The Works of Aphra Behn Volume V Part 18

The next Day, at Dinner, Monsieur _Bellyaurd_ believing his Son absolutely cur'd, by Absence, of his Pa.s.sion; and speaking of all the News in the Town, among the rest, told him he was come in good time to dance at the Wedding of Count _Vernole_ with _Atlante_, the Match being agreed on: 'No, Sir (reply'd _Rinaldo_) I shall never dance at the Marriage of Count _Vernole_ with _Atlante_; and you will see in Monsieur _De Pais's_ House a Funeral sooner than a Wedding.' And thereupon he told his Father all his Pa.s.sion for that lovely Maid; and a.s.sur'd him, if he would not see him laid in his Grave, he must consent to this Match. _Bellyaurd_ rose in a Fury, and told him, 'He had rather see him in his Grave, than in the Arms of _Atlante_: Not (continued he) so much for any Dislike I have to the young Lady, or the Smallness of her Fortune; but because I have so long warn'd you from such a Pa.s.sion, and have with such Care endeavour'd by your Absence to prevent it.' He travers'd the Room very fast, still protesting against this Alliance: and was deaf to all _Rinaldo_ could say. On the other side the Day being come, wherein _Atlante_ was to give her final Answer to her Father concerning her Marriage with Count _Vernole_; she a.s.sum'd all the Courage and Resolution she could, to withstand the Storm that threatned a Denial. And her Father came to her, and demanding her Answer, she told him, 'She could not be the Wife of _Vernole_, since she was Wife to _Rinaldo_, only son to _Bellyaurd_.' If her Father storm'd before, he grew like a Man distracted at her Confession; and _Vernole_ hearing them loud, ran to the Chamber to learn the Cause; where just as he enter'd he found _De Pais's_ Sword drawn, and ready to kill his Daughter, who lay all in Tears at his Feet. He with-held his Hand; and asking the Cause of his Rage, he was told all that _Atlante_ had confess'd; which put _Vernole_ quite beside all his Gravity, and made him discover the Infirmity of Anger, which he used to say ought to be dissembled by all wise Men: So that _De Pais_ forgot his own to appease his, but 'twas in vain, for he went out of the House, vowing Revenge to _Rinaldo_: And to that end, being not very well a.s.sur'd of his own Courage, as I said before, and being of the Opinion, that no Man ought to expose his Life to him who has injur'd him; he hired _Swiss_ and _Spanish_ Soldiers to attend him in the nature of Footmen; and watch'd several Nights about _Bellyaurd's_ Door, and that of _De Pais's_, believing he should some time or other see him under the Window of _Atlante_, or perhaps mounting into it: for now he no longer doubted, but this happy Lover was he, whom he fancy'd he heard go from the Balcony that Night he came up with his Pistol; and being more a _Spaniard_ than a _Frenchman_ in his Nature, he resolv'd to take him any way unguarded or unarm'd, if he came in his Way.

_Atlante_, who heard his Threatnings when he went from her in a Rage, fear'd his Cowardice might put him on some base Action, to deprive _Rinaldo_ of his Life; and therefore thought it not safe to suffer him to come to her by Night, as he had before done; but sent him word in a Note, that he should forbear her Window, for _Vernole_ had sworn his Death. This Note came, unseen by his Father, to his Hands: but this could not hinder him from coming to her Window, which he did as soon as it was dark: he came thither, only attended with his Valet, and two Footmen; for now he car'd not who knew the Secret. He had no sooner made the Sign, but he found himself incompa.s.s'd with _Vernole's_ Bravoes; and himself standing at a distance cry'd out, 'That is he': With that they all drew on both sides, and _Rinaldo_ receiv'd a Wound in his Arm.

_Atlante_ heard this, and ran crying out, 'That _Rinaldo_, prest by Numbers, would be kill'd.' _De Pais_, who was reading in his Closet, took his Sword, and ran out; and, contrary to all Expectation, seeing _Rinaldo_ fighting with his Back to the Door, pull'd him into the House, and fought himself with the Bravoes: who being very much wounded by _Rinaldo_, gave ground, and sheer'd off; and _De Pais_, putting up old _Bilbo_ into the Scabbard, went into his House, where he found _Rinaldo_ almost fainting with loss of Blood, and _Atlante_, with her Maids binding up his Wound; to whom _De Pais_ said, 'This charity, _Atlante_, very well becomes you, and is what I can allow you; and I could wish you had no other Motive for this Action.' _Rinaldo_ by degrees recover'd of his Fainting, and as well as his Weakness would permit him, he got up and made a low Reverence to _De Pais_, telling him, 'He had now a double Obligation to pay him all the Respect in the World; first, for his being the Father of _Atlante_; and secondly, for being the Preserver of his Life: two Tyes that should eternally oblige him to love and honour him, as his own Parent.' _De Pais_ reply'd, 'He had done nothing but what common Humanity compell'd him to do: But if he would make good that Respect he profess'd towards him, it must be in quitting all Hopes of _Atlante_, whom he had destin'd to another, or an eternal Inclosure in a Monastery: He had another Daughter, whom if he would think worthy of his Regard, he should take his Alliance as a very great Honour; but his Word and Reputation, nay his Vows were past, to give _Atlante_ to Count _Vernole_.' _Rinaldo_, who before he spoke took measure from _Atlante's_ Eyes, which told him her Heart was his, return'd this Answer to _De Pais_, 'That he was infinitely glad to find by the Generosity of his Offer, that he had no Aversion against his being his Son-in-law; and that, next to _Atlante_, the greatest Happiness he could wish would be his receiving _Charlot_ from his Hand; but that he could not think of quitting _Atlante_, how necessary soever it would be, for Glory, and his--(the further) Repose.' _De Pais_ would not let him at this time argue the matter further, seeing he was ill, and had need of looking after; he therefore begg'd he would for his Health's sake retire to his own House, whither he himself conducted him, and left him to the Care of his Men, who were escap'd the Fray; and returning to his own Chamber, he found _Atlante_ retir'd, and so he went to bed full of Thoughts. This Night had increas'd his Esteem for _Rinaldo_, and lessen'd it for Count _Vernole_; but his Word and Honour being past, he could not break it, neither with Safety nor Honour: for he knew the haughty resenting Nature of the Count, and he fear'd some Danger might arrive to the brave _Rinaldo_, which troubled him very much. At last he resolv'd, that neither might take any thing ill at his Hands, to lose _Atlante_, and send her to the Monastery where her Sister was, and compel her to be a Nun. This he thought would prevent Mischiefs on both sides; and accordingly, the next Day, (having in the Morning sent Word to the Lady Abbess what he would have done) he carries _Atlante_, under pretence of visiting her Sister, (which they often did) to the Monastery, where she was no sooner come, but she was led into the Inclosure: Her Father had rather sacrifice her, than she should be the Cause of the Murder of two such n.o.ble Men as _Vernole_ and _Rinaldo_.

The Noise of _Atlante's_ being inclos'd, was soon spread all over the busy Town, and _Rinaldo_ was not the last to whom the News arriv'd: He was for a few Days confin'd to his Chamber; where, when alone, he rav'd like a Man distracted; But his Wounds had so incens'd his Father against _Atlante_, that he swore he would see his Son die of them, rather than suffer him to marry _Atlante_; and was extremely overjoy'd to find she was condemn'd, for ever, to the Monastery. So that the Son thought it the wisest Course, and most for the advantage of his Love, to say nothing to contradict his Father; but being almost a.s.sur'd _Atlante_ would never consent to be shut up in a Cloyster, and abandon him, he flatter'd himself with hope, that he should steal her from thence, and marry her in spite of all Opposition. This he was impatient to put in practice: He believ'd, if he were not permitted to see _Atlante_, he had still a kind Advocate in _Charlot_, who was now arriv'd to her Thirteenth Year, and infinitely advanc'd in Wit and Beauty. _Rinaldo_ therefore often goes to the Monastery, surrounding it, to see what Possibility there was of accomplis.h.i.+ng his Design; if he could get her Consent, he finds it not impossible, and goes to visit _Charlot_; who had command not to see him, or speak to him. This was a Cruelty he look'd not for, and which gave him an unspeakable Trouble, and without her Aid it was wholly impossible to give _Atlante_ any account of his Design. In this Perplexity he remain'd many Days, in which he languish'd almost to Death; he was distracted with Thought, and continually hovering about the Nunnery-Walls, in hope, at some time or other, to see or hear from that lovely Maid, who alone could make his Happiness. In these Traverses he often met _Vernole_, who had Liberty to see her when he pleas'd: If it happen'd that they chanc'd to meet in the Daytime, tho' _Vernole_ was attended with an Equipage of Ruffians, and _Rinaldo_ but only with a couple of Footmen, he could perceive _Vernole_ shun him, grow pale, and almost tremble with Fear sometimes, and get to the other Side of the Street; and if he did not, _Rinaldo_ having a mortal Hate to him, would often bear up so close to him, that he would jostle him against the Wall, which _Vernole_ would patiently put up, and pa.s.s on; so that he could never be provok'd to fight by Day-light, how solitary soever the Place was where they met: but if they chanc'd to meet at Night, they were certain of a Skirmish, in which he would have no part himself; so that _Rinaldo_ was often like to be a.s.sa.s.sinated, but still came off with some slight Wound. This continu'd so long, and made so great a Noise in the Town, that the two old Gentlemen were mightily alarm'd by it; and Count _Bellyaurd_ came to _De Pais_, one Day, to discourse with him of this Affair; and _Bellyaurd_, for the Preservation of his Son, was almost consenting, since there was no Remedy, that he should marry _Atlante_. _De Pais_ confess'd the Honour he proffer'd him, and how troubled he was, that his Word was already past to his Friend, the Count _Vernole_, whom he said she should marry, or remain for ever a Nun; but if _Rinaldo_ could displace his Love from _Atlante_, and place it on _Charlot_, he should gladly consent to the Match. _Bellyaurd_, who would now do anything for the Repose of his Son, tho' he believ'd this Exchange would not pa.s.s, yet resolv'd to propose it, since by marrying him he took him out of the Danger of _Vernole's_ a.s.sa.s.sinates, who would never leave him till they had dispatch'd him, should he marry _Atlante_.

While _Rinaldo_ was contriving a thousand ways to come to speak to, or send Billets to _Atlante_, none of which could succeed without the Aid of _Charlot_, his Father came and propos'd this Agreement between _De Pais_ and himself, to his Son. At first _Rinaldo_ receiv'd it with a chang'd Countenance, and a breaking Heart; but swiftly turning from Thought to Thought, he conceiv'd this the only way to come at _Charlot_, and so consequently at _Atlante_: he therefore, after some dissembled Regret, consents, with a sad put-on Look: And _Charlot_ had Notice given her to see and entertain _Rinaldo_. As yet they had not told her the Reason; which her Father would tell her, when he came to visit her, he said. _Rinaldo_ over-joy'd at this Contrivance, and his own Dissimulation, goes to the Monastery, and visits _Charlot_; where he ought to have said something of this Proposition: but wholly bent upon other Thoughts, he sollicits her to convey some Letters, and Presents to _Atlante_; which she readily did, to the unspeakable Joy of the poor Distrest. Sometimes he would talk to _Charlot_ of her own Affairs; asking her, if she resolv'd to become a Nun? To which she would sigh, and say, If she must, it would be extremely against her Inclinations; and, if it pleas'd her Father, she had rather begin the World with any tolerable Match.

Things past thus for some Days, in which our Lovers were happy, and _Vernole_ a.s.sur'd he should have _Atlante_. But at last _De Pais_ came to visit _Charlot_, who ask'd her, if she had seen _Rinaldo_? She answer'd, 'She had.' 'And how does he entertain you? (reply'd _De Pais_) Have you receiv'd him as a Husband? and has he behav'd himself like one?' At this a sudden Joy seiz'd the Heart of _Charlot_; and both to confess what she had done for him to her Sister, she hung down her blus.h.i.+ng Face to study for an Answer. _De Pais_ continued, and told her the Agreement between _Bellyaurd_ and him, for the saving of Bloodshed.

She, who blest the Cause, whatever it was, having always a great Friends.h.i.+p and Tenderness for _Rinaldo_, gave her Father a thousand Thanks for his Care; and a.s.sur'd him, since she was commanded by him, she would receive him as her Husband.

And the next Day, when _Rinaldo_ came to visit her, as he us'd to do, and bringing a Letter with him, wherein he propos'd the flight of _Atlante_; he found a Coldness in _Charlot_, as soon as he told her his Design, and desir'd her to carry the Letter. He ask'd the Reason of this Change: She tells him she was inform'd of the Agreement between their two Fathers, and that she look'd upon herself as his Wife, and would act no more as a Confident; that she had ever a violent Inclination of Friends.h.i.+p for him, which she would soon improve into something more soft.

He could not deny the Agreement, nor his Promise; but it was in vain to tell her, he did it only to get a Correspondence with _Atlante_: She is obstinate, and he as pressing, with all the Tenderness of Persuasion: He vows he can never be any but _Atlante's_, and she may see him die, but never break his Vows. She urges her Claim in vain, so that at last she was overcome, and promised she would carry the Letter; which was to have her make her Escape that Night. He waits at the Gate for her Answer, and _Charlot_ returns with one that pleased him very well; which was, that Night her Sister would make her Escape, and that he must stand in such a Place of the Nunnery-Wall, and she would come out to him.

After this she upbraids him with his false Promise to her, and of her Goodness to serve him after such a Disappointment. He receives her Reproaches with a thousand Sighs, and bemoans her Misfortune in not being capable of more than Friends.h.i.+p for her; and vows, that next _Atlante_, he esteems her of all Womankind. She seems to be obliged by this, and a.s.sured him, she would hasten the Flight of _Atlante_; and taking leave, he went home to order a Coach, and some Servants to a.s.sist him.

In the mean time Count _Vernole_ came to visit _Atlante_; but she refused to be seen by him: And all he could do there that Afternoon, was entertaining _Charlot_ at the Grate; to whom he spoke a great many fine Things, both of her improved Beauty and Wit; and how happy _Rinaldo_ would be in so fair a Bride. She received this with all the Civility that was due to his Quality; and their Discourse being at an End, he took his Leave, being towards the Evening.

_Rinaldo_, wholly impatient, came betimes to the Corner of the dead Wall, where he was appointed to stand, having ordered his Footmen and Coach to come to him as soon it was dark. While he was there walking up and down, _Vernole_ came by the End of the Wall to go home; and looking about, he saw, at the other End, _Rinaldo_ walking, whose Back was towards him, but he knew him well; and tho' he feared and dreaded his Business there, he durst not encounter him, they being both attended but by one Footman a-piece. But _Vernole's_ Jealousy and Indignation were so high, that he resolved to fetch his Bravoes to his Aid, and come and a.s.sault him: For he knew he waited there for some Message from _Atlante_.

In the mean Time it grew dark, and _Rinaldo_'s Coach came with another Footman; which were hardly arrived, when _Vernole_, with his a.s.sistants, came to the Corner of the Wall, and skreening themselves a little behind it, near to the Place where _Rinaldo_ stood, who waited now close to a little Door, out of which the Gardeners used to throw the Weeds and Dirt, _Vernole_ could perceive anon the Door to open, and a Woman come out of it, calling _Rinaldo_ by his Name, who stept up to her, and caught her in his Arms with Signs of infinite Joy. _Vernole_ being now all Rage, cry'd to his a.s.sa.s.sinates, 'Fall on, and kill the Ravisher': And immediately they all fell on. _Rinaldo_, who had only his two Footmen on his Side, was forc'd to let go the Lady; who would have run into the Garden again, but the Door fell to and lock'd: so that while _Rinaldo_ was fighting, and beaten back by the Bravoes, one of which he laid dead at his Feet, _Vernole_ came to the frighted Lady, and taking her by the Hand, cry'd, 'Come, my fair Fugitive, you must go along with me.' She wholly scar'd out of her Senses, was willing to go any where out of the Terror she heard so near her, and without Reply, gave her self into his Hand, who carried her directly to her Father's House; where she was no sooner come, but he told her Father all that had past, and how she was running away with _Rinaldo_, but that his good Fortune brought him just in the lucky Minute. Her Father turning to reproach her, found by the Light of a Candle that this was _Charlot_, and not _Atlante_, whom _Vernole_ had brought Home: At which _Vernole_ was extremely astonish'd. Her Father demanded of her why she was running away with a Man, who was design'd her by Consent? 'Yes, (said _Charlot_) you had his Consent, Sir, and that of his Father; but I was far from getting it: I found he resolv'd to die rather than quit _Atlante_; and promising him my a.s.sistance in his Amour, since he could never be mine, he got me to carry a Letter to _Atlante_; which was, to desire her to fly away with him. Instead of carrying her this Letter, I told her, he was design'd for me, and had cancell'd all his Vows to her: She swoon'd at this News; and being recover'd a little, I left her in the Hands of the Nuns, to persuade her to live; which she resolves not to do without _Rinaldo_. Tho' they press'd me, yet I resolv'd to pursue my Design, which was to tell _Rinaldo_ she would obey his kind Summons. He waited for her; but I put my self into his Hands in lieu of _Atlante_; and had not the Count receiv'd me, we had been marry'd by this time, by some false Light that could not have discover'd me: But I am satisfied, if I had, he would never have liv'd with me longer than the Cheat had been undiscover'd; for I find them both resolved to die, rather than change.

And for my part, Sir, I was not so much in Love with _Rinaldo_, as I was out of love with the Nunnery; and took any Opportunity to quit a Life absolutely contrary to my Humour.' She spoke this with a Gaiety so brisk, and an Air so agreeable, that _Vernole_ found it touch'd his Heart; and the rather because he found _Atlante_ would never be his; or if she were, he should be still in Danger from the Resentment of _Rinaldo_: he therefore bowing to _Charlot_, and taking her by the Hand, cry'd, 'Madam, since Fortune has dispos'd you thus luckily for me, in my Possession, I humbly implore you would consent she should make me entirely happy, and give me the Prize for which I fought, and have conquer'd with my Sword.' 'My Lord, (reply'd _Charlot_, with a modest Air) I am superst.i.tious enough to believe, since Fortune, so contrary to all our Designs, has given me into your Hands, that she from the beginning destin'd me to the Honour, which, with my Father's Consent, I shall receive as becomes me.' _De Pais_ transported with Joy, to find all Things would be so well brought about, it being all one to him, whether _Charlot_ or _Atlante_ gave him Count _Vernole_ for his Son-in-law, readily consented; and immediately a Priest was sent for, and they were that Night marry'd. And it being now not above seven o'Clock, many of their Friends were invited, the Musick sent for, and as good a Supper as so short a Time would provide, was made ready.

All this was perform'd in as short a time as _Rinaldo_ was fighting; and having kill'd one, and wounded the rest, they all fled before his conquering Sword, which was never drawn with so good a Will. When he came where his Coach stood, just against the Back-Garden-Door, he looked for his Mistress: But the Coachman told him, he was no sooner engaged, but a Man came, and with a thousand Reproaches on her Levity, bore her off.

This made our young Lover rave; and he is satisfied she is in the Hands of his Rival, and that he had been fighting, and shedding his Blood, only to secure her Flight with him. He lost all Patience, and it was with much ado his Servants persuaded him to return; telling him in their Opinion, she was more likely to get out of the Hands of his Rival, and come to him, than when she was in the Monastery.

He suffers himself to go into his Coach and be carry'd home; but he was no sooner alighted, than he heard Musick and Noise at _De Pais's_ House.

He saw Coaches surround his Door, and Pages and Footmen, with Flambeaux.

The Sight and Noise of Joy made him ready to sink at the Door; and sending his Footmen to learn the Cause of this Triumph, the Pages that waited told him, That Count _Vernole_ was this Night married to Monsieur _De Pais's_ Daughter. He needed no more to deprive him of all Sense; and staggering against his Coach, he was caught by his Footmen and carried into his House, and to his Chamber, where they put him to Bed, all sensless as he was, and had much ado to recover him to Life. He ask'd for his Father, with a faint Voice, for he desir'd to see him before he died. It was told him he was gone to Count _Vernole's_ Wedding, where there was a perfect Peace agreed on between them, and all their Animosities laid aside. At this News _Rinaldo_ fainted again; and his Servants call'd his Father home, and told him in what Condition they had brought home their Master, recounting to him all that was past. He hasten'd to _Rinaldo_, whom he found just recover'd of his Swooning; who, putting his Hand out to his Father, all cold and trembling, cry'd, 'Well, Sir, now you are satisfied, since you have seen _Atlante_ married to Count _Vernole_, I hope now you will give your unfortunate Son leave to die; as you wish'd he should, rather than give him to the Arms of _Atlante_.' Here his Speech fail'd, and he fell again into a Fit of Swooning; His Father ready to die with fear of his Son's Death, kneel'd down by his Bed-side; and after having recover'd a little, he said, 'My dear Son, I have been indeed at the Wedding of Count _Vernole_, but 'tis not _Atlante_ to whom he is married, but _Charlot_; who was the Person you were bearing from the Monastery, instead of _Atlante_, who is still reserv'd for you, and she is dying till she hear you are reserv'd for her; Therefore, as you regard her Life, make much of your own, and make your self fit to receive her; for her Father and I have agreed the Marriage already.' And without giving him leave to think, he call'd to one of his Gentlemen, and sent him to the Monastery, with this News to _Atlante_. _Rinaldo_ bowed himself as low as he could in his Bed, and kiss'd the Hand of his Father, with Tears of Joy: But his Weakness continued all the next Day; and they were fain to bring _Atlante_ to him, to confirm his Happiness.

It must only be guessed by Lovers, the perfect Joy these two receiv'd in the sight of each other. _Bellyaurd_ received her as his Daughter; and the next Day made her so, with very great Solemnity, at which were _Vernole_ and _Charlot_: Between _Rinaldo_ and him was concluded a perfect Peace, and all thought themselves happy in this double Union.

NOTES: The Lucky Mistake.

p. 351 This Dedication only appears in the first edition (12mo, 1689), 'for R. Bentley'. George Granville or Grenville,[1] Lord Lansdowne, the celebrated wit, dramatist and poet, was born in 1667. Having zealously offered in 1688 to defend James II, during the subsequent reign he perforce 'lived in literary retirement'. He then wrote _The She Gallants_ (1696, and 4to, 1696), an excellent comedy full of jest and spirit. Offending, however, some ladies 'who set up for chast.i.ty' it made its exit. Granville afterwards revived it as _Once a Lover and Always a Lover_. _Heroick Love_, a tragedy (1698), had great success.

_The Jew of Venice_ (1701), is a piteously weak adaption of _The Merchant of Venice_. A short masque, _Peleus and Thetis_ accompanies the play. _The British Enchanters_, an opera (1706), is a pleasing piece, and was very well received. At the accession of Queen Anne, Granville entered the political arena and attained considerable offices of state.

Suspected of being an active Jacobite he was, under George I, imprisoned from 25 September, 1715, till 8 February, 1717. In 1722 he went abroad, and lived in Paris for ten years. In 1732 he returned and published a finely printed edition of his complete _Works_ (2 Vols., 4to, 1732; and again, 3 Vols., 1736, 12mo). He died 30 January, 1735, and is buried in St. Clement Danes.

p. 398 _double Union_. In a collection of Novels with running t.i.tle: _The Deceived Lovers_ (1696), we find No. V _The Curtezan Deceived_, 'An Addition to The Lucky Mistake, Written by Mrs. A. Behn.' This introduction of Mrs. Behn's name was a mere bookseller's trick to catch the unwary reader. _The Curtezan Deceived_ is of no value. It has nothing to do with Aphra's work and is as commonplace a little novel as an hundred others of its day.

[Footnote 1: The spelling 'Greenvil' 'Greenviel' is incorrect.]

THE UNFORTUNATE BRIDE; OR, THE BLIND LADY A BEAUTY.

TO RICHARD NORTON, OF SOUTHWICK IN HANTs.h.i.+RE, ESQUIRE.

Honour'd Sir,

Eminent Wit, Sir, no more than Eminent Beauty, can escape the Trouble and Presumption of Addresses; and that which can strike every body with Wonder, can never avoid the Praise which naturally flows from that Wonder: And Heaven is forc'd to hear the Addresses as well as praises of the Poor as Rich, of the Ignorant as Learned, and takes, nay rewards, the officious tho' perhaps impertinent Zeal of its least qualify'd Devotees. Wherefore, Sir, tho' your Merits meet with the Applause of the Learned and Witty, yet your Generosity will judge favourably of the untaught Zeal of an humbler Admirer, since what I do your eminent Vertues compel. The Beautiful will permit the most despicable of their Admirers to love them, tho' they never intend to make him happy, as unworthy their Love, but they will not be angry at the fatal Effect of their own Eyes.

But what I want in my self, Sir, to merit your Regard, I hope my Auth.o.r.ess will in some measure supply, so far at least to lessen my Presumption in prefixing your Name to a Posthumous Piece of hers, whom all the Men of Wit, that were her Contemporaries, look'd on as the Wonder of her s.e.x; and in none of her Performances has she shew'd so great a Mastery as in her Novels, where Nature always prevails; and if they are not true, they are so like it, that they do the business every jot as well.

This I hope, Sir, will induce you to pardon my Presumption in dedicating this Novel to you, and declaring my self, Sir,

Your most obedient and most humble Servant, S. Briscoe.

THE UNFORTUNATE BRIDE: or, The Blind Lady a Beauty.

_Frankwit_ and _Wildvill_, were two young Gentlemen of very considerable Fortunes, both born in _Staffords.h.i.+re_, and, during their Minority, both educated together, by which Opportunity they contracted a very inviolable Friends.h.i.+p, a Friends.h.i.+p which grew up with them; and though it was remarkably known to every Body else, they knew it not themselves; they never made Profession of it in Words, but Actions; so true a Warmth their Fires could boast, as needed not the Effusion of their Breath to make it live. _Wildvill_ was of the richest Family, but _Frankwit_ of the n.o.blest; _Wildvill_ was admired for outward Qualifications, as Strength, and manly Proportions, _Frankwit_ for a much softer Beauty, for his inward Endowments, Pleasing in his Conversation, of a free, and moving Air, humble in his Behaviour, and if he had any Pride, it was but just enough to shew that he did not affect Humility; his Mind bowed with a Motion as unconstrained as his Body, nor did he force this Vertue in the least, but he allowed it only. So aimable he was, that every Virgin that had Eyes, knew too she had a Heart, and knew as surely she should lose it. His _Cupid_ could not be reputed blind, he never shot for him, but he was sure to wound. As every other Nymph admired him, so he was dear to all the Tuneful Sisters; the Muses were fired with him as much as their own radiant G.o.d _Apollo_; their loved Springs and Fountains were not so grateful to their Eyes as he, him they esteemed their _Helicon_ and _Parna.s.sus_ too; in short, when ever he pleased, he could enjoy them all. Thus he enamour'd the whole Female s.e.x, but amongst all the sighing Captives of his Eyes, _Belvira_ only boasted Charms to move him; her Parents lived near his, and even from their Childhood they felt mutual Love, as if their Eyes, at their first meeting, had struck out such Glances, as had kindled into amorous Flame. And now _Belvira_ in her fourteenth Year, (when the fresh Spring of young Virginity began to cast more lively Bloomings in her Cheeks, and softer Longings in her Eyes) by her indulgent Father's Care was sent to _London_ to a Friend, her Mother being lately dead: When, as if Fortune ordered it so, _Frankwit's_ Father took a Journey to the other World, to let his Son the better enjoy the Pleasures and Delights of this: The young Lover now with all imaginable haste interred his Father, nor did he shed so many Tears for his Loss, as might in the least quench the Fire which he received from his _Belvira's_ Eyes, but (Master of seventeen Hundred Pounds a Year, which his Father left him) with all the Wings of Love flies to _London_, and sollicits _Belvira_ with such Fervency, that it might be thought he meant Death's Torch should kindle _Hymen's_; and now as soon as he arrives at his Journey's end, he goes to pay a Visit to the fair Mistress of his Soul, and a.s.sures her, That tho' he was absent from her, yet she was still with him; and that all the Road he travell'd, her beauteous Image danced before him, and like the ravished Prophet, he saw his Deity in every Bush; in short, he paid her constant Visits, the Sun ne'er rose or set, but still he saw it in her Company, and every Minute of the Day he counted by his Sighs. So incessantly he importuned her that she could no longer hold out, and was pleased in the surrender of her Heart, since it was he was Conqueror; and therefore felt a Triumph in her yielding. Their Flames now joyned, grew more and more, glowed in their Cheeks, and lightened in their Glances: Eager they looked, as if there were Pulses beating in their Eyes; and all endearing, at last she vowed, that _Frankwit_ living she would ne'er be any other Man's. Thus they past on some time, while every Day rowl'd over fair; Heaven showed an Aspect all serene, and the Sun seemed to smile at what was done. He still caressed his Charmer, with an Innocence becoming his Sincerity; he lived upon her tender Breath, and basked in the bright l.u.s.tre of her Eyes, with Pride, and secret Joy.

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 s.h.i.+ning 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 Pa.s.sion, 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 s.e.x, 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 Suns.h.i.+ne 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 Compa.s.s 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 _Phbus_ rushes radiant and unsullied, into a gilded Cloud. 'Well then, my dear _Belvira_,' answered _Frankwit_, 'be a.s.sured 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 _Cambridges.h.i.+re_, 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 s.h.i.+nes. 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 G.o.ddess, 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 l.u.s.tre all Divine, } Angels, and G.o.ds! oh Heavens! how bright they s.h.i.+ne! } 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 a.s.sur'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 G.o.d. } 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._