Chapter IX: Part II (3)

This he sent by _Florio_ his page, at the same time that she expected the visit of his lord, and blushed with a little anger and concern at the disappointment; however she hasted to read the letter, and was pleased with the haughty resolution he made in spite of her, to love on as his right by birth; and she was glad to find from these positive resolves that she might the more safely disdain, or at least assume a tyranny which might render her virtue glorious, and yet at the same time keep him her slave on all occasions when she might have need of his service, which, in the circumstances she was in, she did not know of what great use it might be to her, she having no other design on him, bating the little vanity of her sex, which is an ingredient so intermixed with the greatest virtues of women-kind, that those who endeavour to cure them of that disease rob them of a very considerable pleasure, and in most it is incurable: give _Sylvia_ then leave to share it with her sex, since she was so much the more excusable, by how much a greater portion of beauty she had than any other, and had sense enough to know it too; as indeed whatever other knowledge they want, they have still enough to set a price on beauty, though they do not always rate it; for had _Sylvia_ done that, she had been the happiest of her sex: but as she was she waited the coming of _Octavio_, but not so as to make her quit one sad thought for _Philanders_ love and vanity, though they both reigned in her soul; yet the first surmounted the last, and she grew to impatient ravings whenever she cast a thought upon her fear that _Philander_ grew cold; and possibly pride and vanity had as great a share in that concern of hers as love itself, for she would oft survey herself in her glass, and cry, ‘Gods! Can this beauty be despised? This shape! This face! This youth! This air! And what’s more obliging yet, a heart that adores the fugitive, that languishes and sighs after the dear runaway. Is it possible he can find a beauty,’ added she, ‘of greater perfection----But oh, it is fancy sets the rate on beauty, and he may as well love a third time as he has a second. For in love, those that once break the rules and laws of that deity, set no bounds to their treasons and disobedience. Yes, yes,----’ would she cry, ‘He that could leave _Myrtilla_, the fair, the young, the noble, chaste and fond _Myrtilla_, what after that may he not do to _Sylvia_, on whom he has less ties, less obligations? Oh wretched maid----what has thy fondness done, he is satiated now with thee, as before with _Myrtilla_, and carries all those dear, those charming joys, to some new beauty, whom his looks have conquered, and whom his soft bewitching vows will ruin.’ With that she raved and stamped, and cried aloud, ‘Hell----fires----tortures----daggers----racks and poison----come all to my relief! Revenge me on the perjured lovely devil----But I will be brave----I will be brave and hate him----’ This she spoke in a tone less fierce, and with great pride, and had not paused and walked above a hasty turn or two, but _Octavio_, as impatient as love could make him, entered the chamber, so dressed, so set out for conquest, that I wonder at nothing more than that _Sylvia_ did not find him altogether charming, and fit for her revenge, who was formed by nature for love, and had all that could render him the dotage of women: but where a heart is prepossessed, all that is beautiful in any other man serves but as an ill comparison to what it loves, and even _Philander_’. likeness, that was not indeed _Philander_, wanted the secret to charm. At _Octavio_’. entrance she was so fixed on her revenge of love, that she did not see him, who presented himself as so proper an instrument, till he first sighing spoke, ‘Ah, _Sylvia_, shall I never see that beauty easy more? Shall I never see it reconciled to content, and a soft calmness fixed upon those eyes, which were formed for looks all tender and serene; or are they resolved’ (continued he, sighing) ‘never to appear but in storms when I approach?’ ‘Yes,’ replied she, ‘when there is a calm of love in yours that raises it.’ ‘Will you confine my eyes,’ said he, ‘that are by nature soft? May not their silent language tell you my heart’s sad story?’ But she replied with a sigh, ‘It is not generously done, _Octavio_, thus to pursue a poor unguarded maid, left to your care, your promises of friendship. Ah, will you use _Philander_ with such treachery?’ ‘Sylvia,’ said he,’.y flame is so just and reasonable, that I dare even to him pronounce I love you; and after that dare love you on----’ ‘And would you’ (said she) ‘to satisfy a little short lived passion, forfeit those vows you have made of friendship to _Philander_? ‘That heart that loves you, Sylvia,’ (he replied) ‘cannot be guilty of so base a thought; _Philander_ is my friend, and as he is so, shall know the dearest secrets of my soul. I should believe myself indeed ungrateful’ (continued he) ‘wherever I loved, should I not tell _Philander_; he told me frankly all his soul, his loves, his griefs, his treasons, and escapes, and in return I will pay him back with mine.’ ‘And do you imagine’ (said she) ‘that he would permit your love?’ ‘How should he hinder me?’ (replied he.) ‘I do believe’ (said she) ‘he’d forget all his safety and his friendship, and fight you.’ ’.hen I’d defend myself,’ (said he) ‘if he were so ungrateful.’ While they thus argued, _Sylvia_ had her thoughts apart, on the little stratagems that women in love sometimes make use of; and _Octavio_ no sooner told her he would send _Philander_ word of his love, but she imagined that such a knowledge might retrieve the heart of her lover, if indeed it were on the wing, and revive the dying embers in his soul, as usually it does from such occasions; and on the other side, she thought that she might more allowably receive _Octavio_’. addresses, when they were with the permission of _Philander_, if he could love so well to permit it; and if he could not, she should have the joy to undeceive her fears of his inconstancy, though she banished for ever the agreeable _Octavio_; so that on _Octavio_’. farther urging the necessity of his giving _Philander_ that sure mark of his friendship she permitted him to write, which he immediately did on her table, where there stood a little silver escritoire which contained all things for this purpose.

OCTAVIO _to_ PHILANDER.

_My Lord_,

Since I have vowed you my eternal friendship, and that I absolutely believe myself honoured with that of yours, I think myself obliged by those powerful ties to let you know my heart, not only now as that friend from whom I ought to conceal nothing, but as a rival too, whom in honour I ought to treat as a generous one: perhaps you will be so unkind as to say I cannot be a friend and a rival at the same time, and that almighty love, that sets the world at odds, chases all things from the heart where that reigns, to establish itself the more absolutely there; but, my lord, I avow mine a love of that good nature, that can endure the equal sway of friendship, where like two perfect friends they support each other’s empire there; nor can the glory of one eclipse that of the other, but both, like the notion we have of the deity, though two distinct passions, make but one in my soul; and though friendship first entered, ‘twas in vain, I called it to my aid, at the first soft invasion of _Sylvia_’. power; and you my charming friend, are the most oblig’d to pity me, who already know so well the force of her beauty. I would fain have you think, I strove at first with all my reason against the irresistible lustre of her eyes: and at the first assaults of love, I gave him not a welcome to my bosom, but like slaves unused to fetters, I grew sullen with my chains, and wore them for your sake uneasily. I thought it base to look upon the mistress of my friend with wishing eyes; but softer love soon furnished me with arguments to justify my claim, since love is not the choice but the face of the soul, who seldom regards the object lov’d as it is, but as it wishes to have it be, and then kind fancy makes it soon the same. Love, that almighty creator of something from nothing, forms a wit, a hero, or a beauty, virtue, good humour, honour, any excellence, when oftentimes there is neither in the object, but where the agreeing world has fixed all these; and since it is by all resolved, (whether they love or not) that this is she, you ought no more, _Philander_, to upbraid my flame, than to wonder at it: it is enough I tell you that it is _Sylvia_ to justify my passion; nor is it a crime that I confess I love, since it can never rob _Philander_ of the least part of what I have vowed him: or if his mere honour will believe me guilty of a fault, let this atone for all, that if I wrong my friend in loving _Sylvia_, I right him in despairing; for oh, I am repulsed with all the rigour of the coy and fair, with all the little malice of the witty sex, and all the love of _Sylvia_ to _Philander_----There, there is the stop to all my hopes and happiness, and yet by heaven I love thee, oh thou favoured rival!

After this frank confession, my _Philander_, I should be glad to hear your sentiment, since yet, in spite of love, in spite of beauty, I am resolved to die _Philander_’. constant friend,

OCTAVIO.

After he had writ this, he gave it to _Sylvia_: ‘See charming creature’ (said he in delivering it) ‘if after this you either doubt my love, or what I dare for _Sylvia_.’ ‘I neither receive it’ (said she) ‘as a proof of the one or the other; but rather that you believe, by this frank confession, to render it as a piece of gallantry and diversion to _Philander_; for no man of sense will imagine that love true, or arrived to any height, that makes a public confession of it to his rival.’ ‘Ah, _Sylvia_,’ answered he, ‘how malicious is your wit, and how active to turn its pointed mischief on me! Had I not writ, you would have said I durst not; and when I make a declaration of it, you call it only a slight piece of gallantry: but, _Sylvia_, you have wit enough to try it a thousand ways, and power enough to make me obey; use the extremity of both, so you recompense me at last with a confession that I was at least found worthy to be numbered in the crowd of your adorers.’ _Sylvia_ replied, ‘He were a dull lover indeed, that would need instructions from the wit of his mistress to give her proofs of his passion; whatever opinion you have of my sense, I have too good a one of _Octavio_’. to believe, that when he is a lover he will want aids to make it appear; till then we will let that argument alone, and consider his address to _Philander_.’ She then read over the letter he had writ, which she liked very well for her purpose; for at this time our young _Dutch hero_ was made a property of in order to her revenge on _Philander_: she told him, he had said too much both for himself and her. He told her, he had declared nothing with his pen, that he would not make good with his sword. ’.old, sir,’ said she, ‘and do not imagine from the freedom you have taken in owning your passion to _Philander_, that I shall allow it here: what you declare to the world is your own crime; but when I hear it, it is no longer yours but mine; I therefore conjure you, my lord, not to charge my soul with so great a sin against _Philander_, and I confess to you, I shall be infinitely troubled to be obliged to banish you my sight for ever.’ He heard her, and answered with a sigh; for she went from him to the table, and sealed her letter, and gave it him to be enclosed to _Philander_, and left him to consider on her last words, which he did not lay to heart, because he fancied she spoke this as women do that will be won with industry: he, in standing up as she went from him, saw himself in the great glass, and bid his person answer his heart, which from every view he took was reinforced with new hope, for he was too good a judge of beauty not to find it in every part of his own amiable person, nor could he imagine from _Sylvia_’. eyes, which were naturally soft and languishing, (and now the more so from her fears and jealousies) that she meant from her heart the rigours she expressed: much he allowed for his short time of courtship, much to her sex’s modesty, much from her quality, and very much from her love, and imagined it must be only time and assiduity, opportunity and obstinate passion, that were capable of reducing her to break her faith with _Philander_; he therefore endeavour’d by all the good dressing, the advantage of lavish gaiety, to render his person agreeable, and by all the arts of gallantry to charm her with his conversation, and when he could handsomely bring in love, he failed not to touch upon it as far as it would be permitted, and every day had the vanity to fancy he made some advances; for indeed every day more and more she found she might have use for so considerable a person, so that one may very well say, never any passed their time better than _Sylvia_ and _Octavio_, though with different ends. All he had now to fear was from the answer _Philander_’. letter should bring, for whom he had, in spite of love, so entire a friendship, that he even doubted whether (if _Philander_ could urge reasons potent enough) he should not choose to die and quit Sylvia, rather than be false to friendship; one post passed, and another, and so eight successive ones, before they received one word of answer to what they sent; so that _Sylvia_, who was the most impatient of her sex, and the most in love, was raving and acting all the extravagance of despair, and even _Octavio_ now became less pleasing, yet he failed not to visit her every day, to send her rich presents, and to say all that a fond lover, or a faithful friend might urge for her relief: at last _Octavio_ received this following letter.

PHILANDER _to_ OCTAVIO.

You have shewed, _Octavio_, a freedom so generous, and so beyond the usual measures of a rival, that it were almost injustice in me not to permit you to love on; if _Sylvia_ can be false to me, and all her vows, she is not worth preserving; if she prefer _Octavio_ to _Philander_, then he has greater merit, and deserves her best: but if on the contrary she be just, if she be true, and constant, I cannot fear his love will injure me, so either way _Octavio_ has my leave to love the charming _Sylvia_; alas, I know her power, and do not wonder at thy fate! For it is as natural for her to conquer, as ‘tis for youth to yield; oh, she has fascination in her eyes! A spell upon her tongue, her wit’s a philtre, and her air and motion all snares for heedless hearts; her very faults have charms, her pride, her peevishness, and her disdain, have unresisted power. Alas, you find it every day--and every night she sweeps the tour along and shews the beauty, she enslaves the men, and rivals all the women! How oft with pride and anger I have seen it; and was the unconsidering coxcomb then to rave and rail at her, to curse her charms, her fair inviting and perplexing charms, and bullied every gazer: by heaven I could not spare a smile, a look, and she has such a lavish freedom in her humour, that if you chance to love as I have done--it will surely make thee mad; if she but talked aloud, or put her little affectation on, to show the force of beauty, oh God! How lost in rage! How mad with jealousy, was my fond breaking heart! My eyes grew fierce, and clamorous my tongue! And I have scarce contained myself from hurting what I so much adored; but then the subtle charmer had such arts to flatter me to peace again--to clasp her lovely arms about my neck--to sigh a thousand dear confirming vows into my bosom, and kiss, and smile, and swear--and take away my rage,--and then--oh my _Octavio_, no human fancy can present the joy of the dear reconciling moment, where little quarrels raised the rapture higher, and she was always new. These are the wondrous pains, and wondrous pleasures that love by turns inspires, till it grows wise by time and repetition, and then the god assumes a serious gravity, enjoyment takes off the uneasy keenness of the passion, the little jealous quarrels rise no more; quarrels, the very feathers of love’s darts, that send them with more swiftness to the heart; and when they cease, your transports lessen too, then we grow reasonable, and consider; we love with prudence then, as fencers fight with foils; a sullen brush perhaps sometimes or so; but nothing that can touch the heart, and when we are arrived to love at that dull, easy rate, we never die of that disease; then we have recourse to all the little arts, the aids of flatterers, and dear dissimulation, (that help-meet to the lukewarm lover) to keep up a good character of constancy, and a right understanding.

Thus, _Octavio_, I have ran through both the degrees of love; which I have taken so often, that I am grown most learned and able in the art; my easy heart is of the constitution of those, whom frequent sickness renders apt to take relapses from every little cause, or wind that blows too fiercely on them; it renders itself to the first effects of new surprising beauty, and finds such pleasure in beginning passion, such dear delight of fancying new enjoyment, that all past loves, past vows and obligations, have power to bind no more; no pity, no remorse, no threatening danger invades my amorous course; I scour along the flow’ry plains of love, view all the charming prospect at a distance, which represents itself all gay and glorious! And long to lay me down, to stretch and bask in those dear joys that fancy makes so ravishing: nor am I one of those dull whining slaves, whom quality or my respect can awe into a silent cringer, and no more; no, love, youth, and oft success has taught me boldness and art, desire and cunning to attack, to search the feeble side of female weakness, and there to play love’s engines; for women will be won, they will, _Octavio_, if love and wit find any opportunity.

Perhaps, my friend, you are wondering now, what this discourse, this odd discovery of my own inconstancy tends to? Then since I cannot better pay you back the secret you had told me of your love, than by another of my own; take this confession from thy friend----I love!----languish! And am dying,----for a new beauty. To you, _Octavio_, you that have lived twenty dull tedious years, and never understood the mystery of love, till _Sylvia_ taught you to adore, this change may seem a wonder; you that have lazily run more than half your youth’s gay course of life away, without the pleasure of one nobler hour of mine; who, like a miser, hoard your sacred store, or scantily have dealt it but to one, think me a lavish prodigal in love, and gravely will reproach me with inconstancy----but use me like a friend, and hear my story.

It happened in my last day’s journey on the road I overtook a man of quality, for so his equipage confessed; we joined and fell into discourse of many things indifferent, till, from a chain of one thing to another, we chanced to talk of _France_, and of the factions there, and I soon found him a _Cesarian_; for he grew hot with his concern for that prince, and fiercely owned his interest: this pleased me, and I grew familiar with him; and I pleased him so well in my devotion for _Cesario_, that being arrived at _Cologne_ he invites me home to his palace, which he begged I would make use of as my own during my stay at _Cologne_. Glad of the opportunity I obeyed, and soon informed myself by a _Spanish_ page (that waited on him) to whom I was obliged; he told me it was the Count of _Clarinau_, a _Spaniard_ born, and of quality, who for some disgust at Court retired hither; that he was a person of much gravity, a great politician, and very rich; and though well in years was lately married to a very beautiful young lady, and that very much against her consent; a lady whom he had taken out of a monastery, where she had been pensioned from a child, and of whom he was so fond and jealous, he never would permit her to see or be seen by any man: and if she took the air in her coach, or went to church, he obliged her to wear a veil. Having learned thus much of the boy, I dismissed him with a present; for he had already inspired me with curiosity, that prologue to love, and I knew not of what use he might be hereafter; a curiosity that I was resolved to satisfy, though I broke all the laws of hospitality, and even that first night I felt an impatience that gave me some wonder. In fine, three days I languished out in a disorder that was very nearly allied to that of love. I found myself magnificently lodged; attended with a formal ceremony; and indeed all things were as well as I could imagine, bating a kind opportunity to get a sight of this young beauty: now half a lover grown, I sighed and grew oppressed with thought, and had recourse to groves, to shady walks and fountains, of which the delicate gardens afforded variety, the most resembling nature that ever art produced, and of the most melancholy recesses, fancying there, in some lucky hour, I might encounter what I already so much adored in _Idea_, which still I formed just as my fancy wished; there, for the first two days I walked and sighed, and told my new-born passion to every gentle wind that played among the boughs; for yet no lady bright appeared beneath them, no visionary nymph the groves afforded; but on the third day, all full of love and stratagem, in the cool of the evening, I passed into a thicket near a little rivulet, that purled and murmured through the glade, and passed into the meads; this pleased and fed my present amorous humour, and down I laid myself on the shady brink, and listened to its melancholy glidings, when from behind me I heard a sound more ravishing, a voice that sung these words:

Alas, in vain, you pow’rs above,
You gave me youth, you gave me charms,
And ev’ry tender sense of love;
To destine me to old _Phileno_’. arms.
Ah how can youth’s gay spring allow
The chilling kisses of the winter’s snow!

All night I languish by his side,
And fancy joys I never taste;
As men in dreams a feast provide,

And waking find, with grief they fast.
Either, ye gods, my youthful fires allay,
Or make the old _Phileno_ young and gay.

Like a fair flower in shades obscurity,
Though every sweet adorns my head,
Ungather’d, unadmired I lie,
And wither on my silent gloomy bed,
While no kind aids to my relief appear,
And no kind bosom makes me triumph there.

By this you may easily guess, as I soon did, that the song was sung by Madam the Countess of _Clarinau_, as indeed it was; at the very beginning of her song my joyful soul divined it so! I rose, and advanced by such slow degrees, as neither alarmed the fair singer, nor hindered me the pleasure of hearing any part of the song, till I approached so near as (behind the shelter of some jessamine that divided us) I, unseen, completed those wounds at my eyes, which I had received before at my ears. Yes, _Octavio_, I saw the lovely _Clarinau_ leaning on a pillow made of some of those jessamines which favoured me, and served her for a canopy. But, oh my friend! How shall I present her to thee in that angel form she then appeared to me? All young! All ravishing as new-born light to lost benighted travellers; her face, the fairest in the world, was adorned with curls of shining jet, tied up--I know not how, all carelessly with scarlet ribbon mixed with pearls; her robe was gay and rich, such as young royal brides put on when they undress for joys; her eyes were black, the softest heaven ever made; her mouth was sweet, and formed for all delight; so red her lips, so round, so graced with dimples, that without one other charm, that was enough to kindle warm desires about a frozen heart; a sprightly air of wit completed all, increased my flame, and made me mad with love: endless it were to tell thee all her beauties: nature all over was lavish and profuse, let it suffice, her face, her shape, her mien, had more of angel in them than humanity! I saw her thus all charming! Thus she lay! A smiling melancholy dressed her eyes, which she had fixed upon the rivulet, near which I found her lying; just such I fancied famed _Lucretia_ was, when _Tarquin_ first beheld her; nor was that royal ravisher more inflamed than I, or readier for the encounter. Alone she was, which heightened my desires; oh gods! Alone lay the young lovely charmer, with wishing eyes, and all prepared for love! The shade was gloomy, and the tell-tale leaves combined so close, they must have given us warning if any had approached from either side! All favoured my design, and I advanced; but with such caution as not to inspire her with a fear, instead of that of love! A slow, uneasy pace, with folded arms, love in my eyes, and burning in my heart----at my approach she scarce contained her cries, and rose surprised and blushing, discovering to me such a proportioned height--so lovely and majestic--that I stood gazing on her, all lost in wonder, and gave her time to dart her eyes at me, and every look pierced deeper to my soul, and I had no sense but love, silent admiring love! Immovable I stood, and had no other motion but that of a heart all panting, which lent a feeble trembling to my tongue, and even when I would have spoke to her, it sent a sigh up to prevent my boldness; and oh, _Octavio_, though I have been bred in all the saucy daring of a forward lover, yet now I wanted a convenient impudence; awed with a haughty sweetness in her look, like a Fauxbrave after a vigorous onset, finding the danger fly so thick around him, sheers off, and dares not face the pressing foe, struck with too fierce a lightning from her eyes, whence the gods sent a thousand winged darts, I veiled my own, and durst not play with fire: while thus she hotly did pursue her conquest, and I stood fixed on the defensive part, I heard a rustling among the thick-grown leaves, and through their mystic windings soon perceived the good old Count of _Clarinau_ approaching, muttering and mumbling to old _Dormina_, the dragon appointed to guard this lovely treasure, and which she having left alone in the thicket, and had retired but at an awful distance, had most extremely disobliged her lord. I only had time enough in this little moment to look with eyes that asked a thousand pities, and told her in their silent language how loath they were to leave the charming object, and with a sigh----I vanished from the wondering fair one, nimble as lightning, silent as a shade, to my first post behind the jessamines; that was the utmost that I could persuade my heart to do. You may believe, my dear _Octavio_, I did not bless the minute that brought old _Clarinau_ to that dear recess, nor him, nor my own fate; and to complete my torment, I saw him (after having gravely reproached her for being alone without her woman) yes, I saw him fall on her neck, her lovely snowy neck, and loll and kiss, and hang his tawny withered arms on her fair shoulders, and press his nauseous load upon _Calista_’. body, (for so I heard him name her) while she was gazing still upon the empty place, whence she had seen me vanish; which he perceiving, cried--’My little fool, what is it thou gazest on, turn to thy known old man, and buss him soundly----’ When putting him by with a disdain, that half made amends for the injury he had done me by coming, ‘Ah, my lord,’ cried she, ‘even now, just there I saw a lovely vision, I never beheld so excellent a thing:’ ‘How,’ cried he, ‘a vision, a thing,--What vision? What thing? Where? How? And when----’ ’.hy there,’ said she, ‘with my eyes, and just now is vanished behind yon jessamines.’ With that I drew my sword--for I despaired to get off unknown; and being well enough acquainted with the jealous nature of the Spaniards, which is no more than see and stab, I prepared to stand on my defence till I could reconcile him, if possible, to reason; yet even in that moment I was more afraid of the injury he might do the innocent fair one, than of what he could do to me: but he not so much as dreaming she meant a man by her lovely vision, fell a kissing her anew, and beckoning _Dormina_ off to pimp at distance, told her, ‘The grove was so sweet, the river’s murmurs so delicate, and she was so curiously dressed, that all together had inspired him with a love-fit;’ and then assaulting her anew with a sneer, which you have seen a satyr make in pictures, he fell to act the little tricks of youth, that looked so goatish in him--instead of kindling it would have damped a flame; which she resisted with a scorn so charming gave me new hope and fire, when to oblige me more, with pride, disdain, and loathing in her eyes, she fled like _Daphne_ from the ravisher; he being bent on love pursued her with a feeble pace, like an old wood-god chasing some coy nymph, who winged with fear out-strips the flying wind, and though a god he cannot overtake her; and left me fainting with new love, new hope, new jealousy, impatience, sighs and wishes, in the abandoned grove. Nor could I go without another view of that dear place in which I saw her lie. I went--and laid me down just on the print which her fair body made, and pressed, and kissed it over a thousand times with eager transports, and even fancied fair _Calista_ there; there ‘twas I found the paper with the song which I have sent you; there I ran over a thousand stratagems to gain another view; no little statesman had more plots and arts than I to gain this object I adored, the soft idea of my burning heart, now raging wild, abandoned all to love and loose desire; but hitherto my industry is vain; each day I haunt the thickest groves and springs, the flowery walks, close arbours; all the day my busy eyes and heart are searching her, but no intelligence they bring me in: in fine, _Octavio_, all that I can since learn is, that the bright _Calista_ had seen a vision in the garden, and ever since was so possessed with melancholy, that she had not since quitted her chamber; she is daily pressing the Count to permit her to go into the garden, to see if she can again encounter the lovely _phantom_, but whether, from any description she hath made of it, (or from any other cause) he imagines how it was, I know not; but he endeavours all he can to hinder her, and tells her it is not lawful to tempt heaven by invoking an apparition; so that till a second view eases the torments of my mind, there is nothing in nature to be conceived so raving mad as I; as if my despair of finding her again increased my impatient flame, instead of lessening it.

After this declaration, judge, _Octavio_, who has given the greatest proofs of his friendship, you or I; you being my rival, trust me with the secret of loving my mistress, which can no way redound to your disadvantage; but I, by telling you the secrets of my soul, put it into your power to ruin me with _Sylvia_, and to establish yourself in her heart; a thought I yet am not willing to bear, for I have an ambition in my love, that would not, while I am toiling for empire here, lose my dominion in another place: but since I can no more rule a woman’s heart, than a lover’s fate, both you and _Sylvia_ may deceive my opinion in that, but shall never have power to make me believe you less my friend, than I am your

PHILANDER.

POSTSCRIPT.

_The enclosed I need not oblige you to deliver; you see I give you opportunity._

_Octavio_ no sooner arrived to that part of the letter which named the Count of _Clarinau_, but he stopped, and was scarce able to proceed, for the charming _Calista_ was his sister, the only one he had, who having been bred in a nunnery, was taken then to be married to this old rich count, who had a great fortune: before he proceeded, his soul divined this was the new amour that had engaged the heart of his friend; he was afraid to be farther convinced, and yet a curiosity to know how far he had proceeded, made him read it out with all the disorder of a man jealous of his honour, and nicely careful of his fame; he considered her young, about eighteen, married to an old, ill-favoured, jealous husband, no parents but himself to right her wrongs, or revenge her levity; he knew, though she wanted no wit, she did art, for being bred without the conversation of men, she had not learnt the little cunnings of her sex; he guessed by his own soul that hers was soft and apt for impression; he judged from her confession to her husband of the vision, that she had a simple innocence, that might betray a young beauty under such circumstances; to all this he considered the charms of _Philander_ unresistible, his unwearied industry in love, and concludes his sister lost. At first he upbraids _Philander_, and calls him ungrateful, but soon thought it unreasonable to accuse himself of an injustice, and excused the frailty of _Philander_, since he knew not that she whom he adored was sister to his friend; however, it failed not to possess him with inquietude that exercised all his wit, to consider how he might prevent an irreparable injury to his honour, and an intrigue that possibly might cost his sister her life, as well as fame. In the midst of all these torments he forgot not the more important business of his love: for to a lover, who has his soul perfectly fixed on the fair object of its adoration, whatever other thoughts fatigue and cloud his mind, that, like a soft gleam of new sprung light, darts in and spreads a glory all around, and like the god of day, cheers every drooping vital; yet even these dearer thoughts wanted not their torments. At first he strove to atone for the fears of _Calista_, with those of imagining _Philander_ false to _Sylvia_: ‘Well,’ cried he----’If thou be’st lost, _Calista_, at least thy ruin has laid a foundation for my happiness, and every triumph _Philander_ makes of thy virtue, it the more secures my empire over _Sylvia_; and since the brother cannot be happy, but by the sister’s being undone, yield thou, O faithless fair one, yield to _Philander_, and make me blest in _Sylvia_! And thou’ (continued he) ‘oh perjured lover and inconstant friend, glut thy insatiate flame----rifle _Calista_ of every virtue heaven and nature gave her, so I may but revenge it on thy _Sylvia_!’ Pleased with this joyful hope he traverses his chamber; glowing and blushing with new kindling fire, his heart that was all gay, diffused a gladness, that expressed itself in every feature of his lovely face; his eyes, that were by nature languishing, shone now with an unusual air of briskness, smiles graced his mouth, and dimples dressed his face, insensibly his busy fingers trick and dress, and set his hair, and without designing it, his feet are bearing him to _Sylvia_, till he stopped short and wondered whither he was going, for yet it was not time to make his visit--’Whither, fond heart,’ (said he) ‘O whither wouldst thou hurry this slave to thy soft fires!’ And now returning back he paused and fell to thought--He remembered how impatiently _Sylvia_ waited the return of the answer he writ to him, wherein he owned his passion for that beauty. He knew she permitted him to write it, more to raise the little brisk fires of jealousy in _Philander_, and to set an edge on his blunted love, than from any favours she designed _Octavio_; and that on this answer depended all her happiness, or the confirmation of her doubts, and that she would measure _Philander_’. love by the effects she found there of it: so that never lover had so hard a game to play, as our new one. He knew he had it now in his power to ruin his rival, and to make almost his own terms with his fair conqueress, but he considered the secret was not rendered him for so base an end, nor could his love advance itself by ways so false, dull and criminal--Between each thought he paused, and now resolves she must know he sent an answer to his letter; for should she know he had, and that he should refuse her the sight of it, he believed with reason she ought to banish him for ever her presence, as the most disobedient of her slaves. He walks and pauses on--but no kind thought presents itself to save him; either way he finds himself undone, and from the most gay, and most triumphing lover on the earth, he now, with one desirous thought of right reasoning, finds he is the most miserable of all the creation! He reads the superscription of that _Philander_ writ to _Sylvia_, which was enclosed in his, and finds it was directed only--’For _Sylvia_’, which would plainly demonstrate it came not so into _Holland_, but that some other cover secured it; so that never any but _Octavio_, the most nice in honour, had ever so great a contest with love and friendship: for his noble temper was not one of those that could sacrifice his friend to his little lusts, or his more solid passion, but truly brave, resolves now rather to die than to confess _Philander_’. secret; to evade which he sent her letter by his page, with one from himself, and commanded him to tell her, that he was going to receive some commands from the Prince of _Orange_, and that he would wait on her himself in the evening. The page obeys, and _Octavio_ sent him with a sigh, and eyes that languishingly told him he did it with regret.

The page hastening to _Sylvia_, finds her in all the disquiet of an expecting lover; and snatching the papers from his hand, the first she saw was that from _Philander_, at which she trembled with fear and joy, for hope, love and despair, at once seized her, and hardly able to make a sign with her hand, for the boy to withdraw, she sank down into her chair, all pale, and almost fainting; but re-assuming her courage, she opened it, and read this.

PHILANDER _to_ SYLVIA.

Ah, _Sylvia_! Why all these doubts and fears? why at this distance do you accuse your lover, when he is incapable to fall before you, and undeceive your little jealousies. Oh, _Sylvia_, I fear this first reproaching me, is rather the effects of your own guilt, than any that love can make you think of mine. Yes, yes, my _Sylvia_, it is the waves that roll and glide away, and not the steady shore. ‘Tis you begin to unfasten from the vows that hold you, and float along the flattering tide of vanity. It is you, whose pride and beauty scorning to be confined, give way to the admiring crowd, that sigh for you. Yes, yes, you, like the rest of your fair glorious sex, love the admirer though you hate the coxcomb. It is vain! it is great! And shews your beauty’s power----Is it possible, that for the safety of my life I cannot retire, but you must think I am fled from love and _Sylvia_? Or is it possible that pitying tenderness that made me incapable of taking leave of her should be interpreted as false--and base--and that an absence of thirty days, so forc’d, and so compelled, must render me inconstant--lost--ungrateful----as if that after _Sylvia_ heaven ever made a beauty that could charm me?

You charge my letter with a thousand faults, it is short, it is cold, and wants those usual softnesses that gave them all their welcome, and their graces. I fear my _Sylvia_ loves the flatterer, and not the man, the lover only, not _Philander_: and she considers him not for himself, but the gay, glorious thing he makes of her! Ah! too self-interested! Is that your justice? You never allow for my unhappy circumstances; you never think how care oppresses me, nor what my love contributes to that care. How business, danger, and a thousand ills, take up my harrassed mind: by every power! I love thee still, my _Sylvia_, but time has made us more familiar now, and we begin to leave off ceremony, and come to closer joys to join our interests now, as people fixed, resolved to live and die together; to weave our thoughts and be united stronger. At first we shew the gayest side of love, dress and be nice in every word and look, set out for conquest all; spread every art, use every stratagem--But when the toil is past, and the dear victory gained, we then propose a little idle rest, a little easy slumber: we then embrace, lay by the gaudy shew, the plumes and gilded equipage of love, the trappings of the conqueror, and bring the naked lover to your arms; we shew him then uncased with all his little disadvantages; perhaps the flowing hair, (those ebony curls you have so often combed and dressed, and kissed) are then put up, and shew a fiercer air, more like an antique _Roman_ than _Philander_: and shall I then, because I want a grace, be thought to love you less? Because the embroidered coat, the point and garniture’s laid by, must I put off my passion with my dress? No, _Sylvia_, love allows a thousand little freedoms, allows me to unbosom all my secrets; tell thee my wants, my fears, complaints and dangers, and think it great relief if thou but sigh and pity me: and oft thy charming wit has aided me, but now I find thee adding to my pain. O where shall I unload my weight of cares, when _Sylvia_, who was wont to sigh and weep, and suffer me to ease the heavy burden, now grows displeased and peevish with my moans, and calls them the effects of dying love! Instead of those dear smiles, that fond bewitching prattle, that used to calm my roughest storm of grief, she now reproaches me with coldness, want of concern, and lover’s rhetoric: and when I seem to beg relief and shew my soul’s resentment, it is then I’m false; it is my aversion, or the effects of some new kindling flame: is this fair dealing, _Sylvia_? Can I not spare a little sigh from love, but you must think I rob you of your due? If I omit a tender name, by which I used to call you, must I be thought to lose that passion that taught me such endearments? And must I never reflect upon the ruin both of my fame and fortune, but I must run the risk of losing _Sylvia_ too? Oh cruelty of love! Oh too, too fond and jealous maid, what crimes thy innocent passion can create, when it extends beyond the bounds of reason! Ah too, too nicely tender _Sylvia_, that will not give me leave to cast a thought back on my former glory; yet even that loss I could support with tameness and content, if I believed my suffering reached only to my heart; but _Sylvia_, if she love, must feel my torments too, must share my loss, and want a thousand ornaments, my sinking fortune cannot purchase her: believe me, charming creature, if I should love you less, I have a sense so just of what you have suffered for _Philander_, I’d be content to be a galley-slave, to give thy beauty, birth and love their due; but as I am thy faithful lover still, depend upon that fortune heaven has left me; which if thou canst (as thou hast often sworn) then thou would’st submit to be cheerful still, be gay and confident, and do not judge my heart by little words; my heart--too great and fond for such poor demonstrations.

You ask me, _Sylvia_, where I am, and what I do; and all I can say is, that at present I am safe from any fears of being delivered up to _France_, and what I do is sighing, dying, grieving; I want my _Sylvia_; but my circumstances yet have nothing to encourage that hope; when I resolve where to settle, you shall see what haste I will make to have you brought to me: I am impatient to hear from you, and to know how that dear pledge of our soft hours advances. I mean, what I believe I left thee possessed of, a young _Philander_: cherish it, _Sylvia_, for that is a certain obligation to keep a dying fire alive; be sure you do it no hurt by your unnecessary grief, though there needs no other tie but that of love to make me more entirely

_Your_ PHILANDER.

If _Sylvia_’. fears were great before she opened the letter, what were her pains when all those fears were confirmed from that never-failing mark of a declining love, the coldness and alteration of the style of letters, that first symptom of a dying flame! ‘O where,’ said she, ’.here, oh perjured charmer, is all that ardency that used to warm the reader? Where is all that natural innocence of love that could not, even to discover and express a grace in eloquence, force one soft word, or one passion? Oh,’ continued she, ‘he is lost and gone from _Sylvia_ and his vows; some other has him all, clasps that dear body, hangs upon that face, gazes upon his eyes, and listens to his voice, when he is looking, sighing, swearing, dying, lying and damning of himself for some new beauty--He is, I will not endure it; aid me, _Antonet_! Oh, where is the perjured traitor!’ _Antonet_, who was waiting on her, seeing her rise on the sudden in so great a fury, would have stayed her hasty turns and ravings, beseeching her to tell her what was the occasion, and by a discovery to ease her heart; but she with all the fury imaginable flung from her arms, and ran to the table, and snatching up a penknife, had certainly sent it to her heart, had not _Antonet_ stepped to her and caught her hand, which she resisted not, and blushing resigned, with telling her, she was ashamed of her own cowardice; ‘For,’ said she, ‘if it had designed to have been brave, I had sent you off, and by a noble resolution have freed this slave within’ (striking her breast) ‘from a tyranny which it should disdain to suffer under:’ with that she raged about the chamber with broken words and imperfect threatenings, unconsidered imprecations, and unheeded vows and oaths; at which _Antonet_ redoubled her petition to know the cause; and she replied--’_Philander_! The dear, the soft, the fond and charming _Philander_ is now no more the same. O, _Antonet_,’ said she, ‘didst thou but see this letter compared to those of heretofore, when love was gay and young, when new desire dressed his soft eyes in tears, and taught his tongue the harmony of angels; when every tender word had more of passion, than volumes of this forced, this trifling business; Oh thou wouldst say I were the wretchedest thing that ever nature made--Oh, thou wouldst curse as I do--not the dear murderer, but thy frantic self, thy mad, deceived, believing, easy self; if thou wert so undone--’ Then while she wept she gave _Antonet_ liberty to speak, which was to persuade her, her fears were vain; she urged every argument of love she had been witness to, and could not think it possible he could be false. To all which the still weeping _Sylvia_ lent a willing ear; for lovers are much inclined to believe every thing they wish. _Antonet_, having a little calmed her, continued telling her, that to be better convinced of his love, or his perfidy, she ought to have patience till _Octavio_ should come to visit her; ‘For you have forgotten, madam,’ said she, ‘that the generous rival has sent him word he is your lover:’ for _Antonet_ was waiting at the reading of that letter, nor was there any thing the open-hearted _Sylvia_ concealed from that servant; and women who have made a breach in their honour, are seldom so careful of their rest of fame, as those who have a stock entire; and _Sylvia_ believed after she had entrusted the secret of one amour to her discretion, she might conceal none. ’.ee, madam,’ says _Antonet_, ‘here is a letter yet unread:’ _Sylvia_, who had been a great while impatient for the return of _Octavio_’. answer from _Philander_, expecting from thence the confirmation of all her doubts, hastily snatched the letter out of _Antonet_’. hand, and read it, hoping to have found something there to have eased her soul one way or other; a soul the most raging and haughty by nature that ever possessed a body: the words were these.

OCTAVIO _to_ SYLVIA.

At least you will pity me, oh charming _Sylvia_, when you shall call to mind the cruel services I am obliged to render you, to be the messenger of love from him, whom beauty and that god plead so strongly for already in your heart.

If, after this, you can propose a torture that yet may speak my passion and obedience in any higher measure, command and try my fortitude; for I too well divine, O rigorous beauty, the business of your love-sick slave will be only to give you proofs how much he does adore you, and never to taste a joy, even in a distant hope; like lamps in urns my lasting fire must burn, without one kind material to supply it. Ah _Sylvia_, if ever it be thy wretched fate to see the lord of all your vows given to another’s arms----when you shall see in those soft eyes that you adore, a languishment and joy if you but name another beauty to him;----when you behold his blushes fade and rise at the approaches of another mistress,----hear broken sighs and unassured replies, whenever he answers some new conqueress; tremblings, and pantings seizing every part at the warm touch as of a second charmer: ah, _Sylvia_, do but do me justice then, and sighing say--I pity poor _Octavio_.