Chapter XVIII: Part 18

He saw his Rivals languish for that Bliss, those Charms, those Raptures and extatick Transports, which he engrossed alone. But now some eighteen Months (some Ages in a Lover's Kalendar) winged with Delights, and fair _Belvira_ now grown fit for riper Joys, knows hardly how she can deny her pressing Lover, and herself, to crown their Vows, and joyn their Hands as well as Hearts. All this while the young Gallant wash'd himself clean of that shining Dirt, his Gold; he fancied little of Heaven dwelt in his yellow Angels, but let them fly away, as it were on their own golden Wings; he only valued the smiling Babies in _Belvira's_ Eyes. His Generosity was boundless, as his Love, for no Man ever truly loved, that was not generous. He thought his Estate, like his Passion, was a sort of a _Pontick_ Ocean, it could never know an Ebb; But now he found it could be fathom'd, and that the Tide was turning, therefore he sollicits with more impatience the consummation of their Joys, that both might go like Martyrs from their Flames immediately to Heaven; and now at last it was agreed between them, that they should both be one, but not without some Reluctancy on the Female side; for 'tis the Humour of our Sex, to deny most eagerly those Grants to Lovers, for which most tenderly we sigh, so contradictory are we to our selves, as if the Deity had made us with a seeming Reluctancy to his own Designs; placing as much Discords in our Minds, as there is Harmony in our Faces. We are a sort of aiery Clouds, whose Lightning flash out one way, and the Thunder another. Our Words and Thoughts can ne'er agree. So this young charming Lady thought her Desires could live in their own longings, like Misers wealth-devouring Eyes; and e'er she consented to her Lover, prepared him first with speaking Looks, and then with a fore-running Sigh, applyed to the dear Charmer thus: '_Frankwit_, I am afraid to venture the Matrimonial Bondage, it may make you think your self too much confined, in being only free to one.' 'Ah! my dear _Belvira_,' he replied, 'That one, like _Manna_, has the Taste of all, why should I be displeased to be confined to Paradice, when it was the Curse of our Forefathers to be set at large, tho' they had the whole World to roam in: You have, my love, ubiquitary Charms, and you are all in all, in every Part.' 'Ay, but,' reply'd _Belvira_, 'we are all like Perfumes, and too continual Smelling makes us seem to have lost our Sweets, I'll be judged by my Cousin _Celesia_ here, if it be not better to live still in mutual Love, without the last Enjoyment.' (I had forgot to tell my Reader that _Celesia_ was an Heiress, the only Child of a rich _Turkey_ Merchant, who, when he dyed, left her Fifty thousand Pound in Money, and some Estate in Land; but, poor Creature, she was Blind to all these Riches, having been born without the use of Sight, though in all other Respects charming to a wonder.) 'Indeed,' says _Celesia_, (for she saw clearly in her Mind) 'I admire you should ask my Judgment in such a Case, where I have never had the least Experience; but I believe it is but a sickly Soul which cannot nourish its Offspring of Desires without preying upon the Body.' 'Believe me,' reply'd _Frankwit_, 'I bewail your want of Sight, and I could almost wish you my own Eyes for a Moment, to view your charming Cousin, where you would see such Beauties as are too dazling to be long beheld; and if too daringly you gazed, you would feel the Misfortune of the loss of Sight, much greater than the want of it: And you would acknowledge, that in too presumptuously seeing, you would be blinder then, than now unhappily you are.'

'Ah! I must confess,' reply'd _Belvira_, 'my poor, dear Cousin is Blind, for I fancy she bears too great an Esteem for _Frankwit_, and only longs for Sight to look on him.' 'Indeed,' reply'd _Celesia_, 'I would be glad to see _Frankwit_, for I fancy he's as dazling, as he but now describ'd his Mistress, and if I fancy I see him, sure I do see him, for Sight is Fancy, is it not? or do you feel my Cousin with your Eyes?' 'This is indeed, a charming Blindness,' reply'd _Frankwit_, 'and the fancy of your Sight excels the certainty of ours. Strange! that there should be such Glances even in blindness? You, fair Maid, require not Eyes to conquer, if your Night has such Stars, what Sunshine would your Day of Sight have, if ever you should see?' 'I fear those Stars you talk of,' said _Belvira_, 'have some Influence on you, and by the Compass you sail by now, I guess you are steering to my Cousin. She is indeed charming enough to have been another Offspring of bright _Venus_, Blind like her Brother _Cupid_.' 'That _Cupid_,' reply'd _Celesia_, 'I am afraid has shot me, for methinks I would not have you marry _Frankwit_, but rather live as you do without the last Enjoyment, for methinks if he were marry'd, he would be more out of Sight than he already is.' 'Ah, Madam,' return'd _Frankwit_, 'Love is no Camelion, it cannot feed on Air alone.' 'No but,' rejoyn'd _Celesia_, 'you Lovers that are not Blind like Love it self, have am'rous Looks to feed on.' 'Ah! believe it,' said _Belvira_, ''tis better, _Frankwit_, not to lose Paradice by too much Knowledge; Marriage Enjoyments does but wake you from your sweet golden Dreams: Pleasure is but a Dream, dear _Frankwit_, but a Dream, and to be waken'd.' 'Ah! Dearest, but unkind _Belvira_,' answer'd _Frankwit_, 'sure there's no waking from Delight, in being lull'd on those soft Breasts of thine.' 'Alas! (reply'd the Bride to be) it is that very lulling wakes you; Women enjoy'd, are like Romances read, or Raree-shows once seen, meer Tricks of the slight of Hand, which, when found out, you only wonder at your selves for wondering so before at them. 'Tis Expectation endears the Blessing; Heaven would not be Heaven, could we tell what 'tis. When the Plot's out you have done with the Play, and when the last Act's done, you see the Curtain drawn with great indifferency.' 'O my _Belvira_', answered _Frankwit_, 'that Expectation were indeed a Monster which Enjoyment could not satisfy: I should take no pleasure,' he rejoin'd, 'running from Hill to Hill, like Children chasing that Sun, which I could never catch.' 'O thou shalt have it then, that Sun of Love,' reply'd _Belvira_, fir'd by this Complaint, and gently rush'd into Arms, (rejoyn'd) so _Phoebus_ rushes radiant and unsullied, into a gilded Cloud. 'Well then, my dear _Belvira_,' answered _Frankwit_, 'be assured I shall be ever yours, as you are mine; fear not you shall never draw Bills of Love upon me so fast, as I shall wait in readiness to pay them; but now I talk of Bills, I must retire into _Cambridgeshire_, where I have a small Concern as yet unmortgaged, I will return thence with a Brace of thousand Pounds within a Week at furthest, with which our Nuptials, by their Celebration, shall be worthy of our Love. And then, my Life, my Soul, we shall be join'd, never to part again.' This tender Expression mov'd _Belvira_ to shed some few Tears, and poor _Celesia_ thought herself most unhappy that she had not Eyes to weep with too; but if she had, such was the greatness of her Grief, that sure she would have soon grown Blind with weeping. In short, after a great many soft Vows, and Promises of an inviolable Faith, they parted with a pompous sort of pleasing Woe; their Concern was of such a mixture of Joy and Sadness, as the Weather seems, when it both rains and shines. And now the last, the very last Adieu's was over, for the Farewels of Lovers hardly ever end, and _Frankwit_ (the Time being Summer) reach'd _Cambridge_ that Night, about Nine a Clock; (Strange! that he should have made such Haste to fly from what so much he lov'd!) and now, tir'd with the fatigue of his Journey, he thought fit to refresh himself by writing some few Lines to his belov'd _Belvira_; for a little Verse after the dull Prose Company of his Servant, was as great an Ease to him, (from whom it flow'd as naturally and unartificially, as his Love or his Breath) as a Pace or Hand-gallop, after a hard, uncouth, and rugged Trot. He therefore, finding his _Pegasus_ was no way tir'd with his Land-travel, takes a short Journey thro' the Air, and writes as follows:

_My dearest dear +Belvira+,_

You knew my Soul, you knew it yours before,
I told it all, and now can tell no more;
Your Presents never wants fresh Charms to move, }
But now more strange, and unknown Pow'r you prove, }
For now your very Absence 'tis I love. }
Something there is which strikes my wandring View,
And still before my Eyes I fancy you.
Charming you seem, all charming, heavenly fair, }
Bright as a Goddess, does my Love appear, }
You seem, _Belvira_, what indeed you are. }
Like the Angelick Off-spring of the Skies,
With beatifick Glories in your Eyes:
Sparkling with radiant Lustre all Divine, }
Angels, and Gods! oh Heavens! how bright they shine! }
Are you _Belvira_? can I think you mine! }
Beyond ev'n Thought, I do thy Beauties see,
Can such a Heaven of Heavens be kept for me!
Oh be assur'd, I shall be ever true,
I must----
For if I would, I can't be false to you.
Oh! how I wish I might no longer stay, }
Tho' I resolve I will no Time delay, }
One Tedious Week, and then I'll fleet away. }
Tho' Love be blind, he shall conduct my Road, }
Wing'd with almighty Love, to your Abode, }
I'll fly, and grow Immortal as a God. }
Short is my stay, yet my impatience strong,
Short tho' it is, alas! I think it long.
I'll come, my Life, new Blessings to pursue, }
Love then shall fly a Flight he never flew, }
I'll stretch his balmy Wings; I'm yours,--_Adieu_. }

_Frankwit._

This Letter _Belvira_ receiv'd with unspeakable Joy, and laid it up safely in her Bosom; laid it, where the dear Author of it lay before, and wonderfully pleas'd with his Humour of writing Verse, resolv'd not to be at all behind-hand with him, and so writ as follows:

_My dear Charmer,_

You knew before what Power your Love could boast,
But now your constant Faith confirms me most.
Absent Sincerity the best assures, }
Love may do much, but Faith much more allures, }
For now your Constancy has bound me yours. }
I find, methinks, in Verse some Pleasure too,
I cannot want a Muse, who write to you.
Ah! soon return, return, my charming Dear,
Heav'n knows how much we Mourn your Absence here:
My poor _Celesia_ now would Charm your Soul,
Her Eyes, once Blind, do now Divinely rowl.
An aged Matron has by Charms unknown,
Given her clear Sight as perfect as thy own.
And yet, beyond her Eyes, she values thee,
'Tis for thy Sake alone she's glad to see.
She begg'd me, pray remember her to you,
That is a Task which now I gladly do.
Gladly, since so I only recommend }
A dear Relation, and a dearer Friend, }
Ne're shall my Love--but here my Note must end. }

_Your ever true +Belvira+._

When this Letter was written, it was strait shown to _Celesia_, who look'd upon any Thing that belong'd to _Frankwit_, with rejoycing Glances; so eagerly she perus'd it, that her tender Eyes beginning to Water, she cry'd out, (fancying she saw the Words dance before her View) 'Ah! Cousin, Cousin, your Letter is running away, sure it can't go itself to _Frankwit_.' A great Deal of other pleasing innocent Things she said, but still her Eyes flow'd more bright with lustrous Beams, as if they were to shine out; now all that glancing Radiancy which had been so long kept secret, and, as if, as soon as the Cloud of Blindness once was broke, nothing but Lightnings were to flash for ever after. Thus in mutual Discourse they spent their Hours, while _Frankwit_ was now ravished with the Receipt of this charming Answer of _Belvira's_, and blest his own Eyes which discovered to him the much welcome News of fair _Celesia's_. Often he read the Letters o're and o're, but there his Fate lay hid, for 'twas that very Fondness proved his Ruin. He lodg'd at a Cousin's House of his, and there, (it being a private Family) lodged likewise a Blackamoor Lady, then a Widower; a whimsical Knight had taken a Fancy to enjoy her: _Enjoy her did I say? Enjoy the Devil in the Flesh at once!_ I know not how it was, but he would fain have been a Bed with her, but she not consenting on unlawful Terms, (_but sure all Terms are with her unlawful_) the Knight soon marry'd her, as if there were not hell enough in Matrimony, but he must wed the Devil too. The Knight a little after died, and left this Lady of his (whom I shall _Moorea_) an Estate of six thousand Pounds _per Ann_. Now this _Moorea_ observed the joyous _Frankwit_ with an eager Look, her Eyes seemed like Stars of the first Magnitude glaring in the Night; she greatly importuned him to discover the Occasion of his transport, but he denying it, (as 'tis the Humour of our Sex) made her the more Inquisitive; and being Jealous that it was from a Mistress, employ'd her Maid to steal it, and if she found it such, to bring it her: accordingly it succeeded, for _Frankwit_ having drank hard with some of the Gentlemen of that Shire, found himself indisposed, and soon went to Bed, having put the Letter in his Pocket: The Maid therefore to _Moorea_ contrived that all the other Servants should be out of the Way, that she might plausibly officiate in the Warming the Bed of the indisposed Lover, but likely, had it not been so, she had warmed it by his Intreaties in a more natural Manner; he being in Bed in an inner Room, she slips out the Letter from his Pocket, carries it to her Mistress to read, and so restores it whence she had it; in the Morning the poor Lover wakened in a violent Fever, burning with a Fire more hot than that of Love. In short, he continued Sick a considerable while, all which time the Lady _Moorea_ constantly visited him, and he as unwillingly saw her (poor Gentleman) as he would have seen a Parson; for as the latter would have perswaded, so the former scared him to Repentance. In the mean while, during his sickness, several Letters were sent to him by his dear _Belvira_, and _Celesia_ too, (then learning to write) had made a shift to give him a line or two in Postscript with her Cousin, but all was intercepted by the jealousy of the Black _Moorea_, black in her mind, and dark, as well as in her body. _Frankwit_ too writ several Letters as he was able, complaining of her unkindness, those likewise were all stopt by the same Blackmoor Devil. At last, it happened that _Wildvill_, (who I told my Reader was _Frankwit's_ friend) came to _London_, his Father likewise dead, and now Master of a very plentiful fortune, he resolves to marry, and paying a visit to _Belvira_, enquires of her concerning _Frankwit_, she all in mourning for the loss, told him his friend was dead. 'Ah! _Wildvill_, he is dead,' said she, 'and died not mine, a Blackmoor Lady had bewitched him from me; I received a Letter lately which informed me all; there was no name subscribed to it, but it intimated, that it was written at the request of dying _Frankwit_.' 'Oh! I am sorry at my Soul,' said _Wildvill_, 'for I loved him with the best, the dearest friendship; no doubt then,' rejoyned he, ''tis Witchcaft indeed that could make him false to you; what delight could he take in a Blackmoor Lady, tho' she had received him at once with a Soul as open as her longing arms, and with her Petticoat put off her modesty. Gods! How could he change a whole _Field Argent_ into downright _Sables_.' ''Twas done,' returned _Celesia_, 'with no small blot, I fancy, to the Female 'Scutcheon.' In short, after some more discourse, but very sorrowful, _Wildvill_ takes his leave, extreamly taken with the fair _Belvira_, more beauteous in her cloud of woe; he paid her afterwards frequent visits, and found her wonder for the odd inconstancy of _Frankwit_, greater than her sorrow, since he dy'd so unworthy of her. _Wildvill_ attack'd her with all the force of vigorous love, and she (as she thought) fully convinc'd of _Frankwit's_ death, urg'd by the fury and impatience of her new ardent Lover, soon surrender'd, and the day of their Nuptials now arriv'd, their hands were joyn'd. In the mean time _Frankwit_ (for he still liv'd) knew nothing of the Injury the base _Moorea_ practis'd, knew not that 'twas thro' her private order, that the fore-mention'd account of his falshood and his death was sent; but impatient to see his Dear _Belvira_, tho' yet extremely weak, rid post to _London_, and that very day arriv'd there, immediately after the Nuptials of his Mistress and his Friend were celebrated. I was at this time in _Cambridge_, and having some small acquaintance with this Blackmoor Lady, and sitting in her Room that evening, after _Frankwit's_ departure thence, in _Moorea's_ absence, saw inadvertently a bundle of Papers, which she had gathered up, as I suppose, to burn, since now they grew but useless, she having no farther Hopes of him: I fancy'd I knew the Hand, and thence my Curiosity only led me to see the Name and finding _Belvira_ subscrib'd, I began to guess there was some foul play in Hand. _Belvira_ being my particularly intimate Acquaintance, I read one of them, and finding the Contents, convey'd them all secretly out with me, as I thought, in Point of Justice I was bound, and sent them to _Belvira_ by that Night's Post; so that they came to her Hands soon after the Minute of her Marriage, with an Account how, and by what Means I came to light on them. No doubt but they exceedingly surpriz'd her: But Oh! Much more she grew amaz'd immediately after, to see the Poor, and now unhappy _Frankwit_, who privately had enquir'd for her below, being received as a Stranger, who said he had some urgent Business with her, in a back Chamber below Stairs. What Tongue, what Pen can express the mournful Sorrow of this Scene! At first they both stood Dumb, and almost Senseless; she took him for the Ghost of _Frankwit_; he looked so pale, new risen from his Sickness, he (for he had heard at his Entrance in the House, that his _Belvira_ marry'd _Wildvill_) stood in Amaze, and like a Ghost indeed, wanted the Power to speak, till spoken to the first. At last, he draws his Sword, designing there to fall upon it in her Presence; she then imagining it his Ghost too sure, and come to kill her, shrieks out and Swoons; he ran immediately to her, and catch'd her in his Arms, and while he strove to revive and bring her to herself, tho' that he thought could never now be done, since she was marry'd. _Wildvill_ missing his Bride, and hearing the loud Shriek, came running down, and entring the Room, sees his Bride lie clasp'd in _Frankwit's_ Arms. 'Ha! Traytor!' He cries out, drawing his Sword with an impatient Fury, 'have you kept that Strumpet all this while, curst _Frankwit_, and now think fit to put your damn'd cast Mistress upon me: could not you forbear her neither ev'n on my Wedding Day? abominable Wretch!' Thus saying, he made a full Pass at _Frankwit_, and run him thro' the left Arm, and quite thro' the Body of the poor _Belvira_; that thrust immediately made her start, tho' _Frankwit's_ Endeavours all before were useless. Strange! that her Death reviv'd her! For ah! she felt, that now she only liv'd to die! Striving thro' wild Amazement to run from such a Scene of Horror, as her Apprehensions shew'd her; down she dropt, and _Frankwit_ seeing her fall, (all Friendship disannull'd by such a Chain of Injuries) Draws, fights with, and stabs his own loved _Wildvill_. Ah! Who can express the Horror and Distraction of this fatal Misunderstanding! The House was alarm'd, and in came poor _Celesia_, running in Confusion just as _Frankwit_ was off'ring to kill himself, to die with a false Friend, and perjur'd Mistress, for he suppos'd them such. Poor _Celesia_ now bemoan'd her unhappiness of sight, and wish'd she again were blind. _Wildvill_ dy'd immediately, and _Belvira_ only surviv'd him long enough to unfold all their most unhappy fate, desiring _Frankwit_ with her dying breath, if ever he lov'd her, (and now she said that she deserv'd his love, since she had convinced him that she was not false) to marry her poor dear _Celesia_, and love her tenderly for her _Belvira's_ sake; leaving her, being her nearest Relation, all her fortune, and he, much dearer than it all, to be added to her own; so joyning his and _Celesia's_ Hands, she poured her last breath upon his Lips, and said, 'Dear _Frankwit_, _Frankwit_, I die yours.' With tears and wondrous sorrow he promis'd to obey her Will, and in some months after her interrment, he perform'd his promise.

NOTES: The Unfortunate Bride.

p. 401 _To Richard Norton._ This Epistle Dedicatory is only to be found in the first edition of _The Unfortunate Bride; or, The Blind Lady a Beauty_, 'Printed for Samuel Briscoe, in Charles-Street, Covent-Garden, 1698', and also dated, on title page facing the portrait of Mrs. Behn, 1700.

Southwick, Hants, is a parish and village some 1-3/4 miles from Portchester, 4-1/2 from Fareham. Richard Norton was son and heir of Sir Daniel Norton, who died seised of the manor in 1636. Richard Norton married Anne, daughter of Sir William Earle, by whom he had one child, Sarah. He was, in his county at least, a figure of no little importance. Tuesday, 12 August, 1701, Luttrell records that 'an addresse from the grand jury of Hampshire . . . was delivered by Richard Norton and Anthony Henly, esqs. to the lords justices, to be laid before his majestie.' He aimed at being a patron of the fine arts, and under his superintendence Dryden's _The Spanish Friar_ was performed in the frater of Southwick Priory,[1] the buildings of which had not been entirely destroyed at the suppression. Colley Cibber addresses the Dedicatory Epistle (January, 1695) of his first play, _Love's Last Shift_ (4to, 1696), to Norton in a highly eulogistic strain. The plate of Southwick Church (S. James), consisting of a communion cup, a standing paten, two flagons, an alms-dish, and a rat-tail spoon, is silver-gilt, and was presented by Richard Norton in 1691. He died 10 December, 1732.

[Footnote 1: The house was one of Black (Austin) Canons.]

* * * * *
* * * *

THE DUMB VIRGIN; OR, THE FORCE OF IMAGINATION.

INTRODUCTION.

Consanguinity and love which are treated in this novel so romantically and with such tragic catastrophe had already been dealt with in happier mood by Mrs. Behn in _The Dutch Lover_. _Vide_ Note on the Source of that play, Vol. I, p. 218.

In classic lore the OEdipus Saga enthralled the imagination of antiquity and inspired dramas amongst the world's masterpieces. Later forms of the tale may be found in Suidas and Cedrenus.

The Legend of St. Gregory, based on a similar theme, the hero of which, however, is innocent throughout, was widely diffused through mediaeval Europe. It forms No. 81 of the _Gesta Romanorum_. There is an old English poem[1] on the subject, and it also received lyric treatment at the hands of the German meistersinger, Hartmann von Aue. An Italian story, _Il Figliuolo di germani_, the chronicle of St. Albinus, and the Servian romaunt of the Holy Foundling Simeon embody similar circumstances.

Matteo Bandello, Part II, has a famous[2] novel (35) with rubric, 'un gentiluomo navarrese sposa una, che era sua sorella e figliuola, non lo sapendo,' which is almost exactly the same as the thirtieth story of the _Heptameron_. As the good Bishop declares that it was related to him by a lady living in the district, it is probable that some current tradition furnished both him and the Queen of Navarre with these horrible incidents and that neither copied from the other.[3]

Bandello was imitated in Spanish by J. Perez de Montalvan, _Sucesos y Prodigios de Amor--La Mayor confusion_; in Latin by D. Otho Melander; and he also gave Desfontaines the subject of _L'Inceste Innocent; Histoire Veritable_ (Paris, 1644). A similar tale is touched upon in _Amadis de Gaule_, and in a later century we find _Le Criminel sans le Savoir, Roman Historique et Poetique_ (Amsterdam and Paris, 1783). It is also found in Brevio's _Rime e Prose_; Volgari, novella iv; and in T. Grapulo (or Grappolino), _Il Convito Borghesiano_ (Londra, 1800). A cognate legend is _Le Dit du Buef_ and _Le Dit de la Bourjosee de Rome_. (ed. Jubinal, _Nouveau Recueil_; and _Nouveau Recueil du Senateur de Rome . . ._ ed. Meon.) Again: the _Leggenda di Vergogna, etc. testi del buon secolo in prosa e in verso_, edited by A. D'Ancona (Bologna, 1869) repeats the same catastrophe. It is also related in Byshop's _Blossoms_.

In Luther's _Colloquia Mensalia_, under the article 'Auricular Confession', the occurrence is said to have taken place at Erfurt in Germany. Julio de Medrano, a Spanish writer of the sixteenth century, says that a similar story was related to him when he was in the Bourbonnois, where the inhabitants pointed out the house which had been the scene of these morbid passions. France, indeed, seems to have been the home of the tradition, and Le Roux de Lincy in the notes to his excellent edition of the _Heptameron_ quotes from Millin, _Antiquites Nationales_ (t. iii. f. xxviii. p. 6.) who, speaking of the Collegiate Church of Ecouis, says that in the midst of the nave there was a prominent white marbel tablet with this epitaph:--

Cy-gist la fille, cy-gist le pere,
Cy-gist la soeur, cy-gist le frere;
Cy-gist la femme, et le mary,
Et si n'y a que deux corps icy.

The tradition ran that a son of 'Madame d'Ecouis avait eu de sa mere sans la connaitre et sans en etre reconnu une fille nommee Cecile. Il epousa ensuite en Lorraine cette meme Cecile qui etait aupres de la Duchesse de Bar . . . Il furent enterres dans le meme tombeau en 1512 a Ecouis.' An old sacristan used to supply curious visitors to the church with a leaflet detailing the narrative. The same story is attached to other parishes, and at Alincourt, a village between Amiens and Abbeville, the following lines are inscribed upon a grave:--

Ci git le fils, ci git la mere,
Ci git la fille avec le pere,
Ci git la soeur, ci git le frere,
Ci git la femme et le mari,
Et ne sont pas que trois corps ici.

When Walpole wrote his tragedy, _The Mysterious Mother_ (1768), he states he had no knowledge of Bandello or the _Heptameron_, but he gives the following account of the origin of his theme. 'I had heard when very young, that a gentlewoman, under uncommon agonies of mind, had waited on Archbishop Tillotson and besought his counsel. A damsel that served her had, many years before, acquainted her that she was importuned by the gentlewoman's son to grant him a private meeting. The mother ordered the maiden to make the assignation, when she said she would discover herself and reprimand him for his criminal passion; but, being hurried away by a much more criminal passion herself, she kept the assignation without discovering herself. The fruit of this horrid artifice was a daughter, whom the gentlewoman caused to be educated very privately in the country; but proving very lovely and being accidentally met by her father-brother, who never had the slightest suspicion of the truth, he had fallen in love with and actually married her. The wretched guilty mother learning what had happened, and distracted with the consequence of her crime, had now resorted to the Archbishop to know in what manner she should act. The prelate charged her never to let her son and daughter know what had passed, as they were innocent of any criminal intention. For herself, he bad her almost despair.'

The same story occurs in the writings of the famous Calvinistic divine, William Perkins (1558-1602), sometime Rector of St. Andrew's, Cambridge. Thence it was extracted for _The Spectator_.

In Mat Lewis' ghoulish romance, _The Monk_ (1796) it will be remembered that Ambrosio, after having enjoyed Antonia, to whose bedchamber he has gained admittance by demoniacal aid, discovers that she is his sister, and heaping crime upon crime to sorcery and rape he has added incest.

There is a tragic little novel, '_The Illegal Lovers; a True Secret History._ Being an Amour Between A Person of Condition and his Sister. Written by One who did reside in the Family.' (8vo, 1728.) After the death of his wife, Bellario falls in love with his sister Lindamira. Various sentimental letters pass between the two, and eventually Bellario in despair pistols himself. The lady lives to wed another admirer. The tale was obviously suggested by the _Love Letters between a Nobleman and his Sister_.

[Footnote 1: There are three MSS. _Vernon MS._, Oxford, edited by
Horstmann; _MS. Cott_, _Cleop. D. ix_, British Museum; _Auchinleck
MS._, Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, edited with glossary by
F. Schultz, 1876.]

[Footnote 2: cf. Masuccio. _Il Novellino_, No. 23.]

[Footnote 3: Bandello's novels first appeared at Lucca, 4to, 1554.
Marguerite of Angouleme died 21 December, 1549. The _Heptameron_
was composed 1544-8 and published 1558.]

THE DUMB VIRGIN: or, the Force of Imagination.

_Rinaldo_, a Senator of the great City _Venice_, by a plentiful Inheritance, and industrious Acquisitions, was become Master of a very plentiful Estate; which, by the Countenance of his Family, sprung from the best Houses in _Italy_, had rendred him extreamly popular and honoured; he had risen to the greatest Dignities of that State, all which Offices he discharged with Wisdom and Conduct, befitting the Importance of his Charge, and Character of the Manager; but this great Person had some Accident in his Children, sufficient to damp all the Pleasure of his more smiling Fortunes; he married when young, a beautiful and virtuous Lady, who had rendred him the happy Father of a Son; but his Joys were soon disturbed by the following Occasion.

There stands an Island in the _Adriatick_ Sea, about twenty Leagues from _Venice_, a Place wonderfully pleasant in the Summer, where Art and Nature seem to out-rival each other, or seem rather to combine in rendring it the most pleasant of their products; being placed under the most benign climate in the World, and situated exactly between _Italy_ and _Greece_, it appears an entire Epitome of all the Pleasures in them both; the proper glories of the Island were not a little augmented by the confluence of Gentlemen and Ladies of the chiefest Rank in the City, insomuch that this was a greater mark for Beauty and Gallantry, than _Venice_ for Trade. Among others _Rinaldo's_ Lady begged her Husband's permission to view this so much celebrated place.

He was unwilling to trust his treasure to the treachery of the watry element; but repeating her request, he yielded to her desires, his love not permitting him the least shew of command, and so thro' its extent, conspiring its own destruction. His Lady with her young Son (whom she would not trust from her sight) and a splendid attendance in a Barge well fitted, sets out for the Island, _Rinaldo_ being detained at home himself about some important affairs relating to the publick, committed the care of his dear Wife and Child to a faithful Servant call'd _Gaspar_; and for their greater security against Pyrates, had obtained his Brother, who commanded a _Venetian_ Galley, to attend them as Convoy. In the evening they set out from _Venice_, with a prosperous gale, but a storm arising in the night, soon separated the Barge from her Convoy, and before morning drove her beyond the designed Port, when, instead of discovering the wish'd-for Island, they could see a _Turkish_ Pyrate bearing towards them, with all her Sail; their late apprehensions of Shipwrack, were drowned in the greater danger of Captivity and lasting Slavery, their fears drove some into resolutions as extravagant as the terrors that caused them, but the confusion of all was so tumultuous, and the designs so various, that nothing could be put in execution for the publick safety; the greatest share of the passengers being Ladies, added strangely to the consternation; beauty always adds a pomp to woe, and by its splendid show, makes sorrow look greater and more moving. Some by their piteous plaints and wailings proclaimed their griefs aloud, whilst others bespoke their sorrows more emphatically by sitting mournfully silent; the fears of some animated them to extravagant actions, whilst the terrors of others were so mortifying, that they shewed no sign of Life, but by their trembling; some mourned the rigour of their proper fate, others conscious of the sorrows their Friends and Relations should sustain through their loss, made the griefs of them their own; but the heaviest load of misfortunes lay on _Rinaldo's_ Lady, besides the loss of her liberty, the danger of her honour, the separation from her dear Husband, the care for her tender Infant wrought rueful distractions; she caught her Child in her Arms, and with Tears extorted thro' Fear and Affection, she deplor'd the Misfortune of her Babe, the pretty Innocent smiling in the Embraces of its Mother, shew'd that Innocence cou'd deride the Persecution of Fortune; at length she delivered the Infant into the Hand of _Gasper_, begging him to use all Endeavours in its Preservation, by owning it for his, when they fell into the Hands of the Enemy.

But _Gasper_, who amidst the universal Consternation, had a peculiar Regard to his own Safety, and Master's Interest, undertook a Design desperately brave. Two long Planks, which lay lengthwise in the Barge, as Seats, he had ty'd together with Ropes, and taking the Infant from the Mother, whilst the whole Vessel was in a distracted Confusion, he fast'ned it to the Planks, and shoving both over-board before him, plung'd into the Sea after, dragging the Planks that bore the Infant with one Hand, and swimming with t'other, making the next Land; he had swam about two hundred Paces from the Barge before his Exploit was discover'd, but then the Griefs of _Rinaldo's_ Lady were doubly augmented, seeing her Infant expos'd to the Fury of the merciless Winds and Waves, which she then judged more rigorous than the _Turks_; for to a weak Mind, that Danger works still the strongest, that's most in View; but when the Pirate, who by this time had fetch'd them within Shot, began to Fire, she seem'd pleas'd that her Infant was out of that Hazard, tho' exposed to a greater. Upon their Sign of yielding, the _Turk_ launching out her Boat, brought them all on board her; but she had no time to examine her Booty, being saluted by a Broadside, vigorously discharg'd from a _Venetian_ Galley, which bore down upon them, whilst they were taking aboard their Spoil; this Galley was that commanded by _Rinaldo's_ Brother, which cruising that Way in quest of the Barge, happily engag'd the _Turk_, before they had Leisure to offer any Violence to the Ladies, and plying her warmly the Space of two Hours, made her a Prize, to the inexpressible Joy of the poor Ladies, who all this time under Hatches, had sustain'd the Horrors of ten thousand Deaths by dreading one.

All the greater Dangers over, _Rinaldo's_ Lady began to reflect on the strange Riddle of her Son's Fortune, who by shunning one Fate, had (in all Probability) fallen into a worse, for they were above ten Leagues from any Land, and the Sea still retain'd a Roughness, unsettled since the preceeding Storm; she therefore begg'd her Brother-in-Law to Sail with all Speed in Search of her Son and _Gasper_; but all in vain, for cruising that Day, and the succeeding Night along the Coasts, without making any Discovery of what they sought, he sent a Boat to be inform'd by the Peasants, of any such Landing upon their Coast; but they soon had a dismal Account, finding the Body of _Gasper_ thrown dead on the Sand, and near to him the Planks, the unhappy Occasion of his Flight, and the Faithless Sustainers of the Infant. So thinking these mournful Objects Testimonies enough of the Infant's Loss, they return'd with the doleful Relation to their Captain and the Lady; her Grief at the recital of the Tragic Story, had almost transported her to Madness; what Account must she now make to the mournful Father, who esteem'd this Child the chief Treasure of his Life; she fear'd, that she might forfeit the Affection of a Husband, by being the unfortunate Cause of so great a Loss; but her Fears deceiv'd her, for altho' her Husband, receiv'd her with great Grief, 'twas nevertheless moderated by the Patience of a Christian, and the Joy for recovering his beloved Lady.

This Misfortune was soon lessen'd by the growing Hopes of another Off-spring, which made them divest their Mourning, to make Preparations for the joyful Reception of this new Guest into the World; and upon its Appearance their Sorrows were redoubled, 'twas a Daughter, its Limbs were distorted, its Back bent, and tho' the face was the freest from Deformity, yet had it no Beauty to Recompence the Dis-symetry of the other Parts; Physicians being consulted in this Affair, derived the Cause from the Frights and dismal Apprehensions of the Mother, at her being taken by the Pyrates; about which time they found by Computation, the Conception of the Child to be; the Mother grew very Melancholy, rarely speaking, and not to be comforted by any Diversion. She conceiv'd again, but no hopes of better Fortune cou'd decrease her Grief, which growing with her Burden, eased her of both at once, for she died in Child-birth, and left the most beautiful Daughter to the World that ever adorn'd _Venice_, but naturally and unfortunately Dumb, which defect the learn'd attributed to the Silence and Melancholy of the Mother, as the Deformity of the other was to the Extravagance of her Frights.

_Rinaldo_, waving all Intentions of a second Marriage, directs his Thoughts to the Care of his Children, their Defects not lessening his Inclination, but stirring up his Endeavours in supplying the Defaults of Nature by the Industry of Art; he accordingly makes the greatest Provision for their Breeding and Education, which prov'd so effectual in a little Time, that their Progress was a greater Prodigy than themselves.

The Eldest, called _Belvideera_, was indefatigably addicted to Study, which she had improv'd so far, that by the sixteenth Year of her Age, she understood all the _European_ Languages, and cou'd speak most of'em, but was particularly pleas'd with the _English_, which gave me the Happiness of many Hours Conversation with her; and I may ingenuously declare, 'twas the most Pleasant I ever enjoy'd, for besides a piercing Wit, and depth of Understanding peculiar to herself, she delivered her Sentiments with that easiness and grace of Speech, that it charm'd all her Hearers.

The Beauties of the second Sister, nam'd _Maria_, grew with her Age, every twelve Months saluting her with a New-years Gift of some peculiar Charm; her Shapes were fine set off with a graceful and easy Carriage; the Majesty and Softness of her Face, at once wrought Love and Veneration; the Language of her Eyes sufficiently paid the Loss of her Tongue, and there was something so Commanding in her Look, that it struck every Beholder as dumb as herself; she was a great Proficient in Painting, which puts me in mind of a notable Story I can't omit; her Father had sent for the most Famous Painter in _Italy_ to draw her Picture, she accordingly sat for it; he had drawn some of the Features of her Face; and coming to the Eye, desired her to give him as brisk and piercing a Glance as she cou'd; but the Vivacity of her Look so astonished the Painter, that thro' concern he let his Pencil drop and spoiled the Picture; he made a second Essay, but with no better Success, for rising in great Disorder, he swore it impossible to draw that which he cou'd not look upon; the Lady vexed at the Weakness of the Painter, took up his Pencils and the Picture, and sitting down to her Glass, finished it herself; she had improv'd her silent Conversation with her Sister so far, that she was understood by her, as if she had spoke, and I remember this Lady was the first I saw use the significative Way of Discourse by the Fingers; I dare not say 'twas she invented it (tho' it probably might have been an Invention of these ingenious Sisters) but I am positive none before her ever brought it to that Perfection.

In the seventeenth of _Belvideera's_, and sixteenth Year of _Maria's_ Age, _Francisco_, Brother to _Rinaldo_, was made Admiral of the _Venetian_ Fleet, and upon his first Entrance upon his Command, had obtained a signal Victory over the _Turks_; he returning to _Venice_ with Triumph, applause and spoil, presented to the great Duke a young _English_ Gentleman, who only as a Volunteer in the Action, had signalized himself very bravely in the Engagement, but particularly by first boarding the _Turkish_ Admiral Galley, and killing her Commander hand to hand; the Fame of this Gentleman soon spread over all _Venice_, and the two Sisters sent presently for me, to give an Account of the Exploits of my Countryman, as their Unkle had recounted it to them; I was pleas'd to find so great an Example of _English_ Bravery, so far from Home, and long'd extreamly to converse with him, vainly flattering myself, that he might have been of my Acquaintance. That very Night there was a grand Ball and Masquerade at the great Duke's Palace, for the most signal Joy of the late Success, thither _Belvideera_ invited me to Accompany her and _Maria_, adding withal as a Motive, that we might there most probably meet, and Discourse with this young Hero; and equipping me with a Suit of Masquerade, they carried me in their Coach to the Ball, where we had pass'd half an Hour, when I saw enter a handsom Gentleman in a rich _English_ Dress; I show'd him to _Belvideera_, who moving towards him, with a gallant Air, slaps him on the Shoulder with her Fan, he turning about, and viewing her Person, the Defaults of which were not altogether hidden by her Disguise; 'Sir, (said he) if you are a Man, know that I am one, and will not bear Impertinence; but, if you are a Lady, Madam, as I hope in Heavens you are not, I must inform you, that I am under a Vow, not to converse with any Female to Night;' 'Know then, Sir, (answered _Belvideera_ very smartly) that I am a Female, and you have broke your Vow already; but methinks, Sir, the Ladies are very little oblig'd to your Vow, which wou'd rob them of the Conversation of so fine a Gentleman.'

'Madam, (said the Gentleman) the Sweetness of your Voice bespeaks you a Lady, and I hope the breaking my Vow will be so far from Damning me, that I shall thereby merit Heaven, if I may be blest in your Divine Conversation.' _Belvideera_ made such ingenious and smart Repartees to the Gentleman, who was himself a great Courtier, that he was entirely captivated with her Wit, insomuch, that he cou'd not refrain making Protestations of his Passion; he talked about half an Hour in such pure _Italian_, that I began to mistrust my _Englishman_, wherefore taking some Occasion to jest upon his Habit, I found 'twas only a Masquerade to cloak a down-right _Venetian_; in the mean Time, we perceiv'd a Gentleman Gallantly attir'd with no Disguise but a _Turkish_ Turbant on, the richliest beset with Jewels I ever saw; he addressed _Maria_ with all the Mien and Air of the finest Courtier; he had talked to her a good while before we heard him, but then _Belvideera_, knowing her poor Sister uncapable of any Defence, 'Sir, (said she to the _Venetian_,) yonder is a Lady of my Acquaintance, who lies under a Vow of Silence as you were, I must therefore beg your Pardon, and fly to her Relief': 'She can never be conquer'd, who has such a Champion,' (reply'd the Gentleman) upon which _Belvideera_ turning from him, interpos'd between the Gentleman and her Sister, saying, 'This Lady, Sir, is under an Obligation of Silence, as a Penance imposed by her Father-Confessor.' 'Madam, (reply'd the Gentleman) whoever impos'd Silence on these fair Lips, is guilty of a greater Offence than any, such a fair Creature cou'd commit.' 'Why, Sir, (said _Belvideera_) have you seen the Lady's Beauty': 'Yes, Madam, (answer'd he) for urging her to talk, which I found she declin'd, I promis'd to disengage her from any farther Impertinence, upon a Sight of her Face; she agreed by paying the Price of her Liberty, which was ransom enough for any Thing under Heavens, but her fair Company'; he spoke in an Accent that easily shew'd him a Stranger; which _Belvideera_ laying hold of, as an Occasion of Railery, 'Sir, (said she,) your Tongue pronounces you a great Stranger in this Part of the World, I hope you are not what that Turbant represents; perhaps, Sir, you think your self in the Seraglio'; 'Madam, (reply'd he,) this Turbant might have been in the _Turkish_ Seraglio, but never in so fair a one as this; and this Turbant (taking it off) is now to be laid at the Foot of some Christian Lady, for whose safety, and by whose protecting Influence, I had the Happiness to win it from the Captain of the _Turkish_ Admiral Galley.' We were all surpriz'd, knowing him then the young _English_ Gentleman, we were so curious of seeing; _Belvideera_ presently talk'd _English_ to him, and made him some very pretty Complements upon his Victory, which so charm'd the young Soldier, that her Tongue claim'd an equal Share in his Heart with _Maria's_ Eyes; 'Madam, (said he to her) if you have the Beauty of that Lady, or if she has your Wit, I am the most happy, or the most unfortunate Man alive.' 'Sir,' said the _Venetian_ coming up, 'pray give me leave to share in your Misfortunes.' 'Sir, (said _Belvideera_ very smartly) you must share in his good Fortunes, and learn to conquer Men, before you have the Honour of being subdu'd by Ladies, we scorn mean Prizes, Sir.' 'Madam, (said the _Venetian_ in some Choler) perhaps I can subdue a Rival.' 'Pray, Sir, (said the Stranger) don't be angry with the Lady, she's not your Rival I hope, Sir.' Said the _Venetian_, 'I can't be angry at the Lady, because I love her; but my Anger must be levell'd at him, who after this Declaration dare own a Passion for her.' 'Madam, (said the _English_ Gentleman turning from the _Venetian_) Honour now must extort a Confession from me, which the Awfulness of my Passion durst never have own'd: And I must declare,' added he in a louder Voice, 'to all the World, that I love you, lest this Gentleman shou'd think his Threats forc'd me to disown it.' 'O! then (said _Belvideera_) you're his Rival in Honour, not in Love.' 'In honourable Love I am, Madam,' answer'd the Stranger. 'I'll try,' (said the _Venetian_, going off in Choler,) he Whisper'd a little to a Gentleman, that stood at some Distance, and immediately went out; this was _Gonzago_, a Gentleman of good Reputation in _Venice_, his Principles were Honour and Gallantry, but the Former often sway'd by Passions, rais'd by the Latter. All this while, _Maria_ and I were admiring the Stranger, whose Person was indeed wonderfully Amiable; his Motions were exact, yet free and unconstrain'd; the Tone of his Voice carried a sweet Air of Modesty in it, yet were all his Expressions manly; and to summ up all, he was as fine an _English_ Gentleman, as I ever saw Step in the _Mall_.

Poor _Maria_ never before envied her Sister the Advantage of Speech, or never deplor'd the Loss of her own with more Regret, she found something so Sweet in the Mien, Person, and Discourse of this Stranger, that her Eyes felt a dazling Pleasure in beholding him, and like flattering Mirrours represented every Action and Feature, with some heightning Advantage to her Imagination: _Belvideera_ also had some secret Impulses of Spirit, which drew her insensibly into a great Esteem of the Gentleman; she ask'd him, by what good Genius, propitious to _Venice_, he was induced to Live so remote from his Country; he said, that he cou'd not imploy his Sword better than against the common Foe of Christianity; and besides, there was a peculiar Reason, which prompted him to serve there, which Time cou'd only make known. I made bold to ask him some peculiar Questions, about Affairs at Court, to most of which he gave Answers, that shew'd his Education liberal, and himself no Stranger to Quality; he call'd himself _Dangerfield_, which was a Name that so pleas'd me, that being since satisfied it was a Counterfeit, I us'd it in a Comedy of mine: We had talk'd 'till the greater Part of the Company being dispers'd, _Dangerfield_ begg'd Leave to attend us to our Coach, and waiting us to the Door, the Gentleman, whom _Gonzago_ whisper'd, advanc'd and offer'd his Service to hand _Maria_; she declin'd it, and upon his urging, she turn'd to the other Side of _Dangerfield_, who, by this Action of the Ladies finding himself intitled to her Protection, 'Sir, (said he) Favours from great Beauties, as from great Monarchs, must flow Voluntarily, not by Constraint, and whosoever wou'd extort from either, are liable to the great Severity of Punishment.' 'Oh! Sir, (reply'd the _Venetian_ very arrogantly,) I understand not your Monarchy, we live here under a free State; besides, Sir, where there is no Punishment to be dreaded, the Law will prove of little Force; and so, Sir, by your Leave,' offering to push him aside, and lay hold on the Lady. _Dangerfield_ returned the Justle so vigorously, that the _Venetian_ fell down the Descent of some Stairs at the Door, and broke his Sword: _Dangerfield_ leap'd down after him, to prosecute his Chastizement, but seeing his Sword broken, only whisper'd him, that if he wou'd meet him next Morning at Six, at the Back-part of St. _Mark's_ Church, he wou'd satisfie him for the Loss of his Sword; upon which, the _Venetian_ immediately went off, cursing his ill Fate, that prevented his quarrelling with _Dangerfield_, to whom he had born a grudging Envy ever since his Success in the late Engagement, and of whom, and his Lodgings, he had given _Gonzago_ an Account, when he whisper'd him at the Ball. _Dangerfield_ left us full of his Praises, and went home to his Lodgings, where he found a Note directed to him to this Effect:

SIR,

_You declared Publickly at the Ball, you were my Rival in Love and
Honour: If you dare prove it by Maintaining it, I shall be to morrow
Morning at Six, at the Back-part of St. +Mark's+ Church, where I
shall be ready to fall a Sacrifice to both._

Gonzago.