Chapter XI: Part 11

_Elvira_, whom the sweetness of Hope flatter'd some moments, saw the return of _Agnes_ with a sensible Displeasure, which suffer'd her to think of nothing but irritating her Brother.

In fine, the Prince saw the King, but instead of being receiv'd by him with a Joy due to the success of his Journey, he appear'd all sullen and out of humour. After having paid him his first Respects, and given him an exact account of what he had done, he spoke to him about the Violence committed against the Person of _Agnes de Castro_, and complain'd to him of it in the Name of the Princess, and of his own: 'You ought to be silent in this Affair, replied the King; and the Motive which makes you speak is so shameful for you, that I sigh and blush at it. What is it to you, if this Maid, whose Presence is troublesome to me, be removed hence, since 'tis I that desire it?' 'But, Sir, interrupted the Prince, what necessity is there of employing Force, Artifice, and the Night, when the least of your Orders had been sufficient? _Agnes_ would willingly have obey'd you; and if she continue at _Coimbra_, it is perhaps against her Will: but be it as it will, Sir, _Constantia_ is offended, and if were not for fear of displeasing you, (the only thing that retains me) the Ravisher should not have gone unpunished.' 'How happy are you, replied the King, smiling with disdain, in making use of the Name of _Constantia_ to uphold the Interest of your Heart! You think I am ignorant of it, and that this unhappy Princess looks on the Injury you do her with Indifference. Never speak to me more of _Agnes_, (with a Tone very severe.) Content your self, that I pardon what's past, and think maturely of the Considerations I have for _Don Alvaro_, when you would design any thing against him.' 'Yes, Sir, replied the Prince with fierceness, I will speak to you no more of _Agnes_; but _Constantia_ and I will never suffer, that she should be any more expos'd to the Insolence of your Favourite.' The King had like to have broke out into a Rage at this Discourse: but he had yet a rest of Prudence left that hinder'd him. 'Retire (said he to _Don Pedro_) and go make Reflections on what my Power can do, and what you owe me.'

During this Conversation, _Agnes_ was receiving from the Princess, and from all the Ladies of the Court, great Expressions of Joy and Friendship: _Constantia_ saw again her Husband, with a great deal of satisfaction: and far from being sorry at what he had lately done for _Agnes_, she privately return'd him thanks for it, and still was the same towards him, notwithstanding all the Jealousy which was endeavour'd to be inspir'd in her.

_Don Alvaro_, who found in his Sister a Maliciousness worthy of his trust, did not conceal his Fury from her. After she had made vain attempts to moderate it, in blotting _Agnes_ out of his Heart, seeing that his Disease was incurable, she made him understand, that so long as _Constantia_ should not be jealous, there were no hopes: That if _Agnes_ should once be suspected by her, she would not fail of abandoning her, and that then it would be easy to get Satisfaction, the Prince being now so proud of _Constantia's_ Indulgency. In giving this Advice to her Brother, she promis'd to serve him effectually; and having no need of any body but her self to perform ill things, she recommended _Don Alvaro_ to manage well the King.

Four Years were pass'd in that melancholy Station, and the Princess, besides her first dead Child, and _Ferdinando_, who was still living, had brought two Daughters into the World.

Some days after _Don Pedro's_ return, _Elvira_, who was most dextrous in the Art of well-governing any wicked Design, did gain one of the Servants who belong'd to _Constantia's_ Chamber. She first spoke her fair, then overwhelm'd her with Presents and Gifts; and finding in her as ill a Disposition as in her self, she readily resolv'd to employ her.

After she was sure of her, she compos'd a Letter, which was after writ over again in an unknown Hand, which she deposited in that Maid's Hands, that she might deliver to _Constantia_ with the first Opportunity, telling her, that _Agnes_ had drop'd it. This was the Substance of it:

_I Employ not my own Hand to write to you, for Reasons that I shall
acquaint you with. How happy am I to have overcome all your
Scruples! And what Happiness shall I find in the Progress of our
Intrigue! The whole Course of my Life shall continually represent to
you the Sincerity of my Affections; pray think on the secret
Conversation that I require of you: I dare not speak to you in
publick, therefore let me conjure you here, by all that I have
suffer'd, to come to-night to the Place appointed, and speak to me
no more of +Constantia+; for she must be content with my Esteem,
since my Heart can be only yours._

The unfaithful _Portuguese_ serv'd _Elvira_ exactly to her Desires; and the very next day seeing _Agnes_ go out from the Princess, she carry'd _Constantia_ the Letter; which she took, and found there what she was far from imagining: Tenderness never produc'd an Effect more full of grief, than what it made her suffer. 'Alas! they are both culpable, (said she, sighing) and in spite of the Defence my Heart would make for 'em, my Reason condemns 'em. Unhappy Princess, the sad subject of the Capriciousness of Fortune! Why dost not thou die, since thou hast not a Heart of Honour to revenge it self? O _Don Pedro_! why did you give me your Hand, without your Heart? And thou, fair, and ungrateful! wert thou born to be the Misfortune of my Life, and perhaps the only cause of my Death?' After having given some Moments to the Violence of her Grief, she called the Maid, who brought her the Letter, commanding her to speak of it to no body, and to suffer no one to enter into her Chamber.

She consider'd then of that Prince with more liberty, whose Soul she was not able to touch with the least Tenderness; and of the cruel Fair One that had betray'd her: Yet, even while her Soul was upon the Rack, she was willing to excuse 'em, and ready to do all she could for _Don Pedro_; at least, she made a firm Resolution, not to complain of him.

_Elvira_ was not long without being inform'd of what had pass'd, nor of the Melancholy of the Princess, from whom she hop'd all she desir'd.

_Agnes_, far from foreseeing this Tempest, return'd to _Constantia_; and hearing of her Indisposition, pass'd the rest of the Day at her Chamber-door, that she might from time to time learn news of her Health: for she was not suffer'd to come in, at which _Agnes_ was both surpriz'd and troubled. The Prince had the same Destiny, and was astonish'd at an Order which ought to have excepted him.

The next day _Constantia_ appear'd, but so alter'd, that 'twas not difficult to imagine what she had suffer'd. _Agnes_ was the most impatient to approach her, and the Princess could not forbear weeping, They were both silent for some time, and _Constantia_ attributed this silence of _Agnes_ to some Remorse which she felt: and this unhappy Maid being able to hold no longer; 'Is it possible, Madam, (said she) that two Days should have taken from me all the Goodness you had for me? What have I done? And for what do you punish me?' The Princess regarded her with a languishing Look, and return'd her no Answer but Sighs. _Agnes_, offended with this reserve, went out with very great Dissatisfaction and Anger; which contributed to her being thought criminal. The Prince came in immediately after, and found _Constantia_ more disorder'd than usual, and conjur'd her in a most obliging manner to take care of her Health: _The greatest good for me_ (said she) _is not the Continuation of my Life; I should have more care of it if I loved you less: but--_ She could not proceed; and the Prince, excessively afflicted at her trouble, sigh'd sadly, without making her any answer, which redoubled her Grief. Spite then began to mix it self; and all things persuading the Princess that they made a Sacrifice of her, she would enter into no Explanation with her Husband, but suffered him to go away without saying any thing to him.

Nothing is more capable of troubling our Reason, and consuming our Health, than secret Notions of Jealousy in Solitude.

_Constantia_, who us'd to open her Heart freely to _Agnes_, now believing she had deceiv'd her, abandon'd her self so absolutely to Grief, that she was ready to sink under it; she immediately fell sick with the violence of it, and all the Court was concern'd at this Misfortune: _Don Pedro_ was truly afflicted at it, but _Agnes_ more than all the World beside. _Constantia's_ Coldness towards her, made her continually sigh; and her Distemper created merely by fancy, caus'd her to reflect on every thing that offer'd it self to her Memory: so that at last she began even to fear her self, and to reproach her self for what the Princess suffer'd.

But the Distemper began to be such, that they fear'd _Constantia's_ Death, and she her self began to feel the Approaches of it. This Thought did not at all disquiet her: she look'd on Death as the only relief from all her Torments; and regarded the Despair of all that approach'd her without the least concern.

The King, who lov'd her tenderly, and who knew her Virtue, was infinitely mov'd at the Extremity she was in. And _Don Alvaro_, who lost not the least Occasion of making him understand that it was Jealousy which was the cause of _Constantia's_ Distemper, did but too much incense him against Criminals, worthy of Compassion. The King was not of a Temper to conceal his Anger long: 'You give fine Examples, (said he to the Prince) and such as will render your Memory illustrious! The Death of _Constantia_ (of which you are only to be accus'd) is the unhappy Fruit of your guilty Passion. Fear Heaven after this: and behold your self as a Monster that does not deserve to see the Light. If the Interest you have in my Blood did not plead for you, what ought you not to fear from my just Resentment? But what must not imprudent _Agnes_, to whom nothing ties me, expect from my hands? If _Constantia_ dies, she, who has the Boldness, in my Court, to cherish a foolish Flame by vain Hopes, and make us lose the most amiable Princess, whom thou art not worthy to possess, shall feel the Effects of her Indiscretion.'

_Don Pedro_ knew very well, that _Constantia_ was not ignorant of his Sentiments for _Agnes_; but he knew also with what Moderation she receiv'd it: He was very sensible of the King's Reproaches; but as his Fault was not voluntary, and that a commanding Power, a fatal Star, had forc'd him to love in spite of himself, he appear'd afflicted and confus'd: 'You condemn me, Sir, (answer'd he) without having well examin'd me; and if my Intentions were known to you; perhaps you would not find me so criminal: I would take the Princess for my Judge, whom you say I sacrifice, if she were in a condition to be consulted. If I am guilty of any Weakness, her Justice never reproach'd me for it; and my Tongue never inform'd _Agnes_ of it. But suppose I have committed any Fault, why would you punish an innocent Lady, who perhaps condemns me for it as much as you? Ah, Villain! (interrupted the King) she has but too much favour'd you: You would not have lov'd thus long, had she not made you some Returns. Sir, (reply'd the Prince, pierced with Grief for the Outrage that was committed against _Agnes_) you offend a Virtue, than which nothing can be purer; and those Expressions which break from your Choler, are not worthy of you. _Agnes_ never granted me any Favours; I never asked any of her; and I protest to Heaven, I never thought of any thing contrary to the Duty I owe _Constantia_.'

As they thus argued, one of the Princess's Women came all in Tears to acquaint _Don Pedro_, that the Princess was in the last Extremities of Life: 'Go see thy fatal Work, (said the King) and expect from a too-long patient Father the Usage thou deservest.'

The Prince ran to _Constantia_, whom he found dying, and _Agnes_ in a swoon, in the Arms of some of the Ladies. What caus'd this double Calamity, was, that _Agnes_, who could suffer no longer the Indifferency of the Princess, had conjur'd her to tell her what was her Crime, and either to take her Life from her, or restore her to her Friendship.

_Constantia_, who found she must die, could no longer keep her secret Affliction from _Agnes_; and after some Words, which were a Preparation to the sad Explanation, she shewed her that fatal Billet, which _Elvira_ had caus'd to be written: 'Ah, Madam! (cry'd out the fair _Agnes_, after having read it) Ah, Madam! how many cruel Inquietudes had you spared me had you open'd your Heart to me with your wonted Bounty! 'Tis easy to see that this Letter is counterfeit, and that I have Enemies without Compassion. Could you believe the Prince so imprudent, to make use of any other Hand but his own, on an occasion like this? And do you believe me so simple to keep about me this Testimony of my Shame, with so little Precaution? You are neither betray'd by your Husband nor me; I attest Heaven, and those Efforts I have made to leave _Coimbra_. Alas, my dear Princess, how little have you known her, whom you have so much honoured? Do not believe that when I have justify'd my self, I will have any more Communication with the World: No, no; there will be no Retreat far enough from hence for me. I will take care to hide this unlucky Face, where it shall be sure to do no more harm.'

The Princess touched at this Discourse, and the Tears of _Agnes_, press'd her hand, which she held in hers; and fixing Looks upon her capable of moving Pity in the most insensible Souls, 'If I have committed any Offence, my dear _Agnes_, (answer'd she) Death, which I expect in a moment, shall revenge it. I ought also to protest to you, That I have not ceas'd loving you, and that I believe every thing you have said, giving you back my most tender Affections.'

'Twas at this time that the Grief, which equally oppress'd 'em, put the Princess into such an Extremity, that they sent for the Prince. He came, and found himself almost without Life or Motion at this sight. And what secret Motive soever might call him to the aid of _Agnes_, 'twas to _Constantia_ he ran. The Princess, who finding her last Moments drawing on, by a cold Sweat that cover'd her all over; and finding she had no more business with Life, and causing those Persons she most suspected to retire, 'Sir, (said she to _Don Pedro_) if I abandon Life without regret, it is not without Trouble that I part with you. But, Prince, we must vanquish when we come to die; and I will forget my self wholly, to think of nothing but of you. I have no Reproaches to make against you, knowing that 'tis Inclination that disposes Hearts, and not Reason. _Agnes_ is beautiful enough to inspire the most ardent Passion, and virtuous enough to deserve the first Fortunes in the World. I ask her, once more, pardon for the Injustice I have done her, and recommend her to you, as a Person most dear to me. Promise me, my dear Prince, before I expire, to give her my Place in your Throne: it cannot be better fill'd: you cannot chuse a Princess more perfect for your People, nor a better Mother for our little Children. And you my dear and faithful _Agnes_ (pursu'd she) listen not to a Virtue too scrupulous, that may make any opposition to the Prince of _Portugal_: Refuse him not a Heart of which he is worthy; and give him that Friendship which you had for me, with that which is due to his Merit. Take care of my little _Fernando_, and the two young Princesses: let them find me in you, and speak to them sometimes of me. Adieu, live both of you happy, and receive my last Embraces.'

The afflicted _Agnes_, who had recover'd a little her Forces, lost them again a second time; Her Weakness was follow'd with Convulsions so vehement, that they were afraid of her Life; but _Don Pedro_ never removed from _Constantia_: 'What, Madam (said he) you will leave me then; and you think 'tis for my Good. Alas, _Constantia_! if my Heart has committed an Outrage against you, your Virtue has sufficiently revenged you on me in spite of you. Can you think me so barbarous?'--As he was going on, he saw Death shut the Eyes of the most generous Princess for ever; and he was within a very little of following her.

But what Loads of Grief did this bring upon _Agnes_, when she found in that Interval, wherein Life and Death were struggling in her Soul, that _Constantia_ was newly expir'd! She would then have taken away her own Life, and have let her Despair fully appear.

At the noise of the Death of the Princess, the Town and the Palace were all in Tears. _Elvira_, who saw then _Don Pedro_ free to engage himself, repented of having contributed to the Death of _Constantia_; and thinking her self the Cause of it, promis'd in her Griefs never to pardon herself.

She had need of being guarded several days together; during which time she fail'd not incessantly to weep. And the Prince gave all those days to deepest Mourning. But when the first Emotions were past, those of his Love made him feel that he was still the same.

He was a long time without seeing _Agnes_; but this Absence of his served only to make her appear the more charming when he did see her.

_Don Alvaro_, who was afraid of the Liberty of the Prince, made new Efforts to move _Agnes de Castro_, who was now become insensible to every thing but Grief. _Elvira_, who was willing to make the best of the Design she had begun, consulted all her Womens Arts, and the Delicacy of her Wit, to revive the Flames with which the Prince once burnt for her: But his Constancy was bounded, and it was _Agnes_ alone that was to reign over his Heart. She had taken a firm Resolution, since the Death of _Constantia_, to pass the rest of her Days in a solitary Retreat. In spite of the precaution she took to hide this Design, the Prince was informed of it, and did all he was able to dispose his Constancy and Fortitude to it. He thought himself stronger than he really was; but after he had well consulted his Heart, he found but too well how necessary the Presence of _Agnes_ was to him. 'Madam (said he to her one day, with a Heart big, and his Eyes in Tears) which Action of my Life has made you determine my Death? Tho' I never told you how much I loved you, yet I am persuaded you are not ignorant of it. I was constrained to be silent during some Years for your sake, for _Constantia's_, and my own; but 'tis not possible for me to put this force upon my Heart for ever: I must once at least tell you how it languishes. Receive then the Assurances of a Passion, full of Respect and Ardour, with an offer of my Fortune, which I wish not better, but for your advantage.'

_Agnes_ answer'd not immediately to these words, but with abundance of Tears; which having wiped away, and beholding _Don Pedro_ with an air which made him easily comprehend she did not agree with his Desires; 'If I were capable of the Weakness with which you'd inspire me, you'd be obliged to punish me for it: What! (said she) _Constantia_ is scarce bury'd, and you would have me offend her! No, my Prince (added she with more Softness) no, no, she whom you have heap'd so many Favours on, will not call down the Anger of Heaven, and the Contempt of Men upon her, by an Action so perfidious. Be not obstinate then in a Design in which I will never shew you Favour. You owe to _Constantia_, after her Death, a Fidelity that may justify you: and I, to repair the Ills I have made her suffer ought to shun all converse with you.' 'Go, Madam (reply'd the Prince, growing pale) go, and expect the News of my Death; in that part of the World, whither your Cruelty shall lead you, the News shall follow close after; you shall quickly hear of it: and I will go seek it in those Wars which reign among my Neighbours.'

These Words made the fair _Agnes de Castro_ perceive that her Innocency was not so great as she imagined, and that her Heart interested it self in the Preservation of _Don Pedro_: 'You ought, Sir, to preserve your Life (reply'd _Agnes_) for the sake of the little Prince and Princesses, which _Constantia_ has left you. Would you abandon their Youth (continued she, with a tender Tone) to the Cruelty of _Don Alvaro_? Live! Sir, live! and let the unhappy _Agnes_ be the only Sacrifice.' 'Alas, cruel Maid! (interrupted _Don Pedro_) Why do you command me to live, if I cannot live with you? Is it an effect of your Hatred?' 'No, Sir, (reply'd _Agnes_) I do not hate you; and I wish to God that I could be able to defend my self against the Weakness with which I find my self possess'd. Oblige me to say no more, Sir: you see my Blushes, interpret them as you please: but consider yet, that the less Aversion I find I have to you, the more culpable I am; and that I ought no more to see, or speak to you. In fine, Sir, if you oppose my Retreat, I declare to you, that _Don Alvaro_, as odious as he is to me, shall serve for a Defence against you; and that I will sooner consent to marry a Man I abhor, than to favour a Passion that cost _Constantia_ her Life.' 'Well then, _Agnes_ (reply'd the Prince, with Looks all languishing and dying) follow the Motions which barbarous Virtue inspires you with; take these Measures you judge necessary against an unfortunate Lover, and enjoy the Glory of having cruelly refused me.'

At these Words he went away; and troubled as _Agnes_ was, she would not stay him: Her Courage combated with her Grief, and she thought now, more than ever, of departing.

'Twas difficult for her to go out of _Coimbra_; and not to defer what appear'd to her so necessary, she went immediately to the Apartment of the King, notwithstanding the Interest of _Don Alvaro_. The King received her with a Countenance severe, not being able to consent to what she demanded: _You shall not go hence, +(said he)+ and if you are wise, you shall enjoy here with +Don Alvaro+ both my Friendship and my Favour. I have taken another Resolution (+answer'd+ Agnes) and the World has no part in it. You will accept +Don Pedro (reply'd the King)+ his Fortune is sufficient to satisfy an ambitious Maid: but you will not succeed +Constantia+, who lov'd you so tenderly; and +Spain+ has Princesses enough to fill up part of the Throne which I shall leave him. Sir, (+reply'd+ Agnes, +piqu'd at this Discourse+) if I had a Disposition to love, and a Design to marry, perhaps the Prince might be the only Person on whom I would fix it: And you know, if my Ancestors did not possess Crowns, yet they were worthy to wear 'em. But let it be how it will, I am resolved to depart, and to remain no longer a Slave in a Place to which I came free._

This bold Answer, which shew'd the Character of _Agnes_, anger'd and astonished the King. _You shall go when we think fit +(reply'd he)+ and without being a Slave at +Coimbra+, you shall attend our order._

_Agnes_ saw she must stay, and was so griev'd at it, that she kept her Chamber several days, without daring to inform herself of the Prince; and this Retirement spared her the Affliction of being visited by _Don Alvaro_.

During this, _Don Pedro_ fell sick, and was in so great danger, that there was a general apprehension of his Death. _Agnes_ did not in the least doubt, but it was an effect of his Discontent: she thought at first she had Strength and Resolution enough to see him die, rather than to favour him; but had she reflected a little, she had soon been convinc'd to the contrary. She found not in her Heart that cruel Constancy she thought there so well established: She felt Pains and Inquietude, shed Tears, made Wishes; and, in fine, discover'd that she lov'd.

'Twas impossible to see the Heir of the Crown, a Prince that deserved so well, even at the point of Death, without a general Affliction. The People who loved him, pass'd whole days at the Palace-gate to hear News of him: The Court was all over-whelm'd with Grief.

_Don Alvaro_ knew very well how to conceal a malicious Joy, under an Appearance of Sadness. _Elvira_, full of Tenderness, and perhaps of Remorse, suffer'd also on her side. The King, altho' he condemned the Love of his Son, yet still had a Tenderness for him, and could not resolve to lose him. _Agnes de Castro_, who knew the Cause of his Distemper, expected the End of it with strange Anxieties: In fine, after a Month had pass'd away in Fears, they began to have a little hopes of his Recovery. The Prince and _Don Alvaro_ were the only Persons that were not glad of it: But _Agnes_ rejoic'd enough for all the rest.

_Don Pedro_, seeing that he must live whether he wou'd or no, thought of nothing but passing his days in melancholy and discontent: As soon as he was in a condition to walk, he sought out the most solitary Places, and gain'd so much upon his own Weakness, to go every where, where _Agnes_ was not; but her Idea followed him always, and his Memory, faithful to represent her to him with all her Charms, render'd her always dangerous.

One day, when they had carry'd him into the Garden, he sought out a Labyrinth which was at the farthest part of it, to hide his Melancholy, during some hours; there he found the sad _Agnes_, whom Grief, little different from his, had brought thither; the sight of her whom he expected not, made him tremble: She saw by his pale and meagre Face the remains of his Distemper; his Eyes full of Languishment troubled her, and tho' her Desire was so great to have fled from him, an unknown Power stopt her, and 'twas impossible for her to go.

After some Moments of Silence, which many Sighs interrupted, _Don Pedro_ rais'd himself from the Place where his Weakness had forced him to sit; he made _Agnes_ see, as he approach'd her, the sad Marks of his Sufferings: and not content with the Pity he saw in her Eyes, _You have resolved my Death then, cruel +Agnes+, +(said he)+ my desire was the same with yours; but Heaven has thought fit to reserve me for other Misfortunes, and I see you again, as unhappy, but more in love than ever._

There was no need of these Words to move _Agnes_ to compassion, the Languishment of the Prince spoke enough; and the Heart of this fair Maid was but too much disposed to yield it self: She thought then that _Constantia_ ought to be satisfy'd; Love, which combated for _Don Pedro_, triumphed over Friendship, and found that happy Moment, for which the Prince of _Portugal_, had so long sighed.

_Do not reproach me, for that which has cost me more than you, Sir, +(replied she)+ and do not accuse a Heart, which is neither ingrateful nor barbarous: and I must tell you, that I love you. But now I have made you that Confession, what is it farther that you require of me?_ _Don Pedro_, who expected not a Change so favourable, felt a double Satisfaction; and falling at the Feet of _Agnes_, he express'd more by the Silence his Passion created, than he could have done by the most eloquent Words.

After having known all his good Fortune, he then consulted with the amiable _Agnes_, what was to be feared from the King; they concluded that the cruel Billet, which so troubled the last days of _Constantia_, could come from none but _Elvira_ and _Don Alvaro_. The Prince, who knew that his Father had searched already an Alliance for him, and was resolv'd on his Favourite's marrying _Agnes_, conjur'd her so tenderly to prevent these Persecutions, by consenting to a secret Marriage, that, after having a long time consider'd, she at last consented. _I will do what you will have me_ (said she) _tho' I presage nothing but fatal Events from it; all my Blood turns to Ice, when I think of this Marriage, and the Image of +Constantia+ seems to hinder me from doing it._

The amorous Prince surmounted all her Scruples, and separated himself from _Agnes_, with a Satisfaction which soon redoubled his Forces; he saw her afterward with the Pleasure of a Mystery: And the Day of their Union being arrived, _Don Gill_, Bishop of _Guarda_, performed the Ceremony of the Marriage, in the Presence of several Witnesses, faithful to _Don Pedro_, who saw him Possessor of all the Charms of the fair _Agnes_.

She lived not the more peaceable for belonging to the Prince of _Portugal_; her Enemies, who continually persecuted her, left her not without Troubles: and the King, whom her Refusal inrag'd, laid his absolute Commands on her to marry _Don Alvaro_, with Threats to force her to it, if she continu'd rebellious.

The Prince took loudly her part; and this, join'd to the Refusal he made of marrying the Princess of _Arragon_, caus'd Suspicions of the Truth in the King his Father. He was seconded by those that were too much interested, not to unriddle this Secret. _Don Alvaro_ and his Sister acted with so much care, gave so many Gifts, and made so many Promises, that they discover'd the secret Engagements of _Don Pedro_ and _Agnes_.

The King wanted but little of breaking out into all the Rage and Fury so great a Disappointment could inspire him with, against the Princess. _Don Alvaro_, whose Love was changed into the most violent Hatred, appeased the first Transports of the King, by making him comprehend, that if they could break the Marriage of 'em, that would not be a sufficient Revenge; and so poison'd the Soul of the King, to consent to the Death of _Agnes_.

The barbarous _Don Alvaro_ offered his Arm for this terrible Execution, and his Rage was Security for the Sacrifice.

The King, who thought the Glory of his Family disgraced by this Alliance, and his own in particular in the Procedure of his Son, gave full Power to this Murderer, to make the innocent _Agnes_ a Victim to his Rage.

It was not easy to execute this horrid Design: Tho' the Prince saw _Agnes_ but in secret, yet all his Cares were still awake for her, and he was marry'd to her above a Year, before _Don Alvaro_ could find out an opportunity so long sought for.

The Prince diverted himself but little, and very rarely went far from _Coimbra_; but on a Day, an unfortunate Day, and marked out by Heaven for an unheard-of and horrid Assassination, he made a Party to hunt at a fine House, which the King of _Portugal_ had near the City.

_Agnes_ lov'd every thing that gave the Prince satisfaction; but a secret Trouble made her apprehend some Misfortune in this unhappy Journey. _Sir_, (said she to him, alarm'd, without knowing the Reason why) _I tremble, seeing you today as it were designed the last of my Life: Preserve your self, my dear Prince; and tho' the Exercise you take be not very dangerous, beware of the least Hazards, and bring me back all that I trust with you. Don Pedro_, who had never found her so handsome and so charming before, embraced her several times, and went out of the Palace with his Followers, with a Design not to return till the next Day.

He was no sooner gone, but the cruel _Don Alvaro_ prepared himself for the Execution he had resolv'd on; he thought it of that importance, that it required more Hands than his own, and so chose for his Companions _Don Lopez Pacheo_, and _Pedro Cuello_, two Monsters like himself, whose Cruelty he was assur'd of by the Presents he had made 'em.

They waited the coming of the Night, and the lovely _Agnes_ was in her first Sleep, which was the last of her Life, when these Assassins approach'd her Bed. Nothing made resistance to _Don Alvaro_, who could do every thing, and whom the blackest Furies introduced to _Agnes_; she waken'd, and opening her Curtains, saw, by the Candle burning in her Chamber, the Ponyard with which _Don Alvaro_ was armed; he having his Face not cover'd, she easily knew him, and forgetting herself, to think of nothing but the Prince: _Just Heaven_ (said she, lifting up her fine Eyes) _if you will revenge +Constantia+, satisfy your self with my Blood only, and spare that of_ Don Pedro. The barbarous Man that heard her, gave her not time to say more; and finding he could never (by all he could do by Love) touch the Heart of the fair _Agnes_, he pierc'd it with his Ponyard: his Accomplices gave her several Wounds, tho' there was no necessity of so many to put an end to an innocent Life.

What a sad Spectacle was this for those who approach'd her Bed the next day! And what dismal News was this to the unfortunate Prince of _Portugal_! He returned to _Coimbra_ at the first report of this Adventure, and saw what had certainly cost him his Life, if Men could die of Grief. After having a thousand times embraced the bloody Body of _Agnes_, and said all that a just Despair could inspire him with, he ran like a Mad-man into the Palace, demanding the Murderers of his Wife, of things that could not hear him. In fine, he saw the King, and without observing any respect, he gave a loose to his Resentment: after having rail'd a long time, overwhelm'd with Grief, he fell into a Swoon, which continu'd all that day. They carry'd him into his Apartment: and the King, believing that his Misfortune would prove his Cure, repented not of what he had permitted.

_Don Alvaro_, and the two other Assassins, quitted _Coimbra_. This Absence of theirs made 'em appear guilty of the Crime; for which the afflicted Prince vow'd a speedy Vengeance to the Ghost of his lovely _Agnes_, resolving to pursue them to the uttermost part of the Universe; He got a considerable number of Men together, sufficient to have made resistance, even to the King of _Portugal_ himself, if he should yet take the part of the Murderers: with these he ravaged the whole Country, as far as the _Duero_ Waters, and carry'd on a War, even till the Death of the King, continually mixing Tears with Blood, which he gave to the revenge of his dearest _Agnes_.

Such was the deplorable End of the unfortunate Love of _Don Pedro_ of _Portugal_, and of the fair _Agnes de Castro_, whose Remembrance he faithfully preserv'd in his Heart, even upon the Throne, to which he mounted by the Right of his Birth, after the Death of the King.

* * * * *
* * * *

THE HISTORY OF THE NUN; OR, THE FAIR VOW-BREAKER.

INTRODUCTION.

In the Epistle Dedicatory to Antony Hammond, Esq., of Somersham-Place, prefacing that pathetic tragedy, _The Fatal Marriage; or, The Innocent Adultery_[1] (4to, 1694), Southerne writes: 'I took the Hint of the Tragical part of this Play from a Novel of Mrs. _Behn's_, call'd _The Fair Vow-Breaker_; you will forgive me for calling it a Hint, when you find I have little more than borrow'd the Question, how far such a Distress was to be carry'd, upon the Misfortune of a Woman's having innocently two Husbands, at the same time'.

In the many collected editions of Mrs. Behn's popular novels and histories, from the first, published under the auspices of Gildon in 1696, to the ninth (2 vols, 12mo, London, 1751), there appears, however, no such novel as _The Fair Vow-Breaker_, but on the other hand all contain _The Nun; or, the Perjur'd Beauty_. For over two hundred years then, critics, theatrical historians, bibliographers alike have laid down that _The Fair Vow-Breaker_ is merely another title for _The Nun; or, The Perjur'd Beauty_, and that it is to this romance we must look for the source of Southerne's tragedy. The slight dissimilarity of name was truly of no great account. On the title-page of another novel we have _The Fair Jilt; or, The History of Prince Tarquin and Miranda_; on the half-title of the same _The Fair Hypocrite; or, The Amours of Prince Tarquin and Miranda_ (12mo, 1688). And so Thomas Evans in the preface to his edition of Southerne (3 vols, 1774), writing the dramatist's life, says: 'the plot by the author's confession is taken from a novel of Mrs. Behn's called _The Nun; or, The Fair Vow-Breaker_'. All the modern writers have duly, but wrongly, accepted this; and Miss Charlotte E. Morgan in her monograph, _The English Novel till 1749_, informs us in more than one place that _The Fair Vow-Breaker_ (12mo, 1689) was the name of the editio princeps of _The Nun; or, The Perjur'd Beauty_.

A crux, however, was soon apparent. Upon investigation it is obvious that the plot of _The Fatal Marriage; or, The Innocent Adultery_ has simply nothing in common with _The Nun; or, The Perjur'd Beauty_. Mrs. Behn's Ardelia is a mere coquette who through her trifling with three different men is responsible for five deaths: her lovers', Elvira's, and her own. Isabella, Southerne's heroine, on the other hand, falls a sad victim to the machinations of Carlos, her wicked brother-in-law. She is virtuous and constant; Ardelia is a jade capable of heartless treachery. Both novel and play end tragically it is true, but from entirely different motives and in a dissimilar manner. There is no likeness between them.

Whence then did Southerne derive his plot, and what exactly did he mean by the statement that he owed 'the Hint of the Tragical part' of his drama to a novel of Mrs. Behn's?

Professor Paul Hamelius of Liege set out to solve the difficulty, and in a scholarly article (_Modern Language Review_, July, 1909), he marshals the facts and seeks a solution. 'Among her [Mrs. Behn's] collected novels'[2] he writes 'there is one entitled _The Nun; or, The Perjur'd Beauty_ and Mr. Gosse has kindly informed me that the story is identical with _The Nun; or, The Fair Vow-Breaker_ which appears in the editio princeps of 1689 (inaccessible to me).' Unfortunately he can find no analogy and is obliged to draw attention to other sources. He points to _The Virgin Captive_, the fifth story in Roger L'Estrange's _The Spanish Decameron_ (1687). Again: there is the famous legend of the lovers of Teruel as dramatized in 1638 by Juan Perez de Montalvan, _Los Amantes de Teruel_. An earlier comedia exists on the same subject written by A. Rey de Artieda, 1581, and yet another play by Tirso de Molina, 1635, based on Artieda. Hamelius was obviously not satisfied with his researches, and with a half-suggestion that Southerne may have merely intended to pay a compliment to his 'literary friend Mrs. Behn,' his conclusion is that 'the question is naturally still open whether Southerne was not drawing from some more immediate source--possibly even from some lost version of the story by Mrs. Behn herself.'

In the course of my preparing the present edition of Mrs. Behn's complete works, Mr. Gosse, adding yet another to innumerable kindnesses and encouragements, entrusted me with a little volume[3] from his private library: _The History of the Nun; or, The Fair Vow-Breaker_ (12mo, 1689, Licensed 22 October, 1688), and I soon found this to be the immediate source of Southerne's tragedy, a totally different novel from _The Nun; or, The Perjur'd Beauty_, and one, moreover, which has never till now been included in any edition of Mrs. Behn's works or, indeed, reprinted in any form. It were superfluous to compare novel and tragedy detail by detail. Many striking, many minor points are the same in each. In several instances the nomenclature has been preserved. The chief divergence is, of course, the main catastrophe. Mrs. Behn's execution could ill have been represented on the boards, and Southerne's heroine, the victim of villainies and intrigue, is, it must be confessed, an infinitely more pathetic figure than guilty Isabella in the romance.

The story of a man returning after long absence and finding his spouse (or betrothed) wedded to another, familiarized to the generality of modern readers by Tennyson's _Enoch Arden_, occurs in every shape and tongue. No. 69 of _Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles_ is _L'Honneste femme a Deux Maris_.[4] A more famous exemplar we have in the _Decameron_, Day IV, Novella 8, whose rubric runs: 'Girolamo ama la Salvestra: va, costretto da' prieghi della madre, a Parigi: torna, e truovala maritata: entrale di nascoso in casa, e muorle allato; e portato in una chiesa, muore la Salvestra allata a lui.'

Scenes of the amusing underplot of _The Fatal Marriage_ which contain some excellent comedy, Southerne took directly from _The Night Walker; or, The Little Thief_ (printed as Fletcher's in 1640 and 'corrected by Shirley' in 1633 according to Herbert's license). The purgatorial farce may be traced to the _Decameron_, Day III, 8. 'Ferondo, mangiata certa polvere, e sotterrato per morto: e dall' abate, chi la moglie di lui si gode, tratto dalla sepoltura, e messo in prigione e fattogli credere, che egli e in purgatoro; e poi risuscitato . . .' It is the _Feronde; ou, le Purgatoire_ of La Fontaine.

_The Fatal Marriage; or, The Innocent Adultery_ long kept the stage.[5] On 2 December, 1757, Garrick's version, which omitting the comic relief weakens and considerably shortens the play, was produced at Drury Lane with himself as Biron and Mrs. Cibber as Isabella. The actual name of the tragedy, however, was not changed to _Isabella_ till some years after. Mrs. Barry, the original Isabella, was acknowledged supreme in this tragedy, and our greatest actresses, Mrs. Porter, Mrs. Crawford, Miss Young, Mrs. Siddons, Miss O'Neill, have all triumphed in the role.

[Footnote 1: This has nothing to do with Scarron's novel, _L'
Innocent Adultere_ which translated was so popular in the 17th and
18th centuries. Bellmour carried it in his pocket when he went
a-courting Laetitia, to the horror of old Fondlewife who
discovered the tome, (_The Old Batchelor_, 1693), and Lydia
Languish was partial to its perusal in 1775.]

[Footnote 2: Hamelius used the collected edition of 1705.]

[Footnote 3: It is interesting to note that the book originally
belonged to Scott's friend and critic, Charles Kirkpatrick
Sharpe.]

[Footnote 4: Reproduced by Celio Malespini _Ducento Novelle_, No.
9 (Venice, 4to, 1609, but probably written about thirty years
before).]

[Footnote 5: A French prose translation of Southerne is to be
found in Vol. VIII of _Le Theatre Anglois_, Londres, 1746. It is
entitled _L'Adultere Innocent_; but the comic underplot is very
sketchily analyzed, scene by scene, and the whole is very mediocre
withal.]

To the Most Illustrious Princess,
The Dutchess of Mazarine.

Madam,

There are none of an Illustrious Quality, who have not been made, by some Poet or other, the Patronesses of his Distress'd Hero, or Unfortunate Damsel; and such Addresses are Tributes, due only to the most Elevated, where they have always been very well receiv'd, since they are the greatest Testimonies we can give, of our Esteem and Veneration.

Madam, when I survey'd the whole Toor of Ladies at Court, which was adorn'd by you, who appear'd there with a Grace and Majesty, peculiar to Your Great Self only, mix'd with an irresistible Air of Sweetness, Generosity, and Wit, I was impatient for an Opportunity, to tell Your Grace, how infinitely one of Your own Sex ador'd You, and that, among all the numerous Conquest, Your Grace has made over the Hearts of Men, Your Grace had not subdu'd a more entire Slave; I assure you, Madam, there is neither Compliment nor Poetry, in this humble Declaration, but a Truth, which has cost me a great deal of Inquietude, for that Fortune has not set me in such a Station, as might justifie my Pretence to the honour and satisfaction of being ever near Your Grace, to view eternally that lovely Person, and hear that surprizing Wit; what can be more grateful to a Heart, than so great, and so agreeable, an Entertainment? And how few Objects are there, that can render it so entire a Pleasure, as at once to hear you speak, and to look upon your Beauty? A Beauty that is heighten'd, if possible, with an air of Negligence, in Dress, wholly Charming, as if your Beauty disdain'd those little Arts of your Sex, whose Nicety alone is their greatest Charm, while yours, Madam, even without the Assistance of your exalted Birth, begets an Awe and Reverence in all that do approach you, and every one is proud, and pleas'd, in paying you Homage their several ways, according to their Capacities and Talents; mine, Madam, can only be exprest by my Pen, which would be infinitely honour'd, in being permitted to celebrate your great Name for ever, and perpetually to serve, where it has so great an inclination.

In the mean time, Madam, I presume to lay this little Trifle at your Feet; the Story is true, as it is on the Records of the Town, where it was transacted; and if my fair unfortunate VOW-BREAKER do not deserve the honour of your Graces Protection, at least, she will be found worthy of your Pity; which will be a sufficient Glory, both for her, and,

Madam,
Your Graces most humble,
and most obedient Servant,
A. BEHN.

THE HISTORY OF THE NUN; or, The Fair Vow-Breaker.

Of all the sins, incident to Human Nature, there is none, of which Heaven has took so particular, visible, and frequent Notice, and Revenge, as on that of _Violated Vows_, which never go unpunished; and the _Cupids_ may boast what they will, for the encouragement of their Trade of Love, that Heaven never takes cognisance of Lovers broken Vows and Oaths, and that 'tis the only Perjury that escapes the Anger of the _Gods_; But I verily believe, if it were search'd into, we should find these frequent Perjuries, that pass in the World for so many Gallantries only, to be the occasion of so many unhappy Marriages, and the cause of all those Misfortunes, which are so frequent to the Nuptiall'd Pair. For not one of a Thousand, but, either on his side, or on hers, has been perjur'd, and broke Vows made to some fond believing Wretch, whom they have abandon'd and undone. What Man that does not boast of the Numbers he has thus ruin'd, and, who does not glory in the shameful Triumph? Nay, what Woman, almost, has not a pleasure in Deceiving, taught, perhaps, at first, by some dear false one, who had fatally instructed her Youth in an Art she ever after practis'd, in Revenge on all those she could be too hard for, and conquer at their own Weapons? For, without all dispute, Women are by Nature more Constant and Just, than Men, and did not their first Lovers teach them the trick of Change, they would be _Doves_, that would never quit their Mate, and, like _Indian_ Wives, would leap alive into the Graves of their deceased Lovers, and be buried quick with 'em. But Customs of Countries change even Nature her self, and long Habit takes her place: The Women are taught, by the Lives of the Men, to live up to all their Vices, and are become almost as inconstant; and 'tis but Modesty that makes the difference, and, hardly, inclination; so deprav'd the nicest Appetites grow in time, by bad Examples.

But, as there are degrees of Vows, so there are degrees of Punishments for Vows, there are solemn Matrimonial Vows, such as contract and are the most effectual Marriage, and have the most reason to be so; there are a thousand Vows and Friendships, that pass between Man and Man, on a thousand Occasions; but there is another Vow, call'd a _Sacred Vow_, made to God only; and, by which, we oblige our selves eternally to serve him with all Chastity and Devotion: This Vow is only taken, and made, by those that enter into Holy Orders, and, of all broken Vows, these are those, that receive the most severe and notorious Revenges of God; and I am almost certain, there is not one Example to be produc'd in the World, where Perjuries of this nature have past unpunish'd, nay, that have not been persu'd with the greatest and most rigorous of Punishments. I could my self, of my own knowledge, give an hundred Examples of the fatal Consequences of the Violation of Sacred Vows; and who ever make it their business, and are curious in the search of such Misfortunes, shall find, as I say, that they never go unregarded.

The young Beauty therefore, who dedicates her self to Heaven, and weds her self for ever to the service of God, ought, first, very well to consider the Self-denial she is going to put upon her youth, her fickle faithless deceiving Youth, of one Opinion to day, and of another to morrow; like Flowers, which never remain in one state or fashion, but bud to day, and blow by insensible degrees, and decay as imperceptibly. The Resolution, we promise, and believe we shall maintain, is not in our power, and nothing is so deceitful as human Hearts.

I once was design'd an humble Votary in the House of Devotion, but fancying my self not endu'd with an obstinacy of Mind, great enough to secure me from the Efforts and Vanities of the World, I rather chose to deny my self that Content I could not certainly promise my self, than to languish (as I have seen some do) in a certain Affliction; tho' possibly, since, I have sufficiently bewailed that mistaken and inconsiderate Approbation and Preference of the false ungrateful World, (full of nothing but Nonsense, Noise, false Notions, and Contradiction) before the Innocence and Quiet of a Cloyster; nevertheless, I could wish, for the prevention of abundance of Mischiefs and Miseries, that Nunneries and Marriages were not to be enter'd into, 'till the Maid, so destin'd, were of a mature Age to make her own Choice; and that Parents would not make use of their justly assum'd Authority to compel their Children, neither to the one or the other; but since I cannot alter Custom, nor shall ever be allow'd to make new Laws, or rectify the old ones, I must leave the Young Nuns inclos'd to their best Endeavours, of making a Virtue of Necessity; and the young Wives, to make the best of a bad Market.