Chapter XVII: Part III (3)

His uncle had belonging to his house the most fine garden of any in that province, where those things are not much esteemed; in which the old gentleman took wonderful delight, and kept a gardener and his family in a little house at the farther end of the garden, on purpose to look to it and dress it. This man had a very great veneration for _Octavio_, whom he called his young lord. Sure of the fidelity of this gardener, when it was dark enough to conceal him, he wrapped himself in his cloak, and got him thither by a back way, where with presents, he soon won those to his interest, who would before have been commanded by him in any service. He had a little clean room, and some little _French_ novels which he brought; and there he was as well concealed as if he had been in the _Indies_; he left word at home, that he was gone out of the town. He knew well enough that _Sylvia_’., lodgings looked that way; and when it was dark enough, he walked under her window, till he saw a candle lighted in _Sylvia_’. bed-chamber, which was as great a joy to him as the star that guides the traveller, or wandering seaman, or the lamp at _Sestos_, that guided the ravished lover over the _Hellespont_. And by that time he could imagine all in bed, he made a little noise with a key on the pummel of his sword; but whether _Sylvia_ heard it or not, I cannot tell, but she anon came to the window, and putting up the sash, leaned on her arms and looked into the garden. Oh! Who but he himself that loved so well as _Octavio_, can express the transports he was in, at the sight? Which, more from the sight within than that without, he saw was the lovely _Sylvia_; whom calling softly by her name, answered him, as if she knew the welcome voice, and cried--’Who is there, _Octavio_? She was soon answered you may imagine. And they began the most endearing conversation that ever love could dictate. He complains on his fate that sets them at that distance, and she pities him. He makes a thousand doubts, and she undeceives them all. He fears, and she convinces his error, and is impatient at his suspicions. She will not endure him to question a heart that has given him so many proofs of its tenderness and gratitude; she tells him her own wishes, how soft and fervent they are; and assures him, he is extremely obliged to her----’Since for you--my charming friend,’ said she to _Octavio_, ‘I have refused this night to marry your uncle; have a care,’ said she, smiling, ‘how you treat me, lest I revenge myself on you; become your aunt, and bring heirs to the estate you have a right to: the writings of all which I have now in my chamber, and which were but just now laid at my feet, and which I cannot yet get him to receive back. And to oblige me to a compliance, has told me how you have deceived me, by giving yourself to another, and exposing me in lampoons.’--To this _Octavio_ would have replied, but she assured him she needed no argument to convince her of the falsehood of all. He sighs, and told her, all she said, though dear and charming, was not sufficient to ease his heart; for he foresaw a world of hazard to get her from thence, and mischiefs if she remained; insomuch that he caused the tears to flow from the fair eyes of _Sylvia_, with her reflections on her rigid fortune. And she cried, ‘Oh, my _Octavio_! What strange fate or stars ruled my birth, that I should be born to the ruin of what I love, or those that love me!’ At this rate they passed the night, sometimes more soft, sometimes encouraging one another; but the last result was to contrive the means of escaping. He fancied she might easily do it by the garden from the window: but that he was not sure he could trust the gardener so far, who in all things would serve him, in which his lord and master was not injured; and he, amongst the rest of the servants, had orders not to suffer _Sylvia_ out of the garden, for which reason he kept a guard on that back-door. Some way must be found out which yet was not, and was left to time. He told her whence he was, and that he would not stir from thence, till he was secured of her flight: and day coming on, though loath, yet for fear of eyes and ears that might spy upon them, he retired to his little lodging, and _Sylvia_ to bed; after giving and receiving a thousand vows and farewells. The next night he came to the same place, but instead of entertaining her--he only saw her softly put up the sash a little, and throw something white out of the window and retire. He was wondering at the meaning, but taking up what was thrown down, he found and smelt it was _Sylvia_’. handkerchief, in which was tied up a billet: he went to his little lodging, and read it.

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

Go from my window, my adorable friend, and be not afflicted that I do not entertain you as I had the joy to do last night; for both our voices were heard by some one that lodges below; and though your uncle could not tell me any part of our conversation, yet he heard I talked to some body: I have persuaded him the fellow dreamed who gave him this intelligence, and he is almost satisfied he did so; however, hazard not thy dear-self any more so, but let me lose for a while the greatest happiness this earth can afford me, (in the circumstances of our fortunes) rather than expose what is dearer to me than life or honour: pity the fate I was born to, and expect all things from

_Your_ SYLVIA.

_I will wait at the window for your answer, and let you down a ribband, by which I will draw it up: but as you love me do not speak._

He had no sooner read this, but he went to write an answer, which was this.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Complain not, thou goddess of my vows, on the fate thou wert born to procure to all mankind; but thank heaven for having received ten thousand charms that can recompense all the injuries you so unwillingly do us: and who would not implore his ruin from all the angry powers, if in return they would give him so glorious a reward? Who would not be undone to all the trifling honours of the mistaken world, to find himself, in lieu of all, possessed of the ravishing _Sylvia_? But oh! Where is that presumptuous man, that can at the price of all lay claim to so vast a blessing? Alas, my _Sylvia_, even while I dare call you mine, I am not that hoping slave; no, not after all the valued dear things you have said and vowed to me last night in the garden, welcome to my soul as life after a sentence of death, or heaven after life is ended. But, oh _Sylvia_! all this, even all you uttered from your dear mouth is not sufficient to support me: alas, I die for _Sylvia_! I am not able to bear the cruel absence longer, therefore without delay assist me to contrive your escape, or I shall die, and leave you to the ravage of his love who holds thee from me; the very thoughts of that is worse than death. I die, alas, I die, for an entire possession of thee: oh let me grasp my treasure, let me engross it all, here in my longing arms. I can no longer languish at this distance from my cruel joy, my life, my soul! But oh I rave, and while I should be speaking a thousand useful things, I am telling you my pain, a pain that you may guess; and confounding myself between those and their remedies, am able to fix on nothing. Help me to think, oh my dear charming creature, help me to think how I shall bear thee off! Take your own measures, flatter him with love, soothe him to faith and confidence, and then--oh pardon me, if there be baseness in the action--then--cozen him--deceive him--any thing--for he deserves it all, that thinks that lovely body was formed for his embraces, whom age has rendered fitter for a grave. Form any plots, use every stratagem to save the life of

_Your_ OCTAVIO.

* * * * *

He wrote this in haste and disorder, as you may plainly see by the style, and went to the window with it, where he found _Sylvia_ leaning expecting him: the sashes were up, and he tossed it in the handkerchief into her window: she read it, and wrote an answer back as soft as love could form, to send him pleased to bed; wherein she commanded him to hope all things from her wit and industrious love.

This had partly the effects she wished, and after kissing his hand, and throwing it up towards _Sylvia_, they parted as silent as the night from day, which was now just dividing--so long they stayed, though but to look at each other; so that all the morning was passed in bed to make the day seem shorter, which was too tedious to both: this pleasure he had after noon, towards the evening, that when _Sylvia_ walked, as she always did in the garden, he could see her through the glass of his window, but durst not open it; for the old gentleman was ever with her. In this time _Octavio_ failed not however to essay the good nature of the gardener in order to _Sylvia_’. flight, but found there was no dealing with him in this affair; and therefore durst not come right down to the point: the next night he came under the beloved window again, and found the sacred object of his wishes leaning in the window expecting him: to whom, as soon as she heard his tread on the gravel, she threw down a handkerchief again, which he took up, and tossed his own with a soft complaining letter to entertain her till his return; for he hasted to read hers, and swept the garden as he passed as swift as wind; so impatient he was to see the inside--which he found thus:

SYLVIA _to_ OCTAVIO.

I beg, my charming friend, you will be assured of all I have promised you; and to believe that but for the pleasure of those dear billets I receive from you, I could as little support this cruel confinement as you my absence. I have but one game to play, and I beseech you not to be surprised at it, it is to promise to marry _Sebastian_: he is eternally at my feet, and either I must give him my vow to become his wife, or give him hope of other favours. I am so entirely yours, that I will be guided by you, which I shall flatter him in to gain my liberty; for if I grant either, he has proposed to carry me to his country-house, two leagues from the town, and there consummate whatever I design to bless him with; and this is it that has wrought my consent, that we being to go alone, only my own servants, you may easily take me thence by force upon the road, or after our arrival, where he will not guard me perhaps so strictly as he does here: for that, I leave it to your conduct, and expect your answer to your impatient

SYLVIA.

* * * * *

He immediately sat down, and wrote this:

* * * * *

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

Have a care, my charming fair, how you play with vows; and however you are forced, for that religious end of saving your honour, to deceive the poor old lover, whom, by heaven I pity; yet rather let me die than know you can be guilty of vow-breach, though made in jest. I am well pleased at the glimpse of hope you give me, that I shall see you at his _villa_; and doubt not but to find a way to secure you to myself: say any thing, promise to sacrifice all to his desire; but oh, do not give away thy dear, thy precious self by vow, to any but the languishing

OCTAVIO.

* * * * *

After he had wrote this, he hasted, and throws it into her window, and returned to bed without seeing her, which was no small affliction to his soul: he had an ill night of it, and fancied a thousand tormenting things; that the old gentleman might then be with her; and if alone, what might he not persuade, by force of rich presents, of which his uncle was well stored; and so he guessed, and as he guessed it proved, as by his next night’s letter he was informed, that the old lover no sooner saw _Sylvia_ retire, but having in mind to try his fortune in some critical minute--for such a minute he had heard there was that favoured lovers; but he goes to his closet, and taking out some jewels of great value, to make himself the more welcome, he goes directly to _Sylvia_’. chamber, and entered just as she had taken up _Octavio_’. letter, and clapped it in her bosom as she heard some body at the door; but was not in a little confusion, when she saw who it was, which she excused, by telling him she was surprised to find herself with a man in her chamber. That there he fell to pleading his cause of love, and offered her again to settle his estate upon her, and implored she would be his wife. After a thousand faint denials, she told him she could not possibly receive that honour, but if she could, she would have looked upon it as a great favour from heaven; at that he was thunder-struck, and looked as ghastly as if his mother’s ghost had frightened him; and after much debate, love and grief on his side, design and dissimulation on hers, she gave him hopes that atoned for all she had before said; insomuch that, before they parted, an absolute bargain was struck up, and he was to settle part of his estate upon her, as also that _villa_, to which he had resolved in two days to carry her; in earnest of this, he presents her with a necklace of pearl of good value, and other jewels, which was the best rhetoric he had yet spoke to her; and now she had appeared the most complaisant lady in the world, she suffers him to talk wantonly to her, nay, even to kiss her, and rub his grizzly beard on her divine face, grasp her hands, and touch her breast; a blessing he had never before arrived to, above the quality of his own servant-maid. To all which she makes the best resistance she can, under the circumstances of one who was to deceive well; and while she loathes, she seems well pleased, while the gay jewels sparkled in her eyes, and _Octavio_ in her heart; so fond is youth of vanities, and to purchase an addition of beauty at any price. Thus with her pretty flatteries she wrought upon his soul, and smiled and looked him into faith; loath to depart, she sends him pleased away, and having her heart the more inclined to _Octavio_, by being persecuted with his uncle’s love, (for by comparison she finds the mighty difference) she sets herself to write him the account of what I have related; this night’s adventure, and agreement between his uncle and herself. She tells him that to-morrow, (for now it was almost day,) she had promised him to go to his _villa_: she tells him at what rate she has purchased the blessing expected; and lastly, leaves the management of the rest to him, who needs not to be instructed. This letter he received the next night at the old place, and _Sylvia_ with it lets down a velvet night-bag, which contained all the jewels and things of value she had received of himself, his uncle, or any other: after which he retired, and was pretty well at ease, with the imagination he should ‘ere long be made happy in the possession of _Sylvia_: in order to it, the next morning he was early up, and dressing himself in a great coarse campaign-coat of the gardener’s, putting up his hair as well as he could, under a country hat, he got on a horse that suited his habit, and rides to the _villa_, whither they were to come, and which he knew perfectly well every room of; for there our hero was born. He went to a little _cabaret_ in the village, from whence he could survey all the great house, and see every body that passed in and out: he remained fixed at the window, filled with a thousand agitations; this he had resolved, not to set upon the old man as a thief, or robber; nor could he find in his heart or nature, to injure him, though but in a little affrighting him, who had given him so many anxious hours, and who had been so unjust to desire that blessing himself he would not allow him; and to believe that virtue in himself, which he exclaims against as so great a vice in his nephew; nevertheless he resolved to deceive him, to save his own life. And he wanted that nice part of generosity, as to satisfy a little unnecessary lust in an old man, to ruin the eternal content of a young one, so nearly allied to his soul, as was his own dear proper person. While he was thus considering, he saw his uncle’s coach coming, and _Sylvia_ with that doting lover in it, who was that day dressed in all the fopperies of youth, and every thing was young and gay about him but his person; that was winter itself, disguised in artificial spring; and he was altogether a mere contradiction: but who can guess the disorders and pantings of _Octavio_’. heart at the sight? And though he had resolved before, he would not to save his life, lay violent hands upon his old parent; yet at their approach, at their presenting themselves together before his eyes as two lovers, going to betray him to all the miseries, pangs and confusions of love; going to possess--her, the dear object and certain life of his soul, and he the parent of him, to whom she had disposed of herself, so entirely already, he was provoked to break from all his resolutions, and with one of those pistols he had in his pockets, to have sent unerring death to his old amorous heart; but that thought was no sooner born than stifled in his soul, where it met with all the sense of gratitude, that ever could present the tender love and dear care of a parent there; and the coach passing into the gate put him upon new designs, and before they were finished he saw _Sylvia_’. page coming from the house, after seeing his lady to her apartment, and being shewed his own, where he laid his valise and riding things, and was now come out to look about a country, where he had never been before. _Octavio_ goes down and meets him, and ventures to make himself known to him: and so infinitely glad was the youth to have an opportunity to serve him, that he vowed he would not only do it with his life, on occasion, but believed he could do it effectually, since the old gentleman had no sort of jealousy now; especially, since they had so prudently managed matters in this time of his lady’s remaining at _Sebastian_’. house. ‘So that, sir, it will not be difficult,’ says the generous boy, ‘for me to convey you to my lodging, when it is dark.’ He told him his lady cast many a longing look out towards the road, as she passed, ‘for you, I am sure, my lord;--for she had told both myself and _Antonet_ of her design before, lest our surprise or resistance should prevent any force you might use on the road, to take her from my lord _Sebastian_: she sighed, and looked on me as she alighted, with eyes, my lord, that told me her grief, for your disappointment.’

You may easily imagine how transported the poor _Octavio_ was; he kissed and embraced the amiable boy a thousand times; and taking a ring from his finger of considerable value, gave it the dear reviver of his hopes. _Octavio_ already knew the strength of the house, which consisted but of a gardener, whose wife was house-keeper, and their son who was his father’s servant in the garden, and their daughter, who was a sort of maid-servant: and they had brought only the coachman, and one footman, who were likely to be merrily employed in the kitchen at night when all got to supper together. I say, _Octavio_ already knew this, and there was now nothing that opposed his wishes: so that dismissing the dear boy, he remained the rest of the tedious day at the _cabaret_, the most impatient of night of any man on earth; and when the boy appeared, it was like the approach of an angel. He told him, his lady was the most melancholy creature that ever eyes beheld, and that to conceal the cause, she had feigned herself ill, and had not stirred from her chamber all the day: that the old lover was perpetually with her, and the most concerned dotard that ever _Cupid_ enslaved: that he had so wholly taken up his lady with his disagreeable entertainment, that it was impossible either by a look or note to inform her of his being so near her, whom she considered as her present defender, and her future happiness. ‘But this evening,’ continued the youth, ‘as I was waiting on her at supper, she spied the ring on my finger, which, my lord, your bounty made me master of this morning. She blushed a thousand times, and fixed her eyes upon it for she knew it, and was impatient to have asked me some questions, but contained her words: and after that, I saw a joy dance in her lovely eyes, that told me she divined you were not far from thence. Therefore I beseech your lordship let us haste.’ So both went out together, and the page conducted him into a chamber he better knew than the boy, while every moment he receives intelligence, how affairs went in that of _Sylvia_’. by the page, who leaving _Octavio_ there went out as a spy for him. In fine, with much ado, _Sylvia_ persuaded her old lover to urge her for no favours that night, for she was indisposed and unfit for love; yet she persuades with such an air, so smiling, and insinuating, that she increases the fire, she endeavoured to allay: but he, who was all obedience, as well as new desire, resolves to humour her, and shew the perfect gallantry of his love; he promises her she shall command: and after that never was the old gentleman seen in so excellent a humour before in the whole course of his life; a certain lightning against a storm that must be fatal to him.

He was no sooner gone from her, with a promise to go to bed and sleep, that he might be the earlier up to shew her the fine gardens, which she loved, but she sends _Antonet_ to call the page, from whom she longed to know something of _Octavio_, and was sure he could inform her. But she was undressing while she spoke, and got into her bed before she left her: but _Antonet_, instead of bringing the sighing youth, brought the transported and ravished _Octavio_, who had by this time pulled his coarse campaign, and put down his hair. He fell breathless with joy on her bed-side; when _Antonet_, who knew that love desired no lookers-on, retired, and left _Octavio_ almost dead with joy, in the clasping arms of the trembling maid, the lovely _Sylvia_. Oh, who can guess their satisfaction? Who can guess their sighs and love, their tender words, half stifled in kisses? Lovers! fond lovers! only can imagine; to all besides, this tale will be insipid. He now forgets where he is, that not far off lay his amorous uncle, that to be found there was death, and something worse; but wholly ravished with the languishing beauty, taking his pistols out of either pocket, he lays them on a dressing-table, near the bed-side, and in a moment throws off his clothes, and gives himself up to all the heaven of love, that lay ready to receive him there, without thinking of any thing, but the vast power of either’s charms. They lay and forgot the hasty hours, but old _Sebastian_ did not. They were all counted by him with the impatience of a lover: he burnt, he raged with fierce desire, and tossed from side to side, and found no ease; _Sylvia_ was present in imagination, and he like _Tantalus_ reaches at the food, which, though in view, is not within his reach: he would have prayed, but he had no devotion for any deity but _Sylvia_; he rose and walked and went to bed again, and found himself uneasy every way. A thousand times he was about to go, and try what opportunity would do, in the dark silent night--but fears her rage--he fears she will chide at least; then he resolves, and unresolves as fast: unhappy lover--thus to blow the fire when there was no materials to supply it; at last, overcome with fierce desire too violent to be withstood, or rather fate would have it so ordained, he ventures all, and steals to _Sylvia_’. chamber, believing, when she found him in her arms, she could not be displeased; or if she were, that was the surest place of reconciliation: so that only putting his night-gown about him, he went softly to her chamber for fear of waking her: the unthinking lovers had left open the door, so that it was hardly put to; and the first alarm was _Octavio_’. hand being seized, which was clasping his treasure. He starts from the frighted arms of _Sylvia_, and leaping from the bed would have escaped; for he knew too well the touch of that old hand; but _Sebastian_, wholly surprised at so robust a repulse, took most unfortunately a stronger hold, and laying both his hands roughly upon him, with a resolution to know who he was, for he felt his hair; and _Octavio_ struggling at the same minute to get from him, they both fell against the dressing-table, and threw down the pistols; in their fall, one of which going off, shot the unfortunate old lover into the head, so that he never spoke word more: at the going off of the pistol, _Sylvia_, who had not minded those _Octavio_ laid on the table, cried out--’Oh my _Octavio_!’ ‘My dearest charmer,’ replied he, ‘I am well----’and feeling on the dead body, which he wondered had no longer motion, he felt blood flowing round it, and sighing cried--’Ah _Sylvia_! I am undone--my uncle--oh my parent----speak, dear sir! what unlucky accident has done this fatal deed?’ _Sylvia_, who was very soft by nature, was extremely surprised, and frightened at the news of a dead man in her chamber, so that she was ready to run mad with the apprehension of it: she raved and tore herself, and expressed her fright in cries and distraction; so that _Octavio_ was compelled from one charitable grief to another. He goes to her and comforts her, and tells, since it is by no design of either of them, their innocence will be their guardian angel. He tells her, all their fault was love, which made him so heedlessly fond of joys with her, he stayed to reap those when he should have secured them by flight. He tells her this is now no place to stay in, and that he would put on her clothes, and fly with her to some secure part of the world; ‘For who,’ said he,’.hat finds this poor unfortunate here, will not charge his death on me, or thee?----Haste then, my dearest maid, haste, haste, and let us fly----’ So dressing her, he led her into _Antonet_’. chamber, while he went to see which way they could get out. So locking the chamber-door where the dead body lay, which by this time was stiff and cold, he locked that also of his uncle’s chamber, and calling the page, they all got themselves ready; and putting two horses in the coach, they unseen and unperceived got themselves all out: the servants having drank hard at their meeting in the country last night, were all too sound asleep to understand any thing of what passed. It being now about the break of day, _Octavio_ was the coachman, and the page riding by the coach-side, while _Sylvia_ and _Antonet_ were in it, they in an hour’s time reached the town, where _Octavio_ packed up all that was carriageable; took his own coach and six horses; left his affairs to the management of a kinsman, that dwelt with him, took bills to the value of two thousand pounds, and immediately left the town, after receiving some letters that came last night by the post, one of which was from _Philander_; and indeed, this new grief upon _Octavio_’. soul, made him the most dejected and melancholy man in the world, insomuch that he, who never wept for any thing but for love, was often found with tears rolling down his cheeks, at the remembrance of an accident so deplorable, and of which, he and his unhappy passion was the cause, though innocently: yet could not the dire reflection of that, nor the loss of so tender a parent as was _Sebastian_, lessen one spark of that fire for _Sylvia_, whose unfortunate flame had been so fatal. While they were safe out of danger, the servants of _Sebastian_ admired when ten, eleven and twelve o’clock was come, they saw neither the old lord, nor any of the new guests. But when the coachman missed his coach and horses, he was in a greater maze, and thought some body had stolen them, and accusing himself of sluggishness and debauchery, that made him not able to hear, when the coach went out, he forswore all drinking: but when the house-keeper and he met, and discoursed about the lady and the rest, they concluded, that the old gentleman and she were agreed upon the matter; and being got to bed together had quite forgot themselves; and made a thousand roguish remarks upon them. They believed the maid and the page too, were as well employed, since they saw neither. But when dinner was ready, she went up to the maid’s chamber and found it empty, as also that of the page; her heart then presaging something, she ventures to knock at her lord’s chamber-door, but finding it locked, and none answer, they broke it open; and after doing the same by that of _Sylvia_, they found the poor _Sebastian_ stretched on the floor, and shot in the head, the toilet pulled almost down, and the lock of the pistol hanging in the point of the toilet entangled, and the muzzle of it just against the wound. At first, when they saw him, they fancied _Sylvia_ might kill him, for either offering to come to bed to her in the night, or some other malicious end. But when they saw how the pistol lay, they fancied it accident in the dark; ‘For,’ said the woman--’I and my daughter have been up ever since day-break, and I am sure no such thing happened then, nor could they since escape:’ and it being natural in _Holland_ to cry, ‘Loop Schellum’, that is, ‘Run rogue’, to him that is alive, and who has killed another; and for every man to set a helping hand to bear him out of danger, thinking it too much that one is already dead: I say, this being the nature of the people, they never pursued the murderers, or fled persons, but suffered _Sebastian_ to lie till the coroner sat upon him, who found it, or at least thought it accident; and there was all for that time. But this, with all the reasonable circumstances, did not satisfy the _States_. Here is one of their high and mighties killed, a fair lady fled, and upon inquiry a fine young fellow too, the nephew: all knew they were rivals in this fair lady; all knew there were animosities between them; all knew _Octavio_ was absconded some days before; so that, upon consideration, they concluded he was murdered by compact; and the rather, because they wished it so in spite of _Octavio_; and because both he and _Sylvia_ were fled like guilty persons. Upon this they made a seizure of both his, and his uncle’s estate, to the use of the _States_. Thus the best and most glorious man, that ever graced that part of the world, was undone by love. While _Sylvia_ with sighs and tears would often say that sure she was born the fate of all that adored her, and no man ever thrived that had a design upon her, or a pretension to her.

Thus between excess of grief and excess of love, which indeed lay veiled in the first, they arrived at _Brussels_; where _Octavio_, having news of the proceedings of the _States_ against him, resolving rather to lose his life, than tamely to surrender his right, he went forth in order to take some care about it: and in these extremes of a troubled mind, he had forgot to read _Philander_’. letters, but gave them to _Sylvia_ to peruse, till he returned, beseeching and conjuring her, by all the charms of love, not to suffer herself to be afflicted, but now to consider she was wholly his; and she could not, and ought not to rob him of a sigh, or tear for any other man. For they had concluded to marry, as soon as _Sylvia_ should be delivered from that part of _Philander_, of which she was possessed. Therefore beholding her entirely his own, of whom he was so fondly tender, he could not endure the wind should blow on her, and kiss her lovely face: jealous of even the air she breathed, he was ever putting her in mind, of whose and what she was; and she ever giving him new assurances, that she was only _Octavio_’.. The last part of his ill news he concealed from her; that of the usage of the _States_. He was so entirely careful of her fame, that he had two lodgings, one most magnificent for her, another for himself; and only visited her all the live-long day. And being now retired from her, she whose love and curiosity grew less every day, for the false _Philander_, opened his letter with a sigh of departed love, and read this.

Philander _to_ Octavio.

Sure of your friendship, my dear _Octavio_, I venture to lay before you the history of my misfortunes, as well as those of my joys, equally extreme.

In my last, I gave you an account how triumphing a lover I was, in the possession of the adorable _Calista_; and how very near I was being surprised in the fountain, where I had hid myself from the rage of old _Clarinau_; and escaped wet and cold to my lodging: and though indeed I escaped, it was not without giving the old husband a jealousy, which put him upon inquiry, after a stricter manner, as I heard the next day from _Calista_; but with as ill success as the night before; notwithstanding it appears, by what after happened, that he still retained his jealousy, and that of me, from a thousand little inquiries I had from time to time made, from my being now absent, and most of all from my being, (as now he fancied) that vision, which _Calista_ saw in the garden. All these circumstances wrought a thousand _conundrums_, in his _Spanish_ politic noddle: and he resolves that _Calista_’. actions should be more narrowly watched. This I can only guess from what ensued. I am not able to say, by what good fortune, I escaped several happy nights after the first, but it is certain I did so; for the old man carrying all things fair to the lovely Countess, she thought herself secure in her joys hitherto, as to any discovery: however, I never went on this dear adventure but I was well armed against any mishaps, of poniard, sword, and pistol, that garb of a right _Spaniard_. _Calista_ had been married above two years, before I beheld her, and had never been with child: but it so chanced, that she conceived the very first night of our happiness; since which time, not all her flatteries and charms, could prevail for one night with the old Count: for, whether from her seeming fondness he imagined the cause, or what other reason he had to withstand her desire and caresses, I know not: but still he found, or feigned some excuses to put her off: so that _Calista_’. pleas and love increased with her growing belly. And though almost every night I had the fair, young charmer in bed with me, (without the least suspicion on _Dormina_’. side) or, else in the arbours, or on flowery banks in the garden; till I am confident there was not a walk, a grove, an arbour, or bed of sweets, that was not conscious of our stolen delights; nay, we grew so very bold in love, that we often suffered the day to break upon us; and still escaped his spies, who by either watching at the wrong door, or part of the vast garden, or by sleepiness, or carelessness, still let us pass their view. Four happy months, thus blessed, and thus secured, we lived, when _Calista_ could no longer conceal her growing shame, from the jealous _Clarinau_, or _Dormina_. She feared, with too much reason, that it was jealousy, which made him refrain her bed, though he dissembled well all day; and one night, weeping in my bosom, with all the tenderness of love, she said, that if I loved her, as she hoped I did, I should be shortly very miserable: ‘For oh,’ cries she, ‘I can no longer hide this----dear effect of my stolen happiness----and _Clarinau_ will no sooner perceive my condition, but he will use his utmost rigour against me; I know his jealous nature, and find I am undone----’ With that she told me how he had killed his first wife; for which he was obliged to fly from the Court, and country of _Spain_: and that she found from all his severity, he was not changed from his nature. In fine, she said and loved so much, that I was wholly charmed, and vowed myself her slave, or sacrifice, either to follow what she could propose, or fall a victim with her to my love. After which it was concluded, (neither having a mind to leave the world, when we both knew so well how to make ourselves happy in it) that the next night I should bring her a suit of men’s clothes; and she would in that disguise fly with me to any part of the world. For she vowed, if this unlucky force of flying had not happened to her, she had not been longer able to endure his tyranny and slavery; but had resolved to break her chain, and put herself upon any fortune. So that after the usual endearments on both sides, I left her, resolved to follow my fortune, and she me, to sacrifice all to her repose. That night, and all next day, she was not idle; but put up all her jewels, of which she had the richest of any lady in all those parts; for in that the old Count was over-lavish: and the next night I brought her a suit, which I had made that day on purpose, as gay as could be made in so short a time; and scaling my wall, well armed, I found her ready at the door to receive me; and going into an arbour, by the aid of a dark-lanthorn I carried, she dressed her in a laced shirt of mine, and this suit I had brought her, of blue velvet, trimmed with rich loops and buttons of gold; a white hat, and white feather; a fair peruke, and scarlet breeches, the rest suitable. And I must confess to you, my dear _Octavio_, that never any thing appeared so ravishing, and yet I have seen _Sylvia_! But even she a baby to this more noble figure. _Calista_ is tall, and fashioned the most divinely--the most proper for that dress of any of her sex: and I own I never saw any thing so beautiful all over, from head to foot: and viewing her thus, (carrying my lanthorn all about her) but more especially her face, her wondrous, charming face--(pardon me, if I say, what does but look like flattery)--I never saw any thing more resembling my dear _Octavio_, than the lovely _Calista_, Your very feature, your very smile and air; so that, if possible, that increased my adoration and esteem for her: thus completed, I armed her, and buckled on her sword, and she would needs have one of my pistols too, that stuck in my belt; and now she appeared all lovely man. It was so late by that time we had done, that the moon, which began to shine very bright, gave us a thousand little fears, and disposing her jewels all about us safe, we began our adventure, with a thousand dreadful apprehensions on _Calista_’. side. And going up the walk, towards the place where we were to mount the wall, just at the end of it, turning a corner, we encountered two men, who were too near us to be prevented. ‘Oh,’ cried _Calista_ to me, who saw them first,--’My dear _Philander_, we are undone!’ I looked and saw them, and replied, ‘My charmer, do not fear, they are but two to two, whoever they be; for love and I shall be of force enough to encounter them.’ ‘No, my _Philander_,’ replied she briskly, ‘it is I will be your second in this rencounter.’ At this approaching them more near, (for they hasted to us, nor could we fly from them,) we soon found by his hobbling, that old _Clarinau_ was one, and the other a tall _Spaniard_, his nephew. I clapped my hair under my hat, and both of us making a stand, we resolved, if they durst not venture on us, to let them pass----but _Clarinau_, who was on that side which faced _Calista_, cried, ‘Ah villain, have I caught thee!’ and at the same instant with a poniard stabbed her into the arm; for with a sudden turn she evaded it from her heart, to which it was designed. At which, repaying his compliment, she shot off her pistol, and down he fell, crying out for a priest; while I, at the same time, laid my tall boy at his feet. I caught my dear _virago_ in my arms, and hasted through the garden with her, and was very hasty in mounting the ladder, putting my fair second before me, without so much as daring yet to ask her, if she were wounded, lest it should have hindered our flight, if I had found her hurt: nor knew I she was so, till I felt her warm precious blood, streaming on my face, as I lifted her over the wall; but I soon conveyed her into my new lodgings, yet not soon enough to secure her from those that pursued us. For with their bawling they alarmed some of the servants, who looking narrowly for the murderers, tracked us by _Calista_’., blood, which they saw with their flambeaus, from the place where _Clarinau_, and his nephew lay, to the very wall; and thinking from our wounds we could not escape far, they searching the houses, found me dressing _Calista_’. wound, which I kissed a thousand times. But the matchless courage of the fair _virago_! the magnanimity of _Calista_’. soul! Nothing of foolish woman harboured there, nothing but softest love; for whilst I was raving mad, tearing my hair and cursing my fate in vain, she had no concern but for me; no pain but that of her fear of being taken from me, and being delivered to old _Clarinau_, whom I feared was not dead; nor could the very seizing her, daunt her spirits, but with an unmatched fortitude she bore it all; she only wished she could have escaped without bloodshed. We were both led to prison, but none knew who we were; for those that seized us, had by chance never seen me, and _Calista_’. habit secured the discovery. While we both remained there, we had this comfort of being well lodged together; for they did not go about to part us, being in for one crime. And all the satisfaction she had, was, that she should, she hoped, die concealed, if she must die for the crime; and that was much a greater joy, than to think she should be rendered back to _Clarinau_, who in a few days we heard was upon his recovery. This gave her new fears; but I confess to you, I was not afflicted at it; nor did I think it hard for me to bribe _Calista_ off; for the master of the prison was very civil and poor, so that with the help of some few of _Calista_’., jewels, he was wrought upon to let her escape, I offering to remain, and bear all the brunt of the business, and to pay whatever he could be fined for it. These reasons, with the ready jewels, mollified the needy rascal; and though loath she were to leave me, yet she being assured that all they could do was but to fine me, and her stay she knew was her inevitable ruin, at last submitted, leaving me sufficient in jewels to satisfy for all that could happen, which were the value of a hundred thousand crowns. She is fled to _Brussels_, to a nunnery of _Augustines_, where the Lady Abbess is her aunt, and where for a little time she is secure, till I can follow her.

I beg of you my dear _Octavio_, write to me, and write me a letter of recommendation to the magistrates here, who all being concerned when any one of them is a cuckold, are very severe upon criminals in those cases. I tire you with my melancholy adventure--but it is some ease in the extremes of grief, to receive the tender pity of a friend, and that I am sure _Octavio_ will afford his unhappy

PHILANDER.

As cold and as unconcerned as _Sylvia_ imagined she had found her heart to _Philander_’., memory, at the reading of this letter, in spite of all the tenderness she had for _Octavio_, she was possessed with all those pains of love and jealousy, which heretofore tormented her, when love was young, and _Philander_ appeared with all those charms, with which he first conquered; she found the fire was but hid under those embers, which every little blast blows off, and makes it flame anew. It was now that she, forgetting all the past obligations of _Octavio_, all his vast presents, his vows, his sufferings, his passion and his youth, abandoned herself wholly to her tenderness for _Philander_, and drowns her fair cheeks in a shower of tears: and having eased her heart a little by this natural relief of her sex, she opened the letter that was designed for herself, and read this.

_To_ SYLVIA.

I know, my lovely _Sylvia_, I am accused of a thousand barbarities for unkindly detaining your lover, who long ere this ought to have thrown himself at your feet, imploring a thousand pardons for his tedious six months’ absence, though the affliction of it, is all my own, and I am afraid all the punishment; but when, my dearest _Sylvia_, I reflect again, it is in order to our future tranquillity, I depend on your love and reason for my excuse. I know my absence has procured me a thousand rivals, and you as many adorers, and fear _Philander_ appears grown old in love, and worn out with sorrow and care, unfit for the soft play of the young and delicate _Sylvia_; new lovers have new vows and new presents, and your fickle sex stoop to the lavish prostrate. Ill luck--unkind fate has rifled me, and of a shining fortune left me even to the charity of a stingy world; and I have now no compliment to maintain the esteem in so great a soul as that of _Sylvia_, but that old repeated one, of telling her my dull, my trifling heart is still her own: but, oh! I want the presenting eloquence that so persuades and charms the fair, and am reduced to that fatal torment of a generous mind, rather to ask and take, than to bestow. Yet out of my contemptible stock, I have sent my _Sylvia_ something towards that dangerous, unavoidable hour, which will declare me, however, a happy father of what my _Sylvia_ bears about her; it is a bill for a thousand pattacoons. I am at present under an easy restraint about a little dispute between a man of quality here and myself; I had also been at _Brussels_ to have provided all things for your coming illness, but every day expect my liberty, and then without delay I will take post, and bring _Philander_ to your arms. I have news that _Cesario_ is arrived at _Brussels_. I am at present a stranger to all that passes, and having a double obligation to haste, you need not fear but I shall do so.

This letter raised in her a different sentiment, from that of the story of his misfortune; and that taught her to know, that this he had writ to her was all false, and dissembled; which made her, in concluding the letter, cry out with a vehement scorn and indignation.--’Oh how I hate thee, traitor! who hast the impudence to continue thus to impose upon me, as if I wanted common sense to see thy baseness: for what can be more base and cowardly than lies, that poor plebeian shift, condemned by men of honour or of wit.’