Loe raamatut: «The Works of Aphra Behn», lehekülg 23

In the mean time Ardelia, who that fatal Night but too rightly guess’d that the Death of one or both her Lovers was the Cause that they did not return to their Promise, the next Day fell into a high Fever, in which her Father found her soon after he had clear’d himself of those who come to search for a Lover. The Assurance which her Father gave her of Henrique’s Life, seemed a little to revive her; but the Severity of Antonio’s Fate was no Way obliging to her, since she could not but retain the Memory of his Love and Constancy; which added to her Afflictions, and heightned her Distemper, insomuch that Richardo was constrain’d to leave her under the Care of the good Lady Abbess, and to the diligent Attendance of Eleonora, not daring to hazard her Life in a Removal to his own House. All their Care and Diligence was however ineffectual; for she languished even to the least Hope of Recovery, till immediately after the first Visit of Don Henrique, which was the first he made in a Month’s Time, and that by Night incognito, with her Father, her Distemper visibly retreated each Day: Yet when at last she enjoy’d a perfect Health of Body, her Mind grew sick, and she plunged into a deep Melancholy; which made her entertain a positive Resolution of taking the Veil at the End of her Novitiate; which accordingly she did, notwithstanding all the Intreaties, Prayers, and Tears both of her Father and Lover. But she soon repented her Vow, and often wish’d that she might by any Means see and speak to Don Henrique, by whose Help she promised to her self a Deliverance out of her voluntary Imprisonment: Nor were his Wishes wanting to the same Effect, tho’ he was forced to fly into Italy, to avoid the Prosecution of Antonio’s Friends. Thither she pursu’d him; nor could he any way shun her, unless he could have left his Heart at a Distance from his Body: Which made him take a fatal Resolution of returning to Seville in Disguise, where he wander’d about the Convent every Night like a Ghost (for indeed his Soul was within, while his inanimate Trunk was without) till at last he found Means to convey a Letter to her, which both surprized and delighted her. The Messenger that brought it her was one of her Mother-in-Law’s Maids, whom he had known before, and met accidentally one Night as he was going his Rounds, and she coming out from Ardelia; with her he prevail’d, and with Gold obliged her to Secrecy and Assistance: Which proved so successful, that he understood from Ardelia her strong Desire of Liberty, and the Continuance of her Passion for him, together with the Means and Time most convenient and likely to succeed for her Enlargement. The Time was the fourteenth Night following, at twelve o’Clock, which just compleated a Month since his Return thither; at which Time they both promised themselves the greatest Happiness on Earth. But you may observe the Justice of Heaven, in their Disappointment.

Don Sebastian, who still pursu’d him with a most implacable Hatred, had traced him even to Italy, and there narrowly missing him, posted after him to Toledo; so sure and secret was his Intelligence! As soon as he arriv’d, he went directly to the Convent where his Sister Elvira had been one of the Profess’d, ever since Don Henrique had forsaken her, and where Ardelia had taken her repented Vow. Elvira had all along conceal’d the Occasion of her coming thither from Ardelia; and tho’ she was her only Confident, and knew the whole Story of her Misfortunes, and heard the Name of Don Henrique repeated a hundred Times a Day, whom still she lov’d most perfectly, yet never gave her beautiful Rival any Cause of Suspicion that she lov’d him, either by Words or Looks: Nay more, when she understood that Don Henrique came to the Convent with Ardelia and Antonio, and at other Times with her Father; yet she had so great a Command of her self, as to refrain seeing him, or to be seen by him; nor ever intended to have spoken or writ to him, had not her Brother Don Sebastian put her upon the cruel Necessity of doing the last; who coming to visit his Sister (as I have said before) found her with Dona Ardelia, whom he never remembred to have seen, nor who ever had seen him but twice, and that was about six Years before, when she was but ten Years of Age, when she fell passionately in Love with him, and continu’d her Passion till about the fourteenth Year of her Empire, when unfortunate Antonio first began his Court to her. Don Sebastian was really a very desirable Person, being at that time very beautiful, his Age not exceeding six and twenty, of a sweet Conversation, very brave, but revengeful and irreconcilable (like most of his Countrymen) and of an honourable Family. At the Sight of him Ardelia felt her former Passion renew; which proceeded and continued with such Violence, that it utterly defac’d the Ideas of Antonio and Henrique. (No Wonder that she who could resolve to forsake her God for Man, should quit one Lover for another.) In short, she then only wished that he might love her equally, and then she doubted not of contriving the Means of their Happiness betwixt ’em. She had her Wish, and more, if possible; for he lov’d her beyond the Thought of any other present or future Blessing, and fail’d not to let her know it, at the second Interview; when he receiv’d the greatest Pleasure he could have wish’d, next to the Joys of a Bridal Bed: For she confessed her Love to him, and presently put him upon thinking on the Means of her Escape; but not finding his Designs so likely to succeed, as those Measures she had sent to Don Henrique, she communicates the very same to Don Sebastian, and agreed with him to make use of them on that very Night, wherein she had obliged Don Henrique to attempt her Deliverance: The Hour indeed was different, being determined to be at eleven. Elvira, who was present at the Conference, took the Hint; and not being willing to disoblige a Brother who had so hazarded his Life in Vindication of her, either does not, or would not seem to oppose his Inclinations at that Time: However, when he retired with her to talk more particularly of his intended Revenge on Don Henrique, who he told her lay somewhere absconded in Toledo, and whom he had resolved, as he assured her, to sacrifice to her injur’d Honour, and his Resentments; she oppos’d that his vindictive Resolution with all the forcible Arguments in a virtuous and pious Lady’s Capacity, but in vain: so that immediately upon his Retreat from the Convent, she took the Opportunity of writing to Don Henrique as follows, the fatal Hour not being then seven Nights distant.

Don Henrique,

My Brother is now in Town, in Pursuit of your Life; nay more, of your Mistress, who has consented to make her Escape from the Convent, at the same Place of it, and by the same Means on which she had agreed to give her self entirely to you, but the Hour is eleven. I know, Henrique, your Ardelia is dearer to you than your Life: But your Life, your dear Life, is more desired than any Thing in this World, by

Your injur’d and forsaken

ELVIRA.

This she delivered to Richardo’s Servant, whom Henrique had gained that Night, as soon as she came to visit Ardelia, at her usual Hour, just as she went out of the Cloister.

Don Henrique was not a little surprized with this Billet; however, he could hardly resolve to forbear his accustom’d Visits to Ardelia, at first: But upon more mature Consideration, he only chose to converse with her by Letters, which still press’d her to be mindful of her Promise, and of the Hour, not taking notice of any Caution that he had received of her Treachery. To which she still return’d in Words that might assure him of her Constancy.

The dreadful Hour wanted not a Quarter of being perfect, when Don Henrique came; and having fixed his Rope-Ladder to that Part of the Garden-Wall, where he was expected, Ardelia, who had not stir’d from that very Place for a Quarter of an Hour before, prepar’d to ascend by it; which she did, as soon as his Servant had returned and fixed it on the inner-side of the Wall: On the Top of which, at a little Distance, she found another fasten’d, for her to descend on the out-side, whilst Don Henrique eagerly waited to receive her. She came at last, and flew into his Arms; which made Henrique cry out in a Rapture, Am I at last once more happy in having my Ardelia in my Possession! She, who knew his Voice, and now found she was betray’d, but knew not by whom, shriek’d out, I am ruined! help! help!—Loose me, I charge you, Henrique! Loose me! At that very Moment, and at those very Words, came Sebastian, attended by only one Servant; and hearing Henrique reply, Not all the Powers of Hell shall snatch you from me, drawing his Sword, without one Word, made a furious Pass at him: But his Rage and Haste misguided his Arm, for his Sword went quite through Ardelia’s Body, who only said, Ah, wretched Maid! and drop’d from Henrique’s Arms, who then was obliged to quit her, to preserve his own Life, if possible: however he had not had so much Time as to draw, had not Sebastian been amazed at this dreadful Mistake of his Sword; but presently recollecting himself, he flew with redoubled Rage to attack Henrique; and his Servant had seconded him, had not Henrique’s, who was now descended, otherwise diverted him. They fought with the greatest Animosity on both Sides, and with equal Advantage; for they both fell together: Ah, my Ardelia, I come to thee now! (Sebastian groan’d out,) —’Twas this unlucky Arm, which now embraces thee, that killed thee. Just Heaven! (she sigh’d out,) —Oh, yet have Mercy! [Here they both dy’d.] Amen, (cry’d Henrique, dying) I want it most– Oh, Antonio! Oh, Elvira! Ah, there’s the Weight that sinks me down.—And yet I wish Forgiveness.—Once more, sweet Heaven, have Mercy! He could not out-live that last Word; which was echo’d by Elvira, who all this while stood weeping, and calling out for Help, as she stood close to the Wall in the Garden.

This alarmed the Rest of the Sisters, who rising, caus’d the Bell to be rung out, as upon dangerous Occasions it used to be; which rais’d the Neighbourhood, who came time enough to remove the dead Bodies of the two Rivals, and of the late fallen Angel Ardelia. The injur’d and neglected Elvira, whose Piety designed quite contrary Effects, was immediately seiz’d with a violent Fever; which, as it was violent, did not last long: for she dy’d within four and twenty Hours, with all the happy Symptoms of a departing Saint.

THE LUCKY MISTAKE

TO GEORGE GREENVIEL, ESQ;¹⁷ Lord Lansdowne, the celebrated wit, dramatist and poet, was born in 1667. Having zealously offered in 1688 to defend James II, during the subsequent reign he perforce ‘lived in literary retirement’. He then wrote The She Gallants (1696, and 4to, 1696), an excellent comedy full of jest and spirit. Offending, however, some ladies ‘who set up for chastity’ it made its exit. Granville afterwards revived it as Once a Lover and Always a Lover. Heroick Love, a tragedy (1698), had great success. The Jew of Venice (1701), is a piteously weak adaption of The Merchant of Venice. A short masque, Peleus and Thetis accompanies the play. The British Enchanters, an opera (1706), is a pleasing piece, and was very well received. At the accession of Queen Anne, Granville entered the political arena and attained considerable offices of state. Suspected of being an active Jacobite he was, under George I, imprisoned from 25 September, 1715, till 8 February, 1717. In 1722 he went abroad, and lived in Paris for ten years. In 1732 he returned and published a finely printed edition of his complete Works (2 Vols., 4to, 1732; and again, 3 Vols., 1736, 12mo). He died 30 January, 1735, and is buried in St. Clement Danes.


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Sir,

At this Critical Juncture, I find the Authors will have need of a Protector, as well as the Nation, we having peculiar Laws and Liberties to be defended as well as that, but of how different a Nature, none but such Judges as you are fit to determine; whatever our Province be, I am sure it should be Wit, and you know what Ellevated Ben says, That none can judge of Wit but Wit. Let the Heroes toyl for Crowns and Kingdoms and with what pretences they please. Let the Slaves of State drudge on for false and empty Glories, troubling the repose of the World and ruining their own to gain uneasy Grandure, whilst you, oh! happyer Sir, great enough by your Birth, yet more Illustrious by your Wit, are capable of enjoying alone that true Felicity of Mind, which belongs to an absolutely Vertuous and Gallant Man, by that, and the lively Notions of Honour Imprinted in your Soul, you are above Ambition, and can Form Kings and Heroes, when ’ere your delicate Fancy shall put you upon the Poetical Creation.

You can make those Heroes Lovers too, and inspire ’em with a Language so Irresistable as may instruct the Fair, how easily you may Conquer when it comes to your turn, to plead for a Heart, nor is your delicate Wit the only Charm; your Person claims an equal share of Graces with those of your Mind, and both together are capable of rendering you Victorious, whereever you shall please to Address ’em, but your Vertue keeps you from those Ravages of Beauty, which so wholly imploy the hours of the Rest of the Gay and Young, whilst you have business more sollid, and more noble for yours.

I would not by this have the World imagine you are therefore exempt from the tenderness of Love, it rather seems you were on purpose form’d for that Soft Entertainment, such an Agreement there is between the Harmony of your Soul and your Person, and sure the Muses who have so divinely inspir’d you with Poetic Fires, have furnisht you with that Necessary Material (Love) to maintain it, and to make it burn with the more Ellevated Flame.

’Tis therefore, Sir, I expect you will the more easily Pardon the Dedicating to your idler hours (if any such you have) this little Amour, all that I shall say for it, is, that ’tis not Translation but an Original, that has more of realty than fiction, if I have not made it fuller of intreague, ’twas because I had a mind to keep close to the Truth.

I must own, Sir, the Obligations I have to you, deserves a greater testimony of my respect, than this little piece, too trivial to bear the honour of your Name, but my increasing Indisposition makes me fear I shall not have many opportunities of this Kind, and shou’d be loath to leave this ungrateful World, without acknowledging my Gratitude more signally than barely by word of Mouth, and without wishing you all the happiness your merit and admirable Vertues deserve and of assuring you how unfeignedly I am (and how Proud of being) Sir,

Your most obliged and

most humble servant

A. Behn.

THE LUCKY MISTAKE:
A New Novel

The River Loyre has on its delightful Banks abundance of handsome, beautiful and rich Towns and Villages, to which the noble Stream adds no small Graces and Advantages, blessing their Fields with Plenty, and their Eyes with a thousand Diversions. In one of these happily situated Towns, called Orleans, where abundance of People of the best Quality and Condition reside, there was a rich Nobleman, now retir’d from the busy Court, where in his Youth he had been bred, weary’d with the Toils of Ceremony and Noise, to enjoy that perfect Tranquillity of Life, which is no where to be found but in Retreat, a faithful Friend, and a good Library; and, as the admirable Horace says, in a little House and a large Garden. Count Bellyaurd, for so was this Nobleman call’d, was of this Opinion; and the rather, because he had one only Son, called Rinaldo, now grown to the Age of fifteen, who having all the excellent Qualities and Graces of Youth by Nature, he would bring him up in all Virtues and noble Sciences, which he believ’d the Gaiety and Lustre of the Court might divert: he therefore in his Retirement spar’d no Cost to those that could instruct and accomplish him; and he had the best Tutors and Masters that could be purchased at Court: Bellyaurd making far less Account of Riches than of fine Parts. He found his Son capable of all Impressions, having a Wit suitable to his delicate Person, so that he was the sole Joy of his Life, and the Darling of his Eyes.

In the very next House, which join’d close to that of Bellyaurd’s, there lived another Count, who had in his Youth been banished the Court of France for some Misunderstandings in some high Affairs wherein he was concern’d: his Name was De Pais, a Man of great Birth, but of no Fortune; or at least one not suitable to the Grandeur of his Original. And as it is most natural for great Souls to be most proud (if I may call a handsome Disdain by that vulgar Name) when they are most depress’d; so De Pais was more retir’d, more estrang’d from his Neighbours, and kept a greater Distance, than if he had enjoy’d all he had lost at Court; and took more Solemnity and State upon him, because he would not be subject to the Reproaches of the World, by making himself familiar with it: So that he rarely visited; and, contrary to the Custom of those in France, who are easy of Access, and free of Conversation, he kept his Family retir’d so close, that ’twas rare to see any of them; and when they went abroad, which was but seldom, they wanted nothing as to outward Appearance, that was fit for his Quality, and what was much above his Condition.

This old Count had two only Daughters, of exceeding Beauty, who gave the generous Father ten thousand Torments, as often as he beheld them, when he consider’d their extreme Beauty, their fine Wit, their Innocence, Modesty, and above all their Birth; and that he had not a Fortune to marry them according to their Quality; and below it, he had rather see them laid in their silent Graves, than consent to it: for he scorn’d the World should see him forced by his Poverty to commit an Action below his Dignity.

There lived in a neighbouring Town, a certain Nobleman, Friend to De Pais, call’d Count Vernole, a Man of about forty years of Age, of low Stature, Complexion very black and swarthy, lean, lame, extreme proud and haughty; extracted of a Descent from the Blood-Royal; not extremely brave, but very glorious: he had no very great Estate, but was in Election of a greater, and of an Addition of Honour from the King, his Father having done most worthy Services against the Hugonots, and by the high Favour of Cardinal Mazarine, was represented to his Majesty, as a Man related to the Crown, of great Name, but small Estate: so that there were now nothing but great Expectations and Preparations in the Family of Count Vernole to go to the Court, to which he daily hoped an Invitation or Command.

Vernole’s Fortune being hitherto something a-kin to that of De Pais, there was a greater Correspondency between these two Gentlemen, than they had with any other Persons; they accounting themselves above the rest of the World, believed none so proper and fit for their Conversation, as that of each other: so that there was a very particular Intimacy between them. Whenever they went abroad, they clubb’d their Train, to make one great Show; and were always together, bemoaning each other’s Fortune, and that from so high a Descent, as one from Monarchs by the Mother’s side, and the other from Dukes of the Father’s Side, they were reduc’d by Fate to the Degree of private Gentlemen. They would often consult how to manage Affairs most to Advantage, and often De Pais would ask Counsel of Vernole, how best he should dispose of his Daughters, which now were about their ninth Year the eldest, and eighth the youngest. Vernole had often seen those two Buds of Beauty, and already saw opening in Atlante’s Face and Mind (for that was the Name of the eldest, and Charlot the youngest) a Glory of Wit and Beauty, which could not but one Day display it self, with dazling Lustre, to the wondring World.

Vernole was a great Virtuoso, of a Humour nice, delicate, critical and opinionative: he had nothing of the French Mein in him, but all the Gravity of the Don. His ill-favour’d Person, and his low Estate, put him out of Humour with the World; and because that should not upbraid or reproach his Follies and Defects, he was sure to be beforehand with that, and to be always satirick upon it; and lov’d to live and act contrary to the Custom and Usage of all Mankind besides.

He was infinitely delighted to find a Man of his own Humour in De Pais, or at least a Man that would be persuaded to like his so well, to live up to it; and it was no little Joy and Satisfaction to him to find, that he kept his Daughters in that Severity, which was wholly agreeable to him, and so contrary to the Manner and Fashion of the French Quality; who allow all Freedoms, which to Vernole’s rigid Nature, seem’d as so many Steps to Vice, and in his Opinion, the Ruiner of all Virtue and Honour in Womankind. De Pais was extremely glad his Conduct was so well interpreted, which was no other in him than a proud Frugality; who, because they could not appear in so much Gallantry as their Quality required, kept ’em retir’d, and unseen to all, but his particular Friends, of whom Vernole was the chief.

Vernole never appear’d before Atlante (which was seldom) but he assum’d a Gravity and Respect fit to have entertain’d a Maid of Twenty, or rather a Matron of much greater Years and Judgment. His Discourses were always of Matters of State or Philosophy; and sometimes when De Pais would (laughing) say, ‘He might as well entertain Atlante with Greek and Hebrew,’ he would reply gravely, ‘You are mistaken, Sir, I find the Seeds of great and profound Matter in the Soul of this young Maid, which ought to be nourish’d now while she is young, and they will grow up to very great Perfection: I find Atlante capable of the noble Virtues of the Mind, and am infinitely mistaken in my Observations, and Art of Physiognomy, if Atlante be not born for greater Things than her Fortune does now Promise: She will be very considerable in the World, (believe me) and this will arrive to her perfectly from the Force of her Charms.’ De Pais was extremely overjoy’d to hear such Good prophesied of Atlante, and from that Time set a sort of an Esteem upon her, which he did not on Charlot his younger; whom, by the Persuasions of Vernole, he resolv’d to put in a Monastery, that what he had might descend to Atlante: not but he confess’d Charlot had Beauty extremely attractive, and a Wit that promised much, when it should be cultivated by Years and Experience; and would shew it self with great Advantage and Lustre in a Monastery. All this pleased De Pais very well, who was easily persuaded, since he had not a Fortune to marry her well in the World.

As yet Vernole had never spoke to Atlante of Love, nor did his Gravity think it Prudence to discover his Heart to so young a Maid; he waited her more sensible Years, when he could hope to have some Return. And all he expected from this her tender Age, was by his daily Converse with her, and the Presents he made her suitable to her Years, to ingratiate himself insensibly into her Friendship and Esteem, since she was not yet capable of Love; but even in that he mistook his Aim, for every day he grew more and more disagreeable to Atlante, and would have been her absolute Aversion, had she known she had every Day entertained a Lover; but as she grew in Years and Sense, he seemed the more despicable in her Eyes as to his Person; yet as she had respect to his Parts and Qualities, she paid him all the Complaisance she could, and which was due to him, and so must be confess’d. Tho’ he had a stiff Formality in all he said and did, yet he had Wit and Learning, and was a great Philosopher. As much of his Learning as Atlante was capable of attaining to, he made her Mistress of, and that was no small Portion; for all his Discourse was fine and easily comprehended, his Notions of Philosophy fit for Ladies; and he took greater Pains with Atlante, than any Master would have done with a Scholar: So that it was most certain, he added very great Accomplishment to her natural Wit: and the more, because she took a great Delight in Philosophy; which very often made her impatient of his Coming, especially when she had many Questions to ask him concerning it, and she would often receive him with a Pleasure in her Face, which he did not fail to interpret to his own Advantage, being very apt to flatter himself. Her Sister Charlot would often ask her, ‘How she could give whole Afternoons to so disagreeable a Man. What is it (said she) that charms you so? his tawny Leather-Face, his extraordinary high Nose, his wide Mouth and Eye-brows, that hang low’ring over his Eyes, his lean Carcase, and his lame and halting Hips?’ But Atlante would discreetly reply, ‘If I must grant all you say of Count Vernole to be true, yet he has a Wit and Learning that will atone sufficiently for all those Faults you mention: A fine Soul is infinitely to be preferr’d to a fine Body; this decays, but that’s eternal; and Age that ruins one, refines the other.’ Tho’ possibly Atlante thought as ill of the Count as her Sister, yet in Respect to him, she would not own it.

Atlante was now arriv’d to her thirteenth Year, when her Beauty, which every Day increas’d, became the Discourse of the whole Town, which had already gain’d her as many Lovers as had beheld her; for none saw her without languishing for her, or at least, but what were in very great Admiration of her. Every body talk’d of the young Atlante, and all the Noblemen, who had Sons (knowing the Smallness of her Fortune, and the Lustre of her Beauty) would send them, for fear of their being charm’d with her Beauty, either to some other part of the World, or exhorted them, by way of Precaution, to keep out of her Sight. Old Bellyaurd was one of those wise Parents; and timely Prevention, as he thought, of Rinaldo’s falling in Love with Atlante, perhaps was the Occasion of his being so: He had before heard of Atlante, and of her Beauty, yet it had made no Impressions on his Heart; but his Father no sooner forbid him Loving, than he felt a new Desire tormenting him, of seeing this lovely and dangerous young Person: he wonders at his unaccountable Pain, which daily sollicits him within, to go where he may behold this Beauty; of whom he frames a thousand Ideas, all such as were most agreeable to him; but then upbraids his Fancy for not forming her half so delicate as she was; and longs yet more to see her, to know how near she approaches to the Picture he has drawn of her in his Mind: and tho’ he knew she liv’d the next House to him, yet he knew also she was kept within like a vow’d Nun, or with the Severity of a Spaniard. And tho’ he had a Chamber, which had a jutting Window, that look’d just upon the Door of Monsieur De Pais, and that he would watch many Hours at a time, in hope to see them go out, yet he could never get a Glimpse of her; yet he heard she often frequented the Church of our Lady. Thither then young Rinaldo resolv’d to go, and did so two or three Mornings; in which time, to his unspeakable Grief, he saw no Beauty appear that charm’d him; and yet he fancy’d that Atlante was there, and that he had seen her; that some one of those young Ladies that he saw in the Church was she, tho’ he had no body to enquire of, and that she was not so fair as the World reported; for which he would often sigh, as if he had lost some great Expectation. However, he ceased not to frequent this Church, and one day saw a young Beauty, who at first glimpse made his Heart leap to his Mouth, and fall a trembling again into its wonted Place; for it immediately told him, that that young Maid was Atlante: she was with her Sister Charlot, who was very handsome, but not comparable to Atlante. He fix’d his Eyes upon her as she kneel’d at the Altar; he never moved from that charming Face as long as she remain’d there; he forgot all Devotion, but what he paid to her; he ador’d her, he burnt and languished already for her, and found he must possess Atlante or die. Often as he gaz’d upon her, he saw her fair Eyes lifted up towards his, where they often met; which she perceiving, would cast hers down into her Bosom, or on her Book, and blush as if she had done a Fault. Charlot perceiv’d all the Motions of Rinaldo, how he folded his Arms, how he sigh’d and gaz’d on her Sister; she took notice of his Clothes, his Garniture, and every particular of his Dress, as young Girls use to do; and seeing him so very handsome, and so much better dress’d than all the young Cavaliers that were in the Church, she was very much pleas’d with him; and could not forbear saying, in a low Voice, to Atlante, ‘Look, look my Sister, what a pretty Monsieur yonder is! see how fine his Face is, how delicate his Hair, how gallant his Dress! and do but look how he gazes on you!’ This would make Atlante blush anew, who durst not raise her Eyes for fear she should encounter his. While he had the Pleasure to imagine they were talking of him, and he saw in the pretty Face of Charlot, that what she said was not to his Disadvantage, and by the Blushes of Atlante, that she was not displeas’d with what was spoken to her; he perceiv’d the young one importunate with her; and Atlante jogging her with her Elbow, as much as to say, Hold your Peace: all this he made a kind Interpretation of, and was transported with Joy at the good Omens. He was willing to flatter his new Flame, and to compliment his young Desire with a little Hope; but the divine Ceremony ceasing, Atlante left the Church, and it being very fair Weather, she walk’d home. Rinaldo, who saw her going, felt all the Agonies of a Lover, who parts with all that can make him happy; and seeing only Atlante attended with her Sister, and a Footman following with their Books, he was a thousand times about to speak to ’em; but he no sooner advanc’d a step or two towards ’em to that purpose (for he followed them) but his Heart fail’d, and a certain Awe and Reverence, or rather the Fears and Tremblings of a Lover, prevented him: but when he consider’d, that possibly he might never have so favourable an Opportunity again, he resolv’d a-new, and called up so much Courage to his Heart, as to speak to Atlante; but before he did so, Charlot looking behind her, saw Rinaldo very near to ’em, and cry’d out with a Voice of Joy, ‘Oh! Sister, Sister! look where the handsome Monsieur is, just behind us! sure he is some-body of Quality, for see he has two Footmen that follow him, in just such Liveries, and so rich as those of our Neighbour Monsieur Bellyaurd.’ At this Atlante could not forbear, but before she was aware of it, turn’d her Head, and look’d on Rinaldo; which encourag’d him to advance, and putting off his Hat, which he clapt under his Arm, with a low Bow, said, ‘Ladies, you are slenderly attended, and so many Accidents arrive to the Fair in the rude Streets, that I humbly implore you will permit me, whose Duty it is as a Neighbour, to wait on you to your Door.’ ‘Sir, (said Atlante blushing) we fear no Insolence, and need no Protector; or if we did, we should not be so rude to take you out of your way, to serve us.’ ‘Madam, (said he) my way lies yours. I live at the next Door, and am Son to Bellyaurd, your Neighbour. But, Madam, (added he) if I were to go all my Life out of the way, to do you Service, I should take it for the greatest Happiness that could arrive to me; but, Madam, sure a Man can never be out of his Way, who has the Honour of so charming Company.’ Atlante made no reply to this, but blush’d and bow’d: But Charlot said, ‘Nay, Sir, if you are our Neighbour, we will give you leave to conduct us home; but pray, Sir, how came you to know we are your Neighbours? for we never saw you before, to our knowledge.’ ‘My pretty Miss, (reply’d Rinaldo) I knew it from that transcendent Beauty that appear’d in your Faces, and fine Shapes; for I have heard, there was no Beauty in the World like that of Atlante’s; and I no sooner saw her, but my Heart told me it was she.’ ‘Heart! (said Charlot laughing) why, do Hearts use to speak?’ ‘The most intelligible of any thing, (Rinaldo reply’d) when ’tis tenderly touch’d, when ’tis charm’d and transported.’ At these Words he sigh’d, and Atlante, to his extreme Satisfaction, blush’d. ‘Touch’d, charm’d, and transported, (said Charlot) what’s that? And how do you do to have it be all these things? For I would give any thing in the World to have my Heart speak.’ ‘Oh! (said Rinaldo) your Heart is too young, it is not yet arrived to the Years of Speaking; about thirteen or fourteen, it may possibly be saying a thousand soft things to you; but it must be first inspir’d by some noble Object, whose Idea it must retain.’ ‘What (reply’d the pretty Prattler) I’ll warrant I must be in Love?’ ‘Yes, (said Rinaldo) most passionately, or you will have but little Conversation with your Heart.’ ‘Oh! (reply’d she) I am afraid the Pleasure of such a Conversation, will not make me amends for the Pain that Love will give me.’ ‘That (said Rinaldo) is according as the Object is kind, and as you hope; if he love, and you hope, you will have double Pleasure: And in this, how great an Advantage have fair Ladies above us Men! ’Tis always impossible for you to love in vain, you have your Choice of a thousand Hearts, which you have subdu’d, and may not only chuse your Slaves, but be assur’d of ’em; without speaking, you are belov’d, it needs not cost you a Sigh or a Tear: But unhappy Man is often destin’d to give his Heart, where it is not regarded, to sigh, to weep, and languish, without any hope of Pity.’ ‘You speak so feelingly, Sir, (said Charlot) that I am afraid this is your Case.’ ‘Yes, Madam, (reply’d Rinaldo, sighing) I am that unhappy Man.’ ‘Indeed it is pity (said she.) Pray, how long have you been so?’ ‘Ever since I heard of the charming Atlante, (reply’d he, sighing again) I ador’d her Character; but now I have seen her, I die for her.’ ‘For me, Sir! (said Atlante, who had not yet spoke) this is the common Compliment of all the young Men, who pretend to be Lovers; and if one should pity all those Sighers, we should have but very little left for our selves.’ ‘I believe (said Rinaldo) there are none that tell you so, who do not mean as they say: Yet among all those Adorers, and those who say they will die for you, you will find none will be so good as their Words but Rinaldo.’ ‘Perhaps (said Atlante) of all those who tell me of Dying, there are none that tell me of it with so little Reason as Rinaldo, if that be your Name, Sir.’ ‘Madam, it is, (said he) and who am transported with an unspeakable Joy, to hear those last Words from your fair Mouth: and let me, Oh lovely Atlante! assure you, that what I have said, are not Words of course, but proceed from a Heart that has vow’d it self eternally yours, even before I had the Happiness to behold this divine Person; but now that my Eyes have made good all my Heart before imagin’d, and did but hope, I swear, I will die a thousand Deaths, rather than violate what I have said to you; that I adore you; that my Soul and all my Faculties, are charm’d with your Beauty and Innocence, and that my Life and Fortune, not inconsiderable, shall be laid at your Feet.’ This he spoke with a Fervency of Passion, that left her no Doubt of what he had said; yet she blush’d for Shame, and was a little angry at her self, for suffering him to say so much to her, the very first time she saw him, and accused her self for giving him any Encouragement: And in this Confusion she replied, ‘Sir, you have said too much to be believ’d; and I cannot imagine so short an Acquaintance can make so considerable an Impression; of which Confession I accuse my self much more than you, in that I did not only hearken to what you said, without forbidding you to entertain me at that rate, but for unheedily speaking something, that has encourag’d this Boldness; for so I must call it, in a Man so great a Stranger to me.’ ‘Madam (said he) if I have offended by the Suddenness of my presumptuous Discovery, I beseech you to consider my Reasons for it, the few Opportunities I am like to have, and the Impossibility of waiting on you, both from the Severity of your Father and mine; who, ere I saw you, warn’d me of my Fate, as if he foresaw I should fall in love, as soon as I should chance to see you; and for that Reason has kept me closer to my Studies, than hitherto I have been. And from that time I began to feel a Flame, which was kindled by Report alone, and the Description my Father gave of your wondrous and dangerous Beauty: Therefore, Madam, I have not suddenly told you of my Passion. I have been long your Lover, and have long languish’d without telling of my Pain; and you ought to pardon it now, since it is done with all the Respect and religious Awe, that ’tis possible for a Heart to deliver and unload it self in; therefore, Madam, if you have by chance uttered any thing, that I have taken Advantage or Hope from, I assure you ’tis so small, that you have no reason to repent it; but rather, if you would have me live, send me not from you, without a Confirmation of that little Hope. See, Madam, (said he, more earnestly and trembling) see we are almost arriv’d at our Homes, send me not to mine in a Despair that I cannot support with Life; but tell me, I shall be bless’d with your Sight, sometimes in your Balcony, which is very near to a jetting Window in our House, from whence I have sent many a longing Look towards yours, in hope to have seen my Soul’s Tormentor.’ ‘I shall be very unwilling (said she) to enter into an Intrigue of Love or Friendship with a Man, whose Parents will be averse to my Happiness, and possibly mine as refractory, tho’ they cannot but know such an Alliance would be very considerable, my Fortune not being suitable to yours: I tell you this, that you may withdraw in time from an Engagement, in which I find there will be a great many Obstacles.’ ‘Oh! Madam, (reply’d Rinaldo, sighing) if my Person be not disagreeable to you, you will have no occasion to fear the rest; ’tis that I dread, and that which is all my Fear.’ He, sighing, beheld her with a languishing Look, that told her, he expected her Answer; when she reply’d, ‘Sir, if that will be Satisfaction enough for you at this time, I do assure you, I have no Aversion for your Person, in which I find more to be valu’d, than in any I have yet seen; and if what you say be real, and proceed from a Heart truly affected, I find, in spite of me, you will oblige me to give you Hope.’