Chapter XX: Part III (6)

_Sylvia_, who was impatient to have him gone, never asked to see either of these notes, lest it should have deterred him; and she knew _Octavio_ would visit her early though she knew withal she could refuse him entrance with any slight excuse, so good an opinion he had of her virtue, and so absolute an ascendant she had over him.--She had given orders, if he came, to be refused her chamber; and she was glad to know he had not yet been at her lodgings. A hundred times she was about to make use of the lessened love _Philander_ had for her, and to have proposed to him the suffering _Octavio_ to share her embraces, for so good an interest, since no returns could be had from _France_, nor any signs of amendment of their fortunes any other way: but still she feared he had too much honour to permit such a cheat in love, to be put even upon an enemy. This fear deferred her speaking of it, or offering to sacrifice _Octavio_ as a cully to their interest, though she wished it; nor knew she long how to deceive both; the business was to put _Philander_ off handsomely, if possible, since she failed of all other hopes. These were her thoughts while _Philander_ was dressing, and raised by his asking for some more pistoles from her cabinet, which she found would quickly be at an end, if one lover diminished daily, and the other was hindered from increasing: but _Philander_ was no sooner dressed but he left her to her repose; and _Octavio_ (who had a _Grison_ attending the motions of _Philander_, all that morning, and had brought him word he was gone from _Sylvia_) went to visit her, and entering her chamber, all changed from what he was before, and death sat in his face and eyes, maugre all his resolves and art of dissembling. She, not perceiving it as she lay, stretched out her arms to receive him with her wonted caresses; but he gently put her off, and sighing, cried--’No, _Sylvia_, I leave those joys to happier lovers.’ She was a little surprised at that--but not imagining he had known her guilt, replied: ‘Then those caresses were only meant for him; for if _Sylvia_ could make him happy, he was sure of being the man;’ and by force compelled him to suffer her kisses and embraces, while his heart was bursting, without any sense of the pleasure of her touches. ‘Ah, _Sylvia_,’ says he, ‘I can never think myself secure, or happy, while _Philander_ is so near you; every absent moment alarms me with ten thousand fears; in sleep I dream thou art false, and givest thy honour up all my absent nights, and all day thy vows:’ and that he was sure, should she again suffer herself to see _Philander_, he should be abandoned; and she again undone. ‘For since I parted with you,’ continued he, ‘I heard from _Clarinau_, that he saw _Philander_ yesterday come out of your lodgings. How can I bear this, when you have vowed not to see him, with imprecations that must damn thee, _Sylvia_, without severe repentance?’----At this she offered to swear again--but he stopped her, and begged her not to swear till she had well considered; then she confessed he made her a visit, but that she used him with that pride and scorn, that if he were a man of honour he could never bear; and she was sure he would trouble her no more: in fine, she flattered, fawned, and jilted so, as no woman, common in the trade of sinful love, could be so great a mistress of the art. He suffered her to go on, in all that could confirm him she thought him an errant coxcomb; and all that could render her the most contemptible of her sex. He was pleased, because it made him despise her; and that was easier than adoring her; yet, though he heard her with scorn, he heard her with too much love. When she was even breathless with eager prostitution--he cried, ‘Ah, indiscreet and unadvised _Sylvia_, how I pity thee!’ ‘Ah,’ said she--observing him speak this with a scornful smile--’Is it possible, you should indeed be offended for a simple visit! which neither was by my invitation or wish: can you be angry, if I treat _Philander_ with the civility of a brother? Or rather, that I suffer him to see me, to receive my reproaches?’--’Stop here,’ said he, ‘thou fair deluding flatterer, or thou art for ever ruined. Do not charge thy soul yet farther;--do not delude me on--all yet I can forgive as I am dying, but should I live, I could not promise thee. Add not new crimes by cozening me anew; for I shall find out truth, though it lie hid even in the bottom of _Philander_’., heart.’ This he spoke with an air of fierceness--which seeing her grow pale upon, he sunk again to compassion, and in a soft voice cried--’Whatever injuries thou hast done my honour, thy word, and faith to me, and my poor heart, I can perhaps forgive when you dare utter truth: there is some honesty in that’--She once more embracing him, fell anew to protesting her ill treatment of _Philander_, how she gave him back his vows, and assured him she would never be reconciled to him. ‘And did you part so, _Sylvia_?’ replied the dying _Octavio_. ‘Upon my honour,’ said she, ’.ust so.’--’Did you not kiss at parting?’ said he faintly.--’Just kissed, as friends, no more, by all thy love.’ At this he bursts into tears, and cried--’Oh! why, when I reposed my heart with thee, and lavished out my very soul in love, could I not merit this poor recompense of being fairly dealt with? Behold this sword--I took it from your _toilet_; view it, it is _Philander_’.; myself this morning took it from your table: no more--since you may guess the fatal rest: I am undone, and I am satisfied--I had a thousand warnings of my fate, but still the beauty charmed, and my too good nature yielded: oft you have cozened me, and oft I saw it, and still love made me willing to forgive; the foolish passion hung upon my soul, and soothed me into peace.’ _Sylvia_, quite confounded, (not so much with the knowledge he had of the unlucky adventure, as at her so earnestly denying and forswearing any love had passed between them) lay still to consider how to retrieve this lost game, and gave him leisure to go on--’Now,’ said he, ‘thou art silent----would thou hadst still been so: ah, hapless maid, who hast this fate attending thee, to ruin all that love thee! Be dumb, be dumb for ever; let the false charm that dwells upon thy tongue, be ended with my life: let it no more undo believing man, lest amongst the number some one may conquer thee, and deaf to all thy wit, and blind to beauty, in some mad passion think of all thy cozenings, should fall upon thee, and forget thy sex, and by thy death revenge the lost _Octavio_.’ At these words he would have rose from her arms, but she detained him, and with a piteous voice implored his pardon; but he calmly replied, ‘Yes, _Sylvia_, I will pardon thee, and wish that heaven may do so; to whom apply thy early rhetoric and penitence; for it can never, never charm me more: my fortune, if thou ever wanted support to keep thee chaste and virtuous, shall still be commanded by thee, with that usual frankness it has hitherto served thee; but for _Octavio_, he is resolved to go where he will never more be seen by woman--or hear the name of love to ought but heaven--Farewell--one parting kiss, and then a long farewell--’ As he bowed to kiss her, she caught him fast in her arms, while a flood of tears bathed his face, nor could he prevent his from mixing with hers: while thus they lay, _Philander_ came into the room, and finding them so closely entwined, he was as much surprised almost as _Octavio_ was before; and, drawing his sword, was about to have killed him; but his honour overcame his passion; and he would not take him at such disadvantage, but with the flat of his sword striking him on the back as he lay, he cried, ‘Rise, traitor, and turn to thy mortal enemy.’ _Octavio_, not at all surprised, turned his head and his eyes bedewed in tears towards his rival. ‘If thou be’est an enemy,’ said he, ’.hough never couldst have taken me in a better humour of dying. Finish, _Philander_, that life then, which if you spare, it will possibly never leave thine in repose; the injuries you have done me being too great to be forgiven.’ ‘And is it thus,’ replied _Philander_,--’thus with my mistress, that you would revenge them? Is it in the arms of _Sylvia_, that you would repay me the favours I did your sister _Calista_?’ ‘You have by that word,’ said _Octavio_, ’.andsomely reproached my sloth.’ And leaping briskly from the bed, he took out his sword, and cried: ‘Come then----let us go where we may repair both our losses, since ladies’ chambers are not fit places to adjust debts of this nature in.’ At these words they both went down stairs; and it was in vain _Sylvia_ called and cried out to conjure them to come back; her power of commanding she had in one unlucky day lost over both those gallant lovers. And both left her with pity; to say no worse of the effect of her ill conduct.

_Octavio_ went directly to the park, to the place whither he before had challenged _Philander_, who lost no time but followed him: as soon as he was come to the fountain he drew, and told _Philander_ that was the place whither he invited him in his billet that morning; however, if he liked not the ground, he was ready to remove to any other: _Philander_ was a little surprised to find that invitation was a challenge; and that _Octavio_ should be beforehand with him upon the score of revenge; and replied, ‘Sir, if the billet came from you, it was a favour I thank you for; since it kindly put me in mind of that revenge I ought so justly to take of you, for betraying the secrets of friendship I reposed in you, and making base advantages of them, to recommend yourself to a woman you knew I loved, and who hates you, in spite of all the ungenerous ways you have taken to gain her.’ ‘Sir,’ replied _Octavio_, ‘I confess with a blush and infinite shame, the error with which you accuse me, and have nothing to defend so great a perfidy. To tell you, I was wrought out of it by the greatest cunning imaginable, and that I must have seen _Sylvia_ die at my feet if I had refused them, is not excuse enough for the breach of that friendship. No, though I were exasperated with the relation there of my sister’s dishonour: I must therefore adjust that debt with you as well as I can; and if I die in the juster quarrel of my sister’s honour, I shall believe it the vengeance of heaven upon me for that one breach of friendship.’ ‘Sir,’ replied _Philander_, ‘you have given me so great a satisfaction in this confession, and have made so good and gallant an atonement by this acknowledgement, that it is with relunctancy I go to punish you for other injuries, of which I am assured you cannot so well acquit yourself.’ ‘Though I would not justify a baseness,’ replied _Octavio_, ‘for which there ought to be no excuse; yet I will not accuse myself, or acknowledge other injuries, but leave you something to maintain the quarrel on--and render it a little just on your side; nor go to wipe off the outrage you pretend I have done your love, by adoring the fair person who at least has been dear to you, by the wrongs you have done my sister.’ ‘Come, sir, we shall not by disputing quit scores,’ cried _Philander_, a little impatiently; ‘what I have lately seen, has made my rage too brisk for long parly.’ At that they both advanced, and made about twenty passes before either received any wound; the first that bled was _Octavio_, who received a wound in his breast, which he returned on _Philander_, and after that many were given and taken; so that the track their feet made, in following and advancing as they fought, was marked out by their blood: in this condition, (still fighting) _Sylvia_, (who had called them back in vain, and only in her night-gown in a chair pursued them that minute they quitted her chamber) found them thus employed, and without any fear she threw herself between them: _Octavio_, out of respect to her, ceased; but _Philander_, as if he had not regarded her, would still have been striving for victory, when she stayed his hand, and begged him to hear her; he then set the point of his sword to the ground, and breathless and fainting almost, attended what she had to say: she conjured him to cease the quarrel, and told him if _Octavio_ had injured him in her heart, he ought to remember he had injured _Octavio_ as much in that of his sister: she conjured him by all the friendship both she and himself had received at _Octavio_’. hands; and concluded with saying so many fine things of that cavalier, that in lieu of appeasing, it but the more exasperated the jealous _Philander_, who took new courage with new breath, and passed at _Octavio_. She then addressed to _Octavio_, and cried: ‘Hold, oh hold, or make your way through me; for here I will defend virtue and honour!’ and put herself before _Octavio_: she spoke with so piteous a voice, and pleaded with so much tenderness, that _Octavio_, laying his sword at her feet, bid her dispose--false as she was, of his honour: ‘For oh,’ said he, ‘my life is already fallen a victim to your perjuries!’ He could say no more, but falling where he had laid his sword, left _Philander_ master of the field. By this time some gentlemen that had been walking came up to them, and found a man lie dead, and a lady imploring another to fly: they looked on _Octavio_, and found he had yet life; and immediately sent for surgeons, who carried him to his lodgings with very little hope: _Philander_, as well as his wounds would give him leave, got into a chair, telling the gentlemen that looked on him, he would be responsible for _Octavio_’. life, if he had had the ill fortune to take it; that his quarrel was too just to suffer him to fly.--So being carried to the _cabaret_, with an absolute command to _Sylvia_ not to follow him, or visit him: for fear of hurting him by disobeying, she suffered herself to be carried to her lodgings, where she threw herself on her bed, and drowned her fair eyes in a shower of tears: she advises with _Antonet_ and her page what to do in this extremity; she fears she has, by her ill management, lost both her lovers, and she was in a condition of needing every aid. They, who knew the excellent temper of _Octavio_, and knew him to be the most considerable lover of the two, besought her, as the best expedient she could have recourse to, to visit _Octavio_, who could not but take it kindly; and they did not doubt but she had so absolute a power over him, that with a very little complaisance towards him, she would retrieve that heart her ill luck had this morning forfeited; and which, they protested, they knew nothing of, nor how he got into her chamber. This advice she took; but, because _Octavio_ was carried away dead, she feared, (and swooned with the fear) that he was no longer in the world, or, at least, that he would not long be so: however, she assumed her courage again at the thought, that, if he did die, she had an absolute possession of all his fortune, which was to her the most considerable part of the man, or at least, what rendered him so very agreeable to her: however, she thought fit to send her page, which she did in an hour after he was carried home, to see how he did; who brought her word that he was revived to life, and had commanded his gentleman to receive no messages from her. This was all she could learn, and what put her into the greatest extremity of grief. She after sent to _Philander_, and found him much the better of the two, but most infinitely incensed against _Sylvia_: this also added to her despair; yet since she found she had not a heart that any love, or loss of honour, or fortune could break; but, on the contrary, a rest of youth and beauty, that might oblige her, with some reason, to look forward on new lovers, if the old must depart: the next thing she resolved was, to do her utmost endeavour to retrieve _Octavio_, which, if unattainable, she would make the best of her youth. She sent therefore (notwithstanding his commands to suffer none of her people to come and see him) to inquire of his health; and in four days (finding he received other visits) she dressed herself, with all the advantages of her sex, and in a chair was carried to his aunt’s, where he lay. The good lady, not knowing but she might be that person of quality whom she knew to be extremely in love with her nephew, and who lived at the Court of _Brussels_, and was niece to the Governor, carried her to his chamber, where she left her, as not willing to be a witness of a visit she knew must be supposed _incognito_: it was evening, and _Octavio_ was in bed, and, at the first sight of her his blood grew disordered in his veins, flushed in his pale face, and burnt all over his body, and he was near to swooning as he lay: she approached his bed with a face all set for languishment, love, and shame in her eyes, and sighs, that, without speaking, seemed to tell her grief at his disaster; she sat, or rather fell, on his bed, as unable to support the sight of him in that condition; she in a soft manner, seized his burning hand, grasped it and sighed, then put it to her mouth, and suffered a tear or two to fall upon it; and when she would have spoke, she made her sobs resist her words; and left nothing unacted, that might move the tender-hearted _Octavio_ to that degree of passion she wished. A hundred times fain he would have spoke, but still his rising passion choked his words; and still he feared they would prove either too soft and kind for the injuries he had received, or too rough and cold for so delicate and charming a creature, and one, whom, in spite of all those injuries, he still adored: she appeared before him with those attractions that never failed to conquer him, with that submission and pleading in her modest bashful eyes, that even gave his the lie, who had seen her perfidy. Oh! what should he do to keep that fire from breaking forth with violence, which she had so thoroughly kindled in his heart? How should that excellent good nature assume an unwonted sullenness, only to appear what it could not by nature be? He was all soft and sweet, and if he had pride, he knew also how to make his pleasure; and his youth loved love above all the other little vanities that attend it, and was the most proper to it. Fain he would palliate her crime, and considers, in the condition she was, she could not but have some tenderness for _Philander_; that it was no more than what before passed; it was no new lover that came to kindle new passions, or approach her with a new flame; but a decliner, who came, and was received with the dregs of love, with all the cold indifference imaginable: this he would have persuaded himself, but dares not till he hears her speak; and yet fears she should not speak his sense; and this fear makes him sighing break silence, and he cried in a soft tone: ‘Ah! why, too lovely fair, why do you come to trouble the repose of my dying hours? Will you, cruel maid, pursue me to my grave? Shall I not have one lone hour to ask forgiveness of heaven for my sin of loving thee? The greatest that ever loaded my youth--and yet, alas!--the least repented yet. Be kind, and trouble not my solitude, depart with all the trophies of my ruin, and if they can add any glory to thy future life, boast them all over the universe, and tell what a deluded youth thou hast undone. Take, take, fair deceiver, all my industry, my right of my birth, my thriving parents have been so long a-getting to make me happy with; take the useless trifle, and lavish it on pleasure to make thee gay, and fit for luckier lovers: take that best part of me, and let this worst alone; it was that first won the dear confession from thee that drew my ruin on--for which I hate it--and wish myself born a poor cottage boor, where I might never have seen thy tempting beauty, but lived for ever blessed in ignorance.’ At this the tears ran from his eyes, with which the softened _Sylvia_ mixed her welcome stream, and as soon as she could speak, she replied (with half cunning and half love, for still there was too much of the first mingled with the last), ‘Oh, my _Octavio_, to what extremities are you resolved to drive a poor unfortunate, who, even in the height of youth, and some small stock of beauty, am reduced to all the miseries of the wretched? Far from my noble noble parents, lost to honour, and abandoned by my friends; a helpless wanderer in a strange land, exposed to want, and perishing, and had no sanctuary but thyself, thy dear, thy precious self, whom heaven had sent, in mercy, to my aid; and thou, at last, by a mistaken turn of miserable fate, hast taken that dear aid away.’ At this she fell weeping on his panting bosom; nevertheless he got the courage to reply once again, before he yielded himself a shameful victim to her flattery, and said; ’.h cruel _Sylvia_, is it possible that you can charge the levity on me? Is it I have taken this poor aid, as you are pleased to call it, from you? Oh! rather blame your own unhappy easiness, that after having sworn me faith and love, could violate them both, both where there was no need. It would have better become thy pride and quality, to have resented injuries received, than brought again that scorned, abandoned person (fine as it was and shining still with youth) to his forgetful arms.’ ‘Alas,’ said she, ‘I will not justify my hateful crime: a crime I loathe to think of, it was a fault beyond a prostitution; there might have possibly been new joy in such a sin, but here it was palled and gone--fled to eternity away:--And but for the dear cause I did commit it, there were no expiation for my fault; no penitent tears could wash away my crime.’ ‘Alas,’ said he--’if there were any cause, if there be any possible excuse for such a breach of love, give it my heart; make me believe it, and I may yet live; and though I cannot think thee innocent, to be compelled by any frivolous reason, it would greatly satisfy my longing soul. But, have a care, do not delude me on--for if thou durst persuade me into pardon, and to return to all my native fondness, and then again shouldst play me fast and loose; by heaven--by all my sacred passion to thee, by all that men call holy, I will pursue thee with my utmost hate; forsake thee with my fortune and my heart; and leave thee wretched to the scorning crowd. Pardon these rude expressions of a love that can hardly forgive the words it utters: I blush with shame while I pronounce them true.’ When she replied, ‘May all you have pronounced, and all your injured love can invent, fall on me when I ever more deceive you; believe me now, and but forgive what is past, and trust my love and honour for the future.’ At this she told him, that in the first visit _Philander_ made her, she, using him so reproachfully, and upbraiding him with his inconstancy, made him understand, that he was betrayed by _Octavio_, and that the whole intrigue with _Calista_, confessed by him, was discovered to _Sylvia_; which, he said, put him into so violent a rage against _Octavio_, that he vowed that minute to find him out and kill him. Nor could all the persuasions of reason serve to hinder him; so that she who (as she said) loved _Octavio_ to death, finding so powerful an enemy, as her fears made her fancy _Philander_ was, ready to have snatched from her, in one furious moment, all she adored; she had recourse to all the flattery of love to with-hold him from an attempt so dangerous: and it was with much ado, with all those aids, that he was obliged to stay, which she had forced him to do, to get time to give him notice in the morning for his approaching danger: not that she feared _Octavio_’. life, had _Philander_ attacked it fairly; but he looked on himself as a person injured by close private ways, and would take a like revenge, and have hurt him when he as little dreamed of it, as _Philander_ did of the discovery he made of his letter to her. To this she swore, she wept, she embraced, and still protested it true; adding withal a thousand protestations of her future detestation of him; and that since the worst was past, and that they had fought, and he was come off, though with so many wounds, yet with life, she was resolved utterly to defy _Philander_, as the most perfidious of his sex; and assured him, that nothing in the world was so indifferent as she in his arms. In fine, after having omitted nothing that might gain a credit, and assure him of her love and heart, and possess him with a belief, for the future, of her lasting vows: he, wholly convinced and overcome, snatches her in his arms, and bursting into a shower of tears, cried--’Take--take all my soul, thou lovely charmer of it, and dispose of the destiny of _Octavio_.’ And smothering her with kisses and embraces made a perfect reconciliation. When the surgeons, who came to visit him, finding him in the disorder of a fever, though more joy was triumphing in his face than before, they imagined this lady the fair person for whom this quarrel was; for it had made a great noise you may believe; and finding it hurtful for his wounds, either to be transported with too much rage, grief, or love, besought him he would not talk too much, or suffer any visits that might prejudice his health: and indeed, with what had been past, he found himself after his transport very ill and feverish, so that _Sylvia_ promised the doctors she would visit him no more in a day or two, though she knew not well how to be from him so long; but would content herself with sending her page to inquire of his health. To this _Octavio_ made very great opposition, but his aunt, and the rest of the learned, were of opinion it ought for his health to be so, and he was obliged to be satisfied with her absence: at parting she came to him, and again besought him to believe her vows to be well, and that she would depart somewhere with him far from _Philander_, who she knew was obliged to attend the motions of _Cesario_ at _Brussels_, whom again she imprecated never to see more. This satisfied our impatient lover, and he suffered her to go, and leave him to that rest he could get. She was no sooner got home, and retired to her chamber, but, finding herself alone, which now she did not care to be, and being assured she should not see _Octavio_, instead of triumphing for her new-gained victory, she sent her page to inquire again of _Philander_’. health, and to entreat that she might visit him: at first before she sent, she checked this thought as base, as against all honour, and all her vows and promises to the brave _Octavio_; but finding an inclination to it, and proposing a pleasure and satisfaction in it, she was of a nature not to lose a pleasure for a little punctilio of honour; and without considering what would be the event of such a folly, she sent her page, though he had been repulsed before, and forbid coming with any messages from his lady. The page found no better success than hitherto he had done: but being with much entreaty brought to _Philander_’. chamber, he found him sitting in his night-gown, to whom addressing himself--he had no sooner named his lady--but _Philander_ bid him be gone, for he would hear nothing from that false woman: the boy would have replied, but he grew more enraged; and reviling her with all the railings of incensed lovers, he puts himself into his closet without speaking any more, or suffering any answer. This message being delivered to the expecting lady, put her into a very great rage--which ended in as deep a concern: her great pride, fortified by her looking-glass, made her highly resent the affront; and she believed it more to the glory of her beauty to have quitted a hundred lovers, than to be abandoned by one. It was this that made her rave and tear, and talk high; and after all, to use her cunning to retrieve what it had been most happy for her should have been for ever lost; and she ought to have blessed the occasion. But her malicious star had designed other fortune for her: she wrote to him several letters, that were sent back sealed: she railed, she upbraided, and then fell to submission. At last, he was persuaded to open one, but returned such answers as gave her no satisfaction, but encouraged her with a little hope that she should draw him on to a reconciliation: between whiles she failed not to send _Octavio_ the kindest, impatient letters in the world, and received the softest replies that the tongue of man could utter, for he could not write yet. At last, _Philander_ having reduced _Sylvia_ to the very brink of despair, and finding, by her passionate importunity, that he could make his peace with her on any terms of advantage to himself, resolved to draw such articles of agreement as should wholly subdue her to him, or to stand it out to the last: the conditions were, that he being a person by no means of a humour to be imposed upon; if he were dear to her, she should give herself entirely to his possession, and quit the very conversation of all those he had but an apprehension would disturb his repose: that she should remove out of the way of his troublesome rivals, and suffer herself to be conducted whither he thought good to carry her. These conditions she liked, all but the going away; she could not tell to what sort of confinement that might amount. He flies off wholly, and denies all treaty upon her least scruple, and will not be asked the explanation of what he has proposed: so that she bends like a slave for a little empire over him; and to purchase the vanity of retaining him, suffers herself to be absolutely undone. She submits; and that very day she had leave from the doctors to visit _Octavio_, and that all-ravished lover lay panting in expectation of the blessed sight, believing every minute an age, his apartment dressed and perfumed, and all things ready to receive the darling of his soul, _Philander_ came in a coach and six horses (and making her pack up all her jewels and fine things, and what they could not carry in the coach, put up to come after them) and hurries her to a little town in _Luke-Land_, a place between Flanders and Germany, without giving her time to write, or letting her know whither she was going. While she was putting up her things (I know she has since confessed) her heart trembled, and foreboded the ill that was to come; that is, that she was hastening to ruin: but she had chanced to say so much to him of her passion to retrieve him, that she was ashamed to own the contrary so soon; but suffered that force upon her inclinations to do the most dishonourable and disinterested thing in the world. She had not been there a week, and her trunks of plate and fine things were arrived, but she fell in labour, and was brought to bed, though she shewed very little of her condition all the time she went. This great affair being well over, she considers herself a new woman, and began, or rather continued, to consider the advantage she had lost in _Octavio_: she regrets extremely her conduct, and from one degree to another she looks on herself as lost to him; she every day saw what she had decayed, her jewels sold one by one, and at last her necessaries. _Philander_, whose head was running on _Calista_, grudged every moment he was not about that affair, and grew as peevish as she; she recovers to new beauty, but he grows colder and colder by possession; love decayed, and ill humour increased: they grew uneasy on both sides, and not a day passed wherein they did not break into open and violent quarrels, upbraiding each other with those faults, which both wished that either would again commit, that they might be fairly rid of one another: it grew at last to that height, that they were never well but when they were absent from one another; he making a hundred little intrigues and gallantries with all the pretty women, and those of any quality in the town or neighbouring _villas_. She saw this with grief, shame, and disdain, and could not tell which way to relieve herself: she was not permitted the privilege of visits, unless to some grave ladies, or to monasteries; a man was a rarity she had hardly seen in two months, which was the time she had been there; so that she had leisure to think of her folly, bemoan the effects of her injustice, and contrive, if she could, to remedy her disagreeable life, which now was reduced, not only to scurrilous quarrels, and hard words; but, often in her fury, she flying upon him, and with the courage or indiscretion of her sex, would provoke him to indecencies that render life insupportable on both sides. While they lived at this rate, both contriving how handsomely to get quit of each other, _Brilliard_, who was left in _Brussels_, to take care of his lord’s affairs there, and that as soon as he had heard of _Cesario_’. arrival he should come with all speed and give him notice, thought every minute an hour till he could see again the charmer of his soul, for whom he suffered continual fevers of love. He studies nothing but how first to get her pardon, and then to compass his designs of possessing her: he had not seen her, nor durst pretend to it, since she left _Holland_. He believed she would have the discretion to conceal some of his faults, lest he should discover in revenge some of hers; and fancied she would imagine so of his conduct: he had met with no reproaches yet from his lord, and believed himself safe. With this imagination, he omitted nothing that might render him acceptable to her, nor to gain any secrets he believed might be of use to him: knowing therefore she had not dealt very generously with _Octavio_, by this flight with _Philander_, and believing that that exasperated lover, would in revenge declare any thing to the prejudice of the fair fugitive, he (under pretence of throwing himself at his feet, and asking his pardon for his ill treating him in _Holland_) designed before he went into _Luke-Land_ to pay _Octavio_ a visit, and accordingly went; he met first with his page, who being very well acquainted with _Brilliard_, discoursed with him before he carried him to his lord: he told him that his lord that day that _Sylvia_ departed, being in impatient expectation of her, and that she came not according to appointment, sent him to her lodgings, to know if any accident had prevented her coming; but that when he came, though he had been with her but an hour before, she was gone away with _Philander_, never more to return. The youth, not being able to carry this sad news to his lord, when he came home offered at a hundred things to conceal the right; but the impatient lover would not be answered, but, all enraged, commanded him to tell that truth, which he found already but too apparently in his eyes. The lad so commanded, could no longer defer telling him _Sylvia_ was gone; and being asked, again and again, what he meant, with a face and voice that every moment altered to dying; the page assured him she was gone out of _Brussels_ with _Philander_, never more to return; which was no sooner told him, but he sunk on the couch where he lay, and fainted: he farther told him how long it was, and with what difficulty he was recovered to life; and that after he was so, he refused to speak or see any visitors; could for a long time be neither persuaded to eat nor sleep, but that he had spoken to no body ever since, and did now believe he could not procure him the favour he begged: that nevertheless he would go, and see what the very name of any that had but a relation to the family of _Sylvia_ would produce in him, whether a storm of passion, or a calm of grief: either would be better than a dullness, all silent and sad, in which there was no understanding what he meant by it: whoever spoke, he only made a short sign, and turned away, as much as to say, speak no more to me: but now resolved to try his temper, he hastened to his lord, and told him that _Brilliard_, full of penitence for his past fault, and grief for the ill condition he heard he was in, was come to pay his humble respects to him, and gain his pardon before he went to his lord and _Sylvia_; without which he had not, nor could have, any peace of mind, he being too sensible of the baseness of the injury he had done him. At the name of _Philander_ and _Sylvia_, _Octavio_ shewed some signs of listening, but to the rest no regard; and starting from the bed where he was laid: ‘Ah! what hast thou said?’ cried he. The page then repeated the message, and was commanded to bring him up; who, accordingly, with all the signs of submission, cast himself at his feet and mercy; and, though he were an enemy, the very thought that he belonged to _Sylvia_ made _Octavio_ to caress him as the dearest of friends: he kept him with him two or three days, and would not suffer him to stir from him; but all their discourse was of the faithless _Sylvia_; of whom, the deceived lover spoke the softest, unheard, tender things, that ever passion uttered: he made the amorous _Brilliard_ weep a hundred times a day; and ever when he would have soothed his heart with hopes of seeing her, and one day enjoying her entirely to himself, he would with so much peace of mind renounce her, as Brilliard no longer doubted but he would indeed no more trust her fickle sex. At last, the news arrived that Cesario was in Brussels, and Brilliard was obliged the next morning to take horse, and go to his lord: and to make himself the more acceptable to Sylvia, he humbly besought Octavio to write some part of his resentments to her, that he might oblige her to a reason for what she had so inhumanly done: this flattered him a little, and he was not long before he was overcome by Brilliard’s entreaties; who, having his ends in every thing, believed this letter might contain at least something to assist in his design, by giving him authority over her by so great a secret: the next morning, before he took horse he waited on Octavio for his letter, and promised him an answer at his return, which would be in a few days. This letter was open, and Octavio suffered Brilliard to read it, making him an absolute confidant in his amour; which having done, he besought him to add one thing more to it; and that was, to beg her to forgive Brilliard, which for his sake he knew she would do: he told him, he was obliged as a good Christian, and a dying man, one resolved for heaven to do that good office; and accordingly did. Brilliard taking post immediately, arrived to Philander, where he found every thing as he wished, all out of humour, still on the fret, and ever peevish. He had not seen Sylvia, as I said, since she went from Holland, and now knew not which way to approach her; Philander was abroad on some of his usual gallantries when Brilliard arrived; and having discoursed a while of the affairs of his lord and Sylvia, he told Antonet he had a great desire to speak with that dissatisfied fair one, assuring her, he believed his visit would be welcome, from what he had to say to her concerning Octavio: she told him (with infinite joy) that she did not doubt of his pardon from her lady, if he brought any news from that gallant injured man; and in all haste, though her lady saw no body, but refused to rise from her couch, she ran to her, and besought her to see Brilliard; for he came with a message from Octavio, the person, who was the subject of their discourse night and day, when alone. She immediately sent for Brilliard, who approached his goddess with a trembling devotion; he knelt before her, and humbly besought her pardon for all that was past: but she, who with the very thought that he had something to say from Octavio, forgot all but that, hastily bid him rise, and take all he asked, and hoped for what he wished: in this transport she embraced his head, and kissed his cheek, and took him up. ‘That, madam,’ said _Brilliard_, ‘which your divine bounty alone has given me, without any merit in me, I durst not have had the confidence to have hoped without my credential from a nobler hand--this, madam,’ said he--and gave her a letter from _Octavio_: the dear hand she knew, and kissed a hundred times as she opened it; and having entreated _Brilliard_ to withdraw for a moment, that he might not see her concern at the reading it, she sat her down, and found it thus.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.