him, as I made no doubt but I should quickly do, to use him in such a fashion, as in spite of his Vanity, shou’d make him know I was not to be won in such a manner; for I confess, my dear D’elmont, that his Timerity gave no less a shock to my Pride, than his Infidelity to her I really lov’d, did to my Friendship. The next Day I was told, a Gentleman enquir’d for me, I presently imagin’d it was he, and went to the Grate, with a Heart full of Indignation; I was not deceiv’d in my Conjecture, it was indeed the Marquess, who appear’d on the other side, but with so much Humility in his Eyes, and awful fear, for what he saw in Mine, as half disarm’d my Anger for what concern’d my self, and had his Passion not proceeded from his Inconstancy, I might have been drawn to pity what was not in my Power to Reward; but his base Usage of a Woman so deserving as Charlotta, made me Express my self in Terms full of Disdain and Detestation, and without allowing him to Reply, or make any Excuses, pluck’d the Letter he had sent me out of my Pocket, with a design to return it him, just at that Moment when a Nun came hastily to call me from the Grate: Some body had over-heard the beginning of what I said, and had told the Abbess, who, tho’ she was not displeas’d at what she heard of my Behaviour to him, yet she thought it improper for me to hold any Discourse with a Man, who declar’d 249 himself my Lover: I did not, however, let her know who the Person was, fearing it might come to Charlotta’s Ears, and encrease an Affliction, which was already too violent: I was vext to miss the Opportunity of giving back his Letter, but kept it still about me, not in the least Questioning, but that boldness which had encourag’d him to make a discovery of his Desires, wou’d again lead him to the Prosecution of them in the same manner, but I was deceiv’d, his Passion prompted him to take other, as he believ’d, more effectual Measures: One Day, at least a Fortnight after I had seen the Marquess, as I was walking in the Garden with Charlotta, and another young Pensioner, a Fellow who was imploy’d in taking away Rubbish, told us there were some Statues carry’d by the Gate, which open’d into the Fields, which were the greatest Master-pieces of Art that had ever been seen: They are going, said he, to be plac’d in the Seiur Valiers Garden, if you step but out, you may get a Sight of them: We, who little suspected any Deceit, run without Consideration, to satisfie our Curiosity, but instead of the Statues we expected to see, four Living Men disguis’d, muffl’d, and well Mounted, came Galloping up to us, and, as it were surrounded us, before we had Time to get back to the Gate we came out at: Three of them alighting, seiz’d me and my Companions, and I, who was the destin’d Prey, was in a Moment thrown into the Arms of him who was on Horseback, and who no sooner receiv’d me, than as if we had been mounted on a Pegasus, we seem’d rather to fly than Ride; in vain I struggl’d, shriek’d, and cry’d to Heaven for help, my Prayers were lost in Air, as quickly was my Speech, surprize, and rage, and dread, o’rewhelm’d my sinking Spirits, and unable to sustain the Rapidity of such violent Emotions, I fell into a Swoon, from which I recover’d not, till was at the Door of some House, but where I yet am ignorant; the first thing I saw, when I open’d my Eyes, was one of those Men who had been Assistant in my carrying away, and was now about to lift 250 me from the Horse: I had not yet the power to Speak, but when I had, I vented all the Passions of my Soul in terms full of Distraction and Despair: By what means the People of the House were gain’d to my Ravishers Interest, I know not, but they took little Notice of the Complaints I made, or my Implorations for Succour: I had now, not the least shadow of a Hope, that any thing but Death cou’d save me from Dishonour, and having vainly Rag’d, I at last sate down meditating by what means I shou’d Compass that only Relief from the worse Ruin which seem’d to threaten me: While my Thoughts were thus employ’d, he who appear’d the chief of that insolent Company, making a Sign that the rest shou’d withdraw, fell on his Knees before me, and plucking off his Vizard, discover’d to me the Face of the Marquess D’Sanguillier. Heavens! How did this Sight inflame me? Mild as I am, by Nature, I that Moment was all Fury!----Till now I had not the least Apprehension who he was, and believ’d ’twas rather my Fortune than my Person, which had prompted some daring Wretch to take this Method to obtain it; but now, my Woes appear’d, if possible, with greater Horror, and his Quality and Engagement with Charlotta made the Act seem yet more Base. I blame you not, said he, Oh Divinest Melliora! The Presumption I am guilty of, is of so high a Nature, as justly may deserve your utmost Rigour!-----I know, and confess my Crime; Nay, hate my self for thus offending you.--But Oh? ’Tis unavoidable.---be then, like Heaven, who when Injured most, takes most delight to pardon: Crimes unrepented, answer’d I, can have no plea for Mercy, still to persist, and still to ask forgiveness, is Mocking of the Power we seem to Implore, and but encreases Sin.----Release me from this Captivity, which you have betray’d me into, Restore me to the Monastry----And for the future, cease to shock my Ears with Tales of violated Faith, detested Passion! Then, I perhaps, may pardon what is past. His reply to all this was very little to the Purpose, only I perceiv’d he was so far from 251 complying with my Request, or repenting what he had done, that he resolv’d to proceed yet further, and one of his Associates coming in, to tell him that his Chariot, which it seems he had order’d to meet him there, was ready, he offer’d to take me by the Hand to lead me to it, which I refusing, with an Air which testify’d the Indignation of my Soul, Madam, said he, you are not here less in my Power, than you will be in a Place, where I can Accommodate you in a manner more suitable to your Quality, and the Adoration I have for you: If I were capable of a base Design on you, what hinders but I now might perpetrate it? But be assur’d, your Beauties are not of that kind, which inspire Sentiments dishonourable; nor shall you ever find any other Treatment from me, than what might become the humblest of your Slaves; my Love, fierce as it is, shall know it’s Limits, and never dare to Breath an Accent less Chast than your own Virgin Dreams, and Innocent as your Desires. Tho’ the boldness he had been guilty of, and still persisted in, made me give but little Credit to the latter part of his Speech, yet the Beginning of it awak’d my Consideration to a reflection, that I cou’d not indeed be any where in a greater danger of the Violence I fear’d, than where I was; but on the contrary, it might so happen, that in leaving that Place, I might possibly meet some Persons who might know me, or at least be carry’d somewhere, whence I might with more likelihood, make my Escape: In this last Hope, I went into the Chariot, and indeed, to do him justice, neither in our Journey, nor since I came into his House, has he ever violated the Promise he made me; nothing can be with more Humility than his Addresses to me, never Visiting me without first having obtain’d my leave! But to return to the particulars of my Story, I had not been here many Days, before a Servant-Maid of the House, being in my Chamber doing something about me, ask’d me if it were possible I cou’d forget her; the Question 252 surpriz’d me, but I was much more so, when looking earnestly in her Face, which I had never done before, I perfectly distinguish’d the Features of Charlotta: Oh Heavens! cry’d I, Charlotta! The very same, said she, but I dare not stay now to unfold the Mistery, lest any of the Family take Notice; at Night when I undress you, you shall know the History of my Transformation. Never any Day seem’d so long to me as that, and I feign’d my self indispos’d, and rung my Bell for some body to come up, several Hours before the time I us’d to go to Bed, Charlotta guessing my impatience, took care to be in the way, and as soon as she was with me, not staying for my Requesting it of her, begun the Information she had promis’d, in this manner. You see, said she, forcing her self to put on a half smile, your unhappy Rival follows to interrupt the Triumph of your Conquest; but I protest to you, that if I thought you esteem’d my perjur’d Lover’s Heart an offering worthy your Acceptance, I never wou’d have disturb’d your happiness, and ’tis as much the Hopes of being able to be Instrumental in serving you in your Releasment, as the prevention of that Blessing the injurious D’Sanguillier aims at, which has brought me here: Of all the Persons that bewail’d your being carry’d away, I was the only one who had any Guess at the Ravisher, nor had I been so wise, but that the very Day on which it happen’d, you drop’d a Letter, which I took up, and knowing it the Marquess’s Hand, made no scruple of Reading it. I had no opportunity to upbraid you for the concealment of his falshood, but the manner of your being seiz’d, convinc’d me you were Innocent of favouring his Passion, and his Vizard flipping a little on one Side, as he took you in his Arms, discover’d enough of that Face, I have so much ador’d, for me to know who it was, that had took this Method to gain you: I will 253 not continu’d she, weeping, trouble you with any Recital of what I endur’d from the Knowledge of my Misfortune, but you may judge it by my Love, however, I bore up against the Oppressive weight, and resolv’d to struggle with my Fate, even to the Last; I made an Excuse for leaving the Monastry the next Day, without giving any suspicion of the Cause, or letting any body into the Secret of the Marquess, and Disguis’d as you see, found means to be receiv’d by the House-keeper, as a Servant, I came here in three Days after you, and have had the opportunity of being confirm’d by your Behaviour, of what I before believ’d, that you were far from being an Assistant in his Design. Here the sorrowful Charlotta finish’d her little Account, and I testify’d the Joy I felt in seeing her, by a thousand Embraces, and all the Protestations of Eternal Friendship to her, that I could make: All the times we had any opportunity of Talking to each other, were spent in forming Schemes for my Escape, but none of them appear’d feasible; however the very Contrivance was a kind of Pleasure to me, for tho’ I began to banish all my Fears of the Marquess’s offering any violence to my Virtue, yet I found his Passion wou’d not permit him to suffer my Departure, and I was almost Distracted when I had no Hopes of being in a Capacity of hearing from you, or writing to you: In this fashion, my dearest D’elmont have I liv’d, sometimes flattering my self with vain Projects, sometimes desponding of being ever free: But last Night, Charlotta coming up, according to her Custom, told me in a kind of Rapture, that you, and my Brother were in the House, she, it seems knew you at Paris while her Mother was yet Living, and to make her entirely easy as to the Marquess, I had now made her the Confidant of my Sentiments concerning you: I need not tell you the Extacy this News gave me, you are too well acquainted with my Heart, not to be able to conceive it more justly than 254 Language can Express; but I cannot forbear Informing you of one thing, of which you are ignorant, tho’ had Prudence any share in this Love-directed Soul, I shou’d conceal it: My impatience to behold you, was almost equal to my Joy to think you were so near, and transported with my eager wishes, by Charlotta’s Assistance, I last Night found the way into your Chamber: I saw you, Oh D’elmont! My longing Eyes enjoy’d the satisfaction they so much desir’d, but yours were clos’d, the Fatigue of your Journey had laid you fast a Sleep, so fast, that even Fancy was unactive, and no kind Dream, alarm’d you with one Thought of Melliora! She cou’d not pronounce these last Words very Intelligibly, the greedy Count devour’d ’em as she spoke, and tho’ Kisses had made many a Parenthesis in her Discourse, yet he restrain’d himself as much as possible, for the Pleasure of hearing her; but perceiving she was come to a Period, he gave a loose to all the furious Transports of his ungovern’d Passion: A while their Lips were Cemented! Rivetted together with Kisses, such Kisses! As Collecting every Sence in one, exhale the very Soul, and mingle Spirits! Breathless with bliss, then wou’d they pause and gaze, then joyn again, with Ardour still encreasing, and Looks, and Sighs, and straining Grasps were all the Eloquence that either cou’d make use of: Fain wou’d he now have obtain’d the aim of all his Wishes, strongly he press’d, and faintly she repuls’d: Dissolv’d in Love, and melting in his Arms, at last she found no Words to form Denials, while he, all fire, improv’d the lucky Moment, a thousand Liberties he took.----A thousand Joys he reap’d, and had infallibly been possest of all, if Charlotta, who seeing it broad Day, had not wonder’d at Melliora’s stay, and come and knock’d at the Chamber Door, which not being fasten’d, gave way to her Entrance, but she made not such hast, but that they had time enough to Disengage themselves from that close Embrace they had held each 255 other in: Heavens! Melliora, cry’d the careful Interrupter, what mean you by this stay, which may be so prejudicial to our Designs; the Marquess is already stirring, and if he shou’d come into this Room, or send to yours, what might be the Consequence: I come, I come, said Melliora, alarm’d at what she heard, and rising from the Bed-side: Oh, you will not, said the Count in a Whisper, and tenderly pressing her Hand, you must not leave me thus! A few Hours hence, answer’d she aloud, I hope to have the Power to own my self all yours, nor can the Scheme we have laid fail of the Effects we wish, if no Discovery happens to Postpone it: She was going with Charlotta out of the Chamber, with these Words, but remembring her self, she turn’d hastily back, let not my Brother, Resum’d she, know my Weakness, and when you see me next, feign a surprize equal to his own. It is not to be suppos’d that after she was gone, D’elmont, tho’ kept awake all Night, cou’d suffer any Sleep to enter his Eyes; excess of Joy of all the Passions, hurries the Spirits most, and keeps ’em longest busied: Anger or Grief, rage violently at first, but quickly flag, and sink at last into a Lethargy, but Pleasure warms, exhillerates the Soul, and every rapturous Thought infuses new Desires, new Life, and added Vigour. The Marquess D’Sanguillier was no less happy in imagination than the Count, and it was the force of that Passion which had rouz’d him so early that Morning, and made him wait impatiently for his Guests coming out of their Chambers, for he wou’d not disturb them: As soon as they were all come into the Drawing-Room, I know not Messiures, said he, with a Voice and Eyes wholly chang’d from those he wore the Day before, whether you have ever Experienc’d the force of Love to that Degree that I have, but I dare believe you have Generosity enough to rejoyce in the good Fortune I am going to be 256 possess’d of; and when I shall inform you how I have long languish’d in a Passion, perhaps, the most extravagant that ever was, you will confess the Justice of that God, who soon or late, seldom suffers his faithful Votaries to miss their Reward: The Count cou’d not force himself to a Reply to these Words, but Frankville and Camilla, who were entirely Ignorant of the Cause of them, heartily Congratulated him. I am Confident, resum’d the Marquess, that Despair has no Existance but in weak and timerous Minds, all Women may be won by Force or Stratagem, and tho’ I had, almost, invincible Difficulties to struggle with, Patience, Constancy, and a bold and artful Management has at length surmounted them: Hopeless by Distant Courtship to obtain the Heart of my Adorable, I found means to make my self Master of her Person, and by making no other use of the Power I had over her, than humbly Sighing at her Feet, convinc’d her my Designs were far from being Dishonourable; and last Night, looking on me, with more kindness than she had ever done before: My Lord, said she, your Usage of me has been too Noble, not to vanquish what ever Sentiments I may have been possest with to your Prejudice, therefore since you have Company in the House, who may be Witness of what I do, I think I cannot chuse a fitter time, than this, to bestow my self, before them, on him who most Deserves me: I will not now, continu’d he, delay the Confirmation of my Happiness so long, as to go about to describe the Extacy I felt, for this so wish’d, and so unhop’d a Condescension, but when, hereafter, you shall be told the whole History of my Passion, you will be better able to conceive it; the Marquess had scarce done speaking, when his Chaplain came into the Room, saying, he believ’d it was the Hour his Lordship order’d him to attend; it is! it is, cry’d the transported Marquess. Now my worthy Guests you shall behold the lovely Author of my Joys; with these Words he left them, but immediately return’d, leading the intended Bride: Monsieur 257 Frankville, tho’ he had not seen his Sister in some Years, knew her at the first Glimpse, and the Surprize of meeting her----Meeting her in so unexpected a manner was so great, that his Thoughts were quite confounded with it, and he cou’d no otherwise Express it, than by throwing his Eyes wildly, sometimes on her, sometimes on the Count, and sometimes on the Marquess; the Count tho’ appris’d of this, felt a Consternation for the Consequence little inferior to his, and both being kept silent by their different Agitations, and the Marquess, by the sudden Change, which he perceiv’d in their Countenances, Melliora had liberty to explain her self in this manner. I have kept my Word, my Lord, said she to the Marquess, this Day shall give me to him who best deserves me; but who that is, my Brother and Count D’elmont must determine, since Heaven has restor’d them to me, all Power of disposing of my self must cease; ’tis they must, henceforth, rule the will of Melliora, and only their consent can make me yours; all Endeavours wou’d be vain to represent the Marquess’s confusion at this sudden Turn, and ’tis hard to say whether his Astonishment, or Vexation was greatest; her Brother he wou’d little have regarded, not doubting but his Quality, and the Riches he was possest of, wou’d easily have gain’d his Compliance; but Count D’elmont, tho’ he knew him not (having, for some disgust he receiv’d at Court, been many Years absent from Paris,) yet he had heard much talk of him; and the Passion he had for Melliora, by the Adventure of Alovysa’s Death, had made too great a Noise in the World not to have reach’d his Ears; he stood Speechless for some time, but when he had a little recover’d himself, have you then Deceiv’d me, Madam, Said he? No, answer’d she, I am still ready to perform my promise, whenever these Gentlemen shall command me.----The one my Brother, the other my Guardian, obtain but their Consent, and----Mine, he can never have, Interrupted Frankville hastily, and laying his Hand on his Sword. Nor 258 mine, cry’d the Count, while I have Breath to form Denials, or my Arm strength to Guard my Beauteous Charge; hold Brother,----Hold, my Lord, said Melliora, fearing their Fury wou’d produce some fatal Effects, the Marquess has been so truly Noble, that you rather ought to Thank, than resent his Treatment of me, and tho’ I see Rage in your Eyes, and all the Stings of disappointment glowing fierce in his, yet I have Hopes, a general Content may Crown the End.----Appear! Continu’d she, raising her Voice, appear! Thou lovely faithful Maid! Come forth and Charm thy roving Lovers Heart again to Constancy, to Peace, and thee! She had no sooner spoke, then Charlotta entred, drest like a Bride indeed, in a Suit of Cloaths, which she had brought with her, in case any happy Opportunity shou’d arise for her to discover herself: If the Marquess was before confounded, how much more so was he now? That injur’d Ladies Presence, just at this juncture, and the Surprize by what means she came there, made him utterly unable to resolve on any thing, which she observing, and taking advantage of his Confusion, run to him, and catching hold of his Hand; wonder not my Lord, said she, to see Charlotta here, nothing is impossible to Love like mine, tho’ slighted and abandon’d by you, still I pursue your Steps with Truth, with Tenderness, and Constancy untir’d!---Then, perceiving he still was silent, come, my Lord, continu’d she, you must at last take Pity on my Sufferings, my Rival, Charming as she is, wants a just sensibility of your Deserts, and is by that, less worthy even than I; Oh, then remember, if not to me, what ’tis you owe your self your own exhalted Merits, and you will soon determine in my Favour, and confess that she, who knows you best, ought most to have you; she spoke these Words in so moving an Accent, and they were accompany’d with so many Tears, that the most rocky Heart must have relented, and that the Marquess was sensibly touch’d with ’em, his Countenance Testify’d, when sighing, and turning his Head a little away, not with disdain, but Remorse, 259 for the Infidelity he had been guilty of: Oh, cease, said he, this Flood of Softness, it gives me Pains I never felt before, for ’tis impossible you can forgive---Oh Heaven! cry’d the transported Charlotta, all you have done, or ever can do of Unkindness, is by one tender Word made full amends for; see at your Feet, (continued she, falling on her Knees) thus in this humble Posture, which best becomes my prostrate Soul, I beg you to accept the Pardon which I bring, to banish from your Mind all Thoughts that you have injured me, and leave it free from all the generous Joys, the making others happy, must create: This Action of Charlotta’s, join’d to the Reflection, how strangely every Thing happen’d to prevent his Designs on the other, won him entirely, and raising her with a tender Embrace, put it out of her Power to regret his ever being False, since his Return gave her a Taste of Joys, which are not, but in Reconciliation to be found. The Count, Monsieur Frankville, and the two Ladies who had waited all this while in an impatient Expectation for the end of this Affair, now paid their several Congratulations, all highly applauding the Constancy of Charlotta, and the timely Repentance of the Marquess: These Ceremonies being over, the Marquess desir’d Charlotta to acquaint him by what means she had gain’d Admittance to his House unknown to him; which Curiosity she immediately satisfying, engag’d a new, the Praises of the whole Company, and more endear’d herself to her belov’d Marquess’s Affections. Tranquility now reign’d in those Hearts, which lately heav’d with various and disturb’d Emotions, and Joy sate smiling upon every Cheek, entirely happy in their several Wishes: They could now talk of past Woes with Pleasure, and began to enter into a very delightful Conversation, when Frankville on a sudden missing Camilla, and asking for her, one 260 of the Servants told him she was gone to the Sick Page’s Chamber, this News gave him some little alarm, and the rather, because he had observ’d she expressed a more than ordinary Tenderness and Care for this Page, all the Time of their Journey; he ran immediately to the Room where he heard she was, and found her lying on the Bed, with her Arms round Fidelio’s Neck, and her Face close to his; this shocking Sight had certainly driven the Rashness of his Temper to commit some Deed of Horror, if the Amazement he was in had not prevented it; he drew his Sword half out, but then, as if some Spell had charm’d his Arm, remain’d in that Posture, fix’d and motionless as Marble: Camilla half blinded with the Tears which fell from her Eyes, saw not the Confusion he was in, nor considered the seeming Reason he had to be so, but raising her Head a little to see who it was that came into the Chamber, Oh Frankville! said she, see here the Ruins of Love, behold the Tyranny of that fatal Passion in this expiring Fair! But haste, contin’d she, finding him ready to faint, let Count D’elmont know, the faithful, generous Violetta! Dies---she dies for him, and asks no other Recompence, than a last Farewell--Violetta! interrupted Frankville, what means Camilla? This, this is Violetta, resum’d she, who like a Page disguis’d, has followed the too lovely Count, and lost herself: The Rage which at his first Entrance had possest the Heart of Frankville, now gave Way to Grief, and coming near the Bed, he began to testify it, by all the Marks which an unfeign’d Concern cou’d give; but this unfortunate Languisher, finding her Strength decay, prevented him from making any long Speeches, by renewing that Request which Camilla had already made known, of seeing her dear Lord before she dy’d, which Frankville making haste to fulfil, she call’d to him as loud as her Weakness would permit to come back, and as soon as he was, Camilla, said she, has inform’d me of my Lord’s good Fortune in meeting with the Charmer of his Soul, I would not deprive him of a 261 Moments Happiness. I therefore beg she’d give a dying Rival, leave to wish her Joy, and as neither my Death, nor the Cause of it can be a Secret to any of the Company here, I desire they all may be Witnesses, with what Pleasure I welcome it; Frankville, Fiery as he was, had a vast deal of Compassion in his Nature, and could not see so beautiful a young Lady, and one whom he had so many Obligations to, on the Account of his Affair with Camilla, in this despairing and dying Condition, without being seiz’d with an Anguish inexpressible; but all the Pangs he felt were nothing when compar’d to those he gave D’elmont in the Delivery of her Message; he ran into the Room like a Man distracted, and in the Hurry of his Grief forgot even the Complaisance he ow’d to Melliora, but she was too generous to disapprove his Concern, immediately followed with her Brother, the Marquess and Charlotta: What is it that I hear Madam, cry’d the Count, throwing himself on the Bed by her? Can it be possible that the admir’d Violetta cou’d forsake her Father,---Country,---Friends,---forego her Sexes Pride,---the Pomp of Beauty,---gay Dresses, and all the Equipage of State and Grandeur; to follow in a mean Disguise, a Man unworthy her Thoughts? Oh! no more, said she, weeping, you are but too, too worthy Adoration; nor do I yet believe my Love a Crime, tho’ the Consequence is so: I might in Rome, with Honour and Innocence have died, but by my shameful Flight, I was the Murderer of my Father---that---that’s a Guilt, which all these Floods of Penitence can never wash away---Yet, bear me Witness Heaven, how little I suspected the sad Event, when first, unable to support your Absence, I contriv’d this Way, unknown, to keep for ever in your Sight; I lov’d, ’tis true, but if one unchaste Wish, or an impure Desire e’er stain’d my Soul, then may the purging Fire to which I am going, miss its Effect, my Spots remain, and not one Saint vouchsafe to own me: Here the Force of her Passion, agitating her Spirits with too much 262 Violence for the Weakness of her Body, she sunk fainting in the Bed: And tho’ the Count and Camilla felt the most deeply her Afflictions, the one because they proceeded from her Love to him, and the other as having long been her Friend, and Partner of her Secrets, yet those in the Company who were most Strangers to her, participated in her Sufferings, and commiserated the Woes they could not heal; and as soon as she recovered from her Swoon, the generous Melliora (not in the least possest with any of those little Jealousies, which Women of narrow Souls harbour on such Occasions) came nearer to the Bed, and taking her kindly by the Hand, Live and be comforted, said she, a Love so innocent shall never give me any Disquiet.---Live and Enjoy the Friendship of my Lord, and if you please to favour me with yours, I shall esteem it as it deserves, a Blessing. No Madam, answered the now almost Expiring Violetta, Life, after this shameful Declaration, wou’d be the worst of Punishments, but, not to be Ungrateful to so generous an Offer, for a few Moments I accept it, and like Children, placing their darling Play things on their Pillow, and then contented to go to Sleep, so I would keep your Lord, would view him still while I awake to Life, then drop insensibly into a Slumber of eternal Peace. This mournful Tenderness pierc’d D’elmont, to the very Soul, and putting his Arm gently under her Head, which, he perceiv’d she was too weak to raise when she endeavoured it, and laying his Face on one of her Hands, cou’d not forbear washing it in Tears, she felt the cordial Drops, and, as if they gave her a new Vigour, exerting her Voice to the utmost of her Strength; this is too kind, said she, I now can feel none of those Agonies which render Death the King of Terrors, and thus, thus happy in your Sight,------your Touch------your tender Pity, I can but be Translated from one Heaven to another, and yet, forgive me Heaven, if it be a Sin, I cou’d wish, methinks, to know no other Paradise than you, to 263 be permitted to hover round you, to Form your Dreams, to sit upon your Lips all Day, to mingle with your Breath, and glide in unfelt Air into your Bosom: She wou’d have proceeded, but her Voice faultered in the Accent, and all she spoke distinguishable was, Oh D’elmont! receive in this one Sigh, my latest Breath-----it was indeed her last, she died that Moment, died in his Arms, whom more than Life she priz’d, and sure there are none who have liv’d in the Anxieties of Love, who wou’d not envy such a Death! There was not in this noble Company, one whose Eyes were dry, but Count D’elmont was for some Time inconsolable, even by Melliora; he forbore the celebrating of his so eagerly desired Nuptials, as did the Marquess and Monsieur Frankville theirs, in Complaisance to him, ’till after Violetta was interr’d, which the Count took Care should be in a Manner becoming her Quality, her Merit, and the Esteem he profess’d to have born her: But when this melancholly Scene was past, a Day of Joy succeeded, and one happy Hour confirm’d the Wishes of the three longing Bridegrooms; the Weddings were all kept in a splendid Manner at the Marquess’s, and it was not with out a great deal of Reluctance, that he and Charlotta suffered the Count, Monsieur Frankville, and their Ladies to take leave of them. When they came to Paris, they were joyfully received by the Chevalier Brillian and Ansellina, and those, who in the Count’s Absence had taken a Liberty of censuring and condemning his Actions, aw’d by his Presence, and in Time, won by his Virtues, now swell his Praises with an equal Vehemence: Both he and Frankville are still living, blest with a numerous and hopeful Issue, and continue with their fair Wives, great and lovely Examples of conjugal Affection. FINIS. [deleted advertisements] Defoe, Daniel and Daniel Defoe. The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, William Taylor, 1719 . Literature in Context: An Open Anthology. http://anthologydev.lib.virginia.edu/coursepack/ENGL8380EighteenthCenturyProseFiction7.txt. Accessed: 2024-10-08T05:19:52.756Z Title Page THE LIFE AND STRANGE SURPRIZING ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE,The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson Crusoe is one of those books that we all know even if we have never read it. With his first work of fiction, Daniel Defoe--a businessman turned poet, journalist, and political propagandist--created a character who very quickly went on to have a life that went well beyond the pages of the book that first appeared, without build-up, fanfare, or even the author's name on the title page, in April 1719. Robinson Crusoe was an immediate bestseller; the bookseller went through several editions in the first year alone. By August, Defoe had produced a sequel, The Farther Adventures of Robinson Crusoe, a work that he wrote quickly in part to head off the possibility that someone else might beat him to it. Over the last three hundred years, the story of a person isolated on a deserted island or something like it, has been used by dozens, maybe hundreds of writers, who have made it a genre of its own, the "Robinsoniad," a genre that includes satirical parodies like Gulliver's Travels, children's books like The Swiss Family Robinson, Bugs Bunny cartoons, television situation comedies like Gilligan's Island, and science fiction works like the 2015 film The Martian. Robinson Crusoe, the man and the book in which he first appeared, has become one of the foundational myths of the modern world.The story of one man's survival has become so well known in all of these instances that it can be difficult to see through the mythology to analyze Defoe's original book and to imagine what its first readers might have noticed and found so striking. It is important to recognize, for example, that the book is told in the first person, by a narrator who never lets on that this is a work of fiction. Defoe's name, as noted above, did not appear on the title page of the first edition (although it quickly became clear to those in the know that he was the author), or even in any of the many editions issued in his lifetime. Although the book is famous for the many years that Crusoe spends on the island, it takes a while for him to get there, and his experiences both before and after his time there are worth paying attention to for the way that they frame the central experience. Defoe's prose is sometimes clunky-he has a tendency to shape sentences and paragraphs that would never pass muster with a modern copyeditor--but it is also capable of great beauty and insight, and rewards careful attention. Perhaps most important, this is not a "novel" in any sense that either Defoe or we would recognize. In 1719, that word was most typically associated with short works of romantic fiction. This book, by contrast, has no romance at all (one of the stranger things about it, in fact, is how little Crusoe thinks of sex), is very long, and grounds itself thoroughly in circumstantial details drawn from a world that can be identified and verified. Robinson Crusoe dates its events precisely, and locates its scenes in real places that can be found on a map. (In fact, The Farther Adventures includes a map, inviting the reader to trace its fictional hero's exploits as he were an explorer in the world.) Defoe is very likely basing at least parts of the story on the real-life experience of Alexander Selkirk, a Scottish sailor who had been left on a deserted island for several years. Even the slave trading voyage that Crusoe goes on that results in the shipwreck that isolates him was drawn from contemporary events; because of the outbreak of war with Spain in 1718, the English South Sea Company found itself unable to exercise its right to transport slaves from Africa to the Spanish colonies in the Americas, with the result that private merchants were undertaking such voyages, as Crusoe does. Contemporaries quickly recognized that Crusoe's story was fictional, but took a lot of pleasure in the way that it blurred the lines between the real world and the imagination. Robinson Crusoe has remained perhaps the single most important, influential, and popular work of fiction in the English language ever since.Of YORK, MARINER: Who lived Eight and Twenty Years all alone in an un-inhabited Island on the Coast of AMERICA, near the Mouth of the Great River of OROONOQUE; Having been cast on Shore by Shipwreck, wherein all the Men perished but himself. WITH An Account how he was at last as strangely deliver'd by PYRATES. Written by Himself. LONDON: Printed for W. TAYLOR at the Ship in Pater-Noster-Row.MDCCXIX. THE PREFACE. IF ever the Story of any private Man's Adventures in the World were worth making Publick, and were acceptable when Publish'd, the Editor of this Account thinks this will be so. The Wonders of this Man's Life exceed all that (he thinks) is to be found extant; the Life of one Man being scarce capable of a greater Variety. The Story is told with Modesty, with Seriousness, and with a religious Application of Events to the Uses to which wise Men always apply them (viz.)An abbreviation for the Latin videlicet, meaning "namely." Source: Oxford English Dictionary to the Instruction of others by this Example, and to justify and honour the Wisdom of Providence in all the Variety of our Circumstances, let them happen how they will. The Editor believes the thing to be a just History of Fact; neither is there any Appearance of Fiction in it: And however thinks, because all such things are dispatch'd, that the Improvement of it, as well to the Diversion, as to the Instruction of the Reader, will be the same; and as such, he thinks, without farther Compliment to the World, he does them a great Service in the Publication. THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF ROBINSON CRUSOE, &c. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith I Was born in the Year 1632, in the City of York, of a good Family, tho' not of that Country, my Father being a Foreigner of Bremen,A city in Northern Germany. Source: Wikipedia who settled first at Hull: He got a good Estate by Merchandise, and leaving off his Trade, lived afterward at York, from whence he had married my Mother, whose Relations were named Robinson, a very good Family in that Country, and from whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer;In naming his title character "Crusoe," Defoe may be recalling his childhood schoolmate Timothy Cruso (1656-1697), who would go on to a prominent career as a Presbyterian minister. The name "Kreutznaer," from which Crusoe tells us his name is derived, is suggestive of the Christian cross. And the fact that Crusoe lives his adult life with a name other than that he was born with links him both to Defoe, who was born simply Daniel Foe, and Alexander Selkirk, who was born Alexander Selcraig. but by the usual Corruption of Words in England, we are now called, nay we call our selves, and write our Name Crusoe, and so my Companions always call'd me. 2 I had two elder Brothers, one of which was Lieutenant Collonel to an English Regiment of Foot in Flanders, formerly commanded by the famous Coll. Lockhart, and was killed at the Battle near Dunkirk inagast the Spaniards: What became of my second Brother I never knew any more than my Father or Mother did know what was become of me. Being the third Son of the Family, and not bred to any Trade, my Head began to be fill'd very early with rambling Thoughts: My Father, who was very ancient, had given me a competent Share of Learning, as far as House-Education, and a Country Free-School generally goes, and design'd me for the Law; but I would be satisfied with nothing but going to Sea, and my Inclination to this led me so strongly against the Will, nay the Commands of my Father, and against all the Entreaties and Perswasions of my Mother and other Friends, that there seem'd to be something fatal in that Propension of Nature tending directly to the Life of Misery which was to befal me. My Father, a wise and grave Man, gave me serious and excellent Counsel against what he foresaw was my DesignIntended purpose. Source: Oxford English Dictionary. He call'd me one Morning into his Chamber, where he was confined by the Gout, and expostulated very warmlyVehemently. Source: Oxford English Dictioanry with me upon this Subject: He ask'd me what Reasons more than a meer wandring Inclination I had for leaving my Father's House and my native Country, where I might be well introduced, and had a Prospect of raising my Fortunes by Application and Industry, with a Life of Ease and Pleasure. He told me it was for Men of desperate Fortunes on one Hand, or of aspiring, superior Fortunes on the other, who went abroad upon Adventures, to rise by Enterprize, and make themselves famous in Undertakings of a Nature out of the common Road; 3 that these things were all either too far above me, or too far below me; that mine was the middle StateA social middle class between the gentry and the commons; the kind of place occupied in this era by the emergent merchant and professional class. Source: Oxford English Dictionary, or what might be called the upper Station of Low Life, which he had found by long Experience was the best State in the World, the most suited to human Happiness, not exposed to the Miseries and Hardships, the Labour and Sufferings of the mechanickManual laboring. Source: Oxford English Dictionary Part of Mankind, and not embarass'd with the Pride, Luxury, Ambition and Envy of the upper Part of Mankind. He told me, I might judge of the Happiness of this State, by this one thing, viz. That this was the State of Life which all other People envied, that Kings have frequently lamented the miserable Consequences of being born to great things, and wish'd they had been placed in the Middle of the two Extremes, between the Mean and the Great; that the wise Man gave his Testimony to this as the just Standard of true Felicity, when he prayed to have neither Poverty or Riches. He bid me observe it, and I should always find, that the Calamities of Life were shared among the upper and lower Part of Mankind; but that the middle Station had the fewest Disasters, and was not expos'd to so many Vicissitudes as the higher or lower Part of Mankind; nay, they were not subjected to so many Distempers and Uneasinesses either of Body or Mind, as those were who, by vicious Living, Luxury and Extravagancies on one Hand, or by hard Labour, Want of Necessaries, and mean or insufficient Diet on the other Hand, bring Distempers upon themselves by the natural Consequences of their Way of Living; That the middle Station of Life was calculated for all kind of Vertues and all kinds of Enjoyments; that Peace and Plenty were the Hand-maids of a middle Fortune; that Temperance, Moderation, Quietness, Health, 4 Society, all agreeable Diversions, and all desirable Pleasures, were the Blessings attending the middle Station of Life; that this Way Men went silently and smoothly thro' the World, and comfortably out of it, not embarass'd with the Labours of the Hands or of the Head, not sold to the Life of Slavery for daily Bread, or harrast with perplex'd Circumstances, which rob the Soul of Peace, and the Body of Rest; not enrag'd with the Passion of Envy, or secret burning Lust of Ambition for great things; but in easy Circumstances sliding gently thro' the World, and sensibly tasting the Sweets of living, without the bitter, feeling that they are happy, and learning by every Day's Experience to know it more sensibly. After this, he press'd me earnestly, and in the most affectionate manner, not to play the young Man, not to precipitate my self into Miseries which Nature and the Station of Life I was born in, seem'd to have provided against; that I was under no Necessity of seeking my Bread; that he would do well for me, and endeavour to enter me fairly into the Station of Life which he had been just recommending to me; and that if I was not very easy and happy in the World, it must be my meer Fate or Fault that must hinder it, and that he should have nothing to answer for, having thus discharg'd his Duty in warning me against Measures which he knew would be to my Hurt: In a word, that as he would do very kind things for me if I would stay and settle at Home as he directed, so he would not have so much Hand in my Misfortunes, as to give me any Encouragement to go away: And to close all, he told me I had my elder Brother for an Example, to whom he had used the same earnest Perswasions to keep him from going into the Low Country Wars, but could not prevail, 5 his young Desires prompting him to run into the Army where he was kill'd; and tho' he said he would not cease to pray for me, yet he would venture to say to me, that if I did take this foolish Step, God would not bless me, and I would have Leisure hereafter to reflect upon having neglected his Counsel when there might be none to assist in my Recovery. I observed in this last Part of his Discourse, which was truly Prophetick, tho' I suppose my Father did not know it to be so himself; I say, I observed the Tears run down his Face very plentifully, and especially when he spoke of my Brother who was kill'd; and that when he spoke of my having Leisure to repent, and none to assist me, he was so mov'd, that he broke off the Discourse, and told me, his Heart was so full he could say no more to me. I was sincerely affected with this Discourse, as indeed who could be otherwise; and I resolv'd not to think of going abroad any more, but to settle at home according to my Father's Desire. But alas! a few Days wore it all off; and in short, to prevent any of my Father's farther Importunities, in a few Weeks after, I resolv'd to run quite away from him. However, I did not act so hastily neither as my first Heat of Resolution prompted, but I took my Mother, at a time when I thought her a little pleasanter than ordinary, and told her, that my Thoughts were so entirely bent upon seeing the World, that I should never settle to any thing with Resolution enough to go through with it, and my Father had better give me his Consent than force me to go without it; that I was now Eighteen Years old, which was too late to go Apprentice to a TradeCrusoe is too old because apprenticeships in this period typically began around the age of thirteen, and lasted seven years., or Clerk to an Attorney; that I was sure if I did, I should never serve out my time, and I 6 should certainly run away from my Master before my Time was out, and go to Sea; and if she would speak to my Father to let me go but one Voyage abroad, if I came home again and did not like it, I would go no more, and I would promise by a double Diligence to recover that Time I had lost. This put my Mother into a great Passion: She told me, she knew it would be to no Purpose to speak to my Father upon any such Subject; that he knew too well what was my Interest to give his Consent to any thing so much for my Hurt, and that she wondered how I could think of any such thing after such a Discourse as I had had with my Father, and such kind and tender Expressions as she knew my Father had us'd to me; and that in short, if I would ruine my self there was no Help for me; but I might depend I should never have their Consent to it: That for her Part she would not have so much Hand in my Destruction; and I should never have it to say, that my Mother was willing when my Father was not. Tho' my Mother refused to move it to my Father, yet as I have heard afterwards, she reported all the Discourse to him, and that my Father, after shewing a great Concern at it, said to her with a Sigh, That Boy might be happy if he would stay at home, but if he goes abroad he will be the miserablest Wretch that was ever born: I can give no Consent to it. It was not till almost a Year after this that I broke loose, tho' in the mean time I continued obstinately deaf to all Proposals of settling to Business, and frequently expostulating with my Father and Mother, about their being so positively determin'd against what they knew my Inclinations prompted me to. But being one Day at HullA coastal town in southeast Yorkshire, on the river Humber leading out to the North Sea, and a major port., where I went casually, and without any Purpose of making an ElopementThat is, the general action of fleeing, with no suggestion of a clandestine marriage. Source: Oxford English Dictionary that time; but I say, being there, and 7 one of my Companions being going by Sea to London, in his Father's Ship, and prompting me to go with them, with the common Allurement of Seafaring Men, viz That it should cost me nothing for my Passage, I consulted neither Father or Mother any more, nor so much as sent them Word of it; but leaving them to hear of it as they might, without asking God's Blessing, or my Father's, without any Consideration of Circumstances or Consequences, and in an ill Hour, God knows. On the first of September 1661 I went on Board a Ship bound for London; never any young Adventurer's Misfortunes, I believe, began sooner, or continued longer than mine. The Ship was no sooner gotten out of the Humber, but the Wind began to blow, and the Winds to rise in a most frightful manner; and as I had never been at Sea before, I was most inexpressibly sick in Body, and terrify'd in my Mind: I began now seriously to reflect upon what I had done, and how justly I was overtaken by the Judgment of Heaven for my wicked leaving my Father's House, and abandoning my Duty; all the good Counsel of my Parents, my Father's Tears and my Mother's Entreaties came now fresh into my Mind, and my Conscience, which was not yet come to the Pitch of Hardness which it has been since, reproach'd me with the Contempt of Advice, and the Breach of my Duty to God and my Father. All this while the Storm encreas'd, and the Sea, which I had never been upon before, went very high, tho' nothing like what I have seen many times since; no, nor like what I saw a few Days after: But it was enough to affect me then, who was but a young Sailor, and had never known any thing of the matter. I expected every Wave would have swallowed us up, and that every time the Ship fell down, as I thought, in the Trough or Hollow 8 of the Sea, we should never rise more; and in this Agony of Mind, I made many Vows and Resolutions, that if it would please God here to spare my Life this one Voyage, if ever I got once my Foot upon dry Land again, I would go directly home to my Father, and never set it into a Ship again while I liv'd; that I would take his Advice, and never run my self into such Miseries as these any more. Now I saw plainly the Goodness of his Observations about the middle Station of Life, how easy, how comfortably he had liv'd all his Days, and never had been expos'd to Tempests at Sea, or Troubles on Shore; and I resolv'd that I would, like a true repenting ProdigalAlluding to the Biblical story of the prodigal son, who left home, squandered his inheritance, and finally returned to his father in shame, only to be forgiven for his folly. Source: Luke 15:11, go home to my Father. These wise and sober Thoughts continued all the while the Storm continued, and indeed some time after; but the next Day the Wind was abated and the Sea calmer, and I began to be a little inur'dAccustomed. Source: Oxford English Dictionary to it: However I was very grave for all that Day, being also a little Sea sick still; but towards Night the Weather clear'd up, the Wind was quite over, and a charming fine Evening follow'd; the Sun went down perfectly clear and rose so the next Morning; and having little or no Wind and a smooth Sea, the Sun shining upon it, the Sight was, as I thought, the most delightful that ever I saw. I had slept well in the Night, and was now no more Sea sick but very chearful, looking with Wonder upon the Sea that was so rough and terrible the Day before, and could be so calm and so pleasant in so little time after. And now least my good Resolutions should continue, my Companion, who had indeed entic'd me away, comes to me, Well Bob, says he, clapping me on the Shoulder, How do you do after it? I warrant you were frighted, wa'n't you, last Night, when it blew but a Cap full of 9 Wind? A Cap full d'you call it? said I, 'twas a terrible Storm: A Storm, you Fool you, replies he, do you call that a Storm why it was nothing at all; give us but a good Ship and Sea Room, and we think nothing of such a Squal of Wind as that; but you're but a fresh Water Sailor, Bob; come let us make a Bowl of Punch and we'll forget all that, d'ye see what charming Weather 'tis now. To make short this sad Part of my Story, we went the old way of all Sailors, the Punch was made, and I was made drunk with it, and in that one Night's Wickedness I drowned all my Repentance, all my Reflections upon my past Conduct, and all my Resolutions for my future. In a word, as the Sea was returned to its Smoothness of Surface and settled Calmness by the Abatement of that Storm, so the Hurry of my Thoughts being over, my Fears and Apprehensions of being swallow'd up by the Sea being forgotten, and the Current of my former Desires return'd, I entirely forgot the Vows and PromisesThis account of how Crusoe forgot the vows he made fits well within the tradition of the "sea-Providence," stories of others who testify how the urge to repent prompted by a storm wears off as soon as the weather calms. that I made in my Distress. I found indeed some Intervals of Reflection, and the serious Thoughts did, as it were endeavour to return again sometimes, but I shook them off, and rouz'd my self from them as it were from a Distemper, and applying my self to Drink and Company, soon master'd the Return of those Fits, for so I call'd them, and I had in five or six Days got as compleat a Victory over Conscience as any young, Fellow that resolv'd not to be troubled with it, could desire: But I was to have another Trial for it still; and Providence, as in such Cases generally it does, resolv'd to leave me entirely without Excuse. For if I would not take this for a Deliverance, the next was to be such a one as the worst and most Wretch among us would confess both the harden'd Danger and the Mercy. 10 The sixth Day of our being at Sea we came into YarmouthA stretch of sea east of the coastal town of Great Yarmouth, in the English county of Norfolk. Roads; the Wind having been contrary, and the Weather calm, we had made but little Way since the Storm. Here we were obliged to come to an Anchor, and here we lay, the Wind continuing contrary, viz. at South-west, for seven or eight Days, during which time a great many Ships from Newcastle came into the same Roads, as the common Harbour where the Ships might wait for a Wind for the River. We had not however ridRemained anchored; floated stationary. Source: Oxford English Dictionary here so long, but should have Tided itLet the tide carry them up. Source: Oxford English Dictionary up the River, but that the Wind blew too fresh; and after we had lain four or five Days, blew very hard. However, the Roads being reckoned as good as a Harbour, the Anchorage good, and our Ground-TackleEquipment used to anchor the ship. Source: Oxford English Dictionary very strong, our Men were unconcerned, and not in the least apprehensive of Danger, but spent the Time in Rest and Mirth, after the manner of the Sea; but the eighth Day in the Morning, the Wind increased, and we had all Hands at Work to strike our Top-Masts, and make every thing snug and close, that the Ship might ride as easy as possible. By Noon the Sea went very high indeed, and our Ship rid Forecastle in,With the bow (the foremost part of the hull) in the water. Source: Oxford English Dictionary shipp'd several Seas, and we thought once or twice our Anchor had come homeUndone; loose. Source: Oxford English Dictionary; upon which our Master order'd out the Sheet AnchorA very large, heavy spare anchor stored in the waist of the ship, used in emergencies like the one described here. Source: Oxford English Dictionary; so that we rode with two Anchors a-Head, and the Cables vered out to the better End. By this Time it blew a terrible Storm indeed, and now I began to see Terror and Amazement in the Faces even of the Seamen themselves. The Master, tho' vigilant to the Business of preserving the Ship, yet as he went in and out of his Cabbin by me, I could hear him softly to himself say several times, Lord be merciful to us, we shall be all lost, we shall be all undone; and the like. During these first 11 Hurries, I was stupidIn a stupor. Source: Oxford English Dictionary, lying still in my Cabbin, which was in the SteerageThe lower deck of a ship, just below the main deck and above the ballast; lower classes of passengers often purchased chapter tickets to travel in this part of the ship. Source: Oxford English Dictionary, and cannot describe my Temper: I could ill re-assume the first Penitence, which I had so apparently trampled upon, and harden'd my self against: I thought the Bitterness of Death had been past, and that this would be nothing too like the first. But when the Master himself came by me, as I said just now, and said we should be all lost, I was dreadfully frighted: I got up out of my Cabbin, and look'd out; but such a dismal Sight I never saw: The Sea went Mountains high, and broke upon us every three or four Minutes: When I could look about, I could see nothing but Distress round us: Two Ships that rid near us we found had cut their Masts by the Board, being deep loaden; and our Men cry'd out, that a Ship which rid about a Mile a-Head of us was foundered. Two more Ships being driven from their Anchors, were run out of the Roads to Sea at all AdventuresAt the mercy of all risks or dangers, and that with not a Mast standing. The light Ships fared the best, as not so much labouring in the Sea; but two or three of them drove, and came close by us, running away with only their Sprit-sailA small, usually square-shaped sail at the front of a sailing ship out before the Wind. Towards Evening the Mate and Boat-SwainPronounced "bosun," he was the supervisor of the deck crew begg'd the Master of our Ship to let them cut away the Foremast, which he was very unwilling to: But the Boat-Swain protesting to him, that if he did not, the Ship would founder, he consented; and when they had cut away the ForemastIn adverse weather conditions, one may cut away the mast of a ship to prevent it capsizing. Without the force of the heavy wind on the mast, the boat has a lower probability of tipping over., the Main-Mast stood so loose, and shook the Ship so much, they were obliged to cut her away also, and make a clear Deck. Any one may judge what a Condition I must be in at all this, who was but a young Sailor, and who had been in such a Fright before at but a little. But if I can express at this Distance the 12 Thoughts I had about me at that time, I was in tenfold more Horror of Mind upon Account of my former Convictions, and the having returned from them to the Resolutions I had wickedly taken at first, than I was at Death it self; and these added to the Terror of the Storm, put me into such a Condition, that I can by no Words describe it. But the worst was not come yet, the Storm continued with such Fury, that the Seamen themselves acknowledged they had never known a worse. We had a good Ship, but she was deep loaden, and wallowed in the Sea, that the Seamen every now and then cried out, she would founder. It was my Advantage in one respect, that I did not know what they meant by Founder, till I enquir'd. However, the Storm was so violent, that I saw what is not often seen, the Master, the Boat-Swain, and some others more sensible than the rest, at their Prayers, and expecting every Moment when the Ship would go to the Bottom. In the Middle of the Night, and under all the rest of of our Distresses, one of the Men that had been down on Purpose to see, cried out we had sprung a Leak; another said there was four Foot Water in the Hold. Then all Hands were called to the Pump. At that very Word my Heart, as I thought, died within me, and I fell backwards upon the Side of my Bed where I sat, into the Cabbin. However, the Men roused me, and told me, that I that was able to do nothing before, was as well able to pump as another; at which I stirr'd up, and went to the Pump and work'd very heartily. While this was doing, the Master seeing some light ColliersCoal barges, who not able to ride out the Storm, were oblig'd to flip and run away to Sea, and would come near us, ordered to fire a Gun as a Signal of Distress. I who knew nothing what that meant, was so surprised, that I thought the Ship had broke, or some 13 dreadful thing had happen'd. In a word, I was so surprised, that I fell down in a Swoon. As this was a time when every Body had his own Life to think of, no Body minded me, or what was become of me; but another Man stept up to the Pump, and thrusting me aside with his Foot, let me lye, thinking I had been dead; and it was a great while before I came to my self. We work'd on, but the Water encreasing in the Hold, it was apparent that the Ship would founder, and tho' the Storm began to abate a little, yet as it was not possible she could swim till we might run into a Port, so the Master continued firing Guns for Help; and a light Ship who had rid it out just a Head of us ventured a Boat out to help us. It was with the utmost Hazard the Boat came near us, but it was impossible for us to get on Board, or for the Boat to lie near the Ship Side, till at last the Men rowing very heartily, and venturing their Lives to save ours, our Men cast them a Rope over the Stern with a Buoy to it, and then vered it out a great Length, which they after great Labour and Hazard took hold of and we hall'd them close under our Stern and got all into their Boat. It was to no Purpose for them or us after we were in the Boat to think of reaching to their own Ship, so all agreed to let her drive and only to pull her in towards Shore as much as we could, and our Master promised them, That if the Boat was stav'd upon Shore he would make it good to their MasterThat is, if the boat was crushed or damaged while running aground, he would reimburse their master., so partly rowing and partly driving our Boat went away to the NorwardNorthward sloaping towards the Shore almost as far as Winterton Ness.An area of foreland along the north Norfolk coast of England We were not much more than a quarter of an Hour out of our Ship but we saw her sink, and then I understood for the first time what was meant by a Ship foundering in the Sea; I must acknowledge 14 I had hardly Eyes to look up when the Seamen told me she was sinking; for from that Moment they rather put me into the Boat than that I might be said to go in, my Heart was as it were dead within me, partly with Fright, partly with Horror of Mind and the Thoughts of what was yet before me. While we were in this Condition, the Men yet labouring at the Oar to bring the Boat near the Shore, we could see, when our Boat mounting the Waves, we were able to see the Shore, a great many People running along the Shore to assist us when we should come near, but we made but slow way towards the Shore, nor were we able to reach the Shore, till being past the Light-House at Winterton, the Shore falls off to the Westward towards Cromer, and so the Land broke off a little the Violence of the Wind: Here we got in, and tho' not without much Difficulty got all safe on Shore and walk'd afterwards on Foot to Yarmouth, where, as unfortunate Men, we were used with great Humanity as well by the Magistrates of the Town, who assign'd us good Quarters, as by particular Merchants and Owners of Ships, and had Money given us sufficient to carry us either to London or back to Hull, as we thought fit. Had I now had the Sense to have gone back to Hull, and have gone home, I had been happy, and my Father, an Emblem of our Blessed Saviour's Parable, had even kill'd the fatted Calf for meAnother allusion to the parable of the Prodigal Son, when the father kills the fatted calf to feast and celebrate the return of his ruined son (Luke 15:23); for hearing the Ship I went away in was cast away in Yarmouth Road, it was a great while before he had any Assurance that I was not drown'd. But my ill Fate push'd me on now with an Obstinacy that nothing could resist; and tho' I had several times loud Calls from my Reason and my more composed Judgment to go home, yet I had 15 no Power to do it. I know not what to call this, nor will I urge, that it is a secret over-ruling Decree that hurries us on to be the Instruments of our own Destruction, even tho' it be before us, and that we rush upon it with our Eyes open. Certainly nothing but some such decreed unavoidable Misery attending, and which it was impossible for me to escape, could have push'd me forward against the calm Reasonings and Perswasions of my most retired Thoughts, and against two such visible Instructions as I had met with in my first Attempt. My Comrade, who had help'd to harden me before, and who was the Master's Son, was now less forward than I; the first time he spoke to me after we were at Yarmouth, which was not till two or three Days, for we were separated in the Town to several Quarters; I say, the first time he saw me, it appear'd his Tone was alter'd, and looking very melancholy and shaking his Head, ask'd me how I did, and telling his Father who I was, and how I had come this Voyage only for a Trial in order to go farther abroad; his Father turning to me with a very grave and concern'd Tone, Young Man, says he, you ought never to go to Sea any more, you ought to take this for a plain and visible Token that you are not to be a Seafaring Man, why, Sir, said I, will you go to Sea no more? That is another Case, said he, it is my Calling, and therefore my Duty; but as you made this Voyage for a Trial, you see what a Taste Heaven has given you of what you are to expect if you persist; perhaps this is all befallen us on your Account, like Jonah in the Ship of Tarshish The Biblical Jonah boarded a ship bound for Tarshish, but was thrown overboard and swallowed by a whale when the crew discovered that he was fleeing God's commandment, and held him responsible for the violent storms encountered by their ship.. Pray, continues he, what are you? and on what Account did you go to Sea? Upon that I told him some of my Story; at the End of which he burst out with a strange kind of Passion, What had I done, says he, that such an unhappy Wretch should come into my Ship? I would not set my Foot in 16 the same Ship with thee again for a Thousand Pounds. This indeed was, as I said, an Excursion of his Spirits which were yet agitated by the Sense of his Loss, and was farther than he could have Authority to go. However he afterwards talk'd very gravely to me, exhorted me to go back to my Father, and not tempt Providence to my Ruine; told me I might see a visible Hand of Heaven against me, And young Man, said he, depend upon it, if you do not go back, where-ever you go, you will meet with nothing but Disasters and Disappointments till your Father's Words are fulfilled upon you. We parted soon after; for I made him little Answer, and I saw him no more; which way he went, I know not. As for me, having some Money in my Pocket, I travelled to London by Land; and there, as well as on the Road, had many Struggles with my self, what Course of Life I should take, and whether I should go Home, or go to Sea. As to going Home, Shame opposed the best Motions that offered to my Thoughts; and it immediately occurr'd to me how I should be laugh'd at among the Neighbours, and should be asham'd to see, not my Father and Mother only, but even every Body else; from whence I have since often observed, how incongruous and irrational the common Temper of Mankind is, especially of Youth, to that Reason which ought to guide them in such Cases, viz. That they are not asham'd to sin, and yet are asham'd to repent; not asham'd of the Action for which they ought justly to be esteemed Fools, but are asham'd of the returning, which only can make them be esteem'd wise Men. In this State of Life however I remained some time, uncertain what Measures to take, and what Course of Life to lead. An irresistible Reluctance continu'd to going Home; and as I stay'd a while, 17 the Remembrance of the Distress I had been in wore off; and as that abated, the little Motion I had in my Desires to a Return wore off with it, till at last I quite lay'd aside the Thoughts of it, and lookt out for a Voyage. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith That evil Influence which carryed me first away from my Father's House, that hurried me into the wild and indigested Notion of raising my Fortune; and that imprest those Conceits so forcibly upon me, as to make me deaf to all good Advice, and to the Entreaties and even Command of my Father: I say the same Influence, whatever it was, presented the most unfortunate of all Enterprises to my View; and I went on board a Vessel bound to the Coast of Africa; or, as our Sailors vulgarly call it, a Voyage to Guinea. It was my great Misfortune that in all these Adventures I did not ship my self as a Sailor; whereby, tho' I might indeed have workt a little harder than ordinary, yet at the same time I had learn'd the Duty and Office of a Fore-mast ManCommon sailor; and in time might have quallified my self for a Mate or Lieutenant, if not for a Master: But as it was always my Fate to choose for the worse, so I did here; for having Money in my Pocket, and good Cloaths upon my Back, I would always go on board in the Habit of a Gentleman; and so I neither had any Business in the Ship, or learn'd to do any. It was my Lot first of all to fall into pretty good Company in London, which does not always happen to such loose and unguided young Fellows as I then was; the Devil generally not omitting to lay some Snare for them very early: But it was not so with me, I first fell acquainted with the Master of a Ship who had been on the Coast of Guinea; and who having had very good Success there, was resolved 18 to go again; and who taking a Fancy to my Conversation, which was not at all disagreeable at that time, hearing me say I had a mind to see the Word, told me if I wou'd go the Voyage with him I should be at no Expence; I should be his Mess-matePerson with whom one regularly takes meals. and his Companion, and if I could carry any thing with me, I should have all the Advantage of it that the Trade would admit; and perhaps I might meet with some Encouragement. I embrac'd the Offer, and entring into a strict Friendship with this Captain, who was an honest and plain-dealing Man, I went the Voyage with him, and carried a small AdventureQuantity of capital or valuables with me, which by the disinterested Honesty of my Friend the Captain, I increased very considerably; for I carried about 40 l.40 pounds in such Toys and Trifles as the Captain directed me to buy. This 40 l. I had mustered together by the Assistance of some of my Relations whom I corresponded with, and who, I believe, got my Father, or at least my Mother, to contribute so much as that to my first Adventure. This was the only Voyage which I may say was successful in all my Adventures, and which I owe to the Integrity and Honesty of my Friend the Captain, under whom also I got a competent Knowledge of the Mathematicks and the Rules of Navigation, learn'd how to keep an Account of the Ship's Course, take an Observation; and in short, to understand some things that were needful to be understood by a Sailor: For, as he took Delight to introduce me, I took Delight to learn; and, in a word, this Voyage made me both a Sailor and a Merchant: for I brought Home L. 5.9 Ounces Five pounds, nine ounces of Gold Dust for my Adventure, which yielded me in London at my Return, almost 300 l.300 British pounds, a very substantial sum at a time when a person could live on a fraction of that for a year and this fill'd me with those aspiring Thoughts which have since so compleated my Ruin. 19 Yet even in this Voyage I had my Misfortunes too; particularly, that I was continually sick, being thrown into a violent CalentureFeverish delirium by the excessive Heat of the Climate; our principal Trading being upon the Coast, from the Latitude of 15 Degrees, North even to the LineThe Equator it self. I was now set up for a Guiney Trader A merchant in the goods that Europeans sought from Africa: gold, ivory, and ultimately, slaves.; and my Friend, to my great Misfortune, dying soon after his Arrival, I resolved to go the same Voyage again, and I embark'd in the same Vessel with one who was his Mate in the former Voyage, and had now got the Command of the Ship. This was the unhappiest Voyage that ever Man made; for tho' I did not carry quite 100 l. of my new gain'd Wealth, so that I had 200 left, and which I lodg'd with my Friend's Widow, who was very just to me, yet I fell into terrible Misfortunes in this Voyage; and the first was this, viz. Our Ship making her Course towards the Canary Islands, or rather between those Islands, and the African Shore, was surprised in the Grey of the Morning, by a Turkish Rover of Sallee,A city in northwest Morocco who gave Chase to us with all the Sail she could make. We crowded also as much Canvass as our Yards would spread, or our Masts carry, to have got clear; but finding the Pirate gain'd upon us, and would certainly come up with us in a few Hours, we prepar'd to fight; our Ship having 12 Guns, and the Rogue 18. About three in the Afternoon he came up with us, and bringing to by Mistake, just athwart our Quarter, instead of athwart our Stern, as he intended, we brought 8 of our Guns to bear on that Side, and pour'd in a BroadsideThat is, they fired all the cannons on one side of the ship upon him, which made him sheer off again, after returning our Fire, and pouring in also his small Shot from near 200 Men which he had on Board. However, we had not a Man touch'd, all our Men keeping close. He prepar'd to attack us 20 again, and we to defend our selves; but laying us on Board the next time upon our other Quarter, he entred 60 Men upon our Decks, who immediatel fell to cutting and hacking the Decks and Rigging. We ply'd them with Small-shot, Half-Pikes, Powder-Chests, and such like, and clea'rd our Deck of them twice. However, to cut short this melancholly Part of our Story, our Ship being disabled, and three of our Men kill'd, and eight wounded, we were obliged to yield, and were carry'd all Prisoners into Sallee,A city in northwest Morocco a Port belonging to the Moors. The Usage I hadTreatment I received there was not so dreadful as at first I apprehended, nor was I carried up the Country to the Emperor's Court, as the rest of our Men were, but was kept by the Captain of the Rover, as his proper Prize, and made his Slave, being young and nimble, and fit for his Business. At this surprising Change of my Circumstances from a Merchant to a miserable Slave, I was perfectly overwhelmed; and now I look'd back upon my Father's prophetick Discourse to me, that I should be miserable, and have none to relieve me, which I thought was now so effectually brought to pass, that it could not be worse; that now the Hand of Heaven had overtaken me, and I was undone without Redemption. But alas! this was but a Taste of the Misery I was to go thro', as will appear in the Sequel of this Story. As my new Patron or Master had taken me Home to his House, so I was in hopes that he would take me with him when he went to Sea again, believing that it would some time or other be his Fate to be taken by a Spanish or Portugal Man of War; and that then I should be set at Liberty. But this Hope of mine was soon taken away; for when he went to Sea, he left me on Shoar to look after his 21 little Garden, and do the common Drudgery of Slaves about his House; and when he came home again from his Cruise, he order'd me to lye in the Cabbin to look after the Ship. Here I meditated nothing but my Escape; and what Method I might take to effect it, but found no Way that had the least Probability in it: Nothing presented to make the Supposition of it rational; for I had no Body to communicate it to, that would embark with me; no Fellow-Slave, no Englishman, Irishman, or Scotsman there but my self; so that for two Years, tho' I often pleased my self with the Imagination, yet I never had the least encouraging Prospect of putting it in Practice. After about two Years an odd Circumstance presented it self, which put the old Thought of making some Attempt for my Liberty, again in my Head: My Patron lying at Home longer than usual, without fitting out his Ship, which, as I heard, was for want of Money; he used constantly, once or twice a Week, sometimes oftner, if the Weather was fair, to take the Ship's PinnaceA light rowboat carried aboard large merchant and war vessels., and go out into the Road a-fishing; and as he always took me and a young Maresco with him to row the Boat, we made him very merry, and I prov'd very dexterous in catching Fish; insomuch that sometimes he would send me with a Moor, one of his Kinsmen, and the Youth the Maresco,Moor, a term generally used in this period to refer to people from northern Africa. as they call'd him, to catch a Dish of Fish for him. It happen'd one time, that going a fishing in a stark calm Morning, a Fog rose so thick, that tho' we were not half a League from the Shoar we lost Sight of it; and rowing we knew not whither or which way, we labour'd all Day and all the next Night, and when the Morning came we found we had pull'd off to Sea instead of pulling in for the Shoar; and that we were at least two Leagues from 22 the Shoar: However we got well in again, tho' with a great deal of Labour, and some Danger; for the Wind began to blow pretty fresh in the Morning; but particularly we were all very hungry. But our Patron warn'd by this Disaster, resolved to take more Care of himself for the future; and having lying by him the Long-boat of our English Ship we had taken, he resolved he would not go a fishing any more without a Compass and some Provision; so he ordered the Carpenter of his Ship, who also was an English Slave, to build a little State-room or Cabin in the middle of the Long Boat, like that of a Barge, with a Place to stand behind it to steer and hale home the Main-sheet; and Room before for a hand or two to stand and work the Sails; she sail'd with that we call a Shoulder of Mutton Sail; and the Boom gib'dShifted from one side of the vessel to the other when running before the wind. over the Top of the Cabbin, which lay very snug and low, and had in it Room for him to lye, with a Slave or two, and a Table to eat on, with some small Lockers to put in some Bottles of such Liquor as he thought fit to drink in; particularly his Bread, Rice and Coffee. We went frequently out with this Boat a fishing, and as I was most dextrous to catch fish for him, he never went without me: It happen'd that he had appointed to go out in this Boat, either for Pleasure or for Fish, with two or three Moors of some Distinction in that Place, and for whom he had provided extraordinarily; and had therefore sent on board the Boat over Night, a larger Store of Provisions than ordinary; and had order'd me to get ready three Fuzees with Powder and Shot, which were on board his Ship; for that they design'd some Sport of Fowling as well as Fishing. I got all things ready as he had directed, and waited the next Morning with the Boat, washed 23 clean, her Antient and PendantsAn ancient or ensign is the national flag a ship flies at sea; pennants would be other flags on the rigging that would communicate facts about the ship, such as its master and status, to other ships. out, and every thing to accomodate his Guests; when by and by my Patroon came on board alone, and told me his Guests had put off going, upon some Business that fell out, and order'd me with the Man and Boy, as usual, to go out with the Boat and catch them some Fish, for that his Friends were to sup at his House; and commanded that as soon as I had got some Fish I should bring it home to his House; all which I prepar'd to do. This Moment my former Notions of Deliverance darted into my Thoughts, for now I found I was like to have a little Ship at my Command; and my Master being gone, I prepar'd to furnish my self, not for a fishing Business but for a Voyage; tho' I knew not, neither did I so much as consider whither I should steer; for any where to get out of that Place was my Way. My first Contrivance was to make a Pretence to speak to this Moor, to get something for our Subsistance on board; for I told him we must not presume to eat of our Patroon's Bread, he said that was true; so he brought a large Basket of Rusk or Bisket of their kind, and three Jarrs with fresh Water into the Boat; I knew where my Patroon's Case of Bottles stood, which it was evident by the make were taken out of some English Prize; and I convey'd them into the Boat while the Moor was on Shoar, as if they had been there before, for our Master: I convey'd also a great Lump of Bees-Wax into the Boat, which weighed above half a Hundred WeightMore than 56 lb (a full hundredweight is 112 lb), with a Parcel of Twine or Thread, a Hatchet, a Saw and a Hammer, all which were of great Use to us afterwards; especially the Wax to make Candles. Another Trick I try'd upon him, which he innocently came into also; his Name was Ismael, who they call Muly 24 or Moely, so I call'd to him, Moely said I, our Patroon's Guns are on board the Boat, can you not get a little Powder and Shot, it may be we may kill some Alcamies (a Fowl like our Curlieus) Or curlew; a wading bird of mottled brown color with a long, slender beak. for our selves, for I know he keeps the Gunner's Stores in the Ship? Yes, says he, I'll bring some, and accordingly he brought a great Leather Pouch which held about a Pound and half of Powder, or rather more; and another with Shot, that had five or six Pound, with some Bullets; and put all into the Boat: At the same time I had found some Powder of my Masters in the Great Cabbin, with which I fill'd one of the large Bottles in the Case, which was almost empty; pouring what was in it into another: and thus furnished with every thing needful, we sail'd out of the Port to fish: The Castle which is at the Entrance of the Port knew who we were, and took no Notice of us; and we were not above a Mile out of the Port before we hal'd in our Sail, and set us down to fish: The Wind blew from the N. NE. which was contrary to my Desire; for had it blown southerly I had been sure to have made the Coast of Spain, and at least reacht to the Bay of CadizA coastal city in southwest Spain; but my Resolutions were, blow which way it would, I would be gone from that horrid Place where I was, and leave the rest to Fate. After we had fisht some time and catcht nothing, for when I had Fish on my Hook, I would not pull them up, that he might not see them; I said to the Moor, this will not do, our Master will not be thus serv'd, we must stand farther off: He thinking no harm agreed, and being in the head of the Boat set the Sails; and as I had the Helm I run the Boat out near a League farther, and then brought her too as if I would fish; when giving the Boy the Helm, I stept forward to where the Moor was, and making as if I stoopt for something 25 hehind him, I took him by Surprize with my Arm under his TwistCrotch, and tost him clear over-board into the Sea; he rise immediately, for he swam like a Cork, and call'd to me, begg'd to be taken in, told me he would go all over the World with me; he swam so strong after the Boat that he would have reacht me very quickly, there being but little Wind; upon which I stept into the Cabbin and fetching one of the Fowling-piecesGuns, usually used to shoot birds, I presented itAimed at him, and told him, I had done him no hurt, and if he would be quiet I would do him none; but said I, you swim well enough to reach to the Shoar, and the Sea is calm, make the best of your Way to Shoar and I will do you no harm, but if you come near the Boat I'll shoot you thro' the Head; for I am resolved to have my Liberty; so he turn'd himself about and swam for the Shoar, and I make no doubt but he reacht it with Ease, for he was an Excellent Swimmer. I could ha' been content to ha' taken this Moor with me, and ha' drown'd the Boy, but there was no venturing to trust him: When he was gone I turn'd to the Boy, who they call'd Xury, and said to him, Xury, if you will be faithful to me I'll make you a great Man, but if you will not stroak your Face to be true to me, that is, swear by Mahomet and his Father's Beard, I must throw you into the Sea too; the Boy smil'd in my Face and spoke so innocently that I could not mistrust him; and swore to be faithful to me, and go all over the World with me. While I was in View of the Moor that was swimming, I stood out directly to Sea with the Boat, rather stretching to Windward, that they might think me gone towards the Straits-mouth (as indeed any one that had been in their Wits must ha' been supposed to do) for who would ha' suppos'd we were saild 26 on to the southward to the truly Barbarian CoastThe North African coast, between Tripoli and Morocco., where whole Nations of Negroes were sure to surround us with their Canoes, and destroy us; where we could ne'er once go on shoar but we should be devour'd by savage Beasts, or more merciless Savages of humane kind. But as soon as it grew dusk in the Evening, I chang'd my Course, and steer'd directly South and by East, bending my Course a little toward the East, that I might keep in with the Shoar; and having a fair fresh Gale of Wind, and a smooth quiet Sea, I made such Sail that I believe by the next Day at Three a Clock in the Afternoon, when I first made the Land, I could not be less than 150 Miles South of Sallee; quite beyond the Emperor of Morocco's Dominions, or indeed of any other King thereabouts, for we saw no People. Yet such was the Fright I had taken at the Moors, and the dreadful Apprehensions I had of falling into their Hands, that I would not stop, or go on Shoar, or come to an Anchor; the Wind continuing fair, 'till I had sail'd in that manner five Days: And then the Wind shifting to the southward, I concluded also that if any of our Vessels were in Chase of me, they also would now give overIf any of his Master's men had tried to follow him, he was by now so far away that they would have given up.; so I ventur'd to make to the Coast, and came to an Anchor in the Mouth of a little River, I knew not what, or where; neither what Latitude, what Country, what Nations, or what River: I neither saw, or desir'd to see any People, the principal thing I wanted was fresh Water: We came into this Creek in the Evening, resolving to swim on shoar as soon as it was dark, and discover the Country; but as soon as it was quite dark, we heard such dreadful Noises of the Barking, Roaring, and Howling of Wild Creatures, of we knew not what Kinds, that the poor Boy was ready to die with 27 Fear, and beg'd of me not to go on shoar till Day; well Xury said I, then I won't, but it may be we may see Men by Day, who will be as bad to us as those Lyons; then we give them the shoot Gun says Xury laughing, make them run wey; such English Xury spoke by conversing among us Slaves, however I was glad to see the Boy so cheerful, and I gave him a Drama small amount from a bottle, a swig or a sip (out of our Patroon's Case of Bottles) to chear him up: After all, Xury's Advice was good, and I took it, we dropt our little Anchor and lay still all Night; I say still, for we slept none! for in two or three Hours we saw vast great Creatures (we knew not what to call them) of many sorts, come down to the Sea-shoar and run into the Water, wallowing and washing themselves for the Pleasure of cooling themselves; and they made such hideous Howlings and Yellings, that I never indeed heard the like. Xury was dreadfully frighted, and indeed so was I too; but we were both more frighted when we heard one of these mighty Creatures come swimming towards our Boat, we could not see him, but we might hear him by his blowing to be a monstrous, huge and furious Beast; Xury said it was a Lyon, and it might be so for ought I know; but poor Xury cryed to me to weigh the Anchor and row away; no says I, Xury, we can slip our Cable with the Buoy to it and go off to Sea, they cannot follow us far; I had no sooner said so, but I perceiv'd the Creature (whatever it was) within Two Oars Length, which something surprized me; however I immediately stept to the Cabbin-door, and taking up my Gun fir'd at him, upon which he immediately turn'd about and swam towards the Shoar again. But it is impossible to describe the horrible Noises, and hideous Cryes and Howlings, that were 28 raised as well upon the Edge of the Shoar, as higher within the Country; upon the Noise or Report of the Gun, a Thing I have some Reason to believe those Creatures had never heard before: This Convinc'd me that there was no going on Shoar for us in the Night upon that Coast, and how to venture on Shoar in the Day was another Question too; for to have fallen into the Hands of any of the Savages, had been as bad as to have fallen into the Hands of Lyons and Tygers; at least we were equally apprehensive of the Danger of it. Be that as it would, we were oblig'd to go on Shoar somewhere or other for Water, for we had not a Pint left in the Boat; when or where to get to it was the Point: Xury said, if I would let him go on Shoar with one of the Jarrs, he would find if there was any Water and bring some to me. I ask'd him why he would go? Why I should not go and he stay in the Boat? The Boy answer'd with so much Affection that made me love him ever after. Says he, If wild Mans come, they eat me, you go wey. Well, Xury, said I, we will both go, and if the wild Man's come we will kill them, they shall Eat neither of us; so I gave Xury a piece of Rusk-bread to Eat and a Dram out of our Patroons Case of Bottles which I mentioned before; and we hal'd the Boat in as near the Shoar as we thought was proper, and so waded on Shoar, carrying nothing but our Arms and two Jarrs for Water. I did not care to go out of Sight of the Boat, fearing the coming of Canoes with Savages down the River; but the Boy seeing a low Place about a Mile up the Country rambled to it; and by and by I saw him come running towards me, I thought he was pursued by some Savage, or 29 frighted with some wild Beast, and I run forward towards him to help him, but when I came nearer to him, I saw something hanging over his Shoulders which was a Creature that he had shot, like a Hare but different in Colour, and longer Legs, however we were very glad of it, and it was very good Meat; but the great Joy that poor Xury came with, was to tell me he had found good Water and seen no wild Mans. But we found afterwards that we need not take such Pains for Water, for a little higher up the Creek where we were, we found the Water fresh when the Tide was out, which flowed but a little way up; so we filled our Jarrs and feasted on the Hare we had killed, and prepared to go on our Way, having seen no Foot-steps of any humane Creature in that part of the Country. As I had been one Voyage to this Coast before, I knew very well that the Islands of the Canaries, and the Cape de Verd Islands also, lay not far off from the Coast There is a geographical inconsistency here. Crusoe and Xury are somewhere along the southwest Moroccan coast if the Canary Islands are close by. Therefore, they are to the southwest of their starting point at Salé, which is in northwest Morocco. However, Crusoe claims to have sailed south and east of Salé - this is, in fact, impossible, since traveling southeast of Salé would entail going inland.. But as I had no Instruments to take an Observation to know what Latitude we were in, and did not exactly know, or at least remember what Latitude they were in; I knew not where to look for them, or when to stand off to Sea towards them; otherwise I might now easily have found some of these Islands. But my hope was, that if I stood along this Coast till I came to that Part where the English Traded, I should find some of their Vessels upon their usual Design of Trade, that would relieve and take us in. By the best of my Calculation, that Place were I now was, must be that Country, which lying between the Emperor of Morocco's Dominions and the Negro's, lies wast and uninhabited, except by wild Beasts; the Negroes having abandon'd it and gone farther South for fear of the Moors; and the Moors 30 not thinking it worth inhabiting, by reason of its Barrenness; and indeed both forsaking it because of the prodigious Numbers of Tygers, Lyons, Leopards and other furious Creatures which harbour there; so that the Moors use it for their Hunting only, where they go like an Army, two or three thousand Men at a time; and indeed for near an hundred Miles together upon this Coast, we saw nothing but a wast uninhabited Country, by Day; and heard nothing but Howlings and Roaring of wild Beasts, by Night. Once or twice in the Day time, I thought I saw the Pico of Teneriffe, being the high top of the Mountain Teneriffe in the Canaries; and had a great mind to venture out in hopes of reaching thither; but having tried twice I was forced in again by contrary Winds, the Sea also going too high for my little Vessel, so I resolved to pursue my first Design and keep along the Shoar. Several times I was obliged to land for fresh Water, after we had left this Place; and once in particular, being early in the Morning, we came to an Anchor under a little Point of Land which was pretty high, and the Tide beginning to flow, we lay still to go farther in; Xury, whose Eyes were more about him than it seems mine were, calls softly to me, and tells me that we had best go farther off the Shoar; for, says he, look yonder lies a dreadful Monster on the side of that Hillock fast asleep: I look'd where he pointed, and saw a dreadful Monster indeed, for it was a terrible great Lyon that lay on the Side of the Shoar, under the Shade of a Piece of the Hill that hung as it were a little over him. Xury, says I, you shall go on Shoar and kill him; Xury look'd frighted, and said, Me kill! he eat me at one Mouth; one Mouthful he meant; however, I said no more to the Boy, but 31 bad him lye still, and I took our biggest Gun, which was almost Musquet-bore"Bore" refers to the interior of the barrel of a gun, and the diameter of the bore determines the calibre. Crusoe's gun, then, is musket calibre., and loaded it with a good Charge of Powder, and with two SlugsBullets, and laid it down; then I loaded another Gun with two Bullets, and the third, for we had three Pieces, I loaded with five smaller Bullets. I took the best aim I could with the first Piece to have shot him into the Head, but he lay so with his Leg rais'd a little above his Nose, at first, but finding his Leg broke fell down again, and then got up upon three Legs and gave the most hideous Roar that ever I heard; I was a little suppriz'd that I had not hit him on the Head; however I took up the second Piece immediately, and tho' he began to move off fir'd again, and shot him into the Head, and had the Pleasure to see him drop, and make but little Noise, but lay struggling for Life. Then Xury took Heart, and would have me let him go on Shoar: Well, go said I, so the Boy jump'd into the Water, and taking a little Gun in one Hand swam to Shoar with the other Hand, and coming close to the Creature, put the Muzzle of the Piece to his Ear, and shot him into the Head again which dispatch'd him quite. This was Game indeed to us, but this was no Food, and I was very sorry to lose three Charges of Powder and Shot upon a Creature that was good for nothing to us. However Xury said he would have some of him; so he comes on board, and ask'd me to give him the Hatchet; for what, Xury, said I? Me cut off his Head, said he. However Xury could not cut off his Head, but he cut off a Foot and brought it with him, and it was a monstrous great one. 32 I bethought my self however, that perhaps the Skin of him might one way or other be of some Value to us; and I resolved to take off his Skin if I could. So Xury and I went to work with him; but Xury was much the better Workman at it, for I knew very ill how to do it. Indeed it took us up both the whole Day, but at last we got of the Hide of him, and spreading it on the top of our Cabbin, the Sun effectually dried it in two Days time, and it afterwards serv'd me to lye upon. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith After this Stop we made on to the Southward continually for ten or twelve Days, living very sparing on our Provisions, which began to abate very much, and going no oftner into the Shoar than we were oblig'd to for fresh Water; my Design in this was to make the River Gambia or Sennegall, that is to say, any where about the Cape de Verd,The area south of Morocco, near modern Senegal, was an epicenter for British trade in salt and slaves. where I was in hopes to meet with some European Ship, and if I did not, I knew not what Course I had to take, but to seek out for the Islands, or perish there among the Negroes. I knew that all the Ships from Europe, which sail'd either to the Coast of Guiney, or to Brasil, or to the East-Indies,European merchant vessels would have carried salt, gold, and slaves away from Africa, and sugar and spices back from Brazil and the Indies respectively. made this Cape or those Islands; and in a word, I put the whole of my Fortune upon this single Point, either that I must meet with some Ship, or must perish. When I had pursued this Resolution about ten Days longer, as I have said, I began to see that the Land was inhabited, and in two or three Places as we sailed by, we saw People stand upon the Shoar to look at us, we could also perceive they were quite Black and Stark-naked. I was once inclin'd to ha' gone on Shoar to them; but Xury was my better Councellor, and said to me, no go, no go; however I hal'd in nearer the Shoar that I might talk to them, and I found they run along the Shoar by me a good way; I observ'd they had 33 no Weapons in their Hands, except one who had a long slender Stick, which Xury said was a Lance, and that they would throw them a great way with good aim; so I kept at a distance, but talk'd with them by Signs as well as I could; and particularly made Signs for some thing to Eat, they beckon'd to me to stop my Boat, and that they would fetch me some Meat; upon this I lower'd the top of my Sail, and lay by, and two of them run up into the Country, and in less than half an Hour came back and brought with them two Pieces of dry Flesh and some Corn, such as is the Produce of their Country, but we neither knew what the one or the other was; however we were willing to accept it, but how to come at it was our next Dispute, for I was not for venturing on Shore to them, and they were as much affraid of us; but they took a safe way for us all, for they brought it to the Shore and laid it down, and went and stood a great way off till we fetch'd it on Board, and then came close to us again. We made Signs of Thanks to them, for we had nothing to make them amends; but an Opportunity offer'd that very Instant to oblige them wonderfully, for while we were lying by the Shore, came two mighty Creatures one pursuing the other, (as we took it) with great Fury, from the Mountains towards the Sea; whether it was the Male pursuing the Female, or whether they were in Sport or in Rage, we could not tell, any more than we could tell whether it was usual or strange, but I believe it was the latter; because in the first Place, those ravenous Creatures seldom appear but in the Night; and in the second Place, we found the People terribly frighted, especially the Women. The Man that had the Lance or Dart did not fly from them, but the rest did; however as the two Creatures 34 ran directly into the Water, they did not seem to offer to fall upon any of the Negroes, but plung'd themselves into the Sea and swam about as if they had come for their Diversion; at last one of them began to come nearer our Boat than at first I expected, but I lay ready for him, for I had loaded my Gun with all possible Expedition, and bad Xury load both the other; as soon as he came fairly within my reach, I fir'd, and shot him directly into the Head; immediately he sunk down into the Water, but rose instantly and plung'd up and down as if he was struggling for Life; and so indeed he was, he immediately made to the Shore, but between the Wound which was his mortal Hurt, and the strangling of the Water, he dyed just before he reach'd the Shore. It is impossible to express the Astonishment of these poor Creatures at the Noise and the Fire of my Gun; some of them were even ready to dye for Fear, and fell down as Dead with the very Terror. But when they saw the Creature dead and sunk in the Water, and that I made Signs to them to come to the Shore; they took Heart and came to the Shore and began to search for the Creature, I found him by his Blood staining the Water, and by the help of a Rope which I slung round him and gave the Negroes to hawl, they drag'd him on Shore, and found that it was a most curious Leopard, spotted and fine to an admirable Degree, and the Negroes held up their Hands with Admiration to think what it was I had kill'd him with. The other Creature frighted with the flash of Fire and the Noise of the Gun swam on Shore, and ran up directly to the Mountains from whence they came, nor could I at that Distance know what it was. I found quickly the Negroes were for eating the Flesh of this Creature, so I was willing 35 to have them take it as a Favour from me, which when I made Signs to them that they might take him, they were very thankful for, immediately they fell to work with him, and tho' they had no Knife, yet with a sharpen'd Piece of Wood they took off his Skin as readily, and much more readily than we cou'd have done with a Knife; they offer'd me some of the Flesh, which I declined, making as if I would give it them, but made Signs for the Skin, which they gave me very freely, and brought me a great deal more of their Provision, which tho' I did not understand, yet I accepted; then I made Signs to them for some Water, and held out one of my Jarrs to them, turning it bottom upward, to shew that it was empty, and that I wanted to have it filled. They call'd immediately to some of their Friends, and there came two Women and brought a great Vessel made of Earth, and burnt as I suppose in the Sun; this they set down for me, as before, and I sent Xury on Shore with my Jarrs, and filled them all three: The Women were as stark Naked as the Men. I was now furnished with Roots and Corn, such as it was, and Water, and leaving my friendly Negroes, I made forward for about eleven Days more without offering to go near the Shoar, till I saw the Land run out a great Length into the Sea, at about the Distance of four or five Leagues before me, and the Sea being very calm I kept a large, offing to make this Point; at length, doubling the Point at about two Leagues from the Land, I saw plainly Land on the other Side to Seaward; then I concluded, as it was most certain indeed, that this was the Cape de Verd, and those the Islands, call'd from thence Cape de Verd Islands. However they were at a great Distance, and I could not well tell what I had best to do, for if I 36 should be taken with a Fresh of Wind I might neither reach one or other. In this Dilemna, as I was very pensive, I stept into the Cabbin and sat me down, Xury having the Helm, when on a suddain the Boy cry'd out, Master, Master, a Ship with a Sail, and the foolish Boy was frighted out of his Wits, thinking it must needs be some of his Master's Ships sent to pursue us, when, I knew we were gotten far enough out of their reach. I jump'd out of the Cabbin, and immediately saw not only the Ship, but what she was, (viz.) that it was a Portuguese Ship, and as I thought was bound to the Coast of Guinea for Negroes. But when I observ'd the Course she steer'd, I was soon convinc'd they were bound some other way, and did not design to come any nearer to the Shoar; upon which I stretch'd out to Sea as much as I could, resolving to speak with them if possible. With all the Sail I could make, I found I should not be able to come in their Way, but that they would be gone by, before I could make any Signal to them; but after I had crowded to the utmost, and began to despair, they it seems saw me by the help of their Perspective-Glasses, and that it was some European Boat, which as they supposed must belong to some Ship that was lost, so they shortned Sail to let me come up. I was encouraged with this, and as I had my Patroon's Antient on Board, I made a Waft of it to them for a Signal of Distress, and fir'd a Gun, both which they saw, for they told me they saw the Smoke, tho' they did not hear the Gun; upon these Signals they very kindly brought too, and lay by for me, and in about three Hours time I came up with them. They ask'd me what I was, in Portuguese, and in Spanish, and in French, but I understood none of 37 them; but at last a Scots Sailor who was on board, call'd to me, and I answer'd him, and told him I was an Englishman, that I had made my escape out of Slavery from the Moors at Sallee; then they bad me come on board, and very kindly took me in, and all my Goods. It was an inexpressible Joy to me, that any one will believe, that I was thus deliver'd, as I esteem'd it, from such a miserable and almost hopeless Condition as I was in, and I immediately offered all I had to the Captain of the Ship, as a Return for my Deliverance; but he generously told me, he would take nothing from me, but that all I had should be deliver'd safe to me when I came to the Brasils, for says he, I have sav'd your Life on no other Terms than I would be glad to be saved my self, and it may one time or other be my Lot to be taken up in the same Condition; besides, said he, when I carry you to the Brasils, so great a way from your own Country, if I should take from you what you have, you will be starved there, and then I only take away that Life I have given. No, no, Seignor Inglese, says he, Mr. Englishman, I will carry you thither in Charity, and those things will help you to buy your Subsistance there and your Passage home again. As he was Charitable in his Proposal, so he was Just in the Performance to a tittleDown to the smallest detail; to the highest degree, for he ordered the Seamen that none should offer to touch any thing I had; then he took every thing into his own Possession, and gave me back an exact Inventory of them, that I might have them, even so much as my three Earthen Jarrs. As to my Boat it was a very good one, and that he saw, and told me he would buy it of me for the Ship's use, and ask'd me what I would have for it? I told him he had been so generous to me in every thing, that I could not offer to make any 38 Price of the Boat, but left it entirely to him, upon which he told me he would give me a Note of his Hand to pay me 80 Pieces of EightEighty Spanish dollars ("Pieces of eight" were so called because one was worth eight Spanish reales.) for it at Brasil, and when it came there, if any one offer'd to give more he would make it up; he offer'd me also 60 Pieces of Eight more for my Boy Xury, which I was loath to take, not that I was not willing to let the Captain have him, but I was very loath to sell the poor Boy's Liberty, who had assisted me so faithfully in procuring my own. However when I let him know my Reason. he own'd it to be just, and offer'd me this Medium, that he would give the Boy an Obligation to set him free in ten Years, if he turn'd Christian; upon this, and Xury saying he was willing to go to him, I let the Captain have him. We had a very good Voyage to the Brasils, and arriv'd in the Bay de Todos los Santos, or All-Saints Bay,A bay near Salvador. in about Twenty-two Days afterThis duration is actually remarkably short. Merchant vessels carrying slaves and cargo could take anywhere from four weeks to several months to travel from the Gold Coast to the Americas.. And now I was once more deliver'd from the most miserable of all Conditions of Life, and what to do next with my self I was now to consider. The generous Treatment the Captain gave me, I can never enough remember; he would take nothing of me for my Passage, gave me twenty DucatsA gold or silver trade coin, formerly current in most European countries. for the Leopard's Skin, and forty for the Lyon's Skin which I had in my Boat, and caused every thing I had in the Ship to be punctually deliver'd me, and what I was willing to sell he bought, such as the Case of Bottles, two of my Guns, and a Piece of the Lump of Bees-wax, for I had made Candles of the rest; in a word, I made about 220 Pieces of Eight of all my Cargo, and with this Stock I went on Shoar in the Brasilo. I had not been long here, but being recommended to the House of a good honest Man like himself, who had an Ingeino as they call it; that is, a 39 Plantation and a Sugar-HousePortugal colonized Brazil in the late sixteenth century and instituted the lucrative sugar plantation system, which relied on African and Native American slave labor. In the seventeenth century, Brazil was the world's leading exporter of sugar.. I lived with him some time, and acquainted my self by that means with the Manner of their planting and making of Sugar; and seeing how well the Planters liv'd, and how they grew rich suddenly, I resolv'd, if I could get Licence to settle there, I would turn Planter among them, resolving in the mean time to find out some Way to get my Money which I had left in London remitted to me. To this Purpose getting a kind of a Letter of Naturalization, I purchased as much Land that was Uncur'd, as my Money would reach, and form'd a Plan for my Plantation and Settlement, and such a one as might be suitable to the Stock which I proposed to my self to receive from England. I had a Neighbour, a Portugueze of Lisbon, but born of English Parents, whose Name was Wells, and in much such Circumstances as I was. I call him my Neighbour, because his Plantation lay next to mine, and we went on very sociably together. My Stock was but low as well as his; and we rather planted for Food than any thing else, for about two Years. However, we began to increase, and our Land began to come into Order; so that the third Year we planted some Tobacco, and made each of us a large Piece of Ground ready for planting Canes in the Year to come; but we both wanted Help, and now I found more than before, I had done wrong in parting with my Boy Xury. But alas! for me to do wrong that never did right, was no great Wonder: I had no Remedy but to go on; I was gotten into an Employment quite remote to my Genius, and directly contrary to the Life I delighted in, and for which I forsook my Father's House, and broke thro' all his good Advice; nay, I was coming into the very Middle Station, or upper Degree of low Life, which my Father advised me to before; and which if I resolved to go on 40 with, I might as well ha' staid at Home, and never have fatigu'd my self in the World as I had done; and I used often to say to my self, I could ha' done this as well in England among my Friends, as ha' gone 5000 Miles off to do it among Strangers and Salvages in a Wilderness, and at such a Distance, as never to hear from any Part of the World that had the least Knowledge of me. In this manner I used to look upon my Condition with the utmost Regret. I had no body to converse with but now and then this Neighbour; no Work to be done, but by the Labour of my Hands; and I used to say, I liv'd just like a Man cast away upon some desolate Island, that had no body there but himself. But how just has it been, and how should all Men reflect, that when they compare their present Conditions with others that are worse, Heaven may oblige them to make the Exchange, and be convinc'd of their former Felicity by their Experience: I say, how just has it been, that the truly solitary Life I reflected on in an Island of meer Desolation should be my Lot, who had so often unjustly compar'd it with the Life which I then led, in which had I continued, I had in all Probability been exceeding prosperous and rich. I was in some Degree settled in my Measures for carrying on the Plantation, before my kind Friend the Captain of the Ship that took me up at Sea, went back; for the Ship remained there in providing his Loading, and preparing for his Voyage, near three Months, when telling him what little Stock I had left behind me in London, he gave me this friendly and sincere Advice, Seignior Inglese says he; for so he always called me, if you will give me Letters, and a Procuration here in Form to me, with Orders to the Person who has your Money in London, to send your Effects to Lisbon, to such Persons as I shall direct, 41 and in such Goods as are proper for this Country, I will bring you the Produce of them, God willing, at my Return; but since human Affairs are all subject to Changes and Disasters, I would have you give Orders but for One Hundred Pounds Sterl.British pounds are also referred to as pounds sterling which you say is Half your Stock, and let the Hazard be run for the first; so that if it come safe, you may order the rest the same Way; and if it miscarry, you may have the other Half to have Recourse to for your Supply. This was so wholesom Advice, and look'd so friendly, that I could not but be convinc'd it was the best Course I could take; so I accordingly prepared Letters to the Gentlewoman with whom I had left my Money, and a Procuration to the Portuguese Captain, as he desired. I wrote the English Captain's Widow a full Account of all my Adventures, my Slavery, Escape, and how I had met with the Portugal Captain at Sea, the Humanity of his Behaviour, and in what Condition I was now in, with all other necessary Directions for my Supply; and when this honest Captain came to Lisbon, he found means by some of the English Merchants there, to send over not the Order only, but a full Account of my Story to a Merchant at London, who represented it effectually to her; whereupon, she not only delivered the Money, but out of her own Pocket sent the Portugal Captain a very handsom Present for his Humanity and Charity to me. The Merchant in London vesting this Hundred Pounds in English Goods, such as the Captain had writ for, sent them directly to him at Lisbon, and he brought them all safe to me to the Brasils, among which, without my Direction (for I was too young in my Business to think of them) he had taken Care to have all Sorts of Tools, Iron-Work, and Utensils 42 necessary for my Plantation, and which were of great Use to me. When this Cargo arrived, I thought my Fortunes made, for I was surprised with the Joy of it; and my good Steward the Captain had laid out the Five Pounds which my Friend had sent him for a Present for himself, to purchase, and bring me over a Servant under Bond for six Years Service, and would not accept of any Consideration, except a little Tobacco, which I would have him accept, being of my own Produce. Neither was this all; but my Goods being all English Manufactures, such as Cloath, Stuffs, Bays, and things particularly valuable and desirable in the Country, I found means to sell them to a very great Advantage; so that I might say, I had more than four times the Value of my first Cargo, and was now infinitely beyond my poor Neighbour, I mean in the Advancement of my Plantation; for the first thing I did, I bought me a Negro Slave, and an European Servant also; I mean another besides that which the Captain brought me from Lisbon. But as abus'd Prosperity is oftentimes made the very Means of our greatest Adversity, so was it with me. I went on the next Year with great Success in my Plantation: I raised fifty great Rolls of Tobacco on my own Ground, more than I had disposed of for Necessaries among my Neighbours; and these fifty Rolls being each of above a 100 Wt.A hundredweight, also known as a centum weight or quintal, equal to eight stone, or about 112 lb according to the imperial system. (The American hundredweight, by contrast, equals 100 lb.) were well cur'd and laid by against the Return of the Fleet from Lisbon: and now increasing in Business and in Wealth, my Head began to be full of Projects and Undertakings beyond my Reach; such as are indeed often the Ruine of the best Heads in Business. 43 Had I continued in the Station I was now in, I had room for all the happy things to have yet befallen me, for which my Father so earnestly recommended a quiet retired Life, and of which he had so sensibly describ'd the middle Station of Life to be full of; but other things attended me, and I was still to be the wilful Agent of all my own Miseries; and particularly to encrease my Fault and double the Reflections upon my self, which in my future Sorrows I should have leisure to make; all these Miscarriages were procured by my apparent obstinate adhering to my foolish inclination of wandring abroad and pursuing that Inclination, in contradiction to the clearest Views of doing my self good in a fair and plain pursuit of those Prospects and those measures of Life, which Nature and Providence concurred to present me with, and to make my Duty. As I had once done thus in my breaking away from my Parents, so I could not be content now, but I must go and leave the happy View I had of being a rich and thriving Man in my new Plantation, only to pursue a rash and immoderate Desire of rising faster than the Nature of the Thing admitted; and thus I cast my self down again into the deepest Gulph of human Misery that ever Man fell into, or perhaps could be consistent with Life and a State Health of in the World. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith To come then by just Degrees, to the Particulars of this Part of my Story; you may suppose, that having now lived almost four Years in the Brasilo, and beginning to thrive and prosper very well upon my Plantation; I had not only learn'd the Language, but had contracted Acquaintance and Friendship among my Fellow-Planters, as well as among the Merchants at St. Salvadore, which was our Port; and that in my Discourses among 44 them, I had frequently given them an Account of my two Voyages to the Coast of Guinea, the manner of Trading with the Negroes there, and how easy it was to purchase upon the Coast, for Trifles, such as Beads, Toys, Knives, Scissars, Hatchets, bits of Glass, and the like; not only Gold Dust, Guinea Grains, Elephants Teeth, &c. but Negroes for the Service of the Brasils, in great Numbers. They listened always very attentively to my Discourses on these Heads, but especially to that Part which related to the buying Negroes, which was a Trade at that time not only not far entred into, but as far as it was, had been carried on by the Assiento'sThe asiento was the contract to provide slaves to the Spanish and Portuguese colonies in the Americas. At the time of the publication of Robinson Crusoe, the contract was held by Great Britain, which could not exercise it in 1718 and 1719 due to the outbreak of war with Spain. The language here makes it seem as though African slaves were rare in Brazil, but in reality, the sugar and tobacco plantations of colonial Brazil were heavily dependent on slave labor and the trans-Atlantic slave trade. In 1888, Brazil became the last country in the Western world to abolish slavery., or Permission of the Kings of Spain and Portugal, and engross'd in the Publick, so that few Negroes were brought, and those excessive dear. It happen'd, being in Company with some Merchants and Planters of my Acquaintance, and talking of those things very earnestly, three of them came to me the next Morning, and told me they had been musing very much upon what I had discoursed with them of, the last Night, and they came to make a secret Proposal to me; and after enjoining me Secrecy, they told me, that they had a mind to fit out a Ship to go to Guinea,A country south of Guinea-Bissau and north of Sierra Leone, along the west coast of Africa that they had all Plantations as well as I, and were straiten'd forLacking nothing so much as Servants; that as it was a Trade that could not be carried on, because they could not publickly sell the NegroesBecause the sales were not authorized by the Spanish or Portuguese crowns under the terms of the asiento. when they came home, so they desired to make but one Voyage, to bring the Negroes on Shoar privately, and divide them among their own Plantations; and in a Word, the Question was, whether I would go their Super-Cargo in the Ship to manage the Trading Part upon the Coast 45 of Guinea? And they offer'd me that I should have my equal Share of the Negroes without providing any Part of the Stock. This was a fair Proposal it must be confess'd, had it been made to any one that had not had a Settlement and Plantation of his own to look after, which was in a fair way of coming to be very Considerable, and with a good Stock upon it. But for me that was thus entered and established, and had nothing to do but go on as I had begun for three or four Years more, and to have sent for the other hundred Pound from England, and who in that time, and with that little Addition, could scarce ha' fail'd of being worth three or four thousand Pounds Sterling, and that encreasing too; for me to think of such a Voyage, was the most prepostorous Thing that ever Man in such Circumstances could be guilty of. But I that was born to be my own Destroyer, could no more resist the Offer than I could restrain my first rambling Designs, when my Father's good Counsel was lost upon me. In a word, I told them I would go with all my Heart, if they would undertake to look after my Plantation in my Absence, and would dispose of it to such as I should direct if I miscarry'd. This they all engag'd to do, and entred into Writings or Covenants to do so; and I made a formal Will, disposing of my Plantation and Effects, in Case of my Death, making the Captain of the Ship that had sav'd my Life as before, my universal Heir, but obliging him to dispose of my Effects as I had directed in my Will, one half of the Produce being to himself, and the other to be ship'd to England. In short, I took all possible Caution to preserve my Effects, and keep up my Plantation; had I used half as much Prudence to have look'd into my 46 own Intrest, and have made a Judgment of what I ought to have done, and not to have done, I had certainly never gone away from so prosperous an Undertaking, leaving all the probable Views of a thriving Circumstance, and gone upon a Voyage to Sea, attended with all its common Hazards; to say nothing of the Reasons I had to expect particular Misfortunes to my self. But I was hurried on, and obey'd blindly the Dictates of my Fancy rather than my Reason; and accordingly the Ship being fitted out, and the Cargo furnished, and all things done as by Agreement, by my Partners in the Voyage. I went on Board in an evil Hour, the _____ th of _____ , being the same Day eight Year that I went from my Father and Mother at Hull, in order to act the Rebel to their Authority, and the Fool to my own Interest. Our Ship was about 120 Tun Burthen, carried 6 Guns, and 14 Men, besides the Master, his Boy, and my self; we had on board no large Cargo of Goods, except of such Toys as were fit for our Trade with the Negroes, such as Beads, bits of Glass, Shells, and odd Trifles, especially little Looking-Glasses, Knives, Scissars, Hatchets, and the like. The same Day I went on board we set sail, standing away to the Northward upon our own Coast, with Design to stretch over for the Affrican Coast, when they came about 10 or 12 Degrees of Northern Latitude, which it seems was the manner of their Course in those Days. We had very good Weather, only excessive hot, all the way upon our own Coast, till we came the Height of Cape St. Augustino, from whence keeping farther off at Sea we lost Sight of Land, and steer'd as if we was bound for the Isle Fernand de NoronhaAn archipelago off the coast of Brazil, northwest of Cape St. Augustine holding 47 our Course N.E. by N. and leaving those Isles on the East; in this Course we past the Line in about 12 Days time, and were by our last Observation in 7 Degrees 22 Min.The degree, the primary unit if latitude, can be subdivided twice into smaller units: each degree consists of 60 minutes, and each minute of 60 seconds. Northern Latitude, when a violent Tournado or Hurricane took us quite out of our Knowledge; it began from the South-East, came about to the North-West, and then settled into the North-East, from whence it blew in such a terrible manner, that for twelve Days together we could do nothing but drive, and scudding away before it, let it carry us whither ever Fate and the Fury of the Winds directed; and during these twelve Days, I need not say, that I expected every Day to be swallowed up, nor indeed did any in the Ship expect to save their Lives. In this Distress, we had besides the Terror of the Storm, one of our Men dyed of the CalentureFeverish delirium prevalent in the tropics., and one Man and the Boy wash'd over board; about the 12th Day the Weather abating a little, the Master made an Observation as well as he could, and found that he was in about 11 Degrees North Latitude, but that he was 22 Degrees of Longitude difference West from Cape St. Augustino; so that he found he was gotten upon the Coast of Guinea, or the North Part of Brasil, The language here can be misleading. Crusoe is not referring to Guinea, on the west coast of Africa, but to the Guianas, a region of South America north of Brazil. beyond the River Amozones, toward that of the River Oronoque, commonly call'd the Great River,The Amazon River extends from Peru through Brazil, and the Orinoco River from Venezuela to Colombia. These details help the reader to estimate the location of the island on which Crusoe is marooned. and began to consult with me what Course he should take, for the Ship was leaky and very much disabled, and he was going directly back to the Coast of Brasil. I was positively against that, and looking over the Charts of the Sea-Coast of America with him, we concluded there was no inhabited Country for us to have recourse to, till we came within the Circle of the Carrible-Islands,Caribbean Islands and therefore resolved to stand away for Barbadoes, which by keeping off 48 at Sea, to avoid the Indraft of the Bay or Gulph of Mexico, we might easily perform, as we hoped, in about fifteen Days Sail; whereas we could not possibly make our Voyage to the Coast of Affrica without some Assistance, both to our Ship and to our selves. With this Design we chang'd our Course and steer'd away N. W. by W. in order to reach some of our English Islands, where I hoped for Relief; but our Voyage was otherwise determined, for being in the Latitude of 12 Deg. 18 Min. a second Storm came upon us, which carry'd us away with the same Impetuosity Westward, and drove us so out of the very Way of all humane Commerce, that had all our Lives been saved, as to the Sea, we were rather in Danger of being devoured by Savages than ever returning to our own Country. In this Distress, the Wind still blowing very hard, one of our Men early in the Morning, cry'd out, Land; and we had no sooner run out of the Cabbin to look out in hopes of seeing where abouts in the World we were; but the Ship struck upon a Sand, and in a moment her Motion being so stopp'd, the Sea broke over her in such a manner, that we expected we should all have perish'd immediately, and we were immediately driven into our close Quarters to shelter us from the very Foam and Sprye of the Sea. It is not easy for any one, who has not been in the like Condition, to describe or conceive the Consternation of Men in such Circumstances; we knew nothing where we were, or upon what Land it was we were driven, whether an Island or the Main, whether inhabited or not inhabited; and as the Rage of the Wind was still great, tho' rather less than at first, we could not so much as 49 hope to have the Ship hold many Minutes without breaking in Pieces, unless the Winds by a kind of Miracle should turn immediately about. In a word, we sat looking upon one another, and expecting Death every Moment, and every Man acting accordingly, as preparing for another World, for there was little or nothing more for us to do in this; that which was our present Comfort, and all the Comfort we had, was, that contrary to our Expectation the Ship did not break yet, and that the Master said the Wind began to abate. Now tho' we thought that the Wind did a little abate, yet the Ship having thus struck upon the Sand, and sticking too fast for us to expect her getting off, we were in a dreadful Condition indeed, and had nothing to do but to think of saving our Lives as well as we could; we had a Boat at our Stern just before the Storm, but she was first stav'dThe hull probably bashed in by dashing against the Ship's Rudder, and in the next Place she broke away, and either sunk or was driven off to Sea, so there was no hope from her; we had another Boat on board, but how to get her off into the Sea, was a doubtful thing; however there was no room to debate, for we fancy'd the Ship would break in Pieces every Minute, and some told us she was actually broken already. In this Distress the Mate of our Vessel lays hold of the Boat, and with the help of the rest of the Men, they got her slung over the Ship's-side, and getting all into her, let go, and committed our selves being Eleven in Number, to God's Mercy, and the wild Sea; for tho' the Storm was abated considerably, yet the Sea went dreadful high upon the Shore, and might well be call'd, Den wild Zee,"the wild sea" as the Dutch call the Sea in a Storm. 50 And now our Case was very dismal indeed; for we all saw plainly, that the Sea went so high, that the Boat could not live, and that we should be inevitably drowned. As to making Sail, we had none, nor, if we had, could we ha' done any thing with it; so we work'd at the Oar towards the Land, tho' with heavy Hearts, like Men going to Execution; for we all knew, that when the Boat came nearer the Shore, she would be dash'd in a Thousand Pieces by the Breach of the Sea. However, we committed our Souls to God in the most earnest Manner, and the Wind driving us towards the Shore, we hasten'd our Destruction with our own Hands, pulling as well as we could towards Land. What the Shore was, whether Rock or Sand, whether Steep or Shoal, we knew not; the only Hope that could rationally give us the least Shadow of Expectation, was, if we might happen into some Bay or Gulph, or the Mouth of some River, where by great Chance we might have run our Boat in, or got under the Lee of the LandIn such a position that the land intercepts the wind, so that it does not buffet the boat. , and perhaps made smooth Water. But there was nothing of this appeared; but as we made nearer and nearer the Shore, the Land look'd more frightful than the Sea. After we had row'd, or rather driven about a League and a HalfApproximately three and a half miles, as we reckon'd it, a raging Wave, Mountain-like, came rowling a-sternTowards the rear of the boat of us, and plainly bad us expect the Coup de Grace.Death blow In a word, it took us with such a Fury, that it overset the Boat at once; and separating us as well from the Boat, as from one another, gave us not time hardly to say, O God! for we were all swallowed up in a Moment. Nothing can describe the Counfusion of Thought which I felt when I sunk into the Water; for tho' I swam very well, yet I could not deliver my self from the Waves so as to draw Breath, till that Wave 51 having driven me, or rather carried me a vast Way on towards the Shore, and having spent it self, went back, and left me upon the Land almost dry, but half-dead with the Water I took in. I had so much Presence of Mind as well as Breath left, that seeing my self nearer the main Land than I expected, I got upon my Feet, and endeavoured to make on towards the Land as fast as I could, before another Wave should return, and take me up again. But I soon found it was impossible to avoid it; for I saw the Sea come after me as high as a great Hill, and as furious as an Enemy which I had no Means or Strength to contend with; my Business was to hold my Breath, and raise my self upon the Water, if I could; and so by swimming to preserve my Breathing, and Pilot my self towards the Shore, if possible; my greatest Concern now being, that the Sea, as it would carry me a great Way towards the Shore when it came on, might not carry me back again with it when it gave back towards the Sea. The Wave that came upon me again, buried me at once 20 or 30 Foot deep in its own Body; and I could feel my self carried with a mighty Force and Swiftness towards the Shore a very great Way; but I held my Breath, and assisted my self to swim still forward with all my Might. I was ready to burst with holding my Breath, when, as I felt my self rising up, so to my immediate Relief, I found my Head and Hands shoot out above the Surface of the Water; and tho' it was not two Seconds of Time that I could keep my self so, yet it reliev'd me greatly, gave me Breath and new Courage. I was covered again with Water a good while, but not so long but I held it out; and finding the Water had spent it self, and began to return, I strook forward against the Return of the Waves, and felt Ground again with my Feet. I stood still a few 52 Moments to recover Breath, and till the Water went from me, and then took to my Heels, and run with what Strength I had farther towards the Shore. But neither would this deliver me from the Fury of the Sea, which came pouring in after me again, and twice more I was lifted up by the Waves, and carried forwards as before, the Shore being very flat. The last Time of these two had well near been fatal to me; for the Sea having hurried me along as before, landed me, or rather dash'd me against a Piece of a Rock, and that with such Force, as it left me senseless, and indeed helpless, as to my own Deliverance; for the Blow taking my Side and Breast, beat the Breath as it were quite out of my Body; and had it returned again immediately, I must have been strangled in the Water; but I recover'd a little before the return of the Waves, and seeing I should be cover'd again with the Water, I resolv'd to hold fast by a Piece of the Rock, and so to hold my Breath, if possible, till the Wave went back; now as the Waves were not so high as at first, being nearer Land, I held my Hold till the Wave abated, and then fetch'd another Run, which brought me so near the Shore, that the next Wave, tho' it went over me, yet did not so swallow me up as to carry me away, and the next run I took, I got to the main Land, where, to my great Comfort, I clamber'd up the Clifts of the Shore, and sat me down upon the Grass, free from Danger, and quite out of the Reach of the Water. I was now landed, and safe on Shore, and began to look up and thank God that my Life was sav'd in a Case wherein there was some Minutes before scarce any room to hope. I believe it is impossible to express to the Life what the Extasies and Transports of 53 the Soul are, when it is so sav'd, as I may say, out of the very Grave; and I do not wonder now at that Custom, viz. That when a Malefactor who has the Halter about his Neck, is tyed up, and just going to be turn'd off, and has a Reprieve brought to him: I say, I do not wonder that they bring a Surgeon with it, to let him Blood that very Moment they tell him of it, that the Surprise may not drive the Animal Spirits from the Heart, and overwhelm him: Crusoe compares himself to a criminal condemned to be hanged, who receives a last-minute pardon or reduced sentence. Bleeding was thought to release adverse humors from the body, in this case those produced by the shock of the lightened sentence. For sudden Joys, like Griefs, confound at first. I walk'd about on the Shore, lifting up my Hands, and my whole Being, as I may say, wrapt up in the Contemplation of my Deliverance, making a Thousand Gestures and Motions which I cannot describe, reflecting upon all my Comerades that were drown'd, and that there should not be one Soul sav'd but my self; for, as for them, I never saw them afterwards, or any Sign of them, except three of their Hats, one Cap, and two Shoes that were not Fellows. Did not comprise a single identical pair I cast my Eyes to the stranded Vessel, when the Breach and Froth of the Sea being so big, I could hardly see it, it lay so far off, and considered, Lord! how was it possible I could get on Shore? After I had solac'd my Mind with the comfortable Part of my Condition, I began to look round me to see what kind of Place I was in, and what was next to be done, and I soon found my Comforts abate, and that in a word I had a dreadful Deliverance: For I was wet, had no Clothes to shift me, nor any thing either to eat or drink to comfort me, neither did I see any Prospect before me, but that of perishing with Hunger, or being devour'd by wild Beasts; and that which was particularly afflicting to me, was, that I had no Weapon either to hunt 54 and kill any Creature for my Sustenance, or to defend my self against any other Creature that might desire to kill me for theirs: In a Word, I had nothing about me but a Knife, a Tobacco-pipe, and a little Tobacco in a Box, this was all my Provision, and this threw me into terrible Agonies of Mind, that for a while I run about like a Mad-man; Night coming upon me, I began with a heavy Heart to consider what would be my Lot if there were any ravenous Beasts in that Country, seeing at Night they always come abroad for their Prey. All the Remedy that offer'd to my Thoughts at that Time, was, to get up into a thick bushy Tree like a Firr, but thorny, which grew near me, and where I resolv'd to set all Night, and consider the next Day what Death I should dye, for as yet I saw no Prospect of Life; I walk'd about a FurlongOne eighth of a mile, or 220 yards. from the Shore, to see if I could find any fresh Water to drink, which I did, to my great Joy; and having drank and put a little Tobacco in my Mouth to prevent Hunger, I went to the Tree, and getting up into it, endeavour'd to place my self so, as that if I should sleep I might not fall; and having cut me a short Stick, like a Truncheon, for my Defence, I took up my Lodging, and having been excessively fatigu'd, I fell fast asleep, and slept as comfortably as, I believe, few could have done in my Condition, and found my self the most refresh'd with it, that I think I ever was on such an Occasion. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith When I wak'd it was broad Day, the Weather clear, and the Storm abated, so that the Sea did not rage and swell as before: But that which surpris'd me most, was, that the Ship was lifted off in the Night from the Sand where she lay, by the Swelling of the Tyde, and was driven up almost as far as the Rock which I first mention'd, 55 where I had been so bruis'd by the dashing me against it; this being within about a Mile from the Shore where I was, and the Ship seeming to stand upright still, I wish'd my self on board, that, at least, I might save some necessary things for my use. When I came down from my Appartment in the Tree, I look'd about me again, and the first thing I found was the Boat, which lay as the Wind and the Sea had toss'd her up upon the Land, about two Miles on my right Hand, I walk'd as far as I could upon the Shore to have got to her, but found a Neck or Inlet of Water between me and the Boat, which was about half a Mile broad, so I came back for the present, being more intent upon getting at the Ship, where I hop'd to find something for my present Subsistence. A little after Noon I found the Sea very calm, and the Tyde ebb'd so far out, that I could come within a Quarter of a Mile of the Ship; and here I found a fresh renewing of my Grief, for I saw evidently, that if we had kept on board, we had been all safe, that is to say, we had all got safe on Shore, and I had not been so miserable as to be left entirely destitute of all Comfort and Company, as I now was; this forc'd Tears from my Eyes again, but as there was little Relief in that, I resolv'd, if possible, to get to the Ship, so I pull'd off my Clothes, for the Weather was hot to Extremity, and took the Water, but when I came to the Ship, my Difficulty was still greater to know how to get on board, for as she lay a ground, and high out of the Water, there was nothing within my Reach to lay hold of, I swam round her twice, and the second Time I spy'd a small Piece of a Rope, which I wonder'd I did not see at first, hang down by the Fore-Chains so low, 56 as that with great Difficulty I got hold of it, and by the help of that Rope, got up into the ForecastleThe forward part of a ship below the main deck, usually the crew's living quarters. of the Ship, here I found that the Ship was bulg'd, and had a great deal of Water in her Hold, but that she lay so on the Side of a Bank of hard Sand, or rather Earth, that her Stern lay lifted up upon the Bank, and her Head low almost to the Water; by this Means all her Quarter was free, and all that was in that Part was dry; for you may be sure my first Work was to search and to see what was spoil'd and what was free; and first I found that all the Ship's Provisions were dry and untouch'd by the Water, and being very well dispos'd to eat, I went to the Bread-room and fill'd my Pockets with Bisket, and eat it as I went about other things, for I had no time to lose; I also found some Rum in the great Cabbin, of which I took a large Dram, and which I had indeed need enough of to spirit me for what was before me: Now I wanted nothing but a Boat to furnish my self with many things which I foresaw would be very necessary to me. It was in vain to sit still and wish for what was not to be had, and this Extremity rouz'd my ApplicationIngenuity and determination (archaic usage); we had several spare Yards, and two or three large sparrs of Wood, and a spare Top-mast or two in the Ship; I resolv'd to fall to work with these, and I flung as many of them over board as I could manage for their Weight, tying every one with a Rope that they might not drive away; when this was done I went down the Ship's Side, and pulling them to me, I ty'd four of them fast together at both Ends as well as I could, in the Form of a Raft, and laying two or three short Pieces of Plank upon them cross-ways, I found I could walk upon it very 57 well, but that it was not able to bear any great Weight, the Pieces being too light; so I went to work, and with the Carpenters Saw I cut a spare Top-mast into three Lengths, and added them to my Raft, with a great deal of Labour and Pains, but hope of furnishing my self with Necessaries, encourag'd me to go beyond what I should have been able to have done upon another Occasion. My Raft was now strong enough to bear any reasonable Weight; my next Care was what to load it with, and how to preserve what I laid upon it from the Surf of the Sea; But I was not long considering this, I first laid all the Plank or Boards upon it that I could get, and having consider'd well what I most wanted, I first got three of the Seamens Chests, which I had broken open and empty'd, and lower'd them down upon my Raft; the first of these I fill'd with Provision, viz. Bread, Rice, three Dutch Cheeses, five Pieces of dry'd Goat's Flesh, which we liv'd much upon, and a little Remainder of European Corn which had been laid by for some Fowls which we brought to Sea with us, but the Fowls were kill'd, there had been some Barly and Wheat together, but, to my great Disappointment, I found afterwards that the Rats had eaten or spoil'd it all; as for Liquors, I found several Cases of Bottles belonging to our SkipperMaster of the ship, in which were some Cordial WatersMedicinal concoctions, often consisting of brandy or whiskey mixed with various spices, and in all about five or six Gallons of RackA type of liqeur, these I stow'd by themselves, there being no need to put them into the Chest, nor no room for them. While I was doing this, I found the Tyde began to flow, tho' very calm, and I had the Mortification to see my Coat, Shirt, and Wast-coat which I had left on Shore upon the Sand, swim away; as for my Breeches which were only Linnen and open knee'd, I swam on board in them and my Stockings: However 58 this put me upon rummaging for Clothes, of which I found enough, but took no more than I wanted for present use, for I had other things which my Eye was more upon, as first Tools to work with on Shore, and it was after long searching that I found out the Carpenter's Chest, which was indeed a very useful Prize to me, and much more valuable than a Ship Loading of Gold would have been at that time; I got it down to my Raft, even whole as it was, without losing time to look into it, for I knew in general what it contain'd My next Care was for some Ammunition and Arms; there were two very good Fowling-piecesShotguns in the great Cabbin, and two Pistols, these I secur'd first, with some Powder-horns type="gloss">A container for gunpowder, made from an ox or buffalo horn., and a small Bag of Shot, and two old rusty Swords; I knew there were three Barrels of Powder in the Ship, but knew not where our Gunner had stow'd them, but with much search I found them, two of them dry and good, the third had taken Water, those two I got to my Raft, with the Arms, and now I thought my self pretty well freighted, and began to think how I should get to Shore with them, having neither Sail, Oar, or Rudder, and the least Cap full of Wind would have overset all my Navigation. I had three Encouragements, 1. A smooth calm Sea, 2. The Tide rising and setting in to the Shore, 3. What little Wind there was blew me towards the Land; and thus, having found two or three broken Oars belong to the Boat, and besides the Tools which were in the Chest, I found two Saws, an Axe, and a Hammer, and with this Cargo I put to Sea: For a Mile, or thereabouts, my Raft went very well, only that I found it drive a little distant from the Place where I had landed before, by which I perceiv'd that there was some IndraftA type of current 59 of the Water, and consequently I hop'd to find some Creek or River there, which I might make use of as a Port to get to Land with my Cargo. As I imagin'd, so it was, there appear'd before me a little opening of the Land, and I found a strong Current of the Tide set into it, so I guided my Raft as well as I could to keep in the Middle of the Stream: But here I had like to have suffer'd a second Shipwreck, which, if I had, I think verily would have broke my Heart, for knowing nothing of the Coast, my Raft run a-ground at one End of it upon a Shoal, and not being a-ground at the other End, it wanted but a little that all my Cargo had slip'd off towards that End that was a-float, and so fall'n into the Water: I did my utmost by setting my Back against the Chests, to keep them in their Places, but could not thrust off the Raft with all my Strength, neither durst I stir from the Posture I was in, but holding up the Chests with all my Might, stood in that Manner near half an Hour, in which time the rising of the Water brought me a little more upon a Level, and a little after, the Water still rising, my Raft floated again, and I thrust her off with the Oar I had, into the Channel, and then driving up higher, I at length found my self in the Mouth of a little River, with Land on both Sides, and a strong Current or Tide running up, I look'd on both Sides for a proper Place to get to Shore, for I was not willing to be driven too high up the River, hoping in time to see some Ship at Sea, and therefore resolv'd to place my self as near the Coast as I could. At length I spy'd a little Cove on the right Shore of the Creek, to which with great Pain and Difficulty I guided my Raft, and at last got so near, 60 as that, reaching Ground with my Oar, I could thrust her directly in, but here I had like to have dipt all my Cargo in the Sea again; for that Shore lying pretty steep, that is to say sloping, there was no Place to land, but where one End of my Float, if it run on Shore, would lie so high, and the other sink lower as before, that it would endanger my Cargo again: All that I could do, was to wait 'till the Tide was at highest, keeping the Raft with my Oar like an Anchor to hold the Side of it fast to the Shore, near a flat Piece of Ground, which I expected the Water would flow over; and so it did: As soon as I found Water enough, for my Raft drew about a Foot Water, I thrust her on upon that flat Piece of Ground, and there fasten'd or mor'd her by sticking my two broken Oars into the Ground; one on one Side near one End, and one on the other Side near the other End; and thus I lay 'till the Water ebb'd away, and left my Raft and all my Cargoe safe on Shore. My next Work was to view the Country, and seek a proper Place for my Habitation, and where to stow my Goods to secure them from whatever might happen; where I was I yet knew not, whether on the Continent or on an Island, whether inhabited or not inhabited, whether in Danger of wild Beasts or not: There was a Hill not above a Mile from me, which rose up very steep and high, and which seem'd to over-top some other Hills which lay as in a Ridge from it northward; I took out one of the fowling Pieces, and one of the Pistols, and an Horn of Powder, and thus arm'd I travell'd for Discovery up to the Top of that Hill, where after I had with great Labour and Difficulty got to the Top, I saw my Fate to my great Affliction, (viz.) that I was in an Island environ'd 61 every Way with the Sea, no Land to be seen, except some Rocks which lay a great Way off, and two small Islands less than this, which lay about three Leagues to the West. I found also that the Island I was in was barren, and, as I saw good Reason to believe, un-inhabited, except by wild Beasts, of whom however I saw none, yet I saw Abundance of Fowls, but knew not their Kinds, neither when I kill'd them could I tell what was fit for Food, and what not; at my coming back, I shot at a great Bird which I saw sitting upon a Tree on the Side of a great Wood, I believe it was the first Gun that had been fir'd there since the Creation of the World; I had no sooner fir'd, but from all the Parts of the Wood there arose an innumerable Number of Fowls of many Sorts, making a confus'd Screaming, and crying every one according to his usual Note; but not one of them of any Kind that I knew: As for the Creature I kill'd, I took it to be a Kind of a Hawk, its Colour and Beak resembling it, but had no Talons or Claws more than common, its Flesh was Carrion, and fit for nothing. Contented with this Discovery, I came back to my Raft, and fell to Work to bring my Cargoe on Shore, which took me up the rest of that Day, and what to do with my self at Night I knew not, nor indeed where to rest; for I was afraid to lie down on the Ground, not knowing but some wild Beast might devour me, tho', as I afterwards found, there was really no Need for those Fears. However, as well as I could, I barricado'd my self round with the Chests and Boards that I had brought on Shore, and made a Kind of a Hut for that Night's Lodging; as for Food, I yet saw not which Way to supply my self, except that I had 62 seen two or three Creatures like Hares run out of the Wood where I shot the Fowl. I now began to consider, that I might yet get a great many Things out of the Ship, which would be useful to me, and particularly some of the Rigging, and Sails, and such other Things as might come to Land, and I resolv'd to make another Voyage on Board the Vessel, if possible; and as I knew that the first Storm that blew must necessarily break her all in Pieces, I resolv'd to set all other Things apart, 'till I got every Thing out of the Ship that I could get; then I call'd a Council, that is to say, in my Thoughts, whether I should take back the Raft, but this appear'd impracticable; so I resolv'd to go as before, when the Tide was down, and I did so, only that I stripp'd before I went from my Hut, having nothing on but a Chequer'd Shirt, and a Pair of Linnen Drawers, and a Pair of Pumps on my Feet. I got on Board the Ship, as before, and prepar'd a second Raft, and having had Experience of the first, I neither made this so unwieldy, nor loaded it so hard, but yet I brought away several Things very useful to me; as first, in the Carpenter's Stores I found two or three Bags full of Nails and Spikes, a great Skrew-Jack, a Dozen or two of Hatchets, and above all, that most useful Thing call'd a GrindstoneA stone on which to sharpen stone tools; all these I secur'd together, with several Things belonging to the Gunner, particularly two or three Iron CrowsCrowbars, and two Barrels of Musquet Bullets, seven Musquets, and another fowling Piece, with some small Quantity of Powder more; a large Bag full of small Shot, and a great Roll of Sheet Lead: But this last was so heavy, I could not hoise it up to get it over the Ship's Side. Besides these Things, I took all the Mens Cloths that I could find, and a spare Fore-top-sail, a Hammock, 63 and some Bedding; and with this I loaded my second Raft, and brought them all safe on Shore to my very great Comfort. I was under some Apprehensions during my Absence from the Land, that at least my Provisions might be devour'd on Shore; but when I came back, I found no Sign of any Visitor, only there sat a Creature like a wild Cat upon one of the Chests, which when I came towards it, ran away a little Distance, and then stood still; she sat very compos'd, and unconcern'd, and look'd full in my Face, as if she had a Mind to be acquainted with me, I presented my Gun at her, but as she did not understand it, she was perfectly unconcern'd at it, nor did she offer to stir away; upon which I toss'd her a Bit of Bisket, tho' by the Way I was not very free of it, for my Store was not great: However, I spar'd her a Bit, I say, and she went to it, smell'd of it, and ate it, and look'd (as pleas'd) for more, but I thank'd her, and could spare no more; so she march'd off. Having got my second Cargoe on Shore, tho' I was fainEager to open the Barrels of Powder, and bring them by Parcels, for they were too heavy, being large Casks, I went to work to make me a little Tent with the Sail and some Poles which I cut for that Purpose, and into this Tent I brought every Thing that I knew would spoil, either with Rain or Sun, and I piled all the empty Chests and Casks up in a Circle round the Tent, to fortify it from any sudden Attempt, either from Man or Beast. When I had done this I block'd up the Door of the Tent with some Boards within, and an empty Chest set up on End without, and spreading one of the Beds upon the Ground, laying my two Pistols just at my Head, and my Gun at Length by me, I went to Bed for the first Time, and slept 64 very quietly all Night, for I was very weary and heavy, for the Night before I had slept little, and had labour'd very hard all Day, as well to fetch all those Things from the Ship, as to get them on Shore. I had the biggest MaggazinHere not referring exclusively to an arsenal of weaponry, but more generally to Crusoe's store of provisions. of all Kinds now that ever were laid up, I believe, for one Man, but I was not satisfy'd still; for while the Ship sat upright in that Posture, I thought I ought to get every Thing out of her that I could; so every Day at low Water I went on Board, and brought away some Thing or other: But particularly the third Time I went, I brought away as much of the Rigging as I could, as also all the small Ropes and Rope-twine I could get, with a Piece of spare Canvass, which was to mend the Sails upon Occasion, the Barrel of wet Gun-powder: In a Word, I brought away all the Sails first and last, only that I was fain to cut them in Pieces, and bring as much at a Time as I could; for they were no more useful to be Sails, but as meer Canvass only. But that which comforted me more still was, that at last of all, after I had made five or six such Voyages as these, and thought I had nothing more to expect from the Ship that was worth my medling with, I say, after all this, I found a great HogsheadA large cask, or a quantity sufficient to fill a hogshead of Bread and three large RunletsA cask, specifically one for storing liquids of Rum or Spirits, and a Box of Sugar, and a Barrel of fine Flower; this was surprizing to me, because I had given over expecting any more Provisions, except what was spoil'd by the Water: I soon empty'd the Hogshead of that Bread, and wrapt it up Parcel by Parcel in Pieces of the Sails, which I cut out; and in a Word, I got all this safe on Shore also. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith The next Day I made another Voyage; and now having plunder'd the Ship of what was portable 65 and fit to hand out, I began with the Cables; and cutting the great Cable into Pieces, such as I could move, I got two Cables and a HawserA large rope used in warping or mooring a ship on Shore, with all the Iron Work I could get; and having cut down the Spritsail-yard, and the Missen-yardThe cross-beams attached at right angles to the masts, from which the various sails hang, and every Thing I could to make a large Raft, I loaded it with all those heavy Goods, and came away: But my good Luck began now to leave me; for this Raft was so unweildy, and so overloaden, that after I was enter'd the little Cove, where I had landed the rest of my Goods, not being able to guide it so handily as I did the other, it overset, and threw me and all my Cargoe into the Water; as for my self it was no great Harm, for I was near the Shore; but as to my Cargoe, it was great Part of it lost, especially the Iron, which I expected would have been of great Use to me: However, when the Tide was out, I got most of the Pieces of Cable ashore, and some of the Iron, tho' with infinite Labour; for I was fain to dip for it into the Water, a Work which fatigu'd me very much: After this I went every Day on Board, and brought away what I could get. I had been now thirteen Days on Shore, and had been eleven Times on Board the Ship; in which Time I had brought away all that one Pair of Hands could well be suppos'd capable to bring, tho' I believe verily, had the calm Weather held, I should have brought away the whole Ship Piece by Piece: But preparing the 12th Time to go on Board, I found the Wind begin to rise; however at low Water I went on Board, and tho' I thought I had rumag'd the Cabbin so effectually, as that nothing more could be found, yet I discover'd a Locker with Drawers in it, in one of which I found two or three Razors, and one Pair of large Sizzers, with some ten or a Dozen of good Knives and 66 Forks, in another I found about Thirty six Pounds value in Money, some European Coin, some Brasil, some Pieces of Eight, some Gold, some Silver. I smil'd to my self at the Sight of this Money, O Drug! Said I aloud, what art thou good for, Thou art not worth to me, no not the taking off of the Ground, one of those Knives is worth all this Heap, I have no Manner of use for thee, e'en remain where thou art, and go to the Bottom as a Creature whose Life is not worth saving. However, upon Second Thoughts, I took it away, and wrapping all this in a Piece of Canvas, I began to think of making another Raft, but while I was preparing this, I found the Sky over-cast, and the Wind began to rise, and in a Quarter of an Hour it blew a fresh Gale from the Shore; it presently occur'd to me, that it was in vain to pretend to make a Raft with the Wind off Shore, and that it was my Business to be gone before the Tide of Flood began, otherwise I might not be able to reach the Shore at all: Accordingly I let my self down into the Water, and swam cross the Channel, which lay between the Ship and the Sands, and even that with Difficulty enough, partly with the Weight of the Things I had about me, and partly the Roughness of the Water, for the Wind rose very hastily, and before it was quite high Water, it blew a Storm. But I was gotten home to my little Tent, where I lay with all my Wealth about me very secure. It blew very hard all that Night, and in the Morning when I look'd out, behold no more Ship was to be seen; I was a little surpriz'd, but recover'd my self with this satisfactory Reflection, viz. That I had lost no time, nor abated no Dilligence to get every thing out of her that could be useful to me, and that indeed there was little left in her that I 67 was able to bring away if I had had more time. I now gave over any more Thoughts of the Ship, or of any thing out of her, except what might drive on Shore from her Wreck, as indeed divers Pieces of her afterwards did; but those things were of small use to me. My Thoughts were now wholly employ'd about securing my self against either Savages, if any should appear, or wild Beasts, if any were in the Island; and I had many Thoughts of the Method how to do this, and what kind of Dwelling to make, whether I should make me a Cave in the Earth, or a Tent upon the Earth: And, in short, I resolv'd upon both, the Manner and Discription of which, it may not be improper to give an Account of. I sooon found the Place I was in was not for my Settlement, particularly because it was upon a low moorish Ground near the Sea, and I believ'd would not be wholsome, and more particularly because there was no fresh Water near it, so I resolv'd to find a more healthy and more convenient Spot of Ground. I consulted several Things in my Situation which I found would be proper for me, 1st. Health, and fresh Water I just now mention'd, 2dly. Shelter from the Heat of the Sun, 3dly. Security from ravenous Creatures, whether Men or Beasts, 4thly. a View to the Sea, that if God sent any Ship in Sight, I might not lose any Advantage for my Deliverance, of which I was not willing to banish all my Expectation yet. In search of a Place proper for this, I found a little Plain on the Side of a rising Hill, whose Front towards this little Plain, was steep as a House-side, so that nothing could come down upon me from the Top; on the Side of this Rock 68 there was a hollow Place worn a little way in like the Entrance or Door of a Cave, but there was not really any Cave or Way into the Rock at all. On the Flat of the Green, just before this hollow Place, I resolv'd to pitch my Tent: This Plain was not above an Hundred Yards broad, and about twice as long, and lay like a Green before my Door, and at the End of it descended irregularly every Way down into the Low-grounds by the Sea-side. It was on the N. N. W. Side of the Hill, so that I was shelter'd from the Heat every Day, till it came to a W. and by S. Sun, or thereabouts, which in those Countries is near the Setting. Before I set up my Tent, I drew a half Circle before the hollow Place, which took in about Ten Yards in its Semi-diameterRadius from the Rock, and Twenty Yards in its Diameter, from its Beginning and Ending. In this half Circle I pitch'd two Rows of strong Stakes, driving them into the Ground till they stood very firm like Piles, the biggest End being out of the Ground about Five Foot and a Half, and sharpen'd on the Top: The two Rows did not stand above Six Inches from one another. Then I took the Pieces of Cable which I had cut in the Ship, and I laid them in Rows one upon another, within the Circle, between these two Rows of Stakes, up to the Top, placing other Stakes in the In-side, leaning against them, about two Foot and a half high, like a Spurr to a Post, and this Fence was so strong, that neither Man or Beast could get into it or over it: This cost me a great deal of Time and Labour, especially to cut the Piles in the Woods, bring them to the Place, and drive them into the Earth. The Entrance into this Place I made to be not by a Door, but by a short Ladder to go over 69 the Top, which Ladder, when I was in, I lifted over after me, and so I was compleatly fenc'd in, and fortify'd, as I thought, from all the World, and consequently slept secure in the Night, which otherwise I could not have done, tho', as it appear'd afterward, there was no need of all this Caution from the Enemies that I apprehended Danger from. Into this Fence or Fortress, with infinite Labour, I carry'd all my Riches, all my Provisions, Ammunition and Stores, of which you have the Account above, and I made me a large Tent, which, to preserve me from the Rains that in one Part of the Year are very violent there, I made double, viz. One smaller Tent within, and one larger Tent above it, and cover'd the uppermost with a large Tarpaulin which I had sav'd among the Sails. And now I lay no more for a while in the Bed which I had brought on Shore, but in a Hammock, which was indeed a very good one, and belong'd to the Mate of the Ship. Into this Tent I brought all my Provisions, and every thing that would spoil by the Wet, and having thus enclos'd all my Goods, I made up the Entrance, which till now I had left open, and so pass'd and re-pass'd, as I said, by a short Ladder. When I had done this, I began to work my Way into the Rock, and bringing all the Earth and Stones that I dug down out thro' my Tent, I laid 'em up within my Fence in the Nature of a Terras, that so it rais'd the Ground within about a Foot and a Half; and thus I made me a Cave just behind my Tent, which serv'd me like a Cellar to my House. It cost me much Labour, and many Days, before all these Things were brought to Perfection, and therefore I must go back to some other Things which took up some of my Thoughts. At the same time it 70 happen'd after I had laid my Scheme for the setting up my Tent and making the Cave, that a Storm of Rain falling from a thick dark Cloud, a sudden Flash of Lightning happen'd, and after that a great Clap of Thunder, as is naturally the Effect of it; I was not so much surpris'd with the Lightning as I was with a Thought which darted into my Mind as swift as the Lightning it self: O my Powder! My very Heart sunk within me, when I thought, that at one Blast all my Powder might be destroy'd, on which, not my Defence only, but the providing me Food, as I thought, entirely depended; I was nothing near so anxious about my own Danger, tho' had the Powder took fire, I had never known who had hurt me. Had the explosive gunpowder caught fire from the lightning, Crusoe would ironically not have survived the explosion to have suffered harm at the hands of man or beast. Such Impression did this make upon me, that after the Storm was over, I laid aside all my Works, my Building, and Fortifying, and apply'd my self to make Bags and Boxes to separate the Powder, and keep it a little and a little in a Parcel, in hope, that whatever might come, it might not all take Fire at once, and to keep it so apart that it should not be possible to make one part fire another: I finish'd this Work in about a Fort night, and I think my Powder, which in all was about 240 l. type="gloss">240 pounds weight was divided in not less than a Hundred Parcels; as to the Barrel that had been wet, I did not apprehend any Danger from that, so I plac'd it in my new Cave, which in my Fancy I call'd my Kitchin, and the rest I hid up and down in Holes among the Rocks, so that no wet might come to it, marking very carefully where I laid it. In the Interval of time while this was doing I went out once at least every Day with my Gun, as well to divert my self, as to see if I could kill any thing fit for Food, and as near as I could to acquaint 71 my self with what the Island produc'd. The first time I went out I presently discover'd that there were Goats in the Island, which was a great Satisfaction to me; but then it was attended with this Misfortune to me, viz. That they were so shy, so subtile, and so swift of Foot, that it was the difficultest thing in the World to come at them: But I was not discourag'd at this, not doubting but I might now and then shoot one, as it soon happen'd, for after I had found their Haunts a little, I laid wait in this Manner for them: I observ'd if they saw me in the Valleys, tho' they were upon the Rocks, they would run away as in a terrible Fright; but if they were feeding in the Valleys, and I was upon the Rocks, they took no Notice of me, from whence I concluded, that by the Position of their Opticks, their Sight was so directed downward, that they did not readily see Objects that were above them; so afterward I took this Method, I always clim'd the Rocks first to get above them, and then had frequently a fair Mark. The first shot I made among these Creatures, I kill'd a She-Goat which had a little Kid by her which she gave Suck to, which griev'd me heartily; but when the Old one fell, the Kid stood stock still by her till I came and took her up, and not only so, but when I carry'd the Old one with me upon my Shoulders, the Kid follow'd me quite to my Enclosure, upon which I laid down the Dam, and took the Kid in my Arms, and carry'd it over my Pale, in hopes to have bred it up tame, but it would not eat, so I was forc'd to kill it and eat it my self; these two supply'd me with Flesh a great while, for I eat sparingly; and sav'd my Provisions (my Bread especially) as much as possibly I could. 72 Having now fix'd my Habitation, I found it absolutely necessary to provide a Place to make a Fire in, and Fewel to burn; and what I did for that, as also how I enlarg'd my Cave, and what Conveniencies I made, I shall give a full Account of in its Place: But I must first give some little Account of my self, and of my Thoughts about Living, which it may well be suppos'd were not a few. I had a dismal Prospect of my Condition, for as I was not cast away upon that Island without being driven, as is said, by a violent Storm quite out of the Course of our intended Voyage, and a great Way, viz. some Hundreds of Leagues out of the ordinary Course of the Trade of Mankind, I had great Reason to consider it as a Determination of Heaven, that in this desolate Place, and in this desolate Manner I should end my Life; the Tears would run plentifully down my Face when I made these Reflections, and sometimes I would expostulate with my self, Why Providence should thus compleatly ruine its Creatures, and render them so absolutely miserable, so without Help abandon'd, so entirely depress'd, that it could hardly be rational to be thankful for such a Life. But something always return'd swift upon me to check these Thoughts, and to reprove me; and particularly one Day walking with my Gun in my Hand by the Sea-side, I was very pensive upon the Subject of my present Condition, when Reason as it were expostulated with me t'other Way, thus: Well, you are in a desolate Condition 'tis true, but pray remember, Where are the rest of you? Did not you come Eleven of you into the Boat, where are the Ten? Why were not they sav'd and you lost? Why were you singled out? Is it better to be here or there, and then I pointed to the Sea? All 73 Evills are to be consider'd with the Good that is in them, and with what worse attends them. Then it occurr'd to me again, how well I was furnish'd for my Subsistence, and what would have been my Case if it had not happen'd, Which was an Hundred Thousand to one, that the Ship floated from the Place where she first struck and was driven so near to the Shore that I had time to get all these Things out of her: What would have been my Case, if I had been to have liv'd in the Condition in which I at first came on Shore, without Necessaries of Life, or Necessaries to supply and procure them? Particularly said I aloud, (tho' to my self) what should I ha' done without a Gun, without Ammunition, without any Tools to make any thing, or to work with, without Clothes, Bedding, a Tent, or any manner of Covering, and that now I had all these to a Sufficient Quantity, and was in a fair way to provide my self in such a manner, as to live without my Gun when my Ammunition was spent; so that I had a tollerable View of subsisting without any Want as long as I liv'd; for I consider'd from the beginning how I would provide for the Accidents that might happen, and for the time that was to come, even not only after my Ammunition should be spent, but even after my Health or Strength should decay. I confess I had not entertain'd any Notion of my Ammunition being destroy'd at one Blast, I mean my Powder being blown up by Lightning, and this made the Thoughts of it so surprising to me when it lighten'd and thunder'd, as I observ'd just now. And now being to enter into a melancholy Relation of a Scene of silent Life, such perhaps as was never heard of in the World before, I shall take it from its Beginning, and continue it in its 74 Order. It was, by my Account, the 30th. of Sept. when, in the Manner as above said, I first set Foot upon this horrid Island, when the Sun being, to us, in its Autumnal Equinox, was almost just over my Head, for I reckon'd my self, by Observation, to be in the Latitude of 9 Degrees 22 Minutes North of the Line. The 9th parallel north intersects both Colombia and Venezuela, from which we can estimate that Crusoe's island is somewhere off the northern coast of South America. After I had been there about Ten or Twelve Days, it came into my Thoughts, that I should lose my Reckoning of Time for want of Books and Pen and Ink, and should even forget the Sabbath Days from the working Days; but to prevent this I cut it with my Knife upon a large Post, in Captital Letters, and making it into a great Cross I set it up on the Shore where I first landed, viz. I came on Shore here on the 30th of Sept. 1659. Upon the Sides of this square Post I cut every Day a Notch with my Knife, and every seventh Notch was as long again as the rest, and every first Day of the Month as long again as that long one, and thus I kept my Kalander, or weekly, monthly, and yearly reckoning of Time. In the next place we are to observe, that among the many things which I brought out of the Ship in the several Voyages, which, as above mention'd, I made to it, I got several things of less Value, but not all less useful to me, which I omitted setting down before; as in particular, Pens, Ink, and Paper, several Parcels in the Captain's, Mate's, Gunner's, and Carpenter's keeping, three or four Compasses, some Mathematical Instruments, Dials, Perspectives, Charts, and Books of Navigation, all which I huddel'd together, whether I might want them or no; also I found three very good Bibles which came to me in my Cargo from England, and which I had pack'd up among my things; some Portugueze Books also, and among them two 75 or three PopishRoman Catholic Prayer-Books, and several other Books, all which I carefully secur'd. And I must not forget, that we had in the Ship a Dog and two Cats, of whose eminent History I may have occasion to say something in its place; for I carry'd both the Cats with me, and as for the Dog, he jump'd out of the Ship of himself and swam on Shore to me the Day after I went on Shore with my first Cargo, and was a trusty Servant to me many Years; I wanted nothing that he could fetch me, nor any Company that he could make up to me, I only wanted to have him talk to me, but that would not do. As I observ'd before, I found Pen, Ink and Paper, and I husbandedEconomized or eked out, so they would last them to the utmost, and I shall shew, that while my Ink lasted, I kept things very exact, but after that was gone I could not, for I could not make any Ink by any Means that I could devise. And this put me in mind that I wanted many things, notwithstanding all that I had amass'd together, and of these, this of Ink was one, as also Spade, Pick-Axe, and Shovel to dig or remove the Earth, Needles, Pins, and Thread; as for Linnen, I soon learn'd to want that without much Difficulty. This want of Tools made every Work I did go on heavily, and it was near a whole Year before I had entirely finish'd my little Pale or surrounded Habitation: The Piles or Stakes, which were as heavy as I could well lift, were a long time in cutting and preparing in the Woods, and more by far in bringing home, so that I spent some times two Days in cuttting and bringing home one of those Posts, and a third Day in driving it into the Ground; for which Purpose I got a heavy Piece of Wood at first, but at last bethought my self of one of the Iron Crows, which however tho' I found it, yet 76 it made driving those Posts or Piles very laborious and tedious Work. But what need I ha' been concern'd at the Tediousness of any thing I had to do, seeing I had time enough to do it in, nor had I any other Employment if that had been over, at least, that I could foresee, except the ranging the Island to seek for Food, which I did more or less every Day. I now began to consider seriously my Condition, and the Circumstance I was reduc'd to, and I drew up the State of my Affairs in Writing, not so much to leave them to any that were to come after me, for I was like to have but few Heirs, as to deliver my Thoughts from daily poring upon them, and afflicting my Mind; and as my Reason began now to master my Despondency, I began to comfort my self as well as I could, and to set the good against the Evil, that I might have something to distinguish my Case from worse, and I stated it very impartially, like Debtor and Creditor, the Comforts I enjoy'd, against the Miseries I suffer'd, Thus, Evil.Good. I am cast upon a horrible desolate Island, void of all hope of Recovery. But I am alive, and not drown'd as all my Ship's Company was. I am singl'd out and separated, as it were, from all the World to be miserable. But I am singl'd out too from all the Ship's Crew to be spar'd from Death; and he that miraculously sav'd me from Death, can deliver me from this Condition. I am divided from Mankind, a Solitaire, one banish'd from humane Society. But I am not starv'd and perishing on a barren Place, affording no Sustenance. 77 I have not Clothes to cover me. But I am in a hot Climate, where if I had Clothes I could hardly wear them. I am without any Defence or Means to resist any Violence of Man or Beast. But I am cast on an Island, where I see no wild Beasts to hurt me, as I saw on the Coast of Africa: And what if I had been Shipwreck'd there? I have no Soul to speak to, or relieve me. But God wonderfully sent the Ship in near enough to the Shore, that I have gotten out so many necessary things as will either supply my Wants, or enable me to supply my self even as long as I live. Upon the whole, here was an undoubted Testimony, that there was scarce any Condition in the World so miserable, but there was something Negative or something Positiv to be thankful for in it; and let this stand as a Direction from the Experience of the most miserable of all Conditions in this World, that we may always find in it something to comfort our selves from, and to set in the Description of Good and Evil, on the Credit Side of the Accompt. Having now brought my Mind a little to relish my Condition, and given over looking out to Sea to see if I could spy a Ship, I say, giving over these things, I began to apply my self to accommodate my way of Living, and to make things as easy to me as I could. 78 I have already describ'd my Habitation, which was a Tent under the Side of a Rock, surrounded with a strong Pale of Posts and Cables, but I might now rather call it a Wall, for I rais'd a kind of Wall up against it of Turfs, about two Foot thick on the Out-side, and after some time, I think it was a Year and Half, I rais'd Rafters from it leaning to the Rock, and thatch'd or cover'd it with Bows of Trees, and such things as I could get to keep out the Rain, which I found at some times of the Year very violent. I have already observ'd how I brought all my Goods into this Pale, and into the Cave which I had made behind me: But I must observe too, that at first this was a confus'd Heap of Goods, which as they lay in no Order, so they took up all my Place, I had no room to turn my self; so I set my self to enlarge my Cave and Works farther into the Earth, for it was a loose sandy Rock, which yielded easily to the Labour I bestow'd on it; and so when I found I was pretty safe as to Beasts of Prey, I work'd side-ways to the Right Hand into the Rock, and then turning to the Right again, work'd quite out and made me a Door to come out, on the Out-side of my Pale or Fortification. This gave me not only Egress and Regress, as it were a back Way to my Tent and to my Store-house, but gave me room to stow my Goods. And now I began to apply my self to make such necessary things as I found I most wanted, as particularly a Chair and a Table, for without these I was not able to enjoy the few Comforts I had in the World, I could not write, or eat, or do several things with so much Pleasure without a Table. So I went to work; and here I must needs observe, that as Reason is the Substance and Original 79 of the Mathematicks, so by stating and squaring every thing by Reason, and by making the most rational Judgment of things, every Man may be in time Master of every mechanick Art. I had never handled a Tool in my Life, and yet in time by Labour, Application, and Contrivance, I found at last that I wanted nothing but I could have made it, especially if I had had Tools; however I made abundance of things, even without Tools, and some with no more Tools than an AdzeA tool like a pickax, with a blade at right angles to the handle. and a Hatchet, which perhaps were never made that way before, and that with infinite Labour: For Example, If I wanted a Board, I had no other Way but to cut down a Tree, set it on an Edge before me, and hew it flat on either Side with my Axe, till I had brought it to be thin as a Plank, and then dubb it smooth with my Adze. It is true, by this Method I could make but one Board out of a whole Tree, but this I had no Remedy for but Patience, any more than I had for the prodigious deal of Time and Labour which it took me up to make a Plank or Board: But my Time or Labour was little worth, and so it was as well employ'd one way as another. However, I made me a Table and a Chair, as I observ'd above, in the first Place, and this I did out of the short Pieces of Boards that I brought on my Raft from the Ship: But when I had wrought out some Boards, as above, I made large Shelves of the Breadth of a Foot and Half one over another, all along one Side of my Cave, to lay all my Tools, Nails, and Iron-work, and in a Word, to separate every thing at large in their Places, that I might come easily at them; I knock'd Pieces into the Wall of the Rock to hang my Guns and all things that would hang up. 80 So that had my Cave been to be seen, it look'd like a general MagazineStorehouse of all Necessary things, and I had every thing so ready at my Hand, that it was a grear Pleasure to me to see all my Goods in such Order, and especially to find my Stock of all Necessaries so great. And now it was when I began to keep a Journal of every Days Employment, for indeed at first I was in too much Hurry, and not only Hurry as to Labour, but in too much Discomposure of Mind, and my Journal would ha' been full of many dull things: For Example, I must have said thus. Sept. the 30th. After I got to Shore and had escap'd drowning, instead of being thankful to God for my Deliverance, having first vomited with the great Quantity of salt Water which was gotten into my Stomach, and recovering my self a little, I ran about the Shore, wringing my Hands and beating my Head and Face, exclaiming at my Misery, and crying out, I was undone, undone, till tyr'd and faint I was forc'd to lye down on the Ground to repose, but durst not sleep for fear of being devour'd. Some Days after this, and after I had been on board the Ship, and got all that I could out of her, yet I could not forbear getting up to the Top of a little Mountain and looking out to Sea in hopes of seeing a Ship, then fancy at a vast Distance I spy'd a Sail, please my self with the Hopes of it, and then after looking steadily till I was almost blind, lose it quite, and sit down and weep like a Child, and thus encrease my Misery by my Folly. But having gotten over these things in some Measure, and having settled my houshold Stuff and Habitation, made me a Table and a Chair, and all as handsome about me as I could, I began to keep 81 my Journal, of which I shall here give you the Copy (tho' in it will be told all these Particulars over again) as long as it lasted, for having no more Ink I was forc'd to leave it off. The JOURNAL. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith September 30, 1659. I poor miserable Robinson Crusoe, being shipwreck'd, during a dreadful Storm, in the offing, came on Shore on this dismal unfortunate Island, which I call'd the Island of Despair, all the rest of the Ship's Company being drown'd, and my self almost dead. All the rest of that Day I spent in afflicting my self at the dismal Circumstances I was brought to, viz. I had neither Food, House, Clothes, Weapon, or Place to fly to, and in Despair of any Relief, saw nothing but Death before me, either that I should be devour'd by wild Beasts, murther'd by Savages, or starv'd to Death for Want of Food. At the Approach of Night, I slept in a Tree for fear of wild Creatures, but slept soundly tho' it rain'd all Night. October 1. In the Morning I saw to my great Surprise the Ship had floated with the high Tide, and was driven on Shore again much nearer the Island, which as it was some Comfort on one hand, for seeing her sit upright, and not broken to Pieces, I hop'd, if the Wind abated, I might get on board, and get some Food and Necessaries out of her for my Relief; so on the other hand, it renew'd my Grief at the Loss of my Comrades, who I imagin'd if we had all staid on board might have sav'd the Ship, or at least that they would not have been all drown'd as they were; and that had the Men been sav'd, we might perhaps have built us a Boat out of the Ruins of the Ship, to have carried 82 us to some other Part of the World. I spent great Part of this Day in perplexing my self on these things; but at length seeing the Ship almost dry, I went upon the Sand as near as I could, and then swam on board; this Day also it continu'd raining, tho' with no Wind at all. From the 1st of October, to the 24th. All these Days entirely spent in many several Voyages to get all I could out of the Ship, which I brought on Shore, every Tide of Flood, upon Rafts. Much Rain also in these Days, tho' with some Intervals of fair Weather: But, it seems, this was the rainy Season. Oct. 20. I oversetOverturned my Raft, and all the Goods I had got upon it, but being in shoalShallow Water, and the things being chiefly heavy, I recover'd many of them when the Tide was out. Oct. 25. It rain'd all Night and all Day, with some Gusts of Wind, during which time the Ship broke in Pieces, the Wind blowing a little harder than before, and was no more to be seen, except the Wreck of her, and that only at low Water. I spent this Day in covering and securing the Goods which I had sav'd, that the Rain might not spoil them. Oct. 26. I walk'd about the Shore almost all Day to find out a place to fix my Habitation, greatly concern'd to secure my self from an Attack in the Night, either from wild Beasts or Men. Towards Night I fix'd upon a proper Place under a Rock, and mark'd out a Semi-Circle for my Encampment, which I resolv'd to strengthen with a Work, Wall, or Fortification made of double Piles, lin'd within with Cables, and without with Turf. From the 26th. to the 30th. I work'd very hard in carrying all my Goods to my new Habitation, 83 tho' some Part of the time it rain'd exceeding hard The 31st. in the Morning I went out into the Island with my Gun to see for some Food, and discover the Country, when I kill'd a She-Goat, and her Kid follow'd me home, which I afterwards kill'd also because it would not feed. November 1. I set up my Tent under a Rock, and lay there for the first Night, making it as large as I could with Stakes driven in to swing my Hammock upon. Nov. 2. I set up all my Chests and Boards, and the Pieces of Timber which made my Rafts, and with them form'd a Fence round me, a little within the Place I had mark'd out for my Fortification. Nov. 3. I went out with my Gun and kill'd two Fowls like Ducks, which were very good Food. In the Afternoon went to work to make me a Table. Nov. 4. This Morning I began to order my times of Work, of going out with my Gun, time of Sleep, and time of Diversion, viz. Every Morning I walk'd out with my Gun for two or three Hours if it did not rain, then employ'd my self to work till about Eleven a-Clock, then eat what I had to live on, and from Twelve to Two I lay down to sleep, the Weather being excessive hot, and then in the Evening to work again: The working Part of this Day and of the next were wholly employ'd in making my Table, for I was yet but a very sorry Workman, tho' Time and Necessity made me a compleat natural Mechanick soon after, as I believe it would do any one else. Nov. 5. This Day went abroad with my Gun and my Dog, and kill'd a wild Cat, her Skin pretty soft, but her Flesh good for nothing: Every 84 Creature I kill'd I took off the Skins and preserv'd them: Coming back by the Sea Shore, I saw many Sorts of Sea Fowls which I did not understand, but was surpris'd and almost frighted with two or three Seals, which, while I was gazing at, not well knowing what they were, got into the Sea and escap'd me for that time. Nov. 6. After my Morning Walk I went to work with my Table again, and finish'd it, tho' not to my liking; nor was it long before I learn'd to mend it. Nov. 7. Now it began to be settled fair Weather. The 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, and Part of the 12th. (for the 11th. was Sunday) I took wholly up to make me a Chair, and with much ado brought it to a tolerable Shape, but never to please me, and even in the making I pull'd it in Pieces several times. Note, I soon neglected my keeping Sundays, for omitting my Mark for them on my Post, I forgot which was which. Nov. 13. This Day it rain'd, which refresh'd me exceedingly, and cool'd the Earth, but it was accompany'd with terrible Thunder and Lightning, which frighted me dreadfully for fear of my Powder; as soon as it was over, I resolv'd to separate my Stock of Powder into as many little Parcels as possible, that it might not be in Danger. Nov. 14, 15, 16. These three Days I spent in making little square Chests or Boxes, which might hold about a Pound or two Pound, at most, of Powder, and so putting the Powder in, I stow'd it in Places as secure and remote from one another as possible. On one of these three Days I kill'd a large Bird that was good to eat, but I know not what to call it. Nov. 17. This Day I began to dig behind my Tent into the Rock to make room for my farther 85 Conveniency: Note, Two Things I wanted exceedingly for this Work, viz. A Pick-axe, a Shovel, and a Wheel-barrow or Basket, so I desisted from my Work, and began to consider how to supply that Want and make me some Tools; as for a Pick-axe, I made use of the Iron Crows, which were proper enough, tho' heavy; but the next thing was a Shovel or Spade, this was so absolutely necessary, that indeed I could do nothing effectually without it, but what kind of one to make I knew not. Nov. 18. The next Day in searching the Woods I found a Tree of that Wood, or like it, which, in the Brasils they call the Iron Tree,The Brazil Ironwood, sometimes called the Leopard Tree, has yellow flowers and extremely hard, spotted wood. for its exceeding Hardness, of this, with great Labour and almost spoiling my Axe, I cut a Piece, and brought it home too with Difficulty enough, for it was exceeding heavy. The excessive Hardness of the Wood, and having no other Way, made me a long while upon this Machine, for I work'd it effectually by little and little into the Form of a Shovel or Spade, the Handle exactly shap'd like ours in England, only that the broad Part having no Iron shod upon it at Bottom, it would not last me so long, however it serv'd well enough for the uses which I had occasion to put it to; but never was a Shovel, I believe, made after that Fashion, or so long a making. I was still deficient, for I wanted a Basket or a Wheel-barrow, a Basket I could not make by any Means, having no such things as Twigs that would bend to make Wicker Ware, at least none yet found out; and as to a Wheel-barrow, I fancy'd I could make all but the Wheel, but that I had no Notion of, neither did I know how to go about it; besides I had no possible Way to make the Iron GudgeonsThe cylindrical shaft running through the center of a wheel, upon which it pivots. 86 for the Spindle or Axis of the Wheel to run in, so I gave it over, and so for carrying away the Earth which I dug out of the Cave, I made me a Thing like a HoddAn open receptacle for carrying mortar, bricks, stones, or coal., which the Labourers carry Morter in, when they serve the Bricklayers. This was not so difficult to me as the making the Shovel; and yet this, and the Shovel, and the Attempt which I made in vain, to make a Wheel-Barrow, took me up no less than four Days, I mean always, excepting my Morning Walk with my Gun, which I seldom fail'd, and very seldom fail'd also bringing Home something fit to eat. Nov. 23. My other Work having now stood still, because of my making these Tools; when they were finish'd, I went on, and working every Day, as my Strength and Time allow'd, I spent eighteen Days entirely in widening and deepening my Cave, that it might hold my Goods commodiously. Note, During all this Time, I work'd to make this Room or Cave spacious enough to accommodate me as a Warehouse or Magazin, a Kitchen, a Dining-room, and a Cellar; as for my Lodging, I kept to the Tent, except that some Times in the wet Season of the Year, it rain'd so hard, that I could not keep my self dry, which caused me afterwards to cover all my Place within my Pale with long Poles in the Form of Rafters leaning against the Rock, and load them with Flaggs and large Leaves of Trees like a Thatch. December 10th, I began now to think my Cave or Vault finished, when on a Sudden, (it seems I had made it too large) a great Quantity of Earth fell down from the Top and one Side, so much, that in short it frighted me, and not without Reason too; for if I had been under it I had never wanted a Grave-Digger: Upon this Disaster I had 87 a great deal of Work to do over again; for I had the loose Earth to carry out; and which was of more Importance, I had the Seiling to prop up, so that I might be sure no more would come down. Dec. 11. This Day I went to Work with it accordingly, and got two Shores or Posts pitch'd upright to the Top, with two Pieces of Boards a-cross over each Post, this I finish'd the next Day; and setting more Posts up with Boards, in about a Week more I had the Roof secur'd; and the Posts standing in Rows, serv'd me for Partitions to part of my House. Dec. 17. From this Day to the Twentieth I plac'd Shelves, and knock'd up Nails on the Posts to hang every Thing up that could be hung up, and now I began to be in some Order within Doors. Dec. 20. Now I carry'd every Thing into the Cave, and began to furnish my House, and set up some Pieces of Boards, like a Dresser, to order my Victuals upon, but Boards began to be very scarce with me; also I made me another Table. Dec. 24. Much Rain all Night and all Day, no stirring out. Dec. 25. Rain all Day. Dec. 26. No Rain, and the Earth much cooler than before, and pleasanter. Dec. 27. Kill'd a young Goat, and lam'd another so as that I catch'd it, and led it Home in a String; when I had it Home, I bound and splinter'd up its Leg which was broke, N. B. I took such Care of it, that it liv'd, and the Leg grew well, and as strong as ever; but by my nursing it so long it grew tame, and fed upon the little Green at my Door, and would not go away: This was the first Time that I entertain'd a Thought of breeding up some tame Creatures, 88 that I might have Food when my Powder and Shot was all spent. Dec. 28, 29, 30. Great Heats and no Breeze; so that there was no Stirring abroad, except in the Evening for Food; this Time I spent in putting all my Things in Order within Doors. January 1. Very hot still, but I went abroad early and late with my Gun, and lay still in the Middle of the Day; this Evening going farther into the Valleys which lay towards the Center of the Island, I found there was plenty of Goats, tho' exceeding shy and hard to come at, however I resolv'd to try if I could not bring my Dog to hunt them down. Jan. 2. Accordingly, the next Day, I went out with my Dog, and set him upon the Goats; but I was mistaken, for they all fac'd about upon the Dog, and he knew his Danger too well, for he would not come near them. Jan. 3. I began my Fence or Wall; which being still jealousFearful, apprehensive, or wary. of my being attack'd by some Body, I resolv'd to make very thick and strong. N. B. This Wall being describ'd before, I purposely omit what was said in the Journal; it is sufficient to observe, that I was no less Time than from the 3d of January to the 14th of April, working, finishing, and perfecting this Wall, tho' it was no more than about 24 Yards in Length, being a half Circle from one Place in the Rock to another Place about eight Yards from it, the Door of the Cave being in the Center behind it. All this Time I work'd very hard, the Rains hindering me many Days, nay sometimes Weeks together; but I thought I should never be perfectly secure 'till this Wall was finish'd; and it is 89 scarce credible what inexpressible Labour every Thing was done with, especially the bringing Piles out of the Woods, and driving them into the Ground, for I made them much bigger than I need to have done. When this Wall was finished, and the Out-side double fenc'd with a Turff-Wall rais'd up close to it, I perswaded my self, that if any People were to come on Shore there, they would not perceive any Thing like a Habitation; and it was very well I did so, as may be observ'd hereafter upon a very remarkable Occasion. During this Time, I made my Rounds in the Woods for Game every Day when the Rain admitted me, and made frequent Discoveries in these Walks of something or other to my Advantage; particularly I found a Kind of wild Pidgeons, who built not as Wood Pidgeons in a Tree, but rather as House Pidgeons, in the Holes of the Rocks; and taking some young ones, I endeavoured to bread them up tame, and did so; but when they grew older they flew all away, which perhaps was at first for Want of feeding them, for I had nothing to give them; however I frequently found their Nests, and got their young ones, which were very good Meat. And now, in the managing my houshold Affairs, I found my self wanting in many Things, which I thought at first it was impossible for me to make, as indeed as to some of them it was; for Instance, I could never make a Cask to be hoopedA typical wooden barrel, consisting of vertical wooden staves bound with lateral metal hoops., I had a small RunletA roundlet, or, in wine-measure, a barrel holding about 48 gallons. or two, as I observed before, but I cou'd never arrive to the Capacity of making one by them, tho' I spent many Weeks about it; I could neither put in the Heads, or joint the StavesWooden planks from which barrels are made. so true to one another, as to make them hold Water, so I gave that also over. 90 In the next Place, I was at a great Loss for Candle; so that as soon as ever it was dark, which was generally by Seven-a-Clock, I was oblig'd to go to Bed: I remembred the Lump of Bees-wax with which I made Candles in my African Adventure, but I had none of that now; the only Remedy I had was, that when I had kill'd a Goat, I sav'd the Tallow, and with a little Dish made of Clay, which I bak'd in the Sun, to which I added a Wick of some Oakum, I made me a Lamp; and this gave me Light, tho' not a clear steady Light like a Candle; in the Middle of all my Labours it happen'd, that rumaging my Things, I found a little Bag, which, as I hinted before, had been fill'd with Corn for the feeding of Poultry, not for this Voyage, but before, as I suppose, when the Ship came from Lisbon, what little Remainder of Corn had been in the Bag, was all devour'd with the Rats, and I saw nothing in the Bag but Husks and Dust; and being willing to have the Bag for some other Use, I think it was to put Powder in, when I divided it for Fear of the Lightning, or some such Use, I shook the Husks of Corn out of it on one Side of my Fortification under the Rock. It was a little before the great Rains, just now mention'd, that I threw this Stuff away, taking no Notice of any Thing, and not so much as remembring that I had thrown any Thing there; when about a Month after, or thereabout, I saw some few Stalks of something green, shooting out of the Ground, which I fancy'd might be some Plant I had not seen, but I was surpriz'd and perfectly astonish'd, when, after a little longer Time, I saw about ten or twelve Ears come out, which were perfect green Barley of the same Kind as our European, nay, as our English Barley. 91 It is impossible to express the Astonishment and Confusion of my Thoughts on this Occasion; I had hitherto acted upon no religious Foundation at all, indeed I had very few Notions of Religion in my Head, or had entertain'd any Sense of any Thing that had befallen me, otherwise than as a Chance, or, as we lightly say, what pleases God; without so much as enquiring into the End of Providence in these Things, or his Order in governing Events in the World: But after I saw Barley grow there, in a Climate which I know was not proper for Corn, and especially that I knew not how it came there, it startl'd me strangely, and I began to suggest, that God had miraculously caus'd this Grain to grow without any Help of Seed sown, and that it was so directed purely for my Sustenance, on that wild miserable Place. This touch'd my Heart a little, and brought Tears out of my Eyes, and I began to bless my self, that such a Prodigy of Nature should happen upon my Account; and this was the more strange to me, because I saw near it still all along by the Side of the Rock, some other straggling Stalks, which prov'd to be Stalks of Ryce, and which I knew, because I had seen it grow in Africa when I was ashore there. I not only thought these the pure Productions of Providence for my Support, but not doubting, but that there was more in the Place, I went all over that Part of the Island, where I had been before, peering in every Corner, and under every Rock, to see for more of it, but I could not find any; at last it occur'd to my Thoughts, that I had shook a Bag of Chickens MeatChicken's food; in this case, barley (referred to here sometimes as corn), which Crusoe realizes must have germinated and sprouted. out in that Place, and then the Wonder began to cease; and I must confess, my religious Thankfulness to God's Providence began to abate too upon the Discovering that all this was nothing but what was 92 common; tho' I ought to have been as thankful for so strange and unforseen Providence, as if it had been miraculous; for it was really the Work of Providence as to me, that should order or appoint, that 10 or 12 Grains of Corn should remuin unspoil'd, (when the Rats had destroy'd all the rest,) as if it had been dropt from Heaven; as also, that I should throw it out in that particular Place, where it being in the Shade of a high Rock, it sprang up immediately; whereas, if I had thrown it anywhere else, at that Time, it had been burnt up and destroy'd. I carefully sav'd the Ears of this Corn you may be sure in their Season, which was about the End of June; and laying up every Corn, I resolv'd to sow them all again, hoping in Time to have some Quantity sufficient to supply me with Bread; But it was not till the 4th Year that I could allow my self the least Grain of this Corn to eat, and even then but sparingly, as I shall say afterwards in its Order; for I lost all that I sow'd the first Season, by not observing the proper Time; for I sow'd it just before the dry Season, so that it never came up at all, at least, not as it would ha' done: Of which in its Place.Crusoe will describe this predicament at greater length farther along in the narrative (i.e. "More about this later.") Besides this Barley, there was, as above, 20 or 30 Stalks of Ryce, which I preserv'd with the same Care, and whose Use was of the same Kind or to the same Purpose, (viz.) to make me Bread, or rather Food; for I found Ways to cook it up without baking, tho' I did that also after some Time. But to return to my Journal, I work'd excessive hard these three or four Months to get my Wall done; and the 14th of April I closed it up, contriving to go into it, not by a Door, but over the Wall by a Ladder, that 93 there might be no Sign in the Out-side of my Habitation. April 16. I finish'd the Ladder, so I went up with the Ladder to the Top, and then pull'd it up after me, and let it down in the In-side: This was a compleat Enclosure to me; for within I had Room enough, and nothing could come at me from without, unless it could first mount my Wall. The very next Day after this Wall was finish'd, I had almost had all my Labour overthrown at once, and my self kill'd, the Case was thus, As I was busy in the Inside of it, behind my Tent, just in the Entrance into my Cave, I was terribly frighted with a most dreadful surprising Thing indeed; for all on a sudden I found the Earth come crumbling down from the Roof of my Cave, and from the Edge of the Hill over my Head, and two of the Posts I had set up in the Cave crack'd in a frightful Manner; I was heartily scar'd, but thought nothing of what was really the Cause, only thinking that the Top of my Cave was falling in, as some of it had done before; and for Fear I shou'd be bury'd in it, I run foreward to my Ladder, and not thinking my self safe there neither, I got over my Wall for Fear of the Pieces of the Hill which I expected might roll down upon me: I was no sooner stepp'd down upon the firm Ground, but I plainly saw it was a terrible Earthquake, for the Ground I stood on shook three Times at about eight Minutes Distance, with three such Shocks, as would have overturn'd the strongest Building that could be suppos'd to have stood on the Earth, and a great Piece of the Top of a Rock, which stood about half a Mile from me next the Sea, fell down with such a terrible Noise, as I never heard in all my Life, I perceiv'd also, the very Sea was put into violent Motion by it; and I believe the 94 Shocks were stronger under the Water than on the Island. An astonishingly accurate observation, given that Defoe had probably never experienced an earthquake himself, and that plate tectonic theory was only introduced in the 20th century. I was so amaz'd with the Thing it self, having never felt the like, or discours'd with any one that had, that I was like one dead or stupify'd; and the Motion of the Earth made my Stomach sick like one that was toss'd at Sea; but the Noise of the falling of the Rock awak'd me as it were, and rousing me from the stupify'd Condition I was in, fill'd me with Horror, and I thought of nothing then but the Hill falling upon my Tent and all my houshold Goods, and burying all at once; and this sunk my very Soul within me a second Time. After the third Shock was over, and I felt no more for some Time, I began to take Courage, and yet I had not Heart enough to go over my Wall again, for Fear of being buried alive, but sat still upon the Ground, greatly cast down and disconsolate, not knowing what to do: All this while I had not the least serious religious Thought, nothing but the common, Lord ha' Mercy upon me; and when it was over, that went away too. While I sat thus, I found the Air over-cast, and grow cloudy, as if it would Rain; soon after that the Wind rose by little and little, so that, in less than half an Hour, it blew a most dreadful Hurricane: The Sea was all on a Sudden cover'd over with Foam and Froth, the Shore was cover'd with the Breach of the Water, the Trees were torn up by the Roots, and a terrible Storm it was; and this held about three Hours, and then began to abate, and in two Hours more it was stark calm, and began to rain very hard. All this while I sat upon the Ground very much terrify'd and dejected, when on a sudden it came into my thoughts, that these Winds and Rain being the Consequences of the EarthquakeDefoe's scientific reasoning is interesting, but inaccurate: there is, in fact, no causal link between seismic activity and hurricanes., the Earthquake 95 it self was spent and over, and I might venture into my Cave again: With this Thought my Spirits began to revive, and the Rain also helping to perswade me, I went in and sat down in my Tent, but the Rain was so violent, that my Tent was ready to be beaten down with it, and I was forc'd to go into my Cave, tho' very much affraid and uneasy for fear it should fall on my Head. This violent Rain forc'd me to a new Work, viz. To cut a Hole thro' my new Fortification like a Sink to let the Water go out, which would else have drown'd my Cave. After I had been in my Cave some time, and found still no more Shocks of the Earthquake follow, I began to be more compos'd; and now to support my Spirits, which indeed wanted it very much, I went to my little Store and took a small Sup of Rum, which however I did then and always very sparingly, knowing I could have no more when that was gone. It continu'd raining all that Night, and great Part of the next Day, so that I could not stir abroad, but my Mind being more compos'd, I began to think of what I had best do, concluding that if the Island was subject to these Earthquakes, there would be no living for me in a Cave, but I must consider of building me some little Hut in an open Place which I might surround with a Wall as I had done here, and so make my self secure from wild Beasts or Men; but concluded, if I staid where I was, I should certainly, one time or other, be bury'd alive. With these Thoughts I resolv'd to remove my Tent from the Place where it stood, which was just under the hanging Precipice of the Hill, and which, if it should be shaken again, would certainly fall upon my Tent: And I spent the two next 96 Days, being the 19th and 20th of April, in contriving where and how to remove my Habitation. The fear of being swallow'd up alive, made me that I never slept in quiet, and yet the Apprehensions of lying abroad without any Fence was almost equal to it; but still when I look'd about and saw how every thing was put in order, how pleasantly conceal'd I was, and how safe from Danger, it made me very loath to remove. In the mean time it occur'd to me that it would require a vast deal of time for me to do this, and that I must be contented to run the Venture where I was, till I had form'd a Camp for my self, and had secur'd it so as to remove to it: So with this Resolution I compos'd my self for a time, and resolv'd that I would go to work with all Speed to build me a Wall with Piles and Cables, &c. in a Circle as before, and set my Tent up in it when it was finish'd, but that I would venture to stay where I was till it was finish'd and fit to remove to. This was the 21st. April 22. The next Morning I began to consider of Means to put this Resolve in Execution, but I was at a great loss about my Tools; I had three large Axes and abundance of Hatchets, (for we carried the Hatchets for Traffick with the Indians) Violent altercation but with much chopping and cutting knotty hard Wood, they were all full of Notches and dull, and tho' I had a Grindstone, I could not turn it and grind my Tools too, this cost me as much Thought as a Statesman would have bestow'd upon a grand Point of Politicks, or a Judge upon the Life and Death of a Man. At length I contriv'd a Wheel with a String, to turn it with my Foot, that I might have both my Hands at Liberty: Note, I had never seen any such thing in England, or at least not to take Notice how it was done, tho' since I 97 have observ'd it is very common there; besides that, my Grindstone was very large and heavy. This Machine cost me a full Weeks Work to bring it to Perfection. April 28, 29. These two whole Days I took up in grinding my Tools, my Machine for turning my Grindstone performing very well. April 30. Having perceiv'd my Bread had been low a great while, now I took a Survey of it, and reduc'd my self to one Bisket-cake a Day, which made my Heart very heavy. May 1. In the Morning looking towards the Sea-side, the Tide being low, I saw something lye on the Shore bigger than ordinary, and it look'd like a Cask, when I came to it, I found a small Barrel, and two or three Pieces of the Wreck of the Ship, which were driven on Shore by the late Hurricane, and looking towards the Wreck itself, I thought it seem'd to lye higher out of the Water than it us'd to do; I examin'd the Barrel which was driven on Shore, and soon found it was a Barrel of Gunpowder, but it had taken Water, and the Powder was cak'd as hard as a Stone, however I roll'd it farther on Shore for the present, and went on upon the Sands as near as I could to the Wreck of the Ship to look for more. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith When I came down to the Ship I found it strangely remov'd, The Fore-castle which lay before bury'd in Sand, was heav'd up at least Six Foot, and the Stern which was broke to Pieces and parted from the rest by the Force of the Sea soon after I had left rummaging her, was toss'd, as it were, up, and cast on one Side, and the Sand was thrown so high on that Side next her Stern, that whereas there was a great Place of Water before, so that I could not come within a Quarter of a Mile of the Wreck without swimming, I could now walk 98 quite up to her when the Tide was out; I was surpriz'd with this at first, but soon concluded it must be done by the Earthquake, and as by this Violence the Ship was more broken open than formerly, so many Things came daily on Shore, which the Sea had loosen'd, and which the Winds and Water rolled by Degrees to the Land. This wholly diverted my Thoughts from the Design of removing my Habitation; and I busied my self mightily that Day especially, in searching whether I could make any Way into the Ship, but I found nothing was to be expected of that Kind, for that all the In-side of the Ship was choack'd up with Sand: However, as I had learn'd not to despair of any Thing, I resolv'd to pull every Thing to Pieces that I could of the Ship, concluding, that every Thing I could get from her would be of some Use or other to me. May 3. I began with my Saw, and cut a Piece of a Beam thro', which I thought held some of the upper Part or Quarter-Deck together, and when I had cut it thro', I clear'd away the Sand as well as I could from the Side which lay highest; but the Tide coming in, I was oblig'd to give over for that Time. May 4. I went a fishing, but caught not one Fish that I durst eat of, till I was weary of my Sport, when just going to leave off, I caught a young Dolphin. I had made me a long Line of some Rope Yarn, but I had no Hooks, yet I frequently caught Fish enough, as much as I car'd to eat; all which I dry'd in the Sun, and eat them dry. May 5. Work'd on the Wreck, cut another Beam asunder, and brought three great Fir Planks off from the Decks, which I ty'd together, and made swim on Shore when the Tide of Flood came on. 99 May 6. Work'd on the Wreck, got several Iron Bolts out of her, and other Pieces of Iron Work, work'd very hard, and came Home very much tyr'd, and had Thoughts of giving it over. May 7. Went to the Wreck again, but with an Intent not to work, but found the Weight of the Wreck had broke itself down, the Beams being cut, that several Pieces of the Ship seem'd to lie loose, and the In-side of the Hold lay so open, that I could see into it, but almost full of Water and Sand. May 8. Went to the Wreck, and carry'd an Iron Crow to wrench up the Deck, which lay now quite clear of the Water or Sand; I wrench'd open two Planks, and brought them on Shore also with the Tide: I left the Iron Crow in the Wreck for next Day. May 9. Went to the Wreck, and with the Crow made Way into the Body of the Wreck, and felt several Casks, and loosen'd them with the Crow, but could not break them up; I felt also the Roll of English Lead, and could stir it, but it was too heavy to remove. May 10, 11, 12, 13, 14. Went every Day to the Wreck, and got a great deal of Pieces of Timber, and Boards, or Plank, and 2 or 300 Weight of Iron. May 15. I carry'd two Hatchets to try if I could not cut a Piece off of the Roll of Lead, by placing the Edge of one Hatchet, and driving it with the other; but as it lay about a Foot and a half in the Water, I could not make any Blow to drive the Hatchet. May 16. It had blow'd hard in the Night, and the Wreck appear'd more broken by the Force of the Water; but I stay'd so long in the Woods to get Pidgeons for Food, that the Tide prevented me going to the Wreck that Day. 100 May 17. I saw some Pieces of the Wreck blown on Shore, at a great Distance, near two Miles off me, but resolv'd to see what they were, and found it was a Piece of the Head, but too heavy for me to bring away. May 24. Every Day to this Day I work'd on the Wreck, and with hard Labour I loosen'd some Things so much with the Crow, that the first blowing Tide several Casks floated out, and two of the Seamens Chests; but the Wind blowing from the Shore, nothing came to Land that Day, but Pieces of Timber, and a Hogshead which had some Brazil Pork in it, but the Salt-water and the Sand had spoil'd it. I continu'd this Work every Day to the 15th of June, except the Time necessary to get Food, which I always appointed, during this Part of my Employment, to be when the Tide was up, that I might be ready when it was ebb'd out, and by this Time I had gotten Timber, and Plank, and Iron-Work enough, to have builded a good Boat, if I had known how; and also, I got at several Times, and in several Pieces, near 100 WeightAn imperial hundredweight, or about 112 lb of the Sheet-Lead. June 16. Going down to the Sea-side, I found a large Tortoise or Turtle; this was the first I had seen, which it seems was only my Misfortune, not any Defect of the Place, or Scarcity; for had I happen'd to be on the other Side of the Island, I might have had Hundreds of them every Day, as I found afterwards; but perhaps had paid dear enough for them. June 17. I spent in cooking the Turtle; I found in her threescore Eggs; and her Flesh was to me at that Time the most savoury and pleasant that ever I tasted in my Life, having had no Flesh, 101 but of Goats and Fowls, since I landed in this horrid Place. June 18. Rain'd all Day, and I stay'd within. I thought at this Time the Rain felt Cold, and I was something chilly, which I knew was not usual in that Latitude. June 19. Very ill, and shivering, as if the Weather had been cold. June 20. No Rest all Night, violent Pains in my Head, and feaverish. June 21. Very ill, frighted almost to Death with the Apprehensions of my sad Condition, to be sick, and no Help: Pray'd to GOD for the first Time since the Storm off of Hull, but scarce knew what I said, or why; my Thoughts being all confused. June 22. A little better, but under dreadful Apprehensions of Sickness. June 23. Very bad again, cold and shivering, and then a violent Head-ach. June 24. Much better. June 25. An Ague very violent; the Fit held me seven Hours, cold Fit and hot, with faint Sweats after it. June 26. Better; and having no Victuals to eat, took my Gun, but found my self very weak; however I kill'd a She-Goat, and with much Difficulty got it Home, and broil'd some of it, and eat; I wou'd fain have stew'd it, and made some Broath, but had no Pot. June 27. The Ague again so violent, that I lay a-Bed all Day, and neither eat or drank. I was ready to perish for Thirst, but so weak, I had not Strength to stand up, or to get my self any Water to drink: Pray'd to God again, but was light-headed, and when I was not, I was so ignorant, that I knew not what to say; only I lay and 102 cry'd, Lord look upon me, Lord pity me, Lord have Mercy upon me: I suppose I did nothing else for two or three Hours, till the Fit wearing off, I fell asleep, and did not wake till far in the Night; when I wak'd, I found my self much refresh'd, but weak, and exceeding thirsty: However, as I had no Water in my whole Habitation, I was forc'd to lie till Morning, and went to sleep again: In this second Sleep, I had this terrible Dream. I thought, that I was sitting on the Ground on the Out-side of my Wall, where I sat when the Storm blew after the Earthquake, and that I saw a Man descend from a great black Cloud, in a bright Flame of Fire, and lightAlight upon the Ground: He was all over as bright as a Flame, so that I could but just bear to look towards him; his Countenance was most inexpressibly dreadful, impossible for Words to describe; when he stepp'd upon the Ground with his Feet, I thought the Earth trembl'd, just as it had done before in the Earthquake, and all the Air look'd, to my Apprehension, as if it had been fill'd with Flashes of Fire. He was no sooner landed upon the Earth, but he moved forward towards me, with a long Spear or Weapon in his Hand, to kill me; and when he came to a rising Ground, at some Distance, he spoke to me, or I heard a Voice so terrible, that it is impossible to express the Terror of it; all that I can say, I understood, was this, Seeing all these Things have not brought thee to Repentance, now thou shalt die: At which Words, I thought he lifted up the Spear that was in his Hand, to kill me. No one, that shall ever read this Account, will expect that I should be able to describe the Horrors of my Soul at this terrible Vision, I mean, that even while it was a Dream, I even dreamed of those Horrors; nor is it any more possible to describe 103 the Impression that remain'd upon my Mind when I awak'd and found it was but a Dream. I had alas! no divine Knowledge; what I had received by the good Instruction of my Father was then worn out by an uninterrupted Series, for 8 Years, of Seafaring Wickedness, and a constant Conversation with nothing but such as were like my self, wicked and prophane to the last Degree: I do not remember that I had in all that Time one Thought that so much as tended either to looking upwards toward God, or inwards towards a Reflection upon my own Ways: But a certain Stupidity of Soul, without Desire of Good, or Conscience of Evil, had entirely overwhelm'd me, and I was all that the most hardned, unthinking, wicked Creature among our common Sailors, can be supposed to be, not having the least Sense, either of the Fear of God in Danger, or of Thankfulness to God in Deliverances. In the relating what is already past of my Story, this will be the more easily believ'd, when I shall add, that thro' all the Variety of Miseries that had to this Day befallen me, I never had so much as one Thought of it being the Hand of God, or that it was a just Punishment for my Sin; my rebellious Behaviour against my Father, or my present Sins which were great; or so much as a Punishment for the general Course of my wicked Life. When I was on the desperate Expedition on the desart Shores of Africa, I never had so much as one Thought of what would become of me; or one Wish to God to direct me whether I should go, or to keep me from the Danger which apparently surrounded me, as well from voracious Creatures as cruel Savages: But I was meerly thoughtless of a God, or a Providence; acted like a meer Brute from the Principles of Nature, and by the Dictates of common Sense only, and indeed hardly that. 104 When I was deliver'd and taken up at Sea by the Portugal Captain, well us'd, and dealt justly and honourably with, as well as charitably, I had not the least Thankfulness on my Thoughts: When again I was shipwreck'd, ruin'd, and in Danger of drowning on this Island, I was as far from Remorse, or looking on it as a Judgment; I only said to my self often, that I was an unfortunate Dog, and born to be always miserable. It is true, when I got on Shore first here, and found all my Ship's Crew drown'd, and my self spar'd, I was surpriz'd with a Kind of Extasie, and some Transports of Soul, which, had the Grace of God assisted, might have come up to true Thankfulness; but it ended where it begun, in a meer common Flight of Joy, or as I may say, being glad I was alive, without the least Reflection upon the distinguishing Goodness of the Hand which had preserv'd me, and had singled me out to be preserv'd, when all the rest were destroy'd; or an Enquiry why Providence had been thus merciful to me; even just the same common Sort of Joy which Seamen generally have after they are got safe ashore from a Shipwreck, which they drown all in the next Bowl of Punch, and forget almost as soon as it is over, and all the rest of my Life was like it. Even when I was afterwards, on due Consideration, made sensible of my Condition, how I was cast on this dreadful Place, out of the Reach of humane Kind, out of all Hope of Relief, or Prospect of Redemption, as soon as I saw but a Prospect of living, and that I should not starve and perish for Hunger, all the Sense of my Affliction wore off, and I begun to be very easy, apply'd my self to the Works proper for my Preservation and Supply, and was far enough from being afflicted at my Condition, as a Judgment from Heaven, or as the 105 Hand of God against me; these were Thoughts which very seldom enter'd into my Head. The growing up of the Corn, as is hinted in my Journal, had at first some little Influence upon me, and began to affect me with Seriousness, as long as I thought it had something miraculous in it; but as soon as ever that Part of the Thought was remov'd, all the Impression which was rais'd from it, wore off also, as I have noted already. Even the Earthquake, tho' nothing could be more terrible in its Nature, or more immediately directing to the invisible Power which alone directs such Things, yet no sooner was the first Fright over, but the Impression it had made went off also. I had no more Sense of God or his Judgments, much less of the present Affliction of my Circumstances being from his Hand, than if I had been in the most prosperous Condition of Life. But now when I began to be sick, and a leisurely View of the Miseries of Death came to place itself before me; when my Spirits began to sink under the Burthen of a strong Distemper, and Nature was exhausted with the Violence of the Feaver; Conscience that had slept so long, begun to awake, and I began to reproach my self with my past Life, in which I had so evidently, by uncommon Wickedness, provok'd the Justice of God to lay me under uncommon Strokes, and to deal with me in so vindictive a Manner. These Reflections oppress'd me for the second or third Day of my Distemper, and in the Violence, as well of the Feaver, as of the dreadful Reproaches of my Conscience, extorted some Words from me, like praying to God, tho' I cannot say they were either a Prayer attended with Desires or with Hopes; it was rather the Voice of meer Fright and Distress; my Thoughts were confus'd, the 106 Convictions great upon my Mind, and the Horror of dying in such a miserable Condition rais'd Vapours into my Head with the meer Apprehensions; and in these Hurries of my Soul, I know not what my Tongue might express: but it was rather Exclamation, such as, Lord! what a miserable Creature am I? If I should be sick, I shall certainly die for Want of Help, and what will become of me! Then the Tears burst out of my Eyes, and I could say no more for a good while. In this Interval, the good Advice of my Father came to my Mind, and presently his Prediction which I mention'd at the Beginning of this Story, viz. That if I did take this foolish Step, God would not bless me, and I would have Leisure hereafter to reflect upon having neglected his Counsel, when there might be none to assist in my Recovery. Now, said I aloud, My dear Father's Words are come to pass: God's Justice has overtaken me, and I have none to help or hear me: I rejected the Voice of Providence, which had mercifully put me in a Posture or Station of Life, wherein I might have been happy and easy; but I would neither see it my self, or learn to know the Blessing of it from my Parents; I left them to mourn over my Folly, and now I am left to mourn under the Consequences of it: I refus'd their Help and Assistance who wou'd have lifted me into the World, and wou'd have made every Thing easy to me, and now I have Difficulties to struggle with, too great for even Nature itself to support, and no Assistance, no Help, no Comfort, no Advice; then I cry'd out, Lord be my Help, for I am in great Distress. This was the first Prayer, if I may call it so, that I had made for many Years: But I return to my Journal. 107 June 28. Having been somewhat refresh'd with the Sleep I had had, and the Fit being entirely off, I got up; and tho' the Fright and Terror of my Dream was very great, yet I consider'd, that the Fit of the Ague wou'd return again the next Day, and now was my Time to get something to refresh and support my self when I should be ill; and the first Thing I did, I fill'd a large square Case Bottle with Water, and set it upon my Table, in Reach of my Bed; and to take off the chill or aguish Disposition of the Water, I put about a Quarter of a Pint of Rum into it, and mix'd them together; then I got me a Piece of the Goat's Flesh, and broil'd it on the Coals, but could eat very little; I walk'd about, but was very weak, and withal very sad and heavy-hearted in the Sense of my miserable Condition; dreading the Return of my Distemper the next Day; at Night I made my Supper of three of the Turtle's Eggs, which I roasted in the Ashes, and eat, as we call it, in the Shell; and this was the first Bit of MeatFood generally, not necessarily restricted to animal's flesh I had ever ask'd God's Blessing to, even as I cou'd remember, in my whole Life. After I had eaten, I try'd to walk, but found my self so weak, that I cou'd hardly carry the Gun, (for I never went out without that) so I went but a little Way, and sat down upon the Ground, looking out upon the Sea, which was just before me, and very calm and smooth: As I sat here, some such Thoughts as these occurred to me. What is this Earth and Sea of which I have seen so much, whence is it produc'd, and what am I, and all the other Creatures, wild and tame, humane and brutal, whence are we? 108 Sure we are all made by some secret Power, who form'd the Earth and Sea, the Air and Sky; and who is that? Then it follow'd most naturally, It is God that has made it all: Well, but then it came on strangely, if God has made all these Things, He guides and governs them all, and all Things that concern them; for the Power that could make all Things, must certainly have Power to guide and direct them. If so, nothing can happen in the great Circuit of his Works, either without his Knowledge or Appointment. And if nothing happens without his Knowledge, he knows that I am here, and am in this dreadful Condition; and if nothing happens without his Appointment, he has appointed all this to befal me. Nothing occurr'd to my Thought to contradict any of these Conclusions; and therefore it rested upon me with the greater Force, that it must needs be, that God had appointed all this to befal me; that I was brought to this miserable Circumstance by his Direction, he having the sole Power, not of me only, but of every Thing that happen'd in the World. Immediately it follow'd, Why has God done this to me? What have I done to be thus us'd? My Conscience presently check'd me in that Enquiry, as if I had blasphem'd, and methought it spoke to me like a Voice; WRETCH! dost thou ask what thou hast done! look back upon a dreadful mis-spent Life, and ask thy self what thou hast not done? ask, Why is it that thou wert not long ago destroy'd? Why wert thou not drown'd in Yarmouth Roads? Kill'd in the Fight when the Ship was taken by the Sallee Man of War? Devour'd by the wild Beasts 109 on the Coast of Africa? Or, Drown'd HERE, when all the Crew perish'd but thy self? Dost thou ask, What have I done? I was struck dumb with these Reflections, as one astonish'd, and had not a Word to say, no not to answer to my self, but rise up pensive and sad, walk'd back to my Retreat, and went up over my Wall, as if I had been going to Bed, but my Thoughts were sadly disturb'd, and I had no Inclination to Sleep; so I sat down in my Chair, and lighted my Lamp, for it began to be dark: Now as the Apprehension of the Return of my Distemper terrify'd me very much, it occurr'd to my Thought, that the Brasilians take no Physick but their Tobacco, for almost all Distempers; and I had a Piece of a Roll of Tobacco in one of the Chests, which was quite cur'd, and some also that was green and not quite cur'd. I went, directed by Heaven no doubt; for in this Chest I found a Cure, both for Soul and Body, I open'd the Chest, and found what I look'd for, viz. the Tobacco; and as the few Books, I had sav'd, lay there too, I took out one of the Bibles which I mention'd before, and which to this Time I had not found Leisure, or so much as Inclination to look into; I say, I took it out, and brought both that and the Tobacco with me to the Table. What Use to make of the Tobacco, I knew not, as to my Distemper, or whether it was good for it or no; but I try'd several Experiments with it, as if I was resolv'd it should hit one Way or other: I first took a Piece of a Leaf, and chew'd it in my Mouth, which indeed at first almost stupify'd my Brain, the Tobacco being green and strong, and that I had not been much us'd to it; then I took some and steeped it an Hour or two in some Rum, and resolv'd to take a Dose of it when I lay down; 110 and lastly, I burnt some upon a Pan of Coals, and held my Nose close over the Smoke of it as long as I could bear it, as well for the Heat as almost for Suffocation. In the Interval of this Operation, I took up the Bible and began to read, but my Head was too much disturb'd with the Tobacco to bear reading, at least that Time; only having open'd the Book casually, the first Words that occurr'd to me were these, Call on me in the Day of Trouble Psalm 50:15, and I will deliver, and thou shalt glorify me. The Words were very apt to my Case, and made some Impression upon my Thoughts at the Time of reading them, tho' not so much as they did afterwards; for as for being deliver'd, the Word had no Sound, as I may say, to me; the Thing was so remote, so impossible in my Apprehension of Things, that I began to say as the Children of Israel did, when they were promis'd Flesh to eatGod grants the hungry Israelites manna to eat as they cross the desert, bound for the promised land (Exodus 16:1-13), Can God spread a Table in the Wilderness; so I began to say, Can God himself deliver me from this Place? and as it was not for many Years that any Hope appear'd, this prevail'd very often upon my Thoughts: But however, the Words made a great Impression upon me, and I mused upon them very often. It grew now late, and the Tobacco had, as I said, doz'd my Head so much, that I inclin'd to sleep; so I left my Lamp burning in the Cave, least I should want any Thing in the Night, and went to Bed; but before I lay down, I did what I never had done in all my Life, I kneel'd down and pray'd to God to fulfil the Promise to me, that if I call'd upon him in the Day of Trouble, he would deliver me; after my broken and imperfect Prayer was over, I drunk the Rum in which I had steep'd the Tobacco, which was so strong and rank of the Tobacco, that indeed I could scarce get it down; immediately 111 upon this I went to Bed, I found presently it flew up in my Head violently, but I fell into a sound Sleep, and wak'd no more 'till by the Sun it must necessarily be near Three a-Clock in the Afternoon the next Day; nay, to this Hour, I'm partly of the Opinion, that I slept all the next Day and Night, and 'till almost Three that Day after; for otherwise I knew not how I should lose a Day out of my Reckoning in the Days of the Week, as it appear'd some Years after I had done: for if I had lost it by crossing and re-crossing the Line, I should have lost more than one Day: But certainly I lost a Day in my Accompt, and never knew which Way. Be that however one Way or th' other, when I awak'd I found my self exceedingly refresh'd, and my Spirits lively and chearful; when I got up, I was stronger than I was the Day before, and my Stomach better, for I was hungry; and in short, I had no Fit the next Day, but continu'd much alter'd for the better; this was the 29th. The 30th was my well Day of Course, and I went abroad with my Gun, but did not care to travel too far, I kill'd a Sea Fowl or two, something like a brand Goose, and brought them Home, but was not very forward to eat them; so I ate some more of the Turtle's Eggs, which were very good. This Evening I renew'd the Medicine which I had suppos'd did me good the Day before, viz. the Tobacco steep'd in Rum, only I did not take so much as before, nor did I chew any of the Leaf, or hold my Head over the Smoke; however, I was not so well the next Day, which was the first of July, as I hop'd I shou'd have been; for I had a little Spice of the cold Fit, but it was not much. July 2. I renew'd the Medicine all the three Ways, and doz'd my self with it as at first; and doubled the Quantity which I drank. 112 3. I miss'd the Fit for good and all, tho' I did not recover my full Strength for some Weeks after; while I was thus gathering Strength, my Thoughts run exceedingly upon this Scripture, I will deliver thee, and the Impossibility of my Deliverance lay much upon my Mind in Barr of my ever expecting it: But as I was discouraging my self with such Thoughts, it occurr'd to my Mind, that I pored so much upon my Deliverance from the main Affliction, that I disregarded the Deliverance I had receiv'd; and I was, as it were, made to ask my self such Questions as these, viz. Have I not been deliver'd, and wonderfully too, from Sickness? from the most distress'd Condition that could be, and that was so frightful to me, and what Notice I had taken of it: Had I done my Part, God had deliver'd me, but I had not glorify'd him; that is to say, I had not own'd and been thankful for that as a Deliverance, and how cou'd I expect greater Deliverance? This touch'd my Heart very much, and immediately I kneeel'd down and gave God Thanks aloud, for my Recovery from my Sickness. July 4. In the Morning I took the Bible, and beginning at the New Testament, I began seriously to read it, and impos'd upon my self to read a while every Morning and every Night, not tying my self to the Number of Chapters, but as long as my Thoughts shou'd engage me: It was not long after I set seriously to this Work, but I found my Heart more deeply and sincerely affected with the Wickedness of my past Life: The Impression of my Dream reviv'd, and the Words, All these Things have not brought thee to Repentance, ran seriously in my Thought: I was earnestly begging of God to give me Repentance, when it happen'd providentially the very Day that reading the Scriture, 113 I came to these Words, He is exalted a Prince and a Saviour, to give Repentance, and to give RemissionActs 5:31: I threw down the Book, and with my Heart as well as my Hands lifted up to Heaven, in a Kind of Extasy of Joy, I cry'd out aloud, Jesus, thou Son of David, Jesus, thou exalted Prince and Saviour, give me Repentance! This was the first Time that I could say, in the true Sense of the Words, that I pray'd in all my Life; for now I pray'd with a Sense of my Condition, and with a true Scripture View of Hope founded on the Encouragement of the Word of God; and from this Time, I may say, I began to have Hope that God would hear me. Now I began to construe the Words mentioned above, Call on me, and I will deliver you, in a different Sense from what I had ever done before; for then I had no Notion of any thing being call'd Deliverance, but my being deliver'd from the Captivity I was in; for tho' I was indeed at large in the Place, yet the Island was certainly a Prison to me, and that in the worst Sense in the World; but now I learn'd to take it in another Sense: Now I look'd back upon my past Life with such Horrour, and my Sins appear'd so dreadful, that my Soul sought nothing of God, but Deliverance from the Load of Guilt that bore down all my Comfort: As for my solitary Life it was nothing; I did not so much as pray to be deliver'd from it, or think of it; It was all of no Consideration in Comparison to this: And I add this Part here, to hint to whoever shall read it, that whenever they come to a true Sense of things, they will find Deliverance from Sin a much greater Blessing, that Deliverance from Affliction. But leaving this Part, I return to my Journal. 114 My Condition began now to be, tho' not less miserable as to my Way of living, yet much easier to my Mind; and my Thoughts being directed, by a constant reading the Scripture, and praying to God, to things of a higher Nature: I had a great deal of Comfort within, which till now I knew nothing of; also, as my Health and Strength returned, I bestirr'd my self to furnish my self with every thing that I wanted, and make my Way of living as regular as I could. From the 4th of July to the 14th, I was chiefly employ'd in walking about with my Gun in my Hand, a little and a little, at a Time, as a Man that was gathering up his Strength after a Fit of Sickness: For it is hardly to be imagin'd, how low I was, and to what Weakness I was reduc'd. The Application which I made Use of was perfectly new, and perhaps what had never cur'd an Ague before, neither can I recommend it to any one to practise, by this Experiment; and tho' it did carry off the Fit, yet it rather contributed to weakening me; for I had frequent Convulsions in my Nerves and Limbs for some Time. I learn'd from it also this in particular, that being abroad in the rainy Season was the most pernicious thing to my Health that could be, especially in those Rains which came attended with Storms and Hurricanes of Wind; for as the Rain which came in the dry Season was always most accompany'd with such Storms, so I found that Rain was much more dangerous than the Rain which fell in September and October. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith I had been now in this unhappy Island above 10 Months, all Possibility of Deliverance from this Condition, seem'd to be entirely taken from me; and I firmly believed, that no humane Shape had ever set Foot upon that Place: Having now secur'd 115 my Habitation, as I thought, fully to my Mind, I had a great Desire to make a more perfect Discovery of the Island, and to see what other Productions I might find, which I yet knew nothing of. It was the 15th of July that I began to take a more particular Survey of the Island it self: I went up the Creek first, where, as I hinted, I brought my Rafts on Shore; I found after I came about two Miles up, that the Tide did not flow any higher, and that it was no more than a little Brook of running Water, and very fresh and good; but this being the dry Season, there was hardly any Water in some Parrs of it, at least, not enough to run in any Stream, so as it could be perceiv'd. On the Bank of this Brook I found many pleasant Savana's, or Meadows; plain, smooth, and cover'd with Grass; and on the rising Parts of them next to the higher Grounds, where the Water, as it might be supposed, never overflow'd, I found a great deal of Tobacco, green, and growing to a great and very strong Stalk; there were divers other Plants which I had no Notion of, or Understanding about, and might perhaps have Vertues of their own, which I could not find out. I searched for the Cassava Root A woody shrub native to South America, which the Indians in all that Climate make their Bread of, but I could find none. I saw large Plants of Alloes, but did not then understand them. I saw several Sugar Canes, but wild, and for want of Cultivation, imperfect. I contented my self with these Discoveries for this Time, and came back musing with my self what Course I might take to know the Vertue and Goodness of any of the Fruits or Plants which I should discover; but could bring it to no Conclusion; for in short, I had made so little Observation while I was in the Brasils, that I knew little 116 of the Plants in the Field, at least very little that might serve me to any Purpose now in my Distress. The next Day, the 16th, I went up the same Way again, and after going something farther than I had gone the Day before, I found the Brook, and the Savana's began to cease, and the Country became more woody than before; in this Part I found different Fruits, and particularly I found Mellons upon the Ground in great Abundance, and Grapes upon the Trees; the Vines had spread indeed over the Trees, and the Clusters of Grapes were just now in their Prime, very ripe and rich: This was a surprising Discovery, and I was exceeding glad of them; but I was warn'd by my Experience to eat sparingly of them, remembring, that when I was ashore in Barbary, the eating of Grapes kill'd several of our English Men who were Slaves there, by throwing them into Fluxes and FeaversThere is no scientific basis for this supposition. More likely, the symptoms Crusoe describes were a result of scurvy, a condition caused by vitamin C deficiency and common among sailors.: But I found an excellent Use for these Grapes, and that was to cure or dry them in the Sun, and keep them as dry'd Grapes or Raisins are kept, which I thought would be, as indeed they were, as wholesom as agreeable to eat, when no Grapes might be to be had. I spent all that Evening there, and went not back to my Habitation, which by the Way was the first Night, as I might say, I had lain from Home. In the Night I took my first Contrivance, and got up into a Tree, where I slept well, and the next Morning proceeded upon my Discovery, travelling near four Miles, as I might judge by the Length of the Valley, keeping still due North, with a Ridge of Hills on the South and North-side of me. At the End of this March I came to an Opening, where the Country seem'd to descend to the 117 West, and a litrle Spring of fresh Water which issued out of the Side of the Hill by me, run the other Way, that is due East; and the Country appear'd so fresh, so green, so flourishing, every thing being in a constant Verdure, or Flourish of Spring, that it looked like a planted Garden. I descended a little on the Side of that delicious Vale, surveying it with a secret Kind of Pleasure, (tho' mixt with my other afflicting Thoughts) to think that this was all my own, that I was King and Lord of all this Country indefeasibly, and had a Right of Possession; and if I could convey it, I might have it in Inheritance, as compleatly as any Lord of a Mannor in England. I saw here Abundance of Cocoa Trees, Orange, and Lemmon, and Citron Trees; but all wild, and very few bearing any Fruit, at least not then: However, the green Limes that I gathered, were not only pleasant to eat, but very wholesome; and I mix'd their Juice afterwards with Water, which made it very wholesome, and very cool, and refreshing. I found now I had Business enough to gather and carry Home; and I resolv'd to lay up a Store, as well of Grapes, as Limes and Lemons, to furnish my self for the wet Season, which I knew was approaching. In Order to this, I gather'd a great Heap of Grapes in one Place, and a lesser Heap in another Place, and a great Parcel of Limes and Lemons in another Place; and taking a few of each with me, I travell'd homeward, and resolv'd to come again, and bring a Bag or Sack, or what I could make to carry the rest Home. Accordingly, having spent three Days in this Journey, I came Home; so I must now call my Tent and my Cave: But, before I got thither, the 118 Grapes were spoil'd, the Richness of the Fruits, and the Weight of the Juice having broken them, and bruis'd them, they were good for little or nothing; as to the Limes, they were good, but I could bring but a few. The next Day, being the 19th, I went back, having made me two small Bags to bring Home my Harvest: But I was surpriz'd, when coming to my Heap of Grapes, which were so rich and fine when I gather'd them, I found them all spread about, trod to Pieces, and dragg'd about, some here, some there, and Abundance eaten and devour'd: By this I concluded, there were some wild Creatures thereabouts, which had done this; but what they were, I knew not. However, as I found there there was no laying them up on Heaps, and no carrying them away in a Sack, but that one Way they would be destroy'd, and the other Way they would be crush'd with their own Weight. I took another Course; for I gather'd a large Quantity of the Grapes, and hung them up upon the out Branches of the Trees, that they might cure and dry in the Sun; and as for the Limes and Lemons, I carry'd as many back as I could well stand under. When I came Home from this Journey, I contemplated with great Pleasure the Fruitfulness of that Valley, and the Pleasantness of the Scituation, the Security from Storms on that Side the Water, and the Wood, and concluded, that I had pitch'd upon a Place to fix my Abode, which was by far the worst Part of the Country. Upon the Whole I began to consider of removing my Habitation; and to look out for a Place equally safe, as where I now was scituate, if possible, in that pleasant fruitful Part of the Island. 119 This Thought run long in my Head, and I was exceeding fond of it for some Time, the Pleasantness of the Place tempting me; but when I came to a nearer View of it, and to consider that I was now by the Sea-Side, where it was at least possible that something might happen to my Advantage, and by the same ill Fate that brought me hither, might bring some other unhappy Wretches to the same Place; and tho' it was scarce probable that any such Thing should ever happen, yet to enclose my self among the Hills and Woods, in the Center of the Island, was to anticipate my Bondage, and to rend such an Affair not only Improbable, but Impossible; and that therefore I ought not by any Means to remove. However, I was so Enamour'd of this Place, that I spent much of my Time there, for the whole remaining Part of the Month of July; and tho' upon second Thoughts I resolv'd as above, not to remove, yet I built me a little kind of a Bower, and surrounded it at a Distance with a strong Fence, being a double Hedge, as high as I could reach, well stak'd, and fill'd between with Brushwood; and here I lay very secure, sometimes two or three Nights together, always going over it with a Ladder, as before; so that I fancy'd now I had my Country-House, and my Sea-Coast-House: And this Work took me up to the Beginning of August. I had but newly finish'd my Fence, and began to enjoy my Labour, but the Rains came on, and made me stick close to my first Habitation; for tho' I had made me a Tent like the other, with a Piece of a Sail, and spread it very well; yet I had not the Shelter of a Hill to keep me from Storms, nor a Cave behind me to retreat into, when the Rains were extraordinary. 120 About the Beginning of August, as I said, I had finish'd my Bower, and began to enjoy my self. The third of August, I found the Grapes I had hung up were perfectly dry'd, and indeed, were excellent good Raisins of the Sun; so I began to take them down from the Trees, and it was very happy that I did so; for the Rains which follow'd would have spoil'd them, and I had lost the best Part of my Winter Food; for I had above two hundred large Bunches of them. No sooner had I taken them all down, and carry'd most of them Home to my Cave, but it began to rain, and from hence, which was the fourteenth of August, it rain'd more or less, every Day, till the Middle of October; and sometimes so violently, that I could not stir out of my Cave for several Days. In this Season I was much surpriz'd with the Increase of my Family; I had been concern'd for the Loss of one of my Cats, who run away from me, or as I thought had been dead, and I heard no more Tale or Tidings of her, till to my Astonishment she came Home about the End of August, with three Kittens; this was the more strange to me, because tho' I had kill'd a wild Cat, as I call'd it, with my Gun; yet I thought it was a quite differing Kind from our European Cats; yet the young Cats were the same Kind of House breed like the old one; and both my Cats being Females, I thought it very strange: But from these three Cats, I afterwards came to be so pester'd with Cats, that I was forc'd to kill them like Vermine, or wild Beasts, and to drive them from my House as much as possible. From the fourteenth of August to the twenty sixth, incessant Rain, so that I could not stir, and was now very careful not to be much wet. In this Confinement I began to be straitned for Food, but 121 venturing out twice, I one Day kill'd a Goat, and the last Day, which was the twenty sixth, found a very large Tortoise, which was a Treat to me, and my Food was regulated thus; I eat a Bunch of Raisins for my Breakfast, a Piece of the Goat's Flesh, or of the Turtle for my Dinner broil'd; for to my great Misfortune, I had no Vessel to boil or stew any Thing; and two or three of the Turtle's Eggs for my Supper. During this Confinement in my Cover, by the Rain, I work'd daily two or three Hours at enlarging my Cave, and by Degrees work'd it on towards one Side, till I came to the Out-Side of the Hill, and made a Door or Way out, which came beyond my Fence or Wall, and so I came in and out this Way; but I was not perfectly easy at lying so open; for as I had manag'd my self before, I was in a perfect Enclosure, whereas now I thought I lay expos'd, and open for any Thing to come in upon me; and yet I could not perceive that there was any living Thing to fear, the biggest Creature that I had yet seen upon the Island being a Goat. September the thirtieth, I was now come to the unhappy Anniversary of my Landing. I cast upCounted the Notches on my Post, and found I had been on Shore three hundred and sixty five Days. I kept this Day as a Solemn Fast, setting it apart to Religious Exercise, prostrating my self on the Ground with the most serious HumiliationIn this context, meaning humility, rather than embarrassment, confessing my Sins to God, acknowledging his Righteous Judgments upon me, and praying to him to have Mercy on me, through Jesus Christ; and having not tasted the least Refreshment for twelve Hours, even till the going down of the Sun, I then eat a Bisket Cake, and a Bunch of Grapes, and went to Bed, finishing the Day as I began it. 122 I had all this Time observ'd no Sabbath-Day; for as at first I had no Sense of Religion upon my Mind, I had after some Time omitted to distinguish the Weeks, by making a longer Notch than ordinary for the Sabbath-Day, and so did not really know what any of the Days were; but now having cast up the Days, as above, I found I had been there a Year; so I divided it into Weeks, and set apart every seventh Day for a Sabbath; though I found at the End of my Account I had lost a Day or two in my Reckoning. A little after this my Ink began to fail me, and so I contented my self to use it more sparingly, and to write down only the most remarkable Events of my Life, without continuing a daily Memorandum of other Things. The rainy Season, and the dry Season, began now to appear regular to me, and I learn'd to divide them so, as to provide for them accordingly. But I bought all my Experience before I had it; and this I am going to relate, was one of the most discouraging Experiments that I made at all: I have mention'd that I had sav'd the few Ears of Barley and Rice, which I had so surprizingly found spring up, as I thought, of themselves, and believe there was about thirty Stalks of Rice, and about twenty of Barley; and now I thought it a proper Time to sow it after the Rains, the Sun being in its Southern Position going from me. Accordingly I dug up a Piece of Ground as well as I could with my wooden Spade, and dividing it into two Parts, I sow'd my Grain; but as I was sowing, it casually occur'd to my Thoughts, That I would not sow it all at first, because I did not know when was the proper Time for it; so I sow'd about two Thirds of the Seed, leaving about a Handful of each. 123 It was a great Comfort to me afterwards, that I did so, for not one Grain of that I sow'd this Time came to any Thing; for the dry Months following, the Earth having had no Rain after the Seed was sown, it had no Moisture to assist its Growth, and never came up at all, till the wet Season had come again, and then it grew as if it had been but newly sown. Finding my first Seed did not grow, which I easily imagin'd was by the Drought, I sought for a moister Peice of Ground to make another Trial in, and I dug up a Piece of Ground near my new Bower, and sow'd the rest of my Seed in February, a little before the Vernal EquinoxThis falls between March 19-21, depending on the year; and this having the rainy Months of March and April to water it, sprung up very pleasantly, and yielded a very good Crop; but having Part of the Seed left only, and not daring to sow all that I had, I had but a small Quantity at last, my whole Crop not amounting to above half a PeckAn imperial unit of dry volume, approximately 2 gallons of each kind. But by this Experiment I was made Master of my Business, and knew exactly when the proper Season was to sow; and that I might expect two Seed Times, and two Harvests every Year. While this Corn was growing, I made a little Discovery which was of use to me afterwards: As soon as the Rains were over, and the Weather began to settle, which was about the Month of November, I made a Visit up the Country to my Bower, where though I had not been some Months, yet I found all Things just as I left them. The Circle or double Hedge that I had made, was not only firm and entire; but the Stakes which I had cut out of some Trees that grew thereabouts, were all shot out and grown with long Branches, as much as a Willow-Tree usually shoots the first Year after lopping its Head. I could not tell what Tree to 124 call it, that these Stakes were cut from. I was surpriz'd, and yet very well pleas'd, to see the young Trees grow; and I prun'd them, and led them up to grow as much alike as I could; and it is scarce credible how beautiful a Figure they grew into in three Years; so that though the Hedge made a Circle of about twenty five Yards in Diameter, yet the Trees, for such I might now call them, soon cover'd it; and it was a compleat Shade, sufficient to lodge under all the dry Season. This made me resolve to cut some more Stakes, and make me a Hedge like this in a Semicircle round my Wall; I mean that of my first Dwelling, which I did; and placing the Trees or Stakes in a double Row, at about eight Yards distance from my first Fence, they grew presently, and were at first a fine Cover to my Habitation, and afterward serv'd for a Defence also, as I shall observe in its Order.Crusoe will relate the adventure alluded to here in due course, later in the text I found now, That the Seasons of the Year might generally be divided, not into Summer and Winter, as in Europe; but into the Rainy Seasons, and the Dry Seasons, which were generally thus, Half February, Rainy, the Sun being then on, or near the Equinox. March, Rainy, the Sun being then on, or near the Equinox. Half April, Rainy, the Sun being then on, or near the Equinox. Half April, Dry, the Sun being then to the North of the Line. May, Dry, the Sun being then to the North of the Line. June, Dry, the Sun being then to the North of the Line. July, Dry, the Sun being then to the North of the Line. Half August, Dry, the Sun being then to the North of the Line. 125 Half August, Rainy, the Sun being then come back. September, Rainy, the Sun being then come back. Half October, Rainy, the Sun being then come back. Half October, Dry, the Sun being then to the South of the Line. November, Dry, the Sun being then to the South of the Line. December, Dry, the Sun being then to the South of the Line. January, Dry, the Sun being then to the South of the Line. Half February, Dry, the Sun being then to the South of the Line. The Rainy Season sometimes held longer or shorter, as the Winds happen'd to blow; but this was the general Observation I made: After I had found by Experience, the ill Consequence of being abroad in the Rain. I took Care to furnish my self with Provisions before hand, that I might not be oblig'd to go out; and I sat within Doors as much as possible during the wet Months. This Time I found much Employment, (and very suitable also to the Time) for I found great Occasion of many Things which I had no way to furnish my self with, but by hard Labour and constant Application; particularly, I try'd many Ways to make my self a Basket, but all the Twigs I could get for the Purpose prov'd so brittle, that they would do nothing. It prov'd of excellent Advantage to me now, That when I was a Boy, I used to take great Delight in standing at a Basket-makers, in the Town where my Father liv'd, to see them make their Wicker-ware; and being as Boys usually are, very officious to help, and a great Observer of the Manner how they work'd those Things, and sometimes lending a Hand, I had by this Means full Knowledge of the Methods of it, that I wanted nothing but the Materials; when it came into my Mind, That the Twigs of that Tree from whence I cut my Stakes that grew, 126 might possibly be as tough as the Sallows, and Willows, and Osiers in England, and I resolv'd to try. Accordingly the next Day, I went to my Country-House, as I call'd it, and cutting some of the smaller Twigs, I found them to my Purpose as much as I could desire; whereupon I came the next Time prepar'd with a Hatchet to cut down a Quantity, which I soon found, for there was great Plenty of them; these I set up to dry within my Circle or Hedge, and when they were fit for Use, I carry'd them to my Cave, and here during the next Season, I employ'd my self in making, as well as I could, a great many Baskets, both to carry Earth, or to carry or lay up any Thing as I had occasion; and tho' I did not finish them very handsomly, yet I made them sufficiently serviceable for my Purpose; and thus afterwards I took Care never to be without them; and as my Wicker-ware decay'd, I made more, especially, I made strong deep Baskets to place my Corn in, instead of Sacks, when I should come to have any Quantity of it. Having master'd this Difficulty, and employ'd a World of Time about it, I bestirr'd my self to see if possible how to supply two Wants: I had no Vessels to hold any Thing that was Liquid, except two Runlets which were almost full of Rum, and some Glass-Bottles, some of the common Size, and others which were Case-Bottles-SquareA bottle with a square-shaped base, often used for gin, for the holding of Waters, Spirits, &c. I had not so much as a Pot to boil any Thing, except a great Kettle, which I sav'd out of the Ship, and which was too big for such Use as I desir'd it, viz. To make Broth, and stew a Bit of Meat by it self. The Second Thing I would fainEagerly, gladly have had, was a Tobacco-Pipe; but it was impossible to me to 127 make one, however, I found a Contrivance for that too at last. I employ'd my self in Planting my Second Rows of Stakes or Piles and in this Wicker working all the Summer, or dry Season, when another Business took me up more Time than it could be imagin'd I could spare. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith I mention'd before, That I had a great Mind to see the whole Island, and that I had travell'd up the Brook, and so on to where I built my Bower, and where I had an Opening quite to the Sea on the other Side of the Island; I now resolv'd to travel quite Cross to the Sea-Shore on that Side; so taking my Gun, a Hatchet, and my Dog, and a larger Quantity of Powder and Shot than usual, with two Bisket Cakes, and a great Bunch of Raisins in my Pouch for my Store, I began my Journey; when I had pass'd the Vale where my Bower stood as above, I came within View of the Sea, to the West, and it being a very clear Day, I fairly descry'd Land, whether an Island or a Continent, I could not tell; but it lay very high, extending from the West, to the W. S. W.West-southwest at a very great Distance; by my Guess it could not be less than Fifteen or Twenty Leagues of. I could not tell what Part of the World this might be, otherwise than that I know it must be Part of America, and as I concluded by all my Observations, must be near the Spanish DominionsSpain's colonies at this time included Venezuela and Colombia, so Crusoe's island is probably located off the northern coast of South America., and perhaps was all Inhabited by Savages, where if I should have landed, I had been in a worse Condition than I was now; and therefore I acquiesced in the Dispositions of Providence, which I began now to own, and to believe, order'd every Thing for the best; I say, I quieted my Mind with this, and left afflicting my self with Fruitless Wishes of being there. 128 Besides, after some Pause upon this Affair, I consider'd, that if this Land was the Spanish Coast, I should certainly, one Time or other, see some Vessel pass or re-pass one Way or other; but if not, then it was the Savage Coast between the Spanish Country and Brasils, which are indeed the worst of Savages; for they are Cannibals, or Men-eatersThe portrayal of aboriginal cultures as savage or alien has an ample precedent: Herodotus describes a mythical race of man-eating "androphagi," and Shakespeare's Othello talks of encountering "The Cannibals that each other eat, / The Anthropophagi and men whose heads / Do grow beneath their shoulders" (I.iii.143-145), and fail not to murther and devour all the humane Bodies that fall into their Hands. With these Considerations I walk'd very leisurely forward, I found that Side of the Island where I now was, much pleasanter than mine, the open or Savanna Fields sweet, adorn'd with Flowers and Grass, and full of very fine Woods. I saw Abundance of Parrots, and fain I would have caught one, if possible to have kept it to be tame, and taught it to speak to me. I did, after some Pains taking, catch a young Parrot, for I knock'd it down with a Stick, and having recover'd it, I brought it home; but it was some Years before I could make him speak: However, at last I taught him to call me by my Name very familiarly: But the Accident that follow'd, tho' it be a Trifle, will be very diverting in its Place. I was exceedingly diverted with this Journey: I found in the low Grounds Hares, as I thought them to be, and Foxes, but they differ'd greatly from all the other Kinds I had met with; nor could I satisfy my self to eat them, tho' I kill'd several: But I had no Need to be ventrous; for I had no Want of Food, and of that which was very good too; especially these three Sorts, viz. Goats, Pidgeons, and Turtle or Tortoise; which, added to my Grapes, Leaden-hall Market A covered market in Gracechurch Street, London, dating from the fourteenth century could not have furnish'd a Table better than I, in Proportion to the Company; and tho' my Case was deplorable enough, yet I had great Cause for Thankfulness, 129 that I was not driven to any Extremities for Food; but rather Plenty, even to Dainties. I never travell'd in this Journey above two Miles outright in a Day, or thereabouts; but I took so many Turns and Returns, to see what Discoveries I could make, that I came weary enough to the Place where I resolv'd to sit down for all Night; and then I either repos'd my self in a Tree, or surrounded my self with a Row of Stakes set upright in the Ground, either from one Tree to another, or so as no wild Creature could come at me, without waking me. As soon as I came to the Sea Shore, I was surpriz'd to see that I had taken up my Lot on the worst Side of the Island; for here indeed the Shore was cover'd with innumerable Turtles, whereas on the other Side I had found but three in a Year and half. Here was also an infinite Number of Fowls, of many Kinds, some which I had seen, and some which I had not seen of before, and many of them very good Meat; but such as I knew not the Names of, except those call'd Penguins.Humboldt penguins are a species native to Chile and Peru I could have shot as many as I pleas'd, but was very sparing of my Powder and Shot; and therefore had more Mind to kill a she Goat, if I could, which I could better feed on; and though there were many Goats here more than on my Side the Island, yet it was with much more Difficulty that I could come near them, the Country being flat and even, and they saw me much sooner than when I was on the Hill. I confess this Side of the Country was much pleasanter than mine, but yet I had not the least Inclination to remove; for as I was fix'd in my Habitation, it became natural to me, and I seem'd all the while I was here, to be as it were upon a Journey, and from Home: However, I travell'd along 130 the Shore of the Sea, towards the East, I suppose about twelve Miles; and then setting up a great Pole upon the Shore for a Mark, I concluded I would go Home again; and that the next Journey I took should be on the other Side of the Island, East from my Dwelling, and so round till I came to my Post again: Of which in its Place. I took another Way to come back than that I went, thinking I could easily keep all the Island so much in my View, that I could not miss finding my first Dwelling by viewing the Country; but I found my self mistaken; for being come about two or three Miles, I found my self descended into a very large Valley; but so surrounded with Hills, and those Hills cover'd with Wood, that I could not see which was my Way by any Direction but that of the Sun, nor even then, unless I knew very well the Position of the Sun at that Time of the Day. It happen'd to my farther Misfortune, That the Weather prov'd hazey for three or four Days, while I was in this Valley; and not being able to see the Sun, I wander'd about very uncomfortably, and at last was oblig'd to find out the Sea Side, look for my Post, and come back the same Way I went; and then by easy Journies I turn'd Homeward, the Weather being exceeding hot, and my Gun, Ammunition, Hatchet, and other Things very heavy. In this Journey my Dog surpriz'd a young Kid, and seiz'd upon it, and I running in to take hold of it, caught it, and sav'd it alive from the Dog: I had a great Mind to bring it Home if I could; for I had often been musing, Whether it might not be possible to get a Kid or two, and so raise a Breed of tame Goats, which might supply me when my Powder and Shot should be all spent. 131 I made a Collar to this little Creature, and with a String which I made of some Rope-Yarn, which I always carry'd about me, I led him along, tho' with some Difficulty, till I came to my Bower, and there I enclos'd him, and left him; for I was very impatient to be at Home, from whence I had been absent above a Month. I cannot express what a Satisfaction it was to me, to come into my old Hutch, and lye down in my Hamock-Bed: This little wandring Journey, without settled Place of Abode, had been so unpleasant to me, that my own House, as I call'd it to my self, was a perfect Settlement to me, compar'd to that; and it rendred every Thing about me so comfortable, that I resolv'd I would never go a great Way from it again, while it should be my Lot to stay on the Island. I repos'd my self here a Week, to rest and regale my self after my long Journey; during which, most of the Time was taken up in the weighty Affair of making a Cage for my PollSo Crusoe names his parrot (a shortened form of "Polly"), who began now to be a meer Domestick, and to be mighty well acquainted with me. Then I began to think of the poor Kid, which I had penn'd in within my little Circle, and resolv'd to go and fetch it Home, or give it some Food; accordingly I went, and found it where I left it; for indeed it could not get out, but almost starv'd for want of Food: I went and cut Bows of Trees, and Branches of such Shrubs as I could find, and threw it over, and having fed it, I ty'd it as I did before, to lead it away; but it was so tame with being hungry, that I had no need to have ty'd it; for it follow'd me like a Dog; and as I continually fed it, the Creature be>came so loving, so gentle, and so fond, that it became from that Time one of my Domesticks also, and would never leave me afterwards. 132 The rainy Season of the Autumnal EquinoxOccurring between September 22-24, depending on the year was now come, and I kept the 30th of Sept. in the same solemn Manner as before, being the Anniversary of my Landing on the Island, having now been there two Years, and no more Prospect of being deliver'd, than the first Day I came there. I spent the whole Day in humble and thankful Acknowledgments of the many wonderful Mercies which my Solitary Condition was attended with, and without which it might have been infinitely more miserable. I gave humble and hearty Thanks that God had been pleas'd to discover to me, even that it was possible I might be more happy in this Solitary Condition, than I should have been in a Liberty of Society, and in all the Pleasures of the World. That he could fully make up to me, the Deficiencies of my Solitary State, and the want of Humane Society by his Presence, and the Communications of his Grace to my Soul, supporting, comforting, and encouraging me to depend upon his Providence here, and hope for his Eternal Presence hereafter. It was now that I began sensibly to feel how much more happy this Life I now led was, with all its miserable Circumstances, than the wicked, cursed, abominable Life I led all the past Part of my Days; and now I chang'd both my Sorrows and my Joys; my very Desires alter'd, my Affections chang'd their Gusts, and my Delights were perfectly new, from what they were at my first Coming, or indeed for the two Years past. Before, as I walk'd about, either on my Hunting, or for viewing the Country; the Anguish of my Soul at my Condition, would break out upon me on a sudden, and my very Heart would die within me, to think of the Woods, the Mountains, the Desarts I was in; and how I was a Prisoner lock'd up with the Eternal Bars and Bolts of the 133 Ocean, in an uninhabited Wilderness, without Redemption: In the midst of the greatest Composures of my Mind, this would break out upon me like a Storm, and make me wring my Hands, and weep like a Child: Sometimes it would take me in the middle of my Work, and I would immediately sit down and sigh, and look upon the Ground for an Hour or two together; and this was still worse to me; for if I could burst out into Tears, or vent my self by Words, it would go off, and the Grief having exhausted it self would abate. But now I began to exercise my self with new Thoughts; I daily read the Word of God, and apply'd all the Comforts of it to my present State: One Morning being very sad, I open'd the Bible upon these Words, I will never, never leave thee, nor forsake theeHebrews 13:5; immediately it occurr'd, That these Words were to me, Why else should they be directed in such a Manner, just at the Moment when I was mourning over my Condition, as one forsaken of God and Man? Well then, said I, if God does not forsake me, of what ill Consequence can it be, or what matters it, though the World should all forsake me, seeing on the other Hand, if I had all the World, and should lose the Favour and Blessing of God, there wou'd be no Comparison in the Loss. From this Moment I began to conclude in my Mind, That it was possible for me to be more happy in this forsaken Solitary Condition, than it was probable I should ever have been in any other Particular State in the World; and with this Thought I was going to give Thanks to God for bringing me to this Place. I know not what it was, but something shock'd my Mind at that Thought, and I durst not speak the Words: How canst thou be such a Hypocrite, 134 (said I, even audibly) to pretend to be thankful for a Condition, which however thou may'st endeavour to be contented with, thou would'st rather pray heartily to be deliver'd from; so I stopp'd there: But though I could not say, I thank'd God for being there; yet I sincerely gave Thanks to God for opening my Eyes, by whatever afflicting Providences, to see the former Condition of my Life, and to mourn for my Wickedness, and repent. I never open'd the Bible, or shut it, but my very Soul within me, bless'd God for directing my Friend in England, without any Order of mine, to pack it up among my Goods; and for assisting me afterwards to save it out of the Wreck of the Ship. Thus, and in this Disposition of Mind, I began my third Year; and tho' I have not given the Reader the Trouble of so particular Account of my Works this Year as the first; yet in General it may be observ'd, That I was very seldom idle; but having regularly divided my Time, according to the several daily Employments that were before me, such as, First, My Duty to God, and the Reading the Scriptures, which I constantly set apart some Time for thrice every Day. Secondly, The going Abroad with my Gun for Food, which generally took me up three Hours in every Morning, when it did not Rain. Thirdly, The ordering, curing, preserving, and cooking what I had kill'd or catch'd for my Supply; these took up great Part of the Day; also it is to be considered that the middle of the Day when the Sun was in the Zenith, the Violence of the Heat was too great to stir out; so that about four Hours in the Evening was all the Time I could be suppos'd to work in; with this Exception, That sometimes I chang'd my Hours of Hunting and Working, and went to work in the 135 Morning, and Abroad with my Gun in the Afternoon. To this short Time allow'd for Labour, I desire may be added the exceeding Laboriousness of my Work; the many Hours which for want of Tools, want of Help, and want of Skill; every Thing I did, took up out of my Time: For Example, I was full two and forty Days making me a Board for a long Shelf, which I wanted in my Cave; whereas two Sawyers with their Tools, and a Saw-Pit, would have cut six of them out of the same Tree in half a Day. My Case was this, It was to be a large Tree, which was to be cut down, because my Board was to be a broad one. This Tree I was three Days a cutting down, and two more cutting off the Bows, and reducing it to a Log, or Piece of Timber. With inexpressible hacking and hewing I reduc'd both the Sides of it into Chips, till it begun to be light enough to move; than I turn'd it, and made one Side of it smooth, and flat, as a Board from End to End; then turning that Side downward, cut the other Side, till I brought the Plank to be about three Inches thick, and smooth on both Sides. Any one may judge the Labour of my Hands in such a Piece of Work; but Labour and Patience carry'd me through that and many other Things: I only observe this in Particular, to shew, The Reason why so much of my Time went away with so little Work, viz. That what might be a little to be done with Help and Tools, was a vast Labour, and requir'd a prodigious Time to do alone, and by hand. But notwithstanding this, with Patience and Labour I went through many Things; and indeed every Thing that my Circumstances made necessary to me to do, as will appear by what follows. 136 I was now, in the Months of November and December, expecting my Crop of Barley and Rice. The Ground I had manur'd or dug up for them was not great; for as I observ'd, my Seed of each was not above the Quantity of half a Peck; for I had lost one whole Crop by sowing in the dry Season; but now my Crop promis'd very well, when on a sudden I found I was in Danger of losing it all again by Enemies of several Sorts, which it was scarce possible to keep from it; as First, The Goats, and wild Creatures which I call'd Hares, who tasting the Sweetness of the Blade, lay in it Night and Day, as soon as it came up, and eat it so close, that it could get no Time to shoot up into Stalk. This I saw no Remedy for, but by making an Enclosure about it with a Hedge, which I did with a great deal of Toil; and the more, because it requir'd Speed. However, as my Arable Land was but small, suited to my Crop, I got it totally well fenc'd, in about three Weeks Time; and shooting some of the Creatures in the Day Time, I set my Dog to guard it in the Night, tying him up to a Stake at the Gate, where he would stand and bark all Night long; so in a little Time the Enemies forsook the Place, and the Corn grew very strong, and well, and began to ripen apace. But as the Beasts ruined me before, while my Corn was in the Blade; so the Birds were as likely to ruin me now, when it was in the Ear; for going along by the Place to see how it throve, I saw my little Crop surrounded with Fowls of I know not how many sorts, who stood as it were watching till I should be gone: I immediately let fly among them (for I always had my Gun with me) I had no sooner shot but there rose up a a little 137 Cloud of Fowls, which I had not seen at all, from among the Corn it self. This touch'd me sensibly, for I foresaw, that in a few Days they would devour all my Hopes, that I should be starv'd, and never be able to raise a Crop at all, and what to do I could not tell: However I resolv'd not to loose my Corn, if possible, tho' I should watch it Night and Day. In the first Place, I went among it to see what Damage was already done, and found they had spoil'd a good deal of it, but that as it was yet too Green for them, the Loss was not so great, but that the Remainder was like to be a good Crop if it could be sav'd. I staid by it to load my Gun, and then coming away I could easily see the Thieves sitting upon all the Trees about me, as if they only waited till I was gone away, and the Event proved it to be so; for as I walk'd off as if I was gone, I was no sooner out of their sight, but they dropt down one by one into the Corn again. I was so provok'd that I could not have Patience to stay till more came on, knowing that every Grain that they eat now, was, as it might be said, a Peck-loafA two-gallon loaf; Crusoe's crop is so small to begin with, that every grain the birds eat is a significant loss to me in the Consequence; but coming up to the Hedge, I fir'd again, and kill'd three of them. This was what I wish'd for; so I took them up, and serv'd them as we serve notorious Thieves in England, (viz.) Hang'd them in Chains for a Terror to others As late as the eighteenth century, the heads of executed criminals were displayed on pikes at the southern gatehouse of London bridge.; it is impossible to imagine almost, that this should have such an Effect, as it had; for the Fowls wou'd not only not come at the Corn, but in short they forsook all that Part of the Island, and I could never see a Bird near the Place as long as my Scare-Crows hung there. 138 This I was very glad of, you may be sure, and about the latter end of December, which was our second Harvest of the Year, I reap'd my Crop. I was sadly put to it for a Scythe or a Sicle to cut it down, and all I could do was to make one as well as I could out of one of the Broad Swords or Cutlasses, which I sav'd among the Arms out of the Ship. However, as my first Crop was but small I had no great Difficulty to cut it down; in short, I reap'd it my Way, for I cut nothing off but the Ears, and carry'd it away in a great Basket which I had made, and so rubb'd it out with my Hands; and at the End of all my Harvesting, I found that out of my half Peck of Seed, I had near two Bushels of Rice, and above two Bushels and half of Barley, that is to say, by my Guess, for I had no Measure at that time. However, this was a great Encouragement to me, and I foresaw that in time, it wou'd please God to supply me with Bread: And yet here I was perplex'd again, for I neither knew how to grind or make Meal of my Corn, or indeed how to clean it and part it; nor if made into Meal, how to make Bread of it, and if how to make it, yet I knew not how to bake it; these things being added to my Desire of having a good Quantity for Store, and to secure a constant Supply, I resolv'd not to taste any of this Crop but to preserve it all for Seed against the next Season, and in the mean time to employ all my Study and Hours of Working to accomplish this great Work of Providing my self with Corn and Bread. It might be truly said, that now I work'd for my Bread; 'tis a little wonderful, and what I believe few People have thought much upon, (viz.) the strange multitude of little Things necessary in the 139 Providing, Producing, Curing, Dressing, Making and Finishing this one Article of Bread. I that was reduced to a meer State of Nature, found this to my daily Discouragement, and was made more and more sensible of it every Hour, even after I had got the first Handful of Seed-Corn, which, as I have said, came up unexpectedly, and indeed to a surprize. First, I had no Plow to turn up the Earth, no Spade or Shovel to dig it. Well, this I conquer'd, by making a wooden Spade, as I observ'd before; but this did my Work in but a wooden manner, and tho' it cost me a great many Days to make it, yet for want of Iron it not only wore out the sooner, but made my Work the harder, and made it be perform'd much worse. However this I bore with, and was content to work it out with Patience, and bear with the badness of the Performance. When the Corn was sow'd, I had no HarrowA very large frame set with iron teeth that is dragged over arable land to break up clods of earth, but was forced to go over it my self and drag a great heavy Bough of a Tree over it, to Scratch it, as it may be call'd, rather than Rake or Harrow it. When it was growing and grown, I have observ'd already, how many things I wanted, to Fence it, Secure it, Mow or Reap it, Cure and Carry it Home, ThrashThreshing, or the process of separating the seeds of corn from the husks, Part it from the Chaff, and Save it. Then I wanted a Mill to Grind it, Sieves to Dress it, Yeast and Salt to make it into Bread, and an Oven to bake it, and yet all these things I did without, as shall be observ'd; and yet the Corn was an inestimable Comfort and Advantage to me too. All this, as I said, made every thing laborious and tedious to me, but that there was no help for; neither was my time so much Loss to me, because as I had divided it, a certain Part of it was every Day appointed to 140 these Works; and as I resolv'd to use none of the Corn for Bread till I had a greater Quantity by me, I had the next six Months to apply my self wholly by Labour and Invention to furnish my self with Utensils proper for the performing all the Operations necessary for the making the Corn (when I had it) fit for my use. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith But first, I was to prepare more Land, for I had now Seed enough to sow above an Acre of Ground. Before I did this, I had a Weeks-work at least to make me a Spade, which when it was done was but a sorry one indeed, and very heavy, and requir'd double Labour to work with it; however I went thro' that, and sow'd my Seed in two large flat Pieces of Ground, as near my House as I could find them to my MindTo my liking, and fenc'd them in with a good Hedge, the Stakes of which were all cut of that Wood which I had set before, and knew it would grow, so that in one Year's time I knew I should have a Quick or Living-Hedge, that would want but little Repair. This Work was not so little as to take me up less than three Months, because great Part of that time was of the wet Season, when I could not go abroad. Within Doors, that is, when it rained, and I could not go out, I found Employment on the following Occasions; always observing, that all the while I was at work I diverted my self with talking to my Parrot, and teaching him to Speak, and I quickly learn'd him to know his own Name, and at last to speak it out pretty loud POLL, which was the first Word I ever heard spoken in the Island by any Mouth but my own. This therefore was not my Work, but an assistant to my WorkCrusoe's conversations with the parrot are recreational, rather than work, for now, as I said, I had a great Employment upon my Hands, as follows, (viz.) I had 141 long study'd by some Means or other, to make my self some Earthen Vessels, which indeed I wanted sorely, but knew not where to come at them: However, considering the Heat of the Climate, I did not doubt but if I could find out any such Clay, I might botch up some such Pot, as might, being dry'd in the Sun, be hard enough, and strong enough to bear handling, and to hold any Thing that was dry, and requir'd to be kept so; and as this was necessary in the preparing Corn, Meal, &c. which was the Thing I was upon, I resolv'd to make some as large as I could, and fit only to stand like Jarrs to hold what should be put into them. It would make the Reader pity me, or rather laugh at me, to tell how many awkward ways I took to raise this Paste, what odd mishapen ugly things I made, how many of them fell in, and how many fell out, the Clay not being stiff enough to bear its own Weight; how many crack'd by the over violent Heat of the Sun, being set out too hastily; and how many fell in pieces with only removing, as well before as after they were dry'd; and in a word, how after having labour'd hard to find the Clay, to dig it, to temper it, to bring it home and work it; I could not make above two large earthen ugly things, I cannot call them Jarrs, in about two Months Labour. However, as the Sun bak'd these Two, very dry and hard, I lifted them very gently up, and set them down again in two great Wicker-Baskets which I had made on purpose for them, that they might not break, and as between the Pot and the Basket there was a little room to spare, I stuff'd it full of the Rice and Barley Straw, and these two Pots being to stand always dry, I thought would 142 hold my dry Corn, and perhaps the Meal, when the Corn was bruised. Ground Tho' I miscarried so much in my Design for large Pots, yet I made several smaller things with better Success, such as little round Pots, flat Dishes, Pitchers and PipkinsSmall earthenware pots, and any things my Hand turn'd to, and the Heat of the Sun bak'd them strangely hard. But all this would not answer my End, which was to get an earthen Pot to hold what was Liquid, and bear the Fire, which none of these could do. It happen'd after some time, making a pretty large Fire for cooking my Meat, when I went to put it out after I had done with it, I found a broken Piece of one of my Earthen-ware Vessels in the Fire, burnt as hard as a Stone, and red as a Tile. I was agreeably suppris'd to see it, and said to my self, that certainly they might be made to burn whole if they would burn broken. This set me to studying how to order my Fire, so as to make it burn me some Pots. I had no Notion of a Kiln, such as the Potters burn in, or of glazing them with Lead, tho' I had some Lead to do it with; but I plac'd three large Pipkins, and two or three Pots in a Pile one upon another, and plac'd my Fire-wood all round it with a great Heap of Embers under them, I ply'd the Fire with fresh Fuel round the out-side, and upon the top, till I saw the Pots in the inside red hot quite thro', and observ'd that they did not crack at all; when I saw them clear red, I let them stand in that Heat about 5 or 6 Hours, till I found one of them, tho' it did not crack, did melt or run, for the Sand which was mixed with the Clay melted by the violence of the Heat, and would have run into Glass if I had gone on, so I slack'd my Fire gradually till the Pots began to abate of the red 143 Colour, and watching them all Night, that I might not let the Fire abate too fast, in the Morning I had three very good, I will not say handsome Pipkins; and two other Earthen Pots, as hard burnt as cou'd be desir'd; and one of them perfectly glaz'd with the Running of the Sand. After this Experiment, I need not say that I wanted no sort of Earthen Ware for my Use; but I must needs say, as to the Shapes of them, they were very indifferent, as any one may suppose, when I had no way of making them; but as the Children make Dirt-Pies, or as a Woman would make Pies, that never learn'd to raise Past.To make pastry No Joy at a Thing of so mean a Nature was ever equal to mine, when I found I had made an Earthen Pot that would bear the Fire; and I had hardly Patience to stay till they were cold, before I set one upon the Fire again, with some Water in it, to boil me some Meat, which it did admirably well; and with a Piece of a Kid, I made some very good Broth, though I wanted Oatmeal, and several other Ingredients, requisite to make it so good as I would have had it been. My next Concern was, to get me a Stone Mortar, to stamp or beat some Corn in; for as to the Mill, there was no thought at arriving to that Perfection of Art, with one Pair of Hands. To supply this Want I was at a great Loss; for of all Trades in the World I was as perfectly unqualify'd for a Stone-cutter, as for any whatever; neither had I any Tools to go about it with. I spent many a Day to find out a great Stone big enough to cut hollow, and make fit for a Mortar, and could find none at all; except what was in the solid Rock, and which I had no way to dig or cut out; nor indeed were the Rocks in the Island of Hardness sufficient, but were all of a sandy crumbling Stone, 144 which neither would bear the Weight of a heavy Pestle, or would break the Corn without filling it with Sand; so after a great deal of Time lost in searching for a Stone, I gave it over, and resolv'd to look out for a great Block of hard Wood, which I found indeed much easier; and getting one as big as I had Strength to stir, I rounded it, and form'd it in the Out-side with my Axe and Hatchet, and then with the Help of Fire, and infinite Labour, made a hollow Place in it, as the Indians in Brasil make their Canoes. After this, I made a great heavy Pestle or Beater, of the Wood call'd the Iron-wood, and this I prepar'd and laid by againstUntil I had my next Crop of Corn, when I propos'd to my self, to grind, or rather pound my Corn into Meal to make my Bread. My next Difficulty was to make a Sieve, or SearchSearce; another word for a sieve, to dress my MealSeparate the grain from the chaff, and to part it from the Bran, and the Husk, without which I did not see it possible I could have any Bread. This was a most difficult Thing, so much as but to think on; for to be sure I had nothing like the necessary Thing to make it; I mean fine thin Canvas, or Stuff, to search the Meal through. And here I was at a full Stop for many Months; nor did I really know what to do; Linnen I had none left, but what was meer Rags; I had Goats Hair, but neither knew I how to weave it, or spin it; and had I known how, here was no Tools to work it with; all the Remedy that I found for this, was, That at last I did remember I had among the Seamens Cloaths which were sav'd out of the Ship, some Neckcloths of Callicoe, or Muslin; and with some Pieces of these, I made three small Sieves, but proper enough for the Work; and thus I made shift for some Years; how I did afterwards, I shall shew in its Place. 145 The baking Part was the next Thing to be consider'd, and how I should make Bread when I came to have Corn; for first I had no YeastWhile yeast is necessary to make leavened bread rise, it is still possible to make unleavened, flatter bread without it; as to that Part, as there was no supplying the Want, so I did not concern my self much about it: But for an Oven, I was indeed in great Pain; at length I found out an Experiment for that also, which was this; I made some Earthen Vessels very broad, but not deep; that is to say, about two Foot Diameter, and not above nine Inches deep; these I burnt in the Fire, as I had done the other, and laid them by; and when I wanted to bake, I made a great Fire upon my Hearth, which I had pav'd with some square Tiles of my own making, and burning also; but I should not call them square. When the Fire-wood was burnt pretty much into Embers, or live Coals, I drew them forward upon this Hearth, so as to cover it all over, and there I let them lye, till the Hearth was very hot, then sweeping away all the Embers, I set down my Loaf, or Loaves, and whelming down the Earthen Pot upon them, drew the Embers all round the Out-side of the Pot, to keep in, and add to the Heat; and thus, as well as in the best Oven in the World, I bak'd my Barley Loaves, and became in little Time a meer Pastry-Cook into the Bargain; for I made my self several Cakes of the Rice, and PuddingsIn Britain, pudding can refer to a number of sweet and savory dishes, including desserts and various types of sausages made from entrails. Here, it refers to a sweetened bread.; indeed I made no Pies, neither had I any Thing to put into them, supposing I had, except the Flesh either of Fowls or Goats. It need not be wondred at, if all these Things took me up most Part of the third Year of my Abode here; for it is to be observ'd, That in the Intervals of these Things, I had my new Harvest and Husbandry to manage; for I reap'd my Corn in its Season, and carry'd it Home as well as I could, and laid it up in the Ear, in my large Baskets, till I had 146 Time to rub it outTo remove the seed from the husk; for I had no Floor to thrash it on, or Instrument to thrash it with. And now indeed my Stock of Corn increasing, I really wanted to build my Barns bigger. I wanted a Place to lay it up in; for the Increase of the Corn now yielded me so much, that I had of the Barley about twenty Bushels, and of the Rice as much, or more; insomuch, that now I resolv'd to begin to use it freely; for my Bread had been quite gone a great while; Also I resolved to see what Quantity would be sufficient for me a whole Year, and to sow but once a Year. Upon the whole, I found that the forty Bushels of Barley and Rice, was much more than I could consume in a Year; so I resolv'd to sow just the same Quantity every Year, that I sow'd the last, in Hopes that such a Quantity would fully provide me with Bread, &c. All the while these Things were doing, you may be sure my Thoughts run many times upon the Prospect of Land which I had seen from the other Side of the Island, and I was not without secret Wishes that I were on Shore there, fancying the seeing the main Land, and in an inhabited Country, I might find some Way or other to convey my self farther, and perhaps at last find some Means of Escape. But all this while I made no Allowance for the Dangers of such a Condition, and how I might fall into the Hands of Savages, and perhaps such as I might have Reason to think far worse than the Lions and Tigers of Africa. That if I once came into their Power, I should run a Hazard more than a thousand to one of being kill'd, and perhaps of being eaten; for I had heard that the People of the Carribean Coast were Canibals, or Man-eaters; and I knew by the Latiude that I could not be far off 147 from that Shore. That suppose they were not Canibals, yet that they might kill me, as many Europeans who had fallen into their Hands had been serv'd, even when they had been ten or twenty together; much more I that was but one, and could make little or no Defence: All these Things, I say, which I ought to have consider'd well of, and did cast up in my Thoughts afterwards, yet took up none of my Apprehensions at first; but my Head run mightily upon the Thought of getting over to the Shore. Now I wish'd for my Boy Xury, and the long Boat, with the Shoulder of Mutton Sail, with which I sail'd above a thousand Miles on the Coast of Africk; but this was in vain. Then I thought I would go and look at our Ship's Boat, which, as I have said, was blown up upon the Shore, a great Way in the Storm, when we were first cast away. She lay almost where she did at first, but not quite; and was turn'd by the Force of the Waves and the Winds almost Bottom upward, against a high Ridge of Beachy rough Sand; but no Water about her as before. If I had had Hands to have refitted her, and to have launch'd her into the Water, the Boat would have done well enough, and I might have gone back into the Brasils with her easily enough; but I might have foreseen, That I could no more turn her, and set her upright upon her Bottom, than I could remove the Island: However, I went to the Woods, and cut Levers and Rollers, and brought them to the Boat, resolv'd to try what I could do, suggesting to my self, That I if could but turn her down, I might easily repair the Damage she had receiv'd, and she would be a very good Boat, and I might go to Sea in her very easily. I spar'd no Pains indeed, in this Piece of fruitless Toil, and spent, I think, three or four Weeks about 148 it; at last finding it impossible to heave it up with my little Strength, I fell to digging away the Sand, to undermine it, and so to make it fall down, setting Pieces of Wood to thrust and guide it right in the Fall. But when I had done this, I was unable to stir it up again, or to get under it, much less to move it forward, towards the Water; so I was forc'd to give it over; and yet, though I gave over the Hopes of the Boat, my desire to venture over for the Main increased, rather than decreased, as the Means for it seem'd impossible. This at length put me upon thinking, Whether it was not possible to make my self a Canoe, or Periagua,A small, flat-bottomed Caribbean boat similar to a canoe, but with a sail. such as the Natives of those Climates make, even without Tools, or, as I might say, without Hands, viz. of the Trunk of a great Tree. This I not only thought possible, but easy, and pleas'd my self extreamly with the Thoughts of making it, and with my having much more Convenience for it than any of the Negroes or Indians; but not at all considering the particular Inconveniences which I lay under, more than the Indians did, viz. Want of Hands to move it, when it was made, into the Water, a Difficulty much harder for me to surmount, than all the Consequences of Want of Tools could be to them; for what was it to me, That when I had chosen a vast Tree in the Woods, I might with much Trouble cut it down, if after I might be able with my Tools to hew and dub the Out-side into the proper Shape of a Boat, and burn or cut out the In-side to make it hollow, so to make a Boat of it: If after all this, I must leave it just there where I found it, and was not able to launch it into the Water. One would have thought, I could not have had the least Reflection upon my Mind of my Circumstance, 149 while I was making this Boat; but I should have immediately thought how I should get it into the Sea; but my Thoughts were so intent upon my Voyage over the Sea in it, that I never once consider'd how I should get it off of the Land; and it was really in its own Nature more easy for me to guide it over forty five Miles of Sea, than about forty five Fathom of Land, where it lay, to set it a float in the Water. I went to work upon this Boat, the most like a Fool, that ever Man did, who had any of his Senses awake. I pleas'd my self with the Design, without determining whether I was ever able to undertake it; not but that the Difficulty of launching my Boat came often into my Head; but I put a stop to my own Enquiries into it, by this foolish Answer which I gave my self, Let's first make it, I'll warrant I'll find some Way or other to get it along, when 'tis done. This was a most preposterous Method; but the Eagerness of my Fancy prevail'd, and to work I went. I fell'd a Cedar Tree: I question much whether SolomonSolomon, King of Israel and Judah, was said to have built a great temple to Yahweh, which housed the Ark of the Covenant and was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar II during the Siege of Jerusalem (587 B.C.) ever had such a One for the Building of the Temple at Jerusalem. It was five Foot ten Inches Diameter at the lower Part next the Stump, and four Foot eleven Inches Diameter at the End of twenty two Foot, after which it lessen'd for a while, and then parted into Branches: It was not without infinite Labour that I fell'd this Tree: I was twenty Days hacking and hewing at it at the Bottom. I was fourteen more getting the Branches and Limbs, and the vast spreading Head of it cut off, which I hack'd and hew'd through with Axe and Hatchet, and inexpressible Labour: After this, it cost me a Month to shape it, and dub it to a Proportion, and to something like the Bottom of a Boat, that it might swim upright 150 as it ought to do. It cost me near three Months more to clear the In-side, and work it out so, as to make an exact Boat of it: This I did indeed without Fire, by meer Malett and Chissel, and by the dint of hard Labour, till I had brought it to be a very handsome Periagua, and big enough to have carry'd six and twenty Men, and consequently big enough to have carry'd me and all my Cargo. When I had gone through this Work, I was extremely delighted with it. The Boat was really much bigger than I ever saw a Canoe, or Periagua, that was made of one Tree, in my Life. Many a weary Stroke it had cost, you may be sure; and there remain'd nothing but to get it into the Water; and had I gotten it into the Water, I make no question but I should have began the maddest Voyage, and the most unlikely to be perform'd, that ever was undertaken. But all my Devices to get it into the Water fail'd me; tho' they cost me infinite Labour too. It lay about one hundred Yards from the Water, and not more: But the first Inconvenience was, it was up Hill towards the Creek; well, to take away this Discouragement, I resolv'd to dig into the Surface of the Earth, and so make a DeclivityA downward slope, so that the boat might slide down into the water.: This I begun, and it cost me a prodigious deal of Pains; but who grutches Pains, that have their Deliverance in View: But when this was work'd through, and this Difficulty manag'd, it was still much at one; for I could no more stir the Canoe, than I could the other Boat. Then I measur'd the Distance of Ground, and resolv'd to cut a Dock, or Canal, to bring the Water up to the Canoe, seeing I could not bring the Canoe down to the Water: Well, I began this Work, and when I began to enter into it, and calculate how deep it was to be dug, how broad, 151 how the Stuff to be thrown out, I found, That by the Number of Hands I had, being none but my own, it must have been ten or twelve Years before I should have gone through with it; for the Shore lay high, so that at the upper End, it must have been at least twenty Foot Deep; so at length, tho' with great Reluctancy, I gave this Attempt over also. This griev'd me heartily, and now I saw, tho' too late, the Folly of beginning a Work before we count the Cost; and before we judge rightly of our own Strength to go through with it. In the middle of this Work, I finish'd my fourth Year in this Place, and kept my Anniversary with the same Devotion, and with as much Comfort as ever before; for by a constant Study, and serious Application of the Word of God, and by the Assistance of his Grace, I gain'd a different Knowledge from what I had before. I entertain'd different Notions of Things. I look'd now upon the World as a Thing remote, which I had nothing to do with, no Expectation from, and indeed no Desires about: In a Word, I had nothing indeed to do with it, nor was ever like to have; so I thought it look'd as we may perhaps look upon it hereafter, viz. as a Place I had liv'd in, but was come out of it; and well might I say, as Father Abraham to DivesAccording to one of Christ's parables, a rich man dies and goes to hell, while Lazarus, the leper outside his gates, dies and is taken to Abraham's bosom. When the rich man begs Abraham to send Lazarus down from heaven to grant him reprieve from hellfire, Abraham refuses, telling him, "Between us and you there is a great gulf fixed" (Luke 16:26). Crusoe places himself in Abraham's position of spiritual transcendence over the rest of the world., Between me and thee is a great Gulph fix'd. In the first Place, I was remov'd from all the Wickedness of the World here. I had neither the Lust of the Flesh, the Lust of the Eye, or the Pride of Life. I had nothing to covet; for I had all that I was now capable of enjoying: I was Lord of the whole Mannor; or if I pleas'd, I might call my self King, or Emperor over the whole Country which I had Possession of. There were no Rivals. I had no Competitor, none to dispute Sovereignty or 152 Command with me. I might have rais'd Ship Loadings of Corn; but I had no use for it; so I let as little grow as I thought enough for my Occasion. I had Tortoise or Turtles enough; but now and then one, was as much as I could put to any use. I had Timber enough to have built a Fleet of Ships. I had Grapes enough to have made Wine, or to have cur'd into Raisins, to have loaded that Fleet, when they had been built. But all I could make use of, was, All that was valuable. I had enough to eat, and to supply my Wants, and, what was all the rest to me? If I kill'd more Flesh than I could eat, the Dog must eat it, or the Vermin. If I sow'd more Corn than I could eat, it must be spoil'd. The Trees that I cut down, were lying to rot on the Ground. I could make no more use of them than for FewelFuel; and that I had no Occasion for, but to dressCook my Food. In a Word, The Nature and Experience of Things dictated to me upon just Reflection, That all the good Things of this World, are no farther good to us, than they are for our Use; and that whatever we may heap up indeed to give others, we enjoy just as much as we can use, and no more. The most covetous griping Miser in the World would have been cur'd of the Vice of Covetousness, if he had been in my Case; for I possess'd infinitely more than I knew what to do with. I had no room for Desire, except it was of Things which I had not, and they were but Trifles, though indeed of great Use to me. I had, as I hinted before, a Parcel of Money, as well Gold as Silver, about thirty six Pounds Sterling: Alas! There the nasty sorry useless Stuff lay; I had no manner of Business for it; and I often thought with my self, That I would have given a Handful of it for a GrossA square dozen, or 144 of something of 153 Tobacco-Pipes, or for a Hand-Mill to grind my Corn; nay, I would have given it all for Sixpenny-worth of Turnip and Carrot Seed out of England, or for a Handful of Pease and Beans, and a Bottle of Ink: As it was, I had not the least Advantage by it, or Benefit from it; but there it lay in a Drawer, and grew mouldy with the Damp of the Cave, in the wet Season; and if I had had the Drawer full of Diamonds, it had been the same Case; and they had been of no manner of Value to me, because of no Use. I had now brought my State of Life to be much easier in it self than it was at first, and much easier to my Mind, as well as to my Body. I frequently sat down to my Meat with Thankfulness, and admir'd the Hand of God's Providence, which had thus spread my Table in the Wilderness. I learn'd to look more upon the bright Side of my Condition, and less upon the dark Side; and to consider what I enjoy'd, rather than what I wanted; and this gave me sometimes such secret Comforts, that I cannot express them; and which I take Notice of here, to put those discontented People in Mind of it, who cannot enjoy comfortably what God has given them; because they see, and covet something that he has not given them: All our Discontents about what we want, appear'd to me, to spring from the WantLack of Thankfulness for what we have. Another Reflection was of great Use to me, and doubtless would be so to any one that should fall into such Distress as mine was; and this was, To compare my present Condition with what I at first expected it should be; nay, with what it would certainly have been, if the good Providence of God had not wonderfully order'd the Ship to be cast up nearer to the Shore, where I not only could 154 come at her, but could bring what I got out of her to the Shore, for my Relief and Comfort; without which, I had wanted for Tools to work, Weapons for Defence, or Gun-Powder and Shot for getting my Food. I spent whole Hours, I may say whole Days, in representing to my self in the most lively Colours, how I must have acted, if I had got nothing out of the Ship. How I could not have so much as got any Food, except Fish and Turtles; and that as it was long before I found any of them, I must have perish'd first. That I should have liv'd, if I had not perish'd, like a meer Savage. That if I had kill'd a Goat, or a Fowl, by any Contrivance, I had no way to fleaTo flay or skin them or open them, or part the Flesh from the Skin, and the Bowels, or to cut it up; but must gnaw it with my Teeth, and pull it with my Claws like a Beast. These Reflections made me very sensible of the Goodness of Providence to me, and very thankful for my present Condition, with all its Hardships and Misfortunes: And this Part also I cannot but recommend to the Reflection of those, who are apt in their Misery to say, Is any Affliction like mine! Let them consider, How much worse the Cases of some People are, and their Case might have been, if Providence had thought fit. I had another Reflection which assisted me also to comfort my Mind with Hopes; and this was, comparing my present Condition with what I had deserv'd, and had therefore Reason to expect from the Hand of Providence. I had liv'd a dreadful Life, perfectly destitute of the Knowledge and Fear of God. I had been well instructed by Father and Mother; neither had they been wanting to meNeither had they failed, in their early Endeavours, to infuse a religious Awe of God into my Mind, a Sense of my Duty, and 155 of what the Nature and End of my Being, requir'd of me. But alas! falling early into the Seafaring Life, which of all the Lives is the most destitute of the Fear of God, though his Terrors are always before them; I say, falling early into the Seafaring Life, and into Seafaring Company, all that little Sense of Religion which I had entertain'd, was laugh'd out of me by my Mess-Mates, by a harden'd despising of Dangers; and the Views of Death, which grew habitual to me; by my long Absence from all Manner of Opportunities to converse with any thing but what was like my self, or to hear any thing that was good, or tended towards it. So void was I of every Thing that was good, or of the least Sense of what I was, or was to be, that in the greatest Deliverances I enjoy'd, such as my Escape from Sallee; my being taken up by the Portuguese Master of the Ship; my being planted so well in the Brasils; my receiving the Cargo from England, and the like; I never had once the Word Thank God, so much as on my Mind, or in my Mouth; nor in the greatest Distress, had I so much as a Thought to pray to him, or so much as to say, Lord have Mercy upon me; no nor to mention the Name of God, unless it was to swear by, and blaspheme it. I had terrible Reflections upon my Mind for many Months, as I have already observ'd, on the Account of my wicked and hardned Life past; and when I look'd about me and considered what particular Providences had attended me since my coming into this Place, and how God had dealt bountifully with me; had not only punished me less than my Iniquity had deserv'd, but had so plentifully provided for me; this gave me great hopes that my 156 Repentance was accepted, and that God had yet Mercy in store for me. With these Reflections I work'd my Mind up, not only to Resignation to the Will of God in the present Disposition of my Circumstances; but even to a sincere Thankfulness for my Condition, and that I who was yet a living Man, ought not to complain, seeing I had not the due Punishment of my Sins; that I enjoy'd so many Mercies which I had no reason to have expected in that Place; that I ought never more to repine at my Condition but to rejoyce, and to give daily Thanks for that daily BreadAn echo of a line from the Lord's Prayer: "Give us this day our daily bread . . .", which nothing but a Croud of Wonders could have brought. That I ought to consider I had been fed even by Miracle, even as great as that of feeding Elijah by Ravens God, displeased with the pagan practices of the Israelite king Ahab, sends the prophet Elijah to tell him that a great drought will be inflicted on Israel as punishment. When Ahab grows angry with Elijah, God commands Elijah to hide in the wilderness and sends the ravens to bring him food (1 Kings 17:1-6).; nay, by a long Series of Miracles, and that I could hardly have nam'd a Place in the unhabitable Part of the World where I could have been cast more to my Advantage: A Place, where as I had no Society, which was my Affliction on one Hand, so I found no ravenous Beast, no furious Wolves or Tygers to threaten my Life, no venomous Creatures or poisonous, which I might feed on to my Hurt, no Savages to murther and devour me. In a word, as my Life was a Life of Sorrow, one way, so it was a Life of Mercy, another; and I wanted nothing to make it a Life of Comfort, but to be able to make my Sence of God's Goodness to me, and Care over me in this Condition, be my daily Consolation; and after I did make a just Improvement of these things, I went away and was no more sad. I had now been here so long, that many Things which I brought on Shore for my Help, were either quite gone, or very much wasted and near spent. 157 My Ink, as I observed, had been gone some time, all but a very little, which I eek'd out with Water a little and a little, till it was so pale it scarce left any Appearance of black upon the Paper: As long as it lasted, I made use of it to minute down the Days of the Month on which any remarkable Thing happen'd to me, and first by casting up Times past: I remember that there was a strange Concurrence of Days, in the various Providences which befel me; and which, if I had been superstitiously inclin'd to observe Days as Fatal or Fortunate, I might have had Reason to have look'd upon with a great deal of Curiosity. First I had observed, that the same Day that I broke away from my Father and my Friends, and run away to Hull, in order to go to Sea; the same Day afterwards I was taken by the Sally Man of War, and made a Slave. The same Day of the Year that I escaped out of the Wreck of that Ship in Yarmouth Rodes, that same Day-Year afterwards I made my escape from Sallee in the Boat. The same Day of the Year I was born on (viz.) the 30th of September, that same Day, I had my Life so miraculously saved 26 Year after, when I was cast on Shore in this Island, so that my wicked Life, and my solitary Life begun both on a Day. The next Thing to my Ink's, being wasted, was that of my Bread, I mean the Bisket which I brought out of the Ship, this I had husbanded to the last degree, allowing my self but one Cake of Bread a Day for above a Year, and yet I was quite without Bread for near a Year before I got any Corn of my own, and great Reason I had to be thankful that I had any at all, the getting it being, as has been already observed, next to miraculous. 158 My Cloaths began to decay too mightily: As to Linnen, I had had none a good while, except some chequer'd Shirts which I found in the Chests of the other Seamen, and which I carefully preserved, because many times I could bear no other Cloaths on but a Shirt; and it was a very great help to me that I had among all the Men's Cloaths of the Ship almost three dozen of Shirts. There were also several thick Watch Coats of the Seamens, which were left indeed, but they were too hot to wear; and tho' it is true, that the Weather was so violent hot, that there was no need of Cloaths, yet I could not go quite naked; no, tho' I had been inclin'd to it, which I was not, nor could not abide the thoughts of it, tho' I was all alone. The Reason why I could not go quite naked, was, I could not bear the heat of the Sun so well when quite naked, as with some Cloaths on; nay, the very Heat frequently blistered my Skin; whereas with a Shirt on, the Air itself made some Motion and whistling under that Shirt was twofold cooler than without it, no more could I ever bring my self to go out in the heat of Sun, without a Cap or a Hat; the heat of the Sun beating with such Violence as it does in that Place, would give me the Head-ach presently, by darting so directly on my Head, without a Cap or Hat on, so that I could not bear it, whereas, if I put on my Hat, it would presently go away. Upon those Views I began to consider about putting the few Rags I had, which I call'd Cloaths, into some Order; I had worn out all the Wast-coats I had, and my Business was now to try if I could not make Jackets out of the great Watch-Coats which I had by me, and with such other Materials as I had, so I set to Work a Taylering, or rather indeed a Botching, for I made most 159 piteous Work of it. However, I made shiftContrived (ie. a makeshift waistcoat) to make two or three new Wastcoats, which I hoped wou'd serve me a great while; as for Breeches or Drawers, I made but a very sorry shift indeed, till afterward. I have mentioned that I saved the Skins of all the Creatures that I kill'd, I mean four-footed ones, and I had hung them up stretch'd out with Sticks in the Sun, by which means some of them were so dry and hard that they were fit for little, but others it seems were very useful. The first thing I made of these was a great Cap for my Head, with the Hair on the out Side to shoor off the Rain; and this I perform'd so well, that after this I made me a Suit of Cloaths wholly of these Skins, that is to say, a Wastcoat, and Breeches open at Knees, and both loose, for they were rather wanting to keep me cool than to keep me warm. I must not omit to acknowledge that they were wretchedly made; for if I was a bad Carpenter, I was a worse Tayler. However, they were such as I made very good shift with; and when I was abroad, if it happen'd to rain, the Hair of my Wastcoat and Cap being outermost, I was kept very dry. After this I spent a great deal of Time and Pains to make me an Umbrella; I was indeed in great want of one, and had a great Mind to make one; I had seen them made in the Brasils, where they are very useful in the great Heats which are there. And I felt the Heats every jot as great here, and greater too, being nearer the Equinox; besides, as I was oblig'd to be much abroad, it was a most useful thing to me, as well for the Rains as the Heats. I took a world of Pains at it, and was a great while before I could make any thing likely to hold; nay, after I thought I had hit the Way, I spoil'd 2 or 3 before I made one to my Mind; but 160 at last I made one that answer'dServed the need indifferently well: The main Difficulty I found was to make it to let down. I could make it to spread, but if it did not let down too, and draw in, it was not portable for me any Way but just over my Head, which wou'd not do. However, at last, as I said, I made one to answer, and covered it with Skins, the Hair upwards, so that it cast off the Rains like a Penthouse, and kept off the Sun so effectually, that I could walk out in the hottest of the Weather with greater Advantage than I could before in the coolest, and when I had no need of it, cou'd close it and carry it under my Arm. Thus I liv'd mighty comfortably, my Mind being entirely composed by resigning to the Will of God, and throwing my self wholly upon the Disposal of his Providence. This made my Life better than sociable, for when I began to regret the want of Conversation, I would ask my self whether thus conversing mutually with my own Thoughts, and, as I hope I may say, with even God himself by Ejaculations, was not better than the utmost Enjoyment of humane Society in the World. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith I cannot say that after this, for five Years, any extraordinary thing happened to me, but I liv'd on in the same Course, in the same Posture and Place, just as before; the chief things I was employ'd in, besides my yearly Labour of planting my Barley and Rice, and curing my Raisins, of both which I always kept up just enough to have sufficient Stock of one Year's Provisions beforehand. I say, besides this yearly Labour, and my daily Labour of going out with my Gun, I had one Labour to make me a Canoe, which at last I finished. So that by digging a Canal to it of six Foot wide, and four Foot deep, I brought it into the Creek, almost half a Mile. As for the first, which was so vastly big, 161 as I made it without considering before-hand, as I ought to do, how I should be able to launch it; so never being able to bring it to the Water, or bring the Water to it, I was oblig'd to let it lye where it was, as a MemorandumIn Latin, literally "a thing that must be remembered" to teach me to be wiser next Time: Indeed, the next Time, tho' I could not get a Tree proper for it, and in a Place where I could not get the Water to it, at any less Distance, than as I have said, near half a Mile; yet as I saw it was practicable at last, I never gave it over; and though I was near two Years about it, yet I never grutch'd my Labour, in Hopes of having a Boat to go off to Sea at last. However, though my little Periagau was finish'd; yet the Size of it was not at all answerable to the Design which I had in View, when I made the first; I mean, Of venturing over to the Terra Firma, where it was above forty Miles broad; accordingly, the Smallness of my Boat assisted to put an End to that Design, and now I thought no more of it: But as I had a Boat, my next Design was to make a Tour round the Island; for as I had been on the other Side, in one Place, crossing as I have already describ'd it, over the Land; so the Discoveries I made in that little Journey, made me very eager to see other Parts of the Coast; and now I had a Boat, I thought of nothing but sailing round the Island. For this Purpose, that I might do every Thing with Discretion and Consideration, I fitted up a little Mast to my Boat, and made a Sail to it, out of some of the Pieces of the Ship's Sail, which lay in store; and of which I had a great Stock by me. Having fitted my Mast and Sail, and try'd the Boat, I found she would sail very well: Then I made little Lockers, or Boxes, at either End of my Boat, to put Provisions, Necessaries and Ammunition, 162 &c. into, to be kept dry, either from Rain, or the Sprye of the Sea; and a little long hollow Place I cut in the In-side of the Boat, where I could lay my Gun, making a Flap to hang down over it to keep it dry. I fix'd my Umbrella also in a Step at the Stern, like a Mast, to stand over my Head, and keep the Heat of the Sun off of me like an Auning; and thus I every now and then took a little Voyage upon the Sea, but never went far out, nor far from the little Creek; but at last being eager to view the Circumference of my little Kingdom, I resolv'd upon my Tour, and accordingly I victuall'd my Ship for the Voyage, putting in two Dozen of my Loaves (Cakes I should rather call them)Because they are unleavened of Barley Bread, an Earthen Pot full of parch'd Rice, a Food I eat a great deal of, a little Bottle of Rum, half a Goat, and Powder and Shot for killing more, and two large Watch-coats, of those which, as I mention'd before, I had sav'd out of the Seamen's Chests; these I took, one to lye upon, and the other to cover me in the Night. It was the sixth of November, in the sixth Year of my Reign, or my Captivity, which you please, That I set out on this Voyage, and I found it much longer than I expected; for though the Island it self was not very large, yet when I came to the East Side of it, I found a great Ledge of Rocks lye out above two Leagues into the Sea, some above Water, some under it; and beyond that, a Shoal of Sand, lying dry half a League more; so that I was oblig'd to go a great Way out to Sea to double the Point. When first I discover'd them, I was going to give over my Enterprise, and come back again, not knowing how far it might oblige me to go out to Sea; and above all, doubting how I should get back 163 again; so I came to an Anchor; for I had made me a kind of an Anchor with a Piece of a broken GraplinGrappling-iron, which I got out of the Ship. Having secur'd my Boat, I took my Gun, and went on Shore, climbing up upon a Hill, which seem'd to over-look that Point, where I saw the full Extent of it, and resolv'd to venture. In my viewing the Sea from that Hill where I stood, I perceiv'd a strong, and indeed, a most furious Current, which run to the East, and even came close to the Point; and I took the more Notice of it, because I saw there might be some Danger; that when I came into it, I might be carry'd out to Sea by the Strength of it, and not be able to make the Island again; and indeed, had I not gotten first up upon this Hill, I believe it would have been so; for there was the same Current on the other Side the Island, only, that it set off at a farther Distance; and I saw there was a strong Eddy under the Shore; so I had nothing to do but to get in out of the first Current, and I should presently be in an Eddy. I lay here, however, two Days; because the Wind blowing pretty fresh at E. S. E.East-southeast and that being just contrary to the said Current, made a great Breach of the Sea upon the Point; so that it was not safe for me to keep too close to the Shore for the Breach, nor to go too far off because of the Stream. The third Day in the Morning, the Wind having abated over Night, the Sea was calm, and I ventur'd; but I am a warning Piece again, to all rash and ignorant Pilots; for no sooner was I come to the Point, when even I was not my Boat's Length from the Shore, but I found my self in a great Depth of Water, and a Current like the Sluice of a Mill: It carry'd my Boat a long with it 164 with such Violence, That all I could do, could not keep her so much as on the Edge of it; but I found it hurry'd me farther and farther out from the Eddy, which was on my left Hand. There was no Wind stirring to help me, and all I could do with my Paddlers signify'd nothing, and now I began to give my self over for lost; for as the Current was on both Sides the Island, I knew in a few Leagues Distance they must joyn again, and then I was irrecoverably gone; nor did I see any Possibility of avoiding it; so that I had no Prospect before me but of Perishing; not by the Sea, for that was calm enough, but of starving for Hunger. I had indeed found a Tortoise on the Shore, as big almost as I could lift, and had toss'd it into the Boat; and I had a great Jar of fresh Water, that is to say, one of my Earthen Pots; but what was all this to being driven into the vast Ocean, where to be sure, there was no Shore, no main Land, or Island, for a thousand Leagues at least. And now I saw how easy it was for the Providence of God to make the most miserable Condition Mankind could be in worse. Now I look'd back upon my desolate solitary Island, as the most pleasant Place in the World, and all the Happiness my Heart could wish for, was to be but there again. I stretch'd out my Hands to it with eager Wishes. O happy Desart, said I, I shall never see thee more. O miserable Creature, said I, whether am I going: Then I reproach'd my self with my unthankful Temper, and how I had repin'd at my solitary Condition; and now what would I give to be on Shore there again. Thus we never see the true State of our Condition, till it is illustrated to us by its Contraries; nor know how to value what we enjoy, but by the want of it. It is scarce possible to imagine the Consternation I was now in, 165 being driven from my beloved Island (for so it appear'd to me now to be) into the wide Ocean, almost two Leagues, and in the utmost Despair of ever recovering it again. However, I work'd hard, till indeed my Strength was almost exhausted, and kept my Boat as much to the Northward, that is, towards the Side of the Current which the Eddy lay on, as possibly I could; when about Noon, as the Sun pass'd the Meridian, I thought I felt a little Breeze of Wind in my Face, springing up from the S. S. E.South-southeast This chear'd my Heart a little, and especially when in about half an Hour more, it blew a pretty small gentle Gale. By this Time I was gotten at a frightful Distance from the Island, and had the least Cloud or haizy Weather interven'd, I had been undone another Way too; for I had no Compass on Board, and should never have known how to have steer'd towards the Island, if I had but once lost Sight of it; but the Weather continuing clear, I apply'd my self to get up my Mast again, spread my Sail, standing away to the North, as much as possible, to get out of the Current. Just as I had set my Mast and Sail, and the Boat began to stretch away, I saw even by the Clearness of the Water, some Alteration of the Current was near; for where the Current was so strong, the Water was foul; but perceiving the Water clear, I found the Current abate, and presently I found to the East, at about half a Mile, a Breach of the Sea upon some Rocks; these Rocks I found caus'd the Current to part again, and as the main Stress of it ran away more Southerly, leaving the Rocks to the North-East; so the other return'd by the Repulse of the Rocks, and made a strong Eddy, which run back again to the North-West, with a very sharp Stream. 166 They who know what it is to have a Reprieve brought to them upon the LadderTo have a pardon granted a moment before execution. (A criminal sentenced to hanging would have stood on a ladder with the noose around his neck, and the executioner would kick the ladder out from beneath his feet in order to hang him.), or to be rescued from Thieves just a going to murther them, or, who have been in such like Extremities, may guess what my present Surprise of Joy was, and how gladly I put my Boat into the Stream of this Eddy, and the Wind also freshning, how gladly I spread my Sail to it, running chearfully before the Wind, and with a strong Tide or Eddy under Eoot. This Eddy carryed me about a League in my Way back again directly towards the Island, but about two Leagues more to the Northward than the Current which carried me away at first; so that when I came near the Island, I found my self open to the Northern Shore of it, that is to say, the other End of the Island opposite to that which I went out from. When I had made something more than a League of Way by the help of this Current or Eddy, I found it was spent and serv'd me no farther. However, I found that being between the two great Currents, (viz.) that on the South Side which had hurried me away, and that on the North which lay about a League on the other Side. I say between these two, in the wake of the Island, I found the Water at least still and running no Way, and having still a Breeze of Wind fair for me, I kept on steering directly for the Island, tho' not making such fresh Way as I did before. About four a-Clock in the Evening, being then within about a League of the Island, I found the Point of the Rocks which occasioned this Disaster, stretching out as is describ'd before to the Southward, and casting off the Current more Southwardly, had of Course made another Eddy to the North, and this I found very strong, but not directly setting the Way my Course lay which was due West, but 167 almost full North. However having a fresh Gale, I stretch'd a-cross this Eddy slanting North-west, and in about an Hour came within about a Mile of the Shore, where it being smooth Water, I soon got to Land. When I was on Shore I fell on my Knees and gave God Thanks for my Deliverance, resolving to lay aside all Thoughts of my Deliverance by my Boat, and refreshing my self with such Things as I had, I brought my Boat close to the Shore in a little Cove that I had spy'd under some Trees, and lay'd me down to sleep, being quite spent with the Labour and Fatigue of the Voyage. I was now at a great Loss which Way to get Home with my Boat, I had run so much Hazard, and knew too much the Case to think of attempting it by the Way I went out, and what might be at the other Side (I mean the West Side) I knew not, nor had I any Mind to run any more Ventures; so I only resolved in the Morning to make my Way Westward along the Shore and to see if there was no Creek where I might lay up my Frigate in Safety, so as to have her again if I wanted her; in about three Mile or thereabout coasting the Shore, I came to a very good Inlet or Bay about a Mile over, which narrowed till it came to a very little Rivulet or Brook, where I found a very convenient Harbour for my Boat and where she lay as if she had been in a little Dock made on Purpose for her. Here I put in, and having stow'd my Boat very safe, I went on Shore to look about me and see where I was. I soon found I had but a little past by the Place where I had been before, when I travell'd on Foot to that Shore; so taking nothing out of my Boat, but my Gun and my Umbrella, for it was exceeding hot, I began my March: The Way was comfortable enough after such a Voyage as I had 168 been upon, and I reach'd my old Bower in the Evening, where I found every thing standing as I left it; for I always kept it in good Order, being, as I said before, my Country House. I got over the Fence, and laid me down in the Shade to rest my Limbs; for I was very weary, and fell asleep: But judge you, if you can, that read my Story, what a Surprize I must be in, when I was wak'd out of my Sleep by a Voice calling me by my Name several times, Robin, Robin, Robin Crusoe, poor Robin Crusoe, where are you Robin Crusoe? Where are you? Where have you been? I was so dead asleep at first, being fatigu'd with Rowing, or Paddling, as it is call'd, the first Part of the Day, and with walking the latter Part, that I did not wake thoroughly, but dozing between sleeping and waking, thought I dream'd that some Body spoke to me: But as the Voice continu'd to repeat Robin Crusoe, Robin Crusoe, at last I began to wake more perfectly, and was at first dreadfully frighted, and started up in the utmost Consternation: But no sooner were my Eyes open, but I saw my Poll sitting on the Top of the Hedge; and immediately knew that it was he that spoke to me; for just in such bemoaning Language I had used to talk to him, and teach him; and he had learn'd it so perfectly, that he would sit upon my Finger, and lay his Bill close to my Face, and cry, Poor Robin Crusoe, Where are you? Where have you been? How come you here? And such things as I had taught him. However, even though I knew it was the Parrot, and that indeed it could be no Body else, it was a good while before I could compose my self: First, I was amazed how the Creature got thither, and then, how he should just keep about the Place, and no where else: But as I was well satisfied it 169 could be no Body but honest Poll, I got it over; and holding out my Hand, and calling him by his Name Poll, the sociable Creature came to me, and sat upon my Thumb, as he used to do, and continu'd talking to me, Poor Robin Crusoe, and how did I come here? and where had I been? just as if he had been overjoy'd to see me again; and so I carry'd him Home along with me. I had now had enough of rambling to Sea for some time, and had enough to do for many Days to sit still, and reflect upon the Danger I had been in: I would have been very glad to have had my Boat again on my Side of the Island; but I knew not how it was practicable to get it about as to the East Side of the Island, which I had gone round; I knew well enough there was no venturing that Way; my very heart would shrink, and my very Blood run chill but to think of it: And as to the other Side of the Island, I did not know how it might be there; but supposing the Current ran with the same Force against the Shore at the East as it pass'd by it on the other, I might run the same Risk of being driven down the Stream, and carry'd by the Island, as I had been before, of being carry'd away from it; so with these Thoughts I contented my self to be without any Boat, though it had been the Product of so many Months Labour to make it, and of so many more to get it unto the Sea. In this Government of my Temper, I remain'd near a Year, liv'd a very sedate retir'd Life, as you may well suppose; and my Thoughts being very much composed as to my Condition, and fully comforted in resigning my self to the Dispositions of Providence, I thought I liv'd really very happily in all things, except that of Society. 170 I improv'd my self in this time in all the mechanick Exercises which my Necessities put me upon applying my self to, and I believe cou'd, upon Occasion, make a very good Carpenter, especially considering how few Tools I had. Besides this, I arriv'd at an unexpected Perfection in my Earthen Ware, and contriv'd well enough to make them with a Wheel, which I found infinitely easyer and better; because I made things round and shapable, which before were filthy things indeed to look on. But I think I was never more vain of my own Performance, or more joyful for any thing I found out, than for my being able to make a Tobacco-Pipe. And tho' it was a very ugly clumsy thing, when it was done, and only burnt red like other Earthen Ware, yet as it was hard and firm, and would draw the Smoke, I was exceedingly comforted with it, for I had been always used to smoke, and there were Pipes in the Ship, but I forgot them at first, not knowing that there was Tobacco in the Island; and afterwards, when I search'd the Ship again, I could not come at any Pipes at all. In my Wicker Ware also I improved much, and made abundance of necessary Baskets, as well as my Invention shew'd me, tho' not very handsome, yet they were such as were very handy and convenient for my laying things up in, or fetching things home in. For Example, if I kill'd a Goat abroad, I could hang it up in a Tree, flea it, and dress it, and cut it in Pieces, and bring it home in a Basket, and the like by a Turtle, I could cut it up, take out the Eggs, and a Piece or two of the Flesh, which was enough for me, and bring them home in a Basket, and leave the rest behind me. Also large deep Baskets were my Receivers for my Corn, which I always rubb'd out as 171 soon as it was dry, and cured, and kept it in great Baskets. I began now to perceive my Powder abated considerably, and this was a Want which it was impossible for me to supply, and I began seriously to consider what I must do when I should have no more Powder; that is to say, how I should do to kill any Goat, I had, as is observ'd in the third Year of my being here, kept a young Kid, and bred her up tame, and I was in hope of getting a He-Goat, but I could not by any Means bring it to pass, 'till my Kid grew an old Goat; and I could never find in my Heart to kill her, till she dy'd at last of meer Age. But being now in the eleventh Year of my Residence, and, as I have said, my Ammunition growing low, I set my self to study some Art to trap and snare the Goats, to see whether I could not catch some of them alive, and particularly I wanted a She-Goat great with young. To this Purpose I made Snares to hamper them, and I do believe they were more than once taken in them, but my Tackle was not good, for I had no Wire, and I always found them broken, and my Bait devoured. At length I resolv'd to try a Pit-fall, so I dug several large Pits in the Earth, in Places where I had observ'd the Goats used to feed, and over these Pits I plac'd Hurdles of my own making too, with a great Weight upon them; and several times I put Ears of Barley, and dry Rice, without setting the Trap, and I could easily perceive that the Goats had gone in and eaten up the Corn, for I could see the Mark of their Feet. At length I set three Traps in one Night, and going the next Morning I found them all standing, and yet the Bait eaten and gone: This was very discouraging. 172 However, I alter'd my Trap, and, not to trouble you with Particulars, going one Morning to see my Trap, I found in one of them a large old He-Goat, and in one of the other, three Kids, a Male and two Females. As to the old one, I knew not what to do with him, he was so fierce I durst not go into the Pit to him; that is to say, to go about to bring him away alive, which was what I wanted. I could have kill'd him, but that was not my Business, nor would it answer my End. So I e'en let him out, and he ran away as if he had been frighted out of his Wits: But I had forgot then what I learn'd afterwards, that Hunger will tame a Lyon. If I had let him stay there three or four Days without Food, and then have carry'd him some Water to drink, and then a little Corn, he would have been as tame as one of the Kids, for they are mighty sagacious tractable Creatures where they are well used. However, for the present I let him go, knowing no better at that time; then I went to the three Kids, and taking them one by one, I tyed them with Strings together, and with some Difficulty brought them all home. It was a good while before they wou'd feed, but throwing them some sweet Corn, it tempted them and they began to be tame; and now I found that if I expected to supply my self with Goat-Flesh when I had no Powder or Shot left, breeding some up tame was my only way, when perhaps I might have them about my House like a Flock of Sheep. But then it presently occurr'd to me, that I must keep the tame from the wild, or else they would always run wild when they grew up, and the only Way for this was to have some enclosed Piece of 173 Ground, well fenc'd either with Hedge or Pale, to keep them in so effectually, that those within might not break out, or those without break in. This was a great Undertaking for one Pair of Hands, yet as I saw there was an absolute Necessity of doing it, my first Piece of Work was to find out a proper Piece of Ground, viz. where there was likely to be Herbage for them to eat, Water for them to drink, and Cover to keep them from the Sun. Those who understand such Enclosures will think I had very little ContrivanceForesight; planning or ingenuity, when I pitch'd upon a Place very proper for all these, being a plain open Piece of Meadow-Land, or Savanna, (as our People call it in the Western Collonies,) which had two or three little DrillsSmall streams or rills of fresh Water in it, and at one end was very woody. I say they will smile at my ForecastCrusoe's comical failure to anticipate that, the larger his enclosure is, the harder it will be to catch the goats inside, when I shall tell them I began my enclosing of this Piece of Ground in such a manner, that my Hedge or Pale must have been at least two Mile about. Nor was the Madness of it so great as to the Compass, for if it was ten Mile about I was like to have time enough to do it in. But I did not consider that my Goats would be as wild in so much Compass as if they had had the whole Island, and I should have so much Room to chace them in, that I should never catch them. My Hedge was begun and carry'd on, I believe, about fifty Yards, when this Thought occurr'd to me, so I presently stopt short, and for the first beginning I resolv'd to enclose a Piece of about 150 Yards in length, and 100 Yards in breadth, which as it would maintain as many as I should have in any reasonable time, so as my Flock encreased, I could add more Ground to my Enclosure. 174 This was acting with some Prudence, and I went to work with Courage. I was about three Months hedging in the first Piece, and till I had done it I tether'd the three Kids in the best part of it, and us'd them to feed as near me as possible to make them familiar; and very often I would go and carry them some Ears of Barley, or a handful of Rice, and feed them out of my Hand; so that after my Enclosure was finished, and I let them loose, they would follow me up and down, bleating after me for a handful of Corn. This answer'd my End, and in about a Year and half I had a Flock of about twelve Goats, Kids and all; and in two Years more I had three and forty, besides several that I took and kill'd for my Food. And after that I enclosed five several Pieces of Ground to feed them in, with little Pens to drive them into, to take them as I wanted, and Gates out of one Piece of Ground into another. But this was not all, for now I not only had Goats Flesh to feed on when I pleas'd, but Milk too, a thing which indeed in my beginning I did not so much as think of, and which, when it came into my Thoughts, was really an agreeable Surprize. For now I set up my Dairy, and had sometimes a Gallon or two of Milk in a Day, And as Nature, who gives Supplies of Food to every Creature, dictates even naturally how to make use of it; so I that had never milk'd a Cow, much less a Goat, or seen Butter or Cheese made, very readily and handily, tho' after a great many Essays and Miscarriages, made me both Butter and Cheese at last, and never wanted it afterwards. How mercifully can our great Creator treat his Creatures, even in those Conditions in which they seem'd to be overwhelm'd in Destruction. How 175 can he sweeten the bitterest Providences, and give us Cause to praise him for Dungeons and Prisons. What a Table was here spread for me in a Wilderness"Yea, they spake against God; they said, Can God furnish a table in the wilderness?" (Psalm 78:19), where I saw nothing at first but to perish for Hunger. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith It would have made a Stoick smile to have seen, me and my little Family sit down to Dinner; there was my Majesty the Prince and Lord of the whole Island; I had the Lives of all my Subjects at my absolute Command. I could hang, draw, give Liberty, and take it away, and no Rebels among all my Sublects. Then to see how like a King I din'd too all alone, attended by my Servants, Poll, as if he had been my Favourite, was the only Person permitted to talk to me. My Dog who was now grown very old and crazyFeeble, and had found no Species to multiply his Kind upon, sat always at my Right Hand, and two Cats, one on one Side the Table, and one on the other, expecting now and then a Bit from my Hand, as a Mark of special Favour. But these were not the two Cats which I brought on Shore at first, for they were both of them dead, and had been interr'd near my Habitation by my own Hand; but one of them having multiply'd by I know not what Kind of Creature, these were two which I had preserv'd tame, whereas the rest run wild in the Woods, and became indeed troublesom to me at last; for they would often come into my House, and plunder me too, till at last I was obliged to shoot them, and did kill a great many; at length they left me with this Attendance, and in this plentiful Manner I lived; neither could I be said to want any thing but Society, and of that in some time after this, I was like to have too much. 176 I was something impatient, as I have observ'd, to have the Use of my Boat; though very loath to run any more Hazards; and therefore sometimes I sat contriving Ways to get her about the Island, and at other Times I sat my self down contented enough without her. But I had a strange Uneasiness in my Mind to go down to the Point of the Island, where, as I have said, in my last Ramble, I went up the Hill to see how the Shore lay, and how the Current set, that I might see what I had to do: This Inclination encreas'd upon me every Day, and at length I resolv'd to travel thither by Land, following the Edge of the Shore, I did so: But had any one in England been to meet such a Man as I was, it must either have frighted them, or rais'd a great deal of Laughter; and as I frequently stood still to look at my self, I could not but smile at the Notion of my travelling through Yorkshire with such an Equipage, and in such a Dress: Be pleas'd to take a Scetch of my Figure as follows, I had a great high shapeless Cap, made of a Goat's Skin, with a Flap hanging down behind, as well to keep the Sun from me, as to shoot the Rain off from running into my Neck; nothing being so hurtful in these Climates, as the Rain upon the Flesh under the Cloaths. I had a short Jacket of Goat-Skin, the Skirts coming down to about the middle of my Thighs; and a Pair of open-knee'd Breeches of the same, the Breeches were made of the Skin of an old He-goat, whose Hair hung down such a Length on either Side, that like PantaloonsBreeches or trousers it reach'd to the middle of my Legs; Stockings and Shoes I had none, but had made me a Pair of some-things, I scarce know what to call them, like BuskinsCalf-high or knee-high boots to flap over my Legs, and lace on either Side like Spatter-dashesLong gaiters or leggings of leather, to keep boots and trousers from being spattered with mud; 177 but of a most barbarous Shape, as indeed were all the rest of my Cloaths. I had on a broad Belt of Goat's-Skin dry'd, which I drew together with two ThongsCords of the same, instead of Buckles, and in a kind of a FrogA loop attached to a belt, designed to hold a sword or bayonet on either Side of this. Instead of a Sword and a Dagger, hung a little Saw and a Hatchet, one on one Side, one on the other. I had another Belt not so broad, and fasten'd in the same Manner, which hung over my Shoulder; and at the End of it, under my left Arm, hung two Pouches, both made of Goat's-Skin too; in one of which hung my Powder, in the other my Shot: At my Back I carry'd my Basket, on my Shoulder my Gun, and over my Head a great clumsy ugly Goat-Skin Umbrella, but which, after all, was the most necessary Thing I had about me, next to my Gun: As for my Face, the Colour of it was really not so Moletta,A variation of the word "mulatto," here used to refer to brown skin like as one might expect from a Man not at all careful of it, and living within nineteen Degrees of the Equinox. My Beard I had once suffer'd to grow till it was about a Quarter of a Yard long; but as I had both Scissars and Razors sufficient, I had cut it pretty short, except what grew on my upper Lip, which I had trimm'd into a large Pair of Mahometan WhiskersA long moustache, such as a Muslim man might have worn, such as I had seen worn by some Turks, who I saw at Sallee; for the Moors did not wear such, tho' the Turks did; of these MuschatoesMustachios or Whiskers, I will not say they were long enough to hang my Hat upon them; but they were of a Length and Shape monstrous enough, and such as in England would have pass'd for frightful. But all this is by the by; for as to my Figure, I had so few to observe me, that it was of no manner of Consequence; so I say no more to that Part. In this kind of Figure I went my new Journey, and was out five or six Days. I travell'd first along the 178 Sea Shore, directly to the Place where I first brought my Boat to an Anchor, to get up upon the Rocks; and having no Boat now to take care of, I went over the Land a nearer Way to the same Height that I was upon before, when looking forward to the Point of the Rocks which lay out, and which I was oblig'd to double with my Boat, as is said above: I was surpriz'd to see the Sea all smooth and quiet, no Ripling, no Motion, no Current, any more there than in other Places. I was at a strange Loss to understand this, and resolv'd to spend some Time in the observing it, to see if nothing from the Sets of the Tide had occasion'd it; but I was presently convinc'd how it was, viz. That the Tide of Ebb setting from the West, and joyning with the Current of Waters from some great River on the Shore, must be the Occasion of this Current; and that according as the Wind blew more forcibly from the West, or from the North, this Current came nearer, or went farther from the Shore; for waiting thereabouts till Evening, I went up to the Rock again, and then the Tide of Ebb being made, I plainly saw the Current again as before, only, that it run farther of, being near half a League from the Shore; whereas in my Case, it set close upon the Shore, and hurry'd me and my Canoe along with it, which at another Time it would not have done. This Observation convinc'd me, That I had nothing to do but to observe the Ebbing and the Flowing of the Tide, and I might very easily bring my Boat about the Island again: But when I began to think of putting it in Practice, I had such a Terror upon my Spirits at the Remembrance of the Danger I had been in, that I could not think of it again with any Patience; but on the contrary, I took up another Resolution which was more safe, 179 though more laborious; and this was, That I would build, or rather make me another Periagau or Canoe; and so have one for one Side of the Island, and one for the other. You are to understand, that now I had, as I may call it, two Plantations in the Island; one my little Fortification or Tent, with the Wall about it under the Rock, with the Cave behind me, which by this Time I had enlarg'd into several Apartments, or Caves, one within another. One of these, which was the dryest, and largest, and had a Door out beyond my Wall or Fortification; that is to say, beyond where my Wall joyn'd to the Rock, was all fill'd up with the large Earthen Pots, of which I have given an Account, and with fourteen or fifteen great Baskets, which would hold five or six Bushels each, where I laid up my Stores of Provision, especially my Corn, some in the Ear cut off short from the Straw, and the other rubb'd out with my Hand. As for my Wall made, as before, with long Stakes or Piles, those Piles grew all like Trees, and were by this Time grown so big, and spread so very much, that there was not the least Appearance to any one's View of any Habitation behind them. Near this Dwelling of mine, but a little farther within the Land, and upon lower Ground, lay my two Pieces of Corn-Ground, which I kept duly cultivated and sow'd, and which duly yielded me their Harvest in its Season; and whenever I had occasion for more Corn, I had more Land adjoyning as fit as that. Besides this, I had my Country Seat, and I had now a tollerable Plantation there also; for first, I had my little Bower, as I call'd it, which I kept in Repair; that is to say, I kept the Hedge which circled it in, constantly fitted up to its usual Height, 180 the Ladder standing always in the Inside; I kept the Trees which at first were no more than my Stakes, but were now grown very firm and tall; I kept them always so cut, that they might spread and grow thick and wild, and make the more agreeable Shade, which they did effectually to my Mind. In the Middle of this I had my Tent always standing, being a piece of a Sail spread over Poles set up for that Purpose, and which never wanted any Repair or Renewing; and under this I had made me a SquabA cushion forming part of the inside fittings of a carriage or Couch, with the Skins of the Creatures I had kill'd, and with other soft Things, and a Blanket laid on them, such as belong'd to our Sea-Bedding, which I had saved, and a great Watch-Coat to cover me; and here, whenever I had Occasion to be absent from my chief Seat, I took up my Country Habitation. Adjoyning to this I had my Enclosures for my Cattle, that is to say, my Goats: And as I had taken an inconceivable deal of Pains to fence and enclose this Ground, so I was so uneasy to see it kept entire, lest the Goats should break thro', that I never left off till with infinite Labour I had stuck the Out-side of the Hedge so full of small Stakes, and so near to one another, that it was rather a Pale than a Hedge, and there was scarce Room to put a Hand thro' between them, which afterwards when those Stakes grew, as they all did in the next rainy Season, made the Enclosure strong like a Wall, indeed stronger than any Wall. This will testify for me that I was not idle, and that I spared no Pains to bring to pass whatever appear'd necessary for my comfortable Support; for I consider'd the keeping up a Breed of tame Creatures thus at my Hand, would be a living Magazine of Flesh, Milk, Butter and Cheese, 181 for me as long as I liv'd in the Place, if it were to be forty Years; and that keeping them in my Reach, depended entirely upon my perfecting my Enclosures to such a Degree, that I might be sure of keeping them together; which by this Method indeed I so effectually secur'd, that when these little Stakes began to grow, I had planted them so very thick, I was forced to pull some of them up again. In this Place also I had my Grapes growing, which I principally depended on for my Winter Store of Raisins; and which I never fail'd to preserve very carefully, as the best and most agreeable Dainty of my whole Diet; and indeed they were not agreeable only, but physical, wholesome, nourishing, and refreshing to the last Degree. As this was also about half Way between my other Habitation, and the Place where I had laid up my Boat, I generally stay'd, and lay here in my Way thither; for I used frequently to visit my Boat, and I kept all Things about or belonging to her in very good Order; sometimes I went out in her to divert my self, but no more hazardous Voyages would I go, nor scarce ever above a Stone's CastA stone's throw, or a very short distance or two from the Shore, I was so apprehensive of being hurry'd out of my Knowledge again by the Currents, or Winds, or any other Accident. But now I come to a new Scene of my Life. It happen'd one Day about Noon going towards my Boat, I was exceedingly surpriz'd with the Print of a Man's naked Foot on the Shore, which was very plain to be seen in the Sand: I stood like one Thunder-struck, or as if I had seen an Apparition; I listen'd, I look'd round me, I could hear nothing, nor see any Thing, I went up to a rising Ground to look farther, I went up the Shore and down the Shore, but it was all one, I could see no other 182 Impression but that one, I went to it again to see if there were any more, and to observe if it might not be my Fancy; but there was no Room for that, for there was exactly the very Print of a Foot, Toes, Heel, and every Part of a Foot; how it came thither, I knew not, nor could in the least imagine. But after innumerable fluttering Thoughts, like a Man perfectly confus'd and out of my self, I came Home to my Fortification, not feeling, as we say, the Ground I went on, but terrify'd to the last Degree, looking behind me at every two or three Steps, mistaking every Bush and Tree, and fancying every Stump at a Distance to be a Man; nor is it possible to describe how many various Shapes affrighted Imagination represented Things to me in, how many wild Ideas were found every Moment in my Fancy, and what strange unaccountable Whimsies came into my Thoughts by the Way. When I came to my Castle, for so I think I call'd it ever after this, I fled into it like one pursued; whether I went over by the Ladder as first contriv'd, or went in at the Hole in the Rock, which I call'd a Door, I cannot remember; no, nor could I remember the next Morning, for never frighted Hare fled to Cover, or Fox to Earth, with more Terror of Mind than I to this Retreat. I slept none that Night; the farther I was from the Occasion of my Fright, the greater my Apprehensions were, which is something contrary to the Nature of such Things, and especially to the usual Practice of all Creatures in Fear: But I was so embarrass'd with my own frightful Ideas of the Thing, that I form'd nothing but dismal Imaginations to my self, even tho' I was now a great way off of it. Sometimes I fancy'd it must be the Devil; and Reason joyn'd in with me upon this Supposition: For how should any other Thing in human 183 Shape come into the Place? Where was the Vessel that brought them? What Marks was there of any other Footsteps? And how was it possible a Man should come there? But then to think that Satan should take human Shape upon him in such a Place where there could be no manner of Occasion for it, but to leave the Print of his Foot behind him, and that even for no Purpose too, for he could not be sure I should see it; this was an Amusement the other Way; I consider'd that the Devil might have found out abundance of other Ways to have terrify'd me than this of the single Print of a Foot. That as I liv'd quite on the other Side of the Island, he would never have been so simple to leave a Mark in a Place where 'twas Ten Thousand to one whether I should ever see it or not, and in the Sand too, which the first Surge of the Sea upon a high Wind would have defac'd entirely: All this seem'd inconsistent with the Thing it self, and with all the Notions we usually entertain of the Subtilty of the Devil. Abundance of such Things as these assisted to argue me out of all Apprehensions of its being the Devil: And I presently concluded then, that it must be some more dangerous Creature, (viz.) That it must be some of the Savages of the main Land over-against me, who had wander'd out to Sea in their Canoes; and either driven by the Currents, or by contrary Winds had madeArrived at the Island; and had been on Shore, but were gone away again to Sea, being as loth, perhaps, to have stay'd in this desolate Island, as I would have been to have had them. While these Reflections were rowling upon my Mind, I was very thankful in my Thoughts, that I was so happy as not to be thereabouts at that Time, or that they did not see my Boat, by which they would have concluded that some Inhabitants 184 had been in the Place, and perhaps have search'd farther for me: Then terrible Thoughts rack'd my Imagination about their having found my Boat, and that there were People here; and that if so, I should certainly have them come again in greater Numbers, and devour me; that if it should happen so that they should not find me, yet they would find my Enclosure, destroy all my Corn, carry away all my Flock of tame Goats, and I should perish at last for meer Want. Thus my Fear banish'd all my religious Hope; all that former Confidence in God which was founded upon such wonderful Experience as I had had of his Goodness, now vanished, as if he that had fed me by Miracle hitherto, could not preserve by his Power the Provision which he had made for me by his Goodness. I reproach'd my self with my Easiness, that would not sow any more Corn one Year than would just serve me till the next Season, as if no Accident could intervene to prevent my enjoying the Crop that was upon the Ground; and this I thought so just a Reproof, that I resolv'd for the future to have two or three Years Corn beforehand, so that whatever might come, I might not perish for want of Bread. How strange a Chequer WorkCheckerboard of Providence is the Life of Man! and by what secret differing Springs are the Affections hurry'd about as differing Circumstance present! To Day we love what to Morrow we hate; to Day we seek what to Morrow we shun; to Day we desire what to Morrow we fear; nay even tremble at the Apprehensions of; this was exemplify'd in me at this Time in the most lively Manner imaginable; for I whose only Affliction was, that I seem'd banished from human Society, that I was alone, circumscrib'd by the boundless Ocean, cut off from Mankind, and condemn'd 185 to what I call'd silent Life; that I was as one who Heaven thought not worthy to be number'd among the Living, or to appear among the rest of his Creatures; that to have seen one of my own Species, would have seem'd to me a Raising me from Death to Life, and the greatest Blessing that Heaven it self, next to the supreme Blessing of Salvation, could bestow; I say, that I should now tremble at the very Apprehensions of seeing a Man, and was ready to sink into the Ground at but the Shadow or silent Appearance of a Man's having set his Foot in the Island. Such is the uneven State of human Life: And it afforded me a great many curious Speculations afterwards, when I had a little recover'd my first Surprize; I consider'd that this was the Station of Life the infinitely wise and good Providence of God had determin'd for me, that as I could not foresee what the Ends of Divine Wisdom might be in all this, so I was not to dispute his Sovereignty, who, as I was his Creature, had an undoubted Right by Creation to govern and dispose of me absolutely as he thought fit; and who, as I was a Creature who had offended him, had likewise a judicial Right to condemn me to what Punishment he thought fit; and that it was my Part to submit to bear his Indignation, because I had sinn'd against him. I then reflected that God, who was not only Righteous but Omnipotent, as he had thought fit thus to punish and afflict me, so he was able to deliver me; that if he did not think fit to do it, 'twas my unquestion'd Duty to resign my self absolutely and entirely to his Will; and on the other Hand, it was my Duty also to hope in him, pray to him, and quietly to attend the Dictates and Directions of his daily Providence. 186 These Thoughts took me up many Hours, Days; nay, I may say, Weeks and Months; and one particular Effect of my Cogitations on this Occasion, I cannot omit, viz. One Morning early, lying in my Bed, and fill'd with Thought about my Danger from the Appearance of Savages, I found it discompos'd me very much, upon which those Words of the Scripture came into my Thoughts, Call upon me in the Day of Trouble, and I will deliver, and thou shalt glorify me.Psalm 50:15 Upon this, rising chearfully out of my Bed, my Heart was not only comforted, but I was guided and encourag'd to pray earnestly to God for Deliverance: When I had done praying, I took up my Bible, and opening it to read, the first Words that presented to me, were, Wait on the Lord, and be of good Cheer, and he shall strengthen thy Heart; wait, I say, on the Lord:Psalm 27:14 and Psalm 31:24 It is impossible to express the Comfort this gave me. In Answer, I thankfully laid down the Book, and was no more sad, at least, not on that Occasion. In the middle of these Cogitations, Apprehensions and Reflections, it came into my Thought one Day, that all this might be a meer ChimeraMonstrous imagining (more literally, a monster in Greek mythology, with a lion's head, a goat's body, and a serpent's tail) of my own; and that this Foot might be the Print of my own Foot, when I came on Shore from my Boat: This chear'd me up a little too, and I began to perswade my self it was all a Delusion; that it was nothing else but my own Foot, and why might not I come that way from the Boat, as well as I was going that way to the Boat; again, I consider'd also that I could by no Means tell for certain where I had trod, and where I had not; and that if at last this was only the Print of my own Foot, I had play'd the Part of those Fools, who strive to make stories of Spectres, and Apparitions; and then are frighted at them more than any body. 187 Now I began to take Courage, and to peep abroad again; for I had not stirr'd out of my Castle for three Days and Nights; so that I began to starve for Provision; for I had little or nothing within Doors, but some Barley Cakes and Water. Then I knew that my Goats wanted to be milk'd too, which usually was my Evening Diversion; and the poor Creatures were in great Pain and Inconvenience for want of it; and indeed, it almost spoil'd some of them, and almost dry'd up their Milk. Heartning my self therefore with the Belief that this was nothing but the Print of one of my own Feet, and so I might be truly said to startStartle at my own Shadow, I began to go abroad again, and went to my Country House, to milk my Flock; but to see with what Fear I went forward, how often I look'd behind me, how I was ready every now and then to lay down my Basket, and run for my Life, it would have made any one have thought I was haunted with an evil Conscience, or that I had been lately most terribly frighted, and so indeed I had. However, as I went down thus two or three Days, and having seen nothing, I began to be a little bolder; and to think there was really nothing in it, but my own Imagination: But I cou'd not perswade my self fully of this, till I should go down to the Shore again, and see this Print of a Foot, and measure it by my own, and see if there was any Similitude or Fitness, that I might be assur'd it was my own Foot: But when I came to the Place, First, It appear'd evidently to me, that when I laid up my Boat, I could not possibly be on Shore any where there about. Secondly, When I came to measure the Mark with my own Foot, I found my Foot not so large by a great deal; both these Things fill'd my Head with new Imaginations, and gave me the VapoursPhysiologically, the four humors (sanguine, choleric, phlegmatic, melancholic) were thought to emit "vapors" that ascended to the brain and shaped one's temperament. When the humors were unbalanced, the vapors caused distemper and illness. again, to the highest Degree; so that I 188 shook with cold, like one in an Ague: And I went Home again, fill'd with the Belief that some Man or Men had been on Shore there; or in short, that the Island was inhabited, and I might be surpriz'd before I was aware; and what course to take for my Security I knew not. O what ridiculous Resolution Men take, when possess'd with Fear! It deprives them of the Use of those Means which Reason offers for their Relief. The first Thing I propos'd to my self, was, to throw down my Enclosures, and turn all my tame Cattle wild into the Woods, that the Enemy might not find them; and then frequent the Island in Prospect of the same, or the like Booty: Then to the simple Thing of Digging up my two Corn Fields, that they might not find such a Grain there, and still be prompted to frequent the Island; then to demolish my Bower, and Tent, that they might not see any Vestiges of Habitation, and be prompted to look farther, in order to find out the Persons inhabiting. These were the Subject of the first Night's Cogitation, after I was come Home again, while the Apprehensions which had so over-run my Mind were fresh upon me, and my Head was full of Vapours, as above: Thus Fear of Danger is ten thousand Times more terrifying than Danger it self, when apparent to the Eyes; and we find the Burthen of Anxiety greater by much, than the Evil which we are anxious about; and which was worse than all this, I had not that Relief in this Trouble from the Resignation I used to practise, that I hop'd to have. I look'd, I thought, like Saul, who complain'd not only that the Philistines were upon him; but that God had forsaken him Saul, the first king of the Israelites, summons the spirit of the prophet Samuel and tells him, "I am sore distressed; for the Philistines make war against me, and God is departed from me, and answereth me no more, neither by prophets, nor by dreams" (1 Samuel 28:15).; for I did not now take due Ways to compose my Mind, by crying to God in my Distress, and resting upon his Providence, 189 as I had done before, for my Defence and Deliverance; which if I had done, I had, at least, been more cheerfully supported under this new Surprise, and perhaps carry'd through it with more Resolution. This Confusion of my Thoughts kept me waking all Night; but in the Morning I fell asleep, and having by the Amusement of my Mind, been, as it were, tyr'd, and my Spirits exhausted; I slept very soundly, and wak'd much better compos'd than I had ever been before; and now I began to think sedately; and upon the utmost Debate with my self, I concluded, That this Island, which was so exceeding pleasant, fruitful, and no farther from the main Land than as I had seen, was not so entirely abandon'd as I might imagine: That altho' there were no stated Inhabitants who liv'd on the Spot; yet that there might sometimes come Boats off from the Shore, who either with Design, or perhaps never, but when they were driven by cross Winds, might come to this Place. That I had liv'd here fifteen Years now, and had not met with the least Shadow or Figure of any People yet; and that if at any Time they should be driven here, it was probable they went away again as soon as ever they could, seeing they had never thought fit to fix there upon any Occasion, to this Time. That the most I cou'd suggest any Danger from, was, from any such casual accidental Landing of straggling People from the Main, who, as it was likely if they were driven hither, were here against their Wills; so they made no stay here, but went off again with all possible Speed, seldom staying one Night on Shore, least they should not have the Help of the Tides, and Day-light back again; and that therefore I had nothing to do but to consider 190 of some safe Retreat, in Case I should see any Savages land upon the Spot. Now I began sorely to repent, that I had dug my Cave so large, as to bring a Door through again, which Door, as I said, came out beyond where my Fortification joyn'd to the Rock; upon maturely considering this therefore, I resolv'd to draw me a second Fortification, in the same Manner of a Semicircle, at a Distance from my Wall, just where I had planted a double Row of Trees, about twelve Years before, of which I made mention: These Trees having been planted so thick before, they wanted but a few Piles to be driven between them, that they should be thicker, and stronger, and my Wall would be soon finish'd. So that I had now a double Wall, and my outer Wall was thickned with Pieces of Timber, old Cables, and every Thing I could think of, to make it strong; having in it seven little Holes, about as big as I might put my Arm out at: In the In-side of this, I thickned my Wall to above ten Foot thick, with continual bringing Earth out of my Cave, and laying it at the Foot of the Wall, and walking upon it; and through the seven Holes, I contriv'd to plant the Musquets, of which I took Notice, that I got seven on Shore out of the Ship; these, I say, I planted like my Cannon, and fitted them into Frames that held them like a Carriage, that so I could fire all the seven Guns in two Minutes Time: This Wall I was many a weary Month a finishing, and yet never thought my self safe till it was done. When this was done, I stuck all the Ground without my Wall, for a great way every way, as full with Stakes or Sticks of the OsierA variety of Eurasian willows like Wood, which I found so apt to grow, as they could well stand; insomuch, that I believe I might set in near 191 twenty thousand of them, leaving a pretty large Space between them and my Wall, that I might have room to see an Enemy, and they might have no shelter from the young Trees, if they attempted to approach my outer Wall. Thus in two Years Time I had a thick Grove and in five or six Years Time I had a Wood before my Dwelling, growing so monstrous thick and strong, that it was indeed perfectly impassable; and no Men of what kind soever, would ever imagine that there was any Thing beyond it, much less a Habitation: As for the Way which I propos'd to my self to go in and out, for I left no Avenue; it was by setting two Ladders, one to a Part of the Rock which was low, and then broke in, and left room to place another Ladder upon that; so when the two Ladders were taken down, no Man living could come down to me without mischieving himself; and if they had come down, they were still on the Out-side of my outer Wall. Thus I took all the Measures humane Prudence could suggest for my own Preservation; and it will be seen at length, that they were not altogether without just Reason; though I foresaw nothing at that Time, more than my meer Fear suggested to me. [Audio File]Librivox recording, read by Mark F. Smith While this was doing, I was not altogether Careless of my other Affairs; for I had a great Concern upon me, for my little Herd of Goats; they were not only a present Supply to me upon every Occasion, and began to be sufficient to me, without the Expence of Powder and Shot; but also without the Fatigue of Hunting after the wild Ones, and I was loth to lose the Advantage of them, and to have them all to nurse up over again. To this Purpose, after long Consideration, I could think of but two Ways to preserve them; 192 one was to find another convenient Place to dig a a Cave Under-ground, and to drive them into it every Night; and the other was to enclose two or three little Bits of Land, remote from one another and as much conceal'd as I could, where I might keep about half a Dozen young Goats in each Place: So that if any Disaster happen'd to the Flock in general, I might be able to raise them again with little Trouble and Time: And this, tho' it would require a great deal of Time and Labour, I thought was the most rational Design. Accordingly I spent some Time to find out the most retir'd Parts of the Island; and I pitch'd upon one which was as private indeed as my Heart could wish for; it was a little damp Piece of Ground in the Middle of the hollow and thick Woods, where, as is observ'd, I almost lost my self once before, endeavouring to come back that Way from the Eastern Part of the Island: Here I found a clear Piece of Land near three Acres, so surrounded with Woods, that it was almost an Enclosure by Nature, at least it did not want near so much Labour to make it so, as the other Pieces of Ground I had work'd so hard at. I immediately went to Work with this Piece of Ground, and in less than a Month's Time, I had so fenc'd it round, that my Flock or Herd, call it which you please, who were not so wild now as at first they might be supposed to be, were well enough secur'd in it. So, without any farther Delay, I removed ten young She-Goats and two He-Goats to this Piece; and when they were there, I continued to perfect the Fence till I had made it as secure as the other, which, however, I did at more Leisure, and it took me up more Time by a great deal. 193 All this Labour I was at the Expence of, purely from my Apprehensions on the Account of the Print of a Man's Foot which I had seen; for as yet I never saw any human Creature come near the Island, and I had now liv'd two Years under these Uneasinesses, which indeed made my Life much less comfortable than it was before; as may well be imagin'd by any who know what it is to live in the constant Snare of the Fear of Man; and this I must observe with Grief too, that the Discomposure of my Mind had too great Impressions also upon the religious Part of my Thoughts, for the Dread and Terror of falling into the Hands of Savages and Canibals, lay so upon my Spirits, that I seldom found my self in a due Temper for Application to my MakerPrayer or supplication, at least not with the sedate Calmness and Resignation of Soul which I was wont to do; I rather pray'd to God as under great Affliction and Pressure of Mind, surrounded with Danger, and in Expectation every Night of being murther'd and devour'd before Morning; and I must testify from my Experience that a TemperTemperament of Peace, Thankfulness, Love and Affection, is much more the proper Frame for Prayer than that of Terror and Discomposure; and that under the Dread of Mischief impending, a Man is no more fit for a comforting Performance of the Duty of praying to God, than he is for Repentance on a sick Bed: For these Discomposures affect the Mind as the others do the Body; and the Discomposure of the Mind must necessarily be as great a Disability as that of the Body, and much greater, Praying to God being properly an Act of the Mind, not of the Body. But to go on; After I had thus secur'd one Part of my little living Stock, I went about the whole Island, searching for another private Place, to make 194 such another Deposit; when wandring more to the West Point of the Island, than I had ever done yet, and looking out to Sea, I thought I saw a Boat upon the Sea, at a great Distance; I had found a Prospective GlassA spyglass, or sailor's telescope, or two, in one of the Seamen's Chests, which I sav'd out of our Ship; but I had it not about me, and this was so remote, that I could not tell what to make of it; though I look'd at it till my Eyes were not able to hold to look any longer; whether it was a Boat, or not, I do not know; but as I descended from the Hill, I could see no more of it, so I gave it over; only I resolv'd to go no more out without a Prospective Glass in my Pocket. When I was come down the Hill, to the End of the Island, where indeed I had never been before, I was presently convinc'd, that the seeing the Print of a Man's Foot, was not such a strange Thing in the Island as I imagin'd; and but that it was a special Providence that I was cast upon the Side of the Island, where the Savages never came: I should easily have known, that nothing was more frequent than for the Canoes from the Main, when they happen'd to be a little too far out at Sea, to shoot over to that Side of the Island for Harbour; likewise as they often met, and fought in their Canoes, the Victors having taken any Prisoners, would bring them over to this Shore, where according to their dreadful Customs, being all Canibals, they would kill and eat them; of which hereafter. When I was come down the Hill, to the Shore, as I said above, being the S. W. Point of the Island, I was perfectly confounded and amaz'd; nor is it possible for me to express the Horror of my Mind, at seeing the Shore spread with Skulls, Hands, Feet, and other Bones of humane Bodies; and particularly I observ'd a Place where there had 195 been a Fire made, and a Circle dug in the Earth, like a CockpitHere alluding to the cockpit of a ship, or the part of the helm where the steering wheel is, where it is suppos'd the Savage Wretches had sat down to their inhumane Feastings upon the Bodies of their Fellow-Creatures. I was so astonish'd with the Sight of these Things, that I entertain'd no Notions of any Danger to my self from it for a long while; All my Apprehensions were bury'd in the Thoughts of such a Pitch of inhuman, hellish Brutality, and the Horror of the Degeneracy of Humane Nature; which though I had heard of often, yet I never had so near a View of before; in short, I turn'd away my Face from the horrid Spectacle; my Stomach grew sick, and I was just at the Point of Fainting, when Nature discharg'd the Disorder from my Stomach; and having vomited with an uncommon Violence, I was a little reliev'd; but cou'd not bear to stay in the Place a Moment; so I gat me up the Hill again, with all the Speed I cou'd, and walk'd on towards my own Habitation. When I came a little out of that Part of the Island, I stood still a while as amaz'd; and then recovering my self, I look'd up with the utmost Affection of my Soul, and with a Flood of Tears in my Eyes, gave God Thanks that had cast my first Lot in a Part of the World, where I was distinguish'dPhysically separated from such dreadful Creatures as these; and that though I had esteem'd my present Condition very miserable, had yet given me so many Comforts in it, that I had still more to give Thanks for than to complain of; and this above all, that I had even in this miserable Condition been comforted with the Knowledge of himself, and the Hope of his Blessing, which was a Felicity more than sufficiently equivalent to all the Misery which I had suffer'd, or could suffer. 196 In this Frame of Thankfulness, I went Home to my Castle, and began to be much easier now, as to the Safety of my Circumstances, than ever I was before; for I observ'd, that these Wretches never came to this Island in search of what they could get; perhaps not seeking, not wanting, or not expecting any Thing here; and having often, no doubt, been up in the cover'd woody Part of it, without finding any Thing to their Purpose. I knew I had been here now almost eighteen Years, and never saw the least Foot-steps of Humane Creature there before; and I might be here eighteen more, as entirely conceal'd as I was now, if I did not discover my self to them, which I had no manner of Occasion to do, it being my only Business to keep my self entirely conceal'd where I was, unless I found a better sort of Creatures than Canibals to make my self known to. Yet I entertain'd such an Abhorrence of the Savage Wretches, that I have been speaking of, and of the wretched inhuman Custom of their devouring and eating one another up, that I continu'd pensive, and sad, and kept close within my own Circle for almost two Years after this: When I say my own Circle, I mean by it, my three Plantations, viz. my Castle, my Country Seat, which I call'd my Bower, and my Enclosure in the Woods; nor did I look after this for any other Use than as an Enclosure for my Goats; for the Aversion which Nature gave me to these hellish Wretches, was such, that I was fearful of seeing them, as of seeing the Devil himself; nor did I so much as go to look after my Boat, in all this Time; but began rather to think of making me another; for I cou'd not think of ever making any more Attempts, to bring the other Boat round the Island to me, leastLest I should meet with some of these Creatures at Sea, 197 in which, if I had happen'd to have fallen into their Hands, I knew what would have been my Lot. Time however, and the Satisfaction I had, that I was in no Danger of being discover'd by these People, began to wear off my Uneasiness about them; and I began to live just in the same compos'd Manner as before; only with this Difference, that I used more Caution, and kept my Eyes more about me than I did before, least I should happen to be seen by any of them; and particularly, I was more cautious of firing my Gun, least any of them being on the Island, should happen to hear of it; and it was therefore a very good Providence to me, that I had furnish'd my self with a tame Breed of Goats, that I needed not hunt any more about the Woods, or shoot at them; and if I did catch any of them after this, it was by Traps, and Snares, as I had done before; so that for two Years after this, I believe I never fir'd my Gun once of, though I never went out without it; and which was more, as I had sav'd three Pistols out of the Ship, I always carry'd them out with me, or at least two of them, sticking them in my Goat-skin Belt; also I furbish'd up one of the great CutlashesCutlasses (a sailor's sword with a curved blade), that I had out of the Ship, and made me a Belt to put it on also; so that I was now a most formidable Fellow to look at, when I went abroad, if you add to the former Description of my self, the Particular of two Pistols, and a great broad Sword, hanging at my Side in a Belt, but without a Scabbard. Things going on thus, as I have said, for some Time; I seem'd, excepting these Cautions, to be reduc'd to my f