Love in Excess; or, the Fatal Enquiry / A Novel in Three Parts

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, 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 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, 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 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:

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.

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

Nothing cou’d be more comical than the appearance of this Fellow, he seem’d to be about 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 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 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 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 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 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, 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.

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 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, (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, 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 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, to make any other Answer to these Words than with a half Smile; which the other perceiving, without any farther Prelude, began to satisfy his Curiosity in this manner.

The History of Monsieur Frankville.

You know, my Lord, said he, that I was bred at Rheims with my Uncle, the Bishop of that Place, and continu’d with him, till after, prompted by Glory, and hope of that Renown you have since so gallantly acquir’d; you left the Pleasures of the Court for the Fatigues and Dangers of the Field: When I came home, I never ceas’d solliciting my Father to permit me to Travel, ’till weary’d with my continual 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 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 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 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 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 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 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.