Title: Incognita; Or, Love and Duty Reconcil'd
Author: Congreve, William
Language: English
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Incognita: or, Love & Duty Reconcil’d.
A Novel

by William Congreve



TO THE
Honoured and Worthily Esteem’d
Mrs. _Katharine Leveson_.


_Madam_,

A Clear Wit, sound Judgment and a Merciful Disposition, are things so
rarely united, that it is almost inexcusable to entertain them with any
thing less excellent in its kind. My knowledge of you were a sufficient
Caution to me, to avoid your Censure of this Trifle, had I not as
intire a knowledge of your Goodness. Since I have drawn my Pen for a
Rencounter, I think it better to engage where, though there be Skill
enough to Disarm me, there is too much Generosity to Wound; for so
shall I have the saving Reputation of an unsuccessful Courage, if I
cannot make it a drawn Battle. But methinks the Comparison intimates
something of a Defiance, and savours of Arrogance; wherefore since I am
Conscious to my self of a Fear which I cannot put off, let me use the
Policy of Cowards and lay this Novel unarm’d, naked and shivering at
your Feet, so that if it should want Merit to challenge Protection,
yet, as an Object of Charity, it may move Compassion. It has been some
Diversion to me to Write it, I wish it may prove such to you when you
have an hour to throw away in Reading of it: but this Satisfaction I
have at least beforehand, that in its greatest failings it may fly for
Pardon to that Indulgence which you owe to the weakness of your Friend;
a Title which I am proud you have thought me worthy of, and which I
think can alone be superior to that

_Your most Humble and_
_Obliged Servant_
CLEOPHIL.



THE PREFACE TO THE READER.


Reader,

Some Authors are so fond of a Preface, that they will write one tho’
there be nothing more in it than an Apology for its self. But to show
thee that I am not one of those, I will make no Apology for this, but
do tell thee that I think it necessary to be prefix’d to this Trifle,
to prevent thy overlooking some little pains which I have taken in the
Composition of the following Story. Romances are generally composed of
the Constant Loves and invincible Courages of Hero’s, Heroins, Kings
and Queens, Mortals of the first Rank, and so forth; where lofty
Language, miraculous Contingencies and impossible Performances, elevate
and surprize the Reader into a giddy Delight, which leaves him flat
upon the Ground whenever he gives of, and vexes him to think how he has
suffer’d himself to be pleased and transported, concern’d and afflicted
at the several Passages which he has Read, viz. these Knights Success
to their Damosels Misfortunes, and such like, when he is forced to be
very well convinced that ’tis all a lye. Novels are of a more familiar
nature; Come near us, and represent to us Intrigues in practice,
delight us with Accidents and odd Events, but not such as are wholly
unusual or unpresidented, such which not being so distant from our
Belief bring also the pleasure nearer us. Romances give more of Wonder,
Novels more Delight. And with reverence be it spoken, and the Parallel
kept at due distance, there is something of equality in the Proportion
which they bear in reference to one another, with that betwen Comedy
and Tragedy; but the Drama is the long extracted from Romance and
History: ’tis the Midwife to Industry, and brings forth alive the
Conceptions of the Brain. Minerva walks upon the Stage before us, and
we are more assured of the real presence of Wit when it is delivered
viva voce—

Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,
Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, & quæ
Ipse sibi tradit spectator.—Horace.


Since all Traditions must indisputably give place to the Drama, and
since there is no possibility of giving that life to the Writing or
Repetition of a Story which it has in the Action, I resolved in another
beauty to imitate Dramatick Writing, namely, in the Design, Contexture
and Result of the Plot. I have not observed it before in a Novel. Some
I have seen begin with an unexpected accident, which has been the only
surprizing part of the Story, cause enough to make the Sequel look
flat, tedious and insipid; for ’tis but reasonable the Reader should
expect it not to rise, at least to keep upon a level in the
entertainment; for so he may be kept on in hopes that at some time or
other it may mend; but the ’tother is such a balk to a Man, ’tis
carrying him up stairs to show him the Dining-Room, and after forcing
him to make a Meal in the Kitchin. This I have not only endeavoured to
avoid, but also have used a method for the contrary purpose. The design
of the Novel is obvious, after the first meeting of Aurelian and
Hippolito with Incognita and Leonora, and the difficulty is in bringing
it to pass, maugre all apparent obstacles, within the compass of two
days. How many probable Casualties intervene in opposition to the main
Design, viz. of marrying two Couple so oddly engaged in an intricate
Amour, I leave the Reader at his leisure to consider: As also whether
every Obstacle does not in the progress of the Story act as subservient
to that purpose, which at first it seems to oppose. In a Comedy this
would be called the Unity of Action; here it may pretend to no more
than an Unity of Contrivance. The Scene is continued in Florence from
the commencement of the Amour; and the time from first to last is but
three days. If there be any thing more in particular resembling the
Copy which I imitate (as the Curious Reader will soon perceive) I leave
it to show it self, being very well satisfy’d how much more proper it
had been for him to have found out this himself, than for me to
prepossess him with an Opinion of something extraordinary in an Essay
began and finished in the idler hours of a fortnight’s time: for I can
only esteem it a laborious idleness, which is Parent to so
inconsiderable a Birth. I have gratified the Bookseller in pretending
an occasion for a Preface; the other two Persons concern’d are the
Reader and my self, and if he be but pleased with what was produced for
that end, my satisfaction follows of course, since it will be
proportion’d to his Approbation or Dislike.



INCOGNITA:
OR,
Love & Duty
RECONCIL’D


Aurelian was the only Son to a Principal Gentleman of Florence. The
Indulgence of his Father prompted, and his Wealth enabled him, to
bestow a generous Education upon him, whom, he now began to look upon
as the Type of himself; an Impression he had made in the Gayety and
Vigour of his Youth, before the Rust of Age had debilitated and
obscur’d the Splendour of the Original: He was sensible, That he ought
not to be sparing in the Adornment of him, if he had Resolution to
beautifie his own Memory. Indeed Don Fabio (for so was the Old
Gentleman call’d) has been observ’d to have fix’d his Eyes upon
Aurelian, when much Company has been at Table, and have wept through
Earnestness of Intention, if nothing hapned to divert the Object;
whether it were for regret, at the Recollection of his former self, or
for the Joy he conceiv’d in being, as it were, reviv’d in the Person of
his Son, I never took upon me to enquire, but suppos’d it might be
sometimes one, and sometimes both together.

Aurelian, at the Age of Eighteen Years, wanted nothing (but a Beard)
that the most accomplished Cavalier in Florence could pretend to: he
had been Educated from Twelve Years old at Siena, where it seems his
Father kept a Receiver, having a large Income from the Rents of several
Houses in that Town. Don Fabio gave his Servant Orders, That Aurelian
should not be stinted in his Expences, when he came up to Years of
Discretion. By which means he was enabled, not only to keep Company
with, but also to confer many Obligations upon Strangers of Quality,
and Gentlemen who travelled from other Countries into Italy, of which
Siena never wanted store, being a Town most delightfully Situate, upon
a Noble Hill, and very well suiting with Strangers at first, by reason
of the agreeableness and purity of the Air: There also is the
quaintness and delicacy of the Italian Tongue most likely to be
learned, there being many publick Professors of it in that place; and
indeed the very Vulgar of Siena do express themselves with an easiness
and sweetness surprizing, and even grateful to their Ears who
understand not the Language.

Here Aurelian contracted an acquaintance with Persons of Worth of
several Countries, but among the rest an intimacy with a Gentleman of
Quality of Spain, and Nephew to the Archbishop of Toledo, who had so
wrought himself into the Affections of Aurelian, through a Conformity
of Temper, an Equality in Years, and something of resemblance in
Feature and Proportion, that he look’d upon him as his second self.
Hippolito, on the other hand, was not ungrateful in return of
Friendship, but thought himself either alone or in ill Company, if
Aurelian were absent: but his Uncle having sent him to travel, under
the Conduct of a Governour, and the two Years which limited his stay at
Siena being expired, he was put in mind of his departure. His Friend
grew melancholy at the News, but considering that Hippolito had never
seen Florence, he easily prevailed with him to make his first journey
thither, whither he would accompany him, and perhaps prevail with his
Father to do the like throughout his Travels.

They accordingly set out, but not being able easily to reach Florence
the same Night, they rested a League or two short, at a Villa of the
great Duke’s called Poggio Imperiale, where they were informed by some
of his Highness’s Servants, That the Nuptials of Donna Catharina (near
Kinswoman to the great Duke) and Don Ferdinand de Rovori, were to be
solemnized the next day, and that extraordinary Preparations had been
making for some time past, to illustrate the Solemnity with Balls and
Masques, and other Divertisements; that a Tilting had been proclaimed,
and to that purpose Scaffolds erected around the Spacious Court, before
the Church Di Santa Croce, where were usually seen all Cavalcades and
Shews, performed by Assemblies of the Young Nobility: That all
Mechanicks and Tradesmen were forbidden to work or expose any Goods to
Sale for the space of three days; during which time all Persons should
be entertain’d at the Great Duke’s Cost; and publick Provision was to
be made for the setting forth and furnishing a multitude of Tables,
with Entertainment for all Comers and Goers, and several Houses
appointed for that use in all Streets.

This Account alarm’d the Spirits of our Young Travellers, and they were
overjoy’d at the prospect of Pleasures they foresaw. Aurelian could not
contain the satisfaction he conceiv’d in the welcome Fortune had
prepar’d for his dear Hippolito. In short, they both remembred so much
of the pleasing Relation had been made them, that they forgot to sleep,
and were up as soon as it was light, pounding at poor Signior Claudio’s
Door (so was Hippolito’s Governour call’d) to rouse him, that no time
might be lost till they were arriv’d at Florence, where they would
furnish themselves with Disguises and other Accoutrements necessary for
the Prosecution of their Design of sharing in the publick Merriment;
the rather were they for going so early because Aurelian did not think
fit to publish his being in Town for a time, least his Father knowing
of it, might give some restraint to that loose they designed
themselves.

Before Sun rise they entred Florence at Porta Romana, attended only by
two Servants, the rest being left behind to avoid notice; but, alas!
they needed not to have used half that caution; for early as it was,
the Streets were crowded with all sorts of People passing to and fro,
and every Man employ’d in something relating to the Diversions to come;
so that no notice was taken of any body; a Marquess and his Train might
have pass’d by as unregarded as a single Fachin or Cobler. Not a Window
in the Streets but echoed the tuning of a Lute or thrumming of a
Gitarr: for, by the way, the Inhabitants of Florence are strangely
addicted to the love of Musick, insomuch that scarce their Children can
go, before they can scratch some Instrument or other. It was no
unpleasing Spectacle to our Cavaliers (who, seeing they were not
observ’d, resolved to make Observations) to behold the Diversity of
Figures and Postures of many of these Musicians. Here you should have
an affected Vallet, who Mimick’d the Behaviour of his Master, leaning
carelessly against the Window, with his Head on one side, in a
languishing Posture, whining, in a low, mournful Voice, some dismal
Complaint; while, from his sympathizing Theorbo, issued a Base no less
doleful to the Hearers. In Opposition to him was set up perhaps a
Cobler, with the wretched Skeleton of a Gitarr, battered and waxed
together by his own Industry, and who with three Strings out of Tune,
and his own tearing hoarse Voice, would rack attention from the
Neighbourhood, to the great affliction of many more moderate
Practitioners, who, no doubt, were full as desirous to be heard. By
this time Aurelian’s Servant had taken a Lodging and was returned, to
give his Master an Account of it. The Cavaliers grown weary of that
ridiculous Entertainment, which was diverting at first sight, retired
whither the Lacquey conducted them; who, according to their Directions,
had sought out one of the most obscure Streets in the City. All that
day, to the evening, was spent in sending from one Brokers Shop to
another, to furnish them with Habits, since they had not time to make
any new.

There was, it happened, but one to be got Rich enough to please our
young Gentlemen, so many were taken up upon this occasion. While they
were in Dispute and Complementing one another, (Aurelian protesting
that Hippolito should wear it, and he, on ’tother hand, forswearing it
as bitterly) a Servant of Hippolito’s came up and ended the
Controversie; telling them, That he had met below with the Vallet de
Chambre of a Gentleman, who was one of the greatest Gallants about the
Town, but was at this time in such a condition he could not possibly be
at the Entertainment; whereupon the Vallet had designed to dress
himself up in his Master’s Apparel, and try his talent at Court; which
he hearing, told him he would inform him how he might bestow the Habit
for some time much more to his profit if not to his pleasure, so
acquainted him with the occasion his Master had for it. Hippolito sent
for the Fellow up, who was not so fond of his design as not to be
bought off it, but upon having his own demand granted for the use of
it, brought it; it was very Rich, and upon tryal, as fit for Hippolito
as if it had been made for him. The Ceremony was performed in the
Morning, in the great Dome, with all magnificence correspondent to the
wealth of the great Duke, and the esteem he had for the Noble Pair. The
next Morning was to be a Tilting, and the same Night a Masquing Ball at
Court. To omit the Description of the universal Joy, (that had diffus’d
it self through all the Conduits of Wine, which convey’d it in large
measures to the People) and only relate those effects of it which
concern our present Adventurers. You must know, that about the fall of
the Evening, and at that time when the _æquilibrium_ of Day and Night,
for some time, holds the Air in a gloomy suspence between an
unwillingness to leave the light, and a natural impulse into the
Dominion of darkness, about this time our Hero’s, shall I say, sally’d
or slunk out of their Lodgings, and steer’d toward the great Palace,
whither, before they were arrived, such a prodigious number of Torches
were on fire, that the day, by help of these Auxiliary Forces, seem’d
to continue its Dominion; the Owls and Bats apprehending their mistake,
in counting the hours, retir’d again to a convenient darkness; for
Madam Night was no more to be seen than she was to be heard; and the
Chymists were of Opinion, That her fuliginous Damps, rarefy’d by the
abundance of Flame, were evaporated.

Now the Reader I suppose to be upon Thorns at this and the like
impertinent Digressions, but let him alone and he’ll come to himself;
at which time I think fit to acquaint him, that when I digress, I am at
that time writing to please my self, when I continue the Thread of the
Story, I write to please him; supposing him a reasonable Man, I
conclude him satisfied to allow me this liberty, and so I proceed.

If our Cavaliers were dazled at the splendour they beheld without
doors, what surprize, think you, must they be in, when entering the
Palace they found even the lights there to be but so many foils to the
bright eyes that flash’d upon ’em at every turn.

A more glorious Troop no occasion ever assembled; all the fair of
Florence, with the most accomplished Cavaliers, were present; and
however Nature had been partial in bestowing on some better Faces than
others, Art was alike indulgent to all, and industriously supplyed
those Defects she had left, giving some Addition also to her greatest
Excellencies. Every body appear’d well shap’d, as it is to be suppos’d,
none who were conscious to themselves of any visible Deformity would
presume to come thither. Their Apparel was equally glorious, though
each differing in fancy. In short, our Strangers were so well bred, as
to conclude from these apparent Perfections, that there was not a
Masque which did not at least hide the Face of a Cherubim. Perhaps the
Ladies were not behind hand in return of a favourable Opinion of them:
for they were both well dress’d, and had something inexpressibly
pleasing in their Air and Mien, different from other People, and indeed
differing from one another. They fansy’d that while they stood together
they were more particularly taken notice of than any in the Room, and
being unwilling to be taken for Strangers, which they thought they
were, by reason of some whispering they observed near them, they agreed
upon an hour of meeting after the company should be broke up, and so
separately mingled with the thickest of the Assembly. Aurelian had
fixed his eye upon a Lady whom he had observ’d to have been a
considerable time in close whisper with another Woman; he expected with
great impatience the result of that private Conference, that he might
have an opportunity of engaging the Lady whose Person was so agreeable
to him. At last he perceived they were broke off, and the ’tother Lady
seem’d to have taken her leave. He had taken no small pains in the mean
time to put himself in a posture to accost the Lady, which, no doubt,
he had happily performed had he not been interrupted; but scarce had he
acquitted himself of a preliminary bow (and which, I have heard him
say, was the lowest that ever he made) and had just opened his Lips to
deliver himself of a small Complement, which, nevertheless he was very
big with, when he unluckily miscarried, by the interposal of the same
Lady, whose departure, not long before, he had so zealously pray’d for:
but, as Providence would have it, there was only some very small matter
forgot, which was recovered in a short whisper. The Coast being again
cleared, he took heart and bore up, and, striking sail, repeated his
Ceremony to the Lady; who, having Obligingly returned it, he accosted
her in these or the like words:

‘If I do not usurp a priviledge reserved for some one more happy in
your acquaintance, may I presume, Madam, to entreat (for a while) the
favour of your Conversation, at least till the arrival of whom you
expect, provided you are not tired of me before; for then upon the
least intimation of uneasiness, I will not fail of doing my self the
violence to withdraw for your release. The Lady made him answer, she
did not expect any body; by which he might imagine her Conversation not
of value to be bespoke, and to afford it him, were but farther to
convince him to her own cost. He reply’d, ‘She had already said enough
to convince him of something he heartily wished might not be to his
cost in the end. She pretended not to understand him; but told him, ‘If
he already found himself grieved with her Conversation, he would have
sufficient reason to repent the rashness of his first Demand before
they had ended: for that now she intended to hold discourse with him,
on purpose to punish his unadvisedness, in presuming upon a Person
whose dress and mien might not (may be) be disagreeable to have wit. ‘I
must confess (reply’d Aurelian) my self guilty of a Presumption, and
willingly submit to the punishment you intend: and though it be an
aggravation of a Crime to persevere in its justification, yet I cannot
help defending an Opinion in which now I am more confirm’d, that
probable conjectures may be made of the ingenious Disposition of the
Mind, from the fancy and choice of Apparel. The humour I grant ye (said
the Lady) or constitution of the Person whether melancholick or brisk;
but I should hardly pass my censure upon so slight an indication of
wit: for there is your brisk fool as well as your brisk man of sense,
and so of the melancholick. I confess ’tis possible a fool may reveal
himself by his Dress, in wearing something extravagantly singular and
ridiculous, or in preposterous suiting of colours; but a decency of
Habit (which is all that Men of best sense pretend to) may be acquired
by custom and example, without putting the Person to a superfluous
expence of wit for the contrivance; and though there should be occasion
for it, few are so unfortunate in their Relations and Acquaintance not
to have some Friend capable of giving them advice, if they are not too
ignorantly conceited to ask it. Aurelian was so pleased with the
easiness and smartness of her Expostulation, that he forgot to make a
reply, when she seem’d to expect it; but being a Woman of a quick
Apprehension, and justly sensible of her own perfections, she soon
perceived he did not grudge his attention. However she had a mind to
put it upon him to turn the discourse, so went on upon the same
Subject. ‘Signior (said she) I have been looking round me, and by your
Maxim I cannot discover one fool in the Company; for they are all well
drest. This was spoken with an Air of Rallery that awakened the
Cavalier, who immediately made answer: ’Tis true, Madam, we see there
may be as much variety of good fancies as of faces, yet there may be
many of both kinds borrowed and adulterate if inquired into; and as you
were pleased to observe, the invention may be Foreign to the Person who
puts it in practice; and as good an Opinion as I have of an agreeable
Dress, I should be loth to answer for the wit of all about us. I
believe you (says the Lady) and hope you are convinced of your error,
since you must allow it impossible to tell who of all this Assembly did
or did not make choice of their own Apparel. Not all (said Aurelian)
there is an ungainness in some which betrays them. ‘Look ye there (says
he) pointing to a Lady who stood playing with the Tassels of her
Girdle, I dare answer for that Lady, though she be very well dress’d,
’tis more than she knows. His fair unknown could not forbear laughing
at his particular distinction, and freely told him, he had indeed light
upon one who knew as little as any body in the Room, her self excepted.
Ah! Madam, (reply’d Aurelian) you know every thing in the World but
your own Perfections, and you only know not those because ’tis the top
of Perfection not to know them. How? (reply’d the Lady) I thought it
had been the extremity of knowledge to know ones self. Aurelian had a
little over-strain’d himself in that Complement, and I am of Opinion
would have been puzzl’d to have brought himself off readily: but by
good fortune the Musick came into the Room and gave him an opportunity
to seem to decline an answer, because the company prepared to dance: he
only told her he was too mean a Conquest for her wit who was already a
Slave to the Charms of her Person. She thanked him for his Complement,
and briskly told him she ought to have made him a return in praise of
his wit, but she hoped he was a Man more happy than to be dissatisfy’d
with any of his own Endowments; and if it were so, that he had not a
just Opinion of himself, she knew her self incapable of saying any
thing to beget one. Aurelian did not know well what to make of this
last reply; for he always abhor’d any thing that was conceited, with
which this seem’d to reproach him. But however modest he had been
heretofore in his own thoughts, yet never was he so distrustful of his
good behaviour as now, being rally’d so by a Person whom he took to be
of judgment: Yet he resolved to take no notice, but with an Air
unconcerned and full of good humour entreated her to Dance with him:
She promised him to Dance with no body else, nor I believe had she
inclination; for notwithstanding her tartness, she was upon equal terms
with him as to the liking of each others Person and Humour, and only
gave those little hints to try his Temper; there being certainly no
greater sign of folly and ill breeding, than to grow serious and
concerned at any thing spoken in rallery: for his part, he was
strangely and insensibly fallen in love with her Shape, Wit and Air;
which, together with a white Hand, he had seen (perhaps not
accidentally) were enough to have subdued a more stubborn Heart than
ever he was master of; and for her Face, which he had not seen, he
bestowed upon her the best his Imagination could furnish him with. I
should by right now describe her Dress, which was extreamly agreeable
and rich, but ’tis possible I might err in some material Pin or other,
in the sticking of which may be the whole grace of the Drapery
depended. Well, they danced several times together, and no less to the
satisfaction of the whole Company, than of themselves; for at the end
of each Dance, some publick note of Applause or other was given to the
graceful Couple.

Aurelian was amaz’d, that among all that danced or stood in view he
could not see Hippolito; but concluding that he had met with some
pleasing Conversation, and was withdrawn to some retired part of the
Room, he forbore his search till the mirth of that Night should be
over, and the Company ready to break up, where we will leave him for a
while, to see what became of his adventurous Friend.

Hippolito, a little after he had parted with Aurelian, was got among a
knot of Ladies and Cavaliers, who were looking upon a large Gold Cup
set with Jewels, in which his Royal Highness had drank to the
prosperity of the new married Couple at Dinner, and which afterward he
presented to his Cousin Donna Catharina. He among the rest was very
intent, admiring the richness, workmanship and beauty of the Cup, when
a Lady came behind him and pulling him by the Elbow, made a sign she
would speak with him; Hippolito, who knew himself an utter Stranger to
Florence and every body in it, immediately guessed she had mistaken him
for her acquaintance, as indeed it happened; however he resolved not to
discover himself till he should be assured of it; having followed her
into a set Window remote from Company, she address’d her self to him in
this manner: ‘Signior Don Lorenzo (said she) I am overjoy’d to see you
are so speedily recovered of your Wounds, which by report were much
more dangerous than to have suffered your coming abroad so soon; but I
must accuse you of great indiscretion, in appearing in a Habit which so
many must needs remember you to have worn upon the like occasion not
long ago, I mean at the Marriage of Don Cynthio with your Sister
Atalanta; I do assure you, you were known by it, both to Juliana and my
self, who was so far concerned for you, as to desire me to tell you,
that her Brother Don Fabritio (who saw you when you came in with
another Gentleman) had eyed you very narrowly, and is since gone out of
the Room, she knows not upon what design; however she would have you,
for your own sake, be advised and circumspect when you depart this
place, lest you should be set upon unawares; you know the hatred Don
Fabritio has born you ever since you had the fortune to kill his
Kinsman in a Duel: Here she paused as if expecting his reply; but
Hippolito was so confounded, that he stood mute, and contemplating the
hazard he had ignorantly brought himself into, forgot his design of
informing the Lady of her mistake. She finding he made her no Answer,
went on. ‘I perceive (continued she) you are in some surprize at what I
have related, and may be, are doubtful of the Truth; but I thought you
had been better acquainted with your Cousin Leonora’s Voice, than to
have forgot it so soon: Yet in Complaisance to your ill Memory, I will
put you past doubt, by shewing you my Face; with that she pulled off
her Mask, and discovered to Hippolito (now more amaz’d than ever) the
most Angelick Face that he had ever beheld. He was just about to have
made her some answer, when, clapping on her Mask again without giving
him time, she happily for him pursu’d her Discourse. (For ’tis odds but
he had made some discovery of himself in the surprize he was in.)
Having taken him familiarly by the Hand, now she had made her self
known to him, ‘Cousin Lorenzo (added she) you may perhaps have taken it
unkindly, that, during the time of your indisposition by reason of your
Wounds, I have not been to visit you; I do assure you it was not for
want of any Inclination I had both to see and serve you to my power;
but you are well acquainted with the Severity of my Father, whom you
know how lately you have disobliged. I am mighty glad that I have met
with you here, where I have had an Opportunity to tell you what so much
concerns your Safety, which I am afraid you will not find in Florence;
considering the great Power Don Fabritio and his Father, the Marquess
of Viterbo, have in this City. I have another thing to inform you of,
That whereas Don Fabio had interested himself in your Cause, in
Opposition to the Marquess of Viterbo, by reason of the long Animosity
between them, all hopes of his Countenance and Assistance are defeated:
For there has been a Proposal of Reconciliation made to both Houses,
and it is said it will be confirm’d (as most such ancient Quarrels are
at last) by the Marriage of Juliana the Marquess’s Daughter, with
Aurelian, Son to Don Fabio: to which effect the old Gentleman sent
’tother Day to Siena, where Aurelian has been Educated, to hasten his
coming to Town; but the Messenger returning this Morning, brought word,
That the same day he arriv’d at Siena, Aurelian had set out for
Florence, in Company with a young Spanish Nobleman, his intimate
Friend; so it is believ’d, they are both in Town, and not unlikely in
this Room in Masquerade.

Hippolito could not forbear smiling to himself, at these last words.
For ever since the naming of Don Fabio he had been very attentive; but
before, his Thoughts were wholly taken up with the Beauty of the Face
he had seen, and from the time she had taken him by the Hand, a
successive warmth and chillness had play’d about his Heart, and
surpriz’d him with an unusual Transport. He was in a hundred Minds,
whether he should make her sensible of her Error or no; but considering
he could expect no farther Conference with her after he should discover
himself, and that as yet he knew not of her place of abode, he resolv’d
to humour the mistake a little further. Having her still by the Hand,
which he squeez’d somewhat more eagerly than is usual for Cousins to
do, in a low and undistinguishable Voice, he let her know how much he
held himself obliged to her, and avoiding as many words as handsomely
he could, at the same time, entreated her to give him her Advice,
toward the management of himself in this Affair. Leonora, who never
from the beginning had entertain’d the least Scruple of distrust,
imagined he spoke faintly, as not being yet perfectly recovered in his
strength; and withal considering that the heat of the Room, by reason
of the Crowd, might be uneasie to a Person in his Condition; she kindly
told him, That if he were as inclinable to dispense with the remainder
of that Nights Diversion as she was, and had no other engagement upon
him, by her consent they should both steal out of the Assembly, and go
to her House, where they might with more freedom discourse about a
business of that importance, and where he might take something to
refresh himself if he were (as she conceiv’d him to be) indisposed with
his long standing. Judge you whether the Proposal were acceptable to
Hippolito or no; he had been ruminating with himself how to bring
something like this about, and had almost despair’d of it; when of a
suddain he found the success of his design had prevented his own
endeavours. He told his Cousin in the same key as before, That he was
unwilling to be the occasion of her Divorce from so much good Company;
but for his own part, he was afraid he had presumed too much upon his
recovery in coming abroad so soon, and that he found himself so unwell,
he feared he should be quickly forc’d to retire. Leonora stay’d not to
make him any other reply, only tipp’d him upon the Arm, and bid him
follow her at a convenient distance to avoid Observation.

Whoever had seen the Joy that was in Hippolito’s Countenance, and the
Sprightliness with which he follow’d his Beautiful Conductress, would
scarce have taken him for a Person griev’d with uncured Wounds. She led
him down a back pair of Stairs, into one of the Palace Gardens which
had a Door opening into the Piazza, not far from where Don Mario her
Father lived. They had little Discourse by the way, which gave
Hippolito time to consider of the best way of discovering himself. A
thousand things came into his Head in a minute, yet nothing that
pleased him: and after so many Contrivances as he had formed for the
discovery of himself, he found it more rational for him not to reveal
himself at all that Night, since he could not foresee what effect the
surprize would have, she must needs be in, at the appearance of a
Stranger, whom she had never seen before, yet whom she had treated so
familiarly. He knew Women were apt to shriek or swoon upon such
Occasions, and should she happen to do either, he might be at a loss
how to bring himself off. He thought he might easily pretend to be
indisposed somewhat more than ordinary, and so make an excuse to go to
his own Lodging. It came into his Head too, that under pretence of
giving her an account of his Health, he might enquire of her the means
how a Letter might be convey’d to her the next morning, wherein he
might inform her gently of her mistake, and insinuate something of that
Passion he had conceiv’d, which he was sure he could not have
opportunity to speak of if he bluntly revealed himself. He had just
resolv’d upon this Method, as they were come to the great Gates of the
Court, when Leonora stopping to let him go in before her, he of a
suddain fetch’d his Breath violently as if some stitch or twinging
smart had just then assaulted him. She enquired the matter of him, and
advised him to make haste into the House that he might sit down and
rest him. He told her he found himself so ill, that he judged it more
convenient for him to go home while he was in a condition to move, for
he fear’d if he should once settle himself to rest he might not be able
to stir. She was much troubled, and would have had a Chair made ready
and Servants to carry him home; but he made answer, he would not have
any of her Fathers Servants know of his being abroad, and that just now
he had an interval of ease, which he hop’d would continue till he made
a shift to reach his own Lodgings. Yet if she pleased to inform him how
he might give an account of himself the next morning, in a line or two,
he would not fail to give her the thanks due to her great kindness; and
withal, would let her know something which would not a little surprize
her, though now he had not time to acquaint her with it. She show’d him
a little Window at the corner of the House, where one should wait to
receive his Letter, and was just taking her leave of him, when seeing
him search hastily in his Pocket, she ask’d him if he miss’d any thing;
he told her he thought a Wound which was not throughly heal’d bled a
little, and that he had lost his Handkerchief. His design took; for she
immediately gave him hers: which indeed accordingly he apply’d to the
only wound he was then griev’d with; which though it went quite through
his Heart, yet thank God was not Mortal. He was not a little rejoyc’d
at his good Fortune in getting so early a Favour from his Mistress, and
notwithstanding the violence he did himself to personate a sick Man, he
could not forbear giving some Symptoms of an extraordinary content; and
telling her that he did not doubt to receive a considerable Proportion
of ease from the Application of what had so often kiss’d her fair Hand.
Leonora who did not suspect the Compliment, told him she should be
heartily glad if that or any thing in her power might contribute to his
recovery; and wishing him well home, went into her House, as much
troubled for her Cousin as he was joyful for his Mistress.

Hippolito as soon as she was gone in, began to make his Remarks about
the House, walking round the great Court, viewing the Gardens and all
the Passages leading to that side of the Piazza. Having sufficiently
informed himself, with a Heart full of Love, and a Head full of
Stratagem, he walked toward his Lodging, impatient till the arrival of
Aurelian that he might give himself vent. In which interim, let me take
the liberty to digress a little, and tell the Reader something which I
do not doubt he has apprehended himself long ago, if he be not the
dullest Reader in the World; yet only for orders sake, let me tell him
I say, That a young Gentleman (Cousin to the aforesaid Don Fabritio)
happened one night to have some words at a Gameing House with one
Lorenzo, which created a Quarrel of fatal Consequence to the former,
who was killed upon the Spot, and likely to be so to the latter, who
was very desperately wounded.

Fabritio being much concerned for his Kinsman, vow’d revenge (according
to the ancient and laudable custom of Italy) upon Lorenzo if he
surviv’d, or in case of his death (if it should happen to anticipate
that, much more swinging Death which he had in store for him) upon his
next of Kin, and so to descend Lineally like an English Estate, to all
the Heirs Males of this Family. This same Fabritio had indeed (as
Leonora told Hippolito) taken particular notice of him from his first
entrance into the Room, and was so far doubtful as to go out
immediately himself, and make enquiry concerning Lorenzo, but was
quickly inform’d of the greatness of his Error, in believing a Man to
be abroad, who was so ill of his Wounds, that they now despair’d of his
recovery; and thereupon return’d to the Ball very well satisfied, but
not before Leonora and Hippolito were departed.

So, Reader, having now discharg’d my Conscience of a small Discovery
which I thought my self obliged to make to Thee, I proceed to tell
thee, that our Friend Aurelian had by this time danced himself into a
Net which he neither could, nor which is worse desired to untangle.

His Soul was charm’d to the movement of her Body: an Air so graceful,
so sweet, so easie and so great, he had never seen. She had something
of Majesty in her, which appear’d to be born with her; and though it
struck an awe into the Beholders, yet was it sweetned with a
familiarity of Behaviour, which rendred it agreeable to every Body. The
grandeur of her Mien was not stiff, but unstudied and unforced, mixed
with a simplicity; free, yet not loose nor affected. If the former
seem’d to condescend, the latter seem’d to aspire; and both to unite in
the centre of Perfection. Every turn she gave in dancing snatcht
Aurelian into a Rapture, and he had like to have been out two or three
times with following his Eyes, which she led about as Slaves to her
Heels.

As soon as they had done dancing, he began to complain of his want of
Breath and Lungs, to speak sufficiently in her Commendation; She
smilingly told him, he did ill to dance so much then: Yet in
Consideration of the pains he had taken more than ordinary upon her
account she would bate him a great deal of Complement, but with this
Proviso, That he was to discover to her who he was. Aurelian was
unwilling for the present to own himself to be really the Man he was;
when a suddain thought came into his Head to take upon him the Name and
Character of Hippolito, who he was sure was not known in Florence. He
thereupon, after a little pause, pretended to recal himself in this
manner: ‘Madam, it is no small demonstration of the entire Resignation
which I have made of my Heart to your Chains, since the secrets of it
are no longer in my power. I confess I only took Florence in my way,
not designing any longer Residence, than should be requisite to inform
the Curiosity of a Traveller, of the rareties of the Place. Whether
Happiness or Misery will be the Consequence of that Curiosity, I am yet
in fear, and submit to your Determination; but sure I am, not to depart
Florence till you have made me the most miserable Man in it, and refuse
me the fatal Kindness of Dying at your Feet. I am by Birth a Spaniard,
of the City of Toledo; my name Hippolito di Saviolina: I was yesterday
a Man free, as Nature made the first; to day I am fallen into a
Captivity, which must continue with my Life, and which, it is in your
power, to make much dearer to me. Thus in obedience to your Commands,
and contrary to my Resolution of remaining unknown in this place, I
have inform’d you, Madam, what I am; what I shall be, I desire to know
from you; at least, I hope, the free discovery I have made of my self,
will encourage you to trust me with the knowledge of your Person.

Here a low bow, and a deep sigh, put an end to his Discourse, and
signified his Expectation of her Reply, which was to this purpose—(But
I had forgot to tell you, That Aurelian kept off his Mask from the time
that he told her he was of Spain, till the period of his Relation.) Had
I thought (said she) that my Curiosity would have brought me in debt, I
should certainly have forborn it; or at least have agreed with you
before hand about the rate of your discovery, then I had not brought my
self to the Inconveniency of being censur’d, either of too much
easiness or reservedness; but to avoid, as much as I can, the
extreamity of either, I am resolv’d but to discover my self in part,
and will endeavour to give you as little occasion as I can, either to
boast of, or ridicule the Behaviour of the Women of Florence in your
Travels.

Aurelian interrupted her, and swore very solemnly (and the more
heartily, I believe, because he then indeed spoke truth) that he would
make Florence the place of his abode, whatever concerns he had
elsewhere. She advised him to be cautious how he swore to his
Expressions of Gallantry; and farther told him she now hoped she should
make him a return to all the Fine Things he had said, since she gave
him his choice whether he would know who she was, or see her Face.

Aurelian who was really in Love, and in whom Consideration would have
been a Crime, greedily embrac’d the latter, since she assured him at
that time he should not know both. Well, what follow’d? Why, she pull’d
off her Mask, and appear’d to him at once in the Glory of Beauty. But
who can tell the astonishment Aurelian felt? He was for a time
senseless; Admiration had suppress’d his Speech, and his Eyes were
entangled in Light. In short, to be made sensible of his condition, we
must conceive some Idea of what he beheld, which is not to be imagined
till seen, nor then to be express’d. Now see the impertinence and
conceitedness of an Author, who will have a fling at a Description,
which he has Prefaced with an impossibility. One might have seen
something in her Composition resembling the Formation of Epicurus his
World, as if every Atome of Beauty had concurr’d to unite an
excellency. Had that curious Painter lived in her days, he might have
avoided his painful search, when he collected from the choicest pieces
the most choice Features, and by a due Disposition and Judicious
Symmetry of those exquisite parts, made one whole and perfect Venus.
Nature seem’d here to have play’d the Plagiary, and to have molded into
Substance the most refined Thoughts of inspired Poets. Her Eyes
diffus’d Rays comfortable as warmth, and piercing as the light; they
would have worked a passage through the straightest Pores, and with a
delicious heat, have play’d about the most obdurate frozen Heart,
untill ’twere melted down to Love. Such Majesty and Affability were in
her Looks; so alluring, yet commanding was her Presence, that it minged
awe with love; kindling a Flame which trembled to aspire. She had
danced much, which, together with her being close masked, gave her a
tincture of Carnation more than ordinary. But Aurelian (from whom I had
every tittle of her Description) fancy’d he saw a little Nest of Cupids
break from the Tresses of her Hair, and every one officiously betake
himself to his task. Some fann’d with their downy Wings, her glowing
Cheeks; while others brush’d the balmy Dew from off her Face, leaving
alone a heavenly Moisture blubbing on her Lips, on which they drank and
revell’d for their pains; Nay, so particular were their allotments in
her service, that Aurelian was very positive a young Cupid who was but
just Pen-feather’d, employ’d his naked Quills to pick her Teeth. And a
thousand other things his transport represented to him, which none but
Lovers who have experience of such Visions will believe.

As soon as he awaked and found his Speech come to him, he employ’d it
to this effect:

‘’Tis enough that I have seen a Divinity—Nothing but Mercy can inhabit
these Perfections—Their utmost rigour brings a Death preferable to any
Life, but what they give—Use me, Madam, as you please; for by your fair
self, I cannot think a Bliss beyond what now I feel—You wound with
Pleasure, and if you Kill it must be with Transport—Ah! Yet methinks to
live—O Heaven! to have Life pronounced by those Bless’d Lips—Did they
not inspire where they command, it were an immediate Death of Joy.

Aurelian was growing a little too loud with his Admiration, had she not
just then interrupted him, by clapping on her Masque, and telling him
they should be observed, if he proceeded in his Extravagance; and
withal, that his Passion was too suddain to be real, and too violent to
be lasting. He replied, Indeed it might not be very lasting, (with a
submissive mournful Voice) but it would continue during his Life. That
it was suddain, he denied, for she had raised it by degrees from his
first sight of her, by a continued discovery of Charms, in her Mien and
Conversation, till she thought fit to set Fire to the Train she had
laid, by the Lightning of her Face; and then he could not help it, if
he were blown up.

He begg’d her to believe the Sincerity of his Passion, at least to
enjoin him something, which might tend to the Convincing of her
Incredulity. She said, she should find a time to make some Trials of
him; but for the first, she charged him not to follow or observe her,
after the Dissolution of the Assembly. He promised to obey, and
entreated her to tell him but her Name, that he might have Recourse to
that in his Affliction for her Absence, if he were able to survive it.
She desired him to live by all means; and if he must have a Name to
play with, to call her Incognita, till he were better informed.

The Company breaking up, she took her leave, and at his earnest
Entreaty, gave him a short Vision of her Face which, then dress’d in an
obliging smile, caused another fit of Transport, which lasted till she
was gone out of Sight. Aurelian gathered up his Spirits, and walked
slowly towards his Lodging, never remembring that he had lost
Hippolito, till upon turning the Corner of a Street, he heard a noise
of Fighting; and coming near, saw a Man make a vigorous Defence against
two, who pressed violently upon him. He then thought of Hippolito, and
fancying he saw the glimmering of Diamond Buttons, such as Hippolito
had upon the Sleeves of his Habit, immediately drew to his Assistance;
and with that Eagerness and Resolution, that the Assailants, finding
their unmanly odds defeated, took to their Heels. The Person rescued by
the Generous Help of Aurelian, came toward him; but as he would have
stoop’d to have saluted him, dropp’d, fainting at his feet. Aurelian,
now he was so near him, perceiv’d plainly Hippolito’s Habit, and step’d
hastily to take him up. Just as some of the Guards (who were going the
Rounds, apprehensive of such Disorders in an Universal Merriment) came
up to him with Lights, and had taken Prisoners the Two Men, whom they
met with their Sword’s drawn; when looking in the Face of the Wounded
Man, he found it was not Hippolito, but his Governour Claudio, in the
Habit he had worn at the Ball. He was extreamly surpriz’d, as were the
Prisoners, who confess’d their Design to have been upon Lorenzo;
grounding their Mistake upon the Habit which was known to have been
his. They were Two Men who formerly had been Servants to him, whom
Lorenzo had unfortunately slain.

They made a shift to bring Claudio to himself; and part of the Guard
carrying off the Prisoners, whom Aurelian desired they would secure,
the rest accompanied him bearing Claudio in their Arms to his Lodging.
He had not patience to forbear asking for Hippolito by the Way; whom
Claudio assured him, he had left safe in his Chamber, above Two Hours
since. That his coming Home so long before the Divertisements were
ended, and Undressing himself, had given him the Unhappy Curiosity, to
put on his Habit, and go to the Pallace; in his Return from whence, he
was set upon in the Manner he found him, which if he recovered, he must
own his Life indebted to his timely Assistance.

Being come to the House, they carried him to his Bed, and having sent
for Surgeons Aurelian rewarded and dismissed the Guard. He stay’d the
dressing of Claudio’s Wounds, which were many, though they hop’d none
Mortal: and leaving him to his Rest, went to give Hippolito an Account
of what had happened, whom he found with a Table before him, leaning
upon both his Elbows, his Face covered with his Hands, and so
motionless, that Aurelian concluded he was asleep; seeing several
Papers lie before him, half written and blotted out again, he thought
to steal softly to the Table, and discover what he had been employed
about. Just as he reach’d forth his Hand to take up one of the Papers,
Hippolito started up so on the suddain, as surpriz’d Aurelian and made
him leap back; Hippolito, on the other hand, not supposing that any
Body had been near him, was so disordered with the Appearance of a Man
at his Elbow, (whom his Amazement did not permit him to distinguish)
that he leap’d hastily to his Sword, and in turning him about,
overthrew the Stand and Candles. Here were they both left in the Dark,
Hippolito groping about with his Sword, and thrusting at every Chair
that he felt oppose him. Aurelian was scarce come to himself, when
thinking to step back toward the Door that he might inform his Friend
of his Mistake, without exposing himself to his blind Fury; Hippolito
heard him stir, and made a full thrust with such Violence, that the
Hilt of the Sword meeting with Aurelian’s Breast beat him down, and
Hippolito a top of him, as a Servant alarm’d with the noise, came into
the Chamber with a Light. The Fellow trembled, and thought they were
both Dead, till Hippolito raising himself, to see whom he had got under
him, swoon’d away upon the discovery of his Friend. But such was the
extraordinary Care of Providence in directing the Sword, that it only
past under his Arm, giving no Wound to Aurelian, but a little Bruise
between his Shoulder and Breast with the Hilt. He got up, scarce
recovered of his Fright, and by the help of the Servant; laid Hippolito
upon the Bed; who when he was come to himself could hardly be
perswaded, that his Friend was before him and alive, till he shew’d him
his Breast, where was nothing of a Wound. Hippolito begg’d his Pardon a
Thousand Times, and curs’d himself as often, who was so near to
committing the most Execrable Act of Amicide.

They dismiss’d the Fellow, and with many Embraces, congratulated their
fortunate Delivery from the Mischief which came so near them, each
blaming himself as the Occasion: Aurelian accusing his own
unadvisedness in stealing upon Hippolito; Hippolito blaming his own
temerity and weakness, in being so easily frighted to Disorder; and
last of all, his blindness, in not knowing his dearest Friend. But
there he gave a Sigh, and passionately taking Aurelian by the Hand,
cry’d, Ah! my Friend, Love is indeed blind, when it would not suffer me
to see you—There arose another Sigh; a Sympathy seiz’d Aurelian
immediately: (For, by the Way, sighing is as catching among Lovers, as
yawning among the Vulgar.) Beside hearing the Name of Love, made him
fetch such a Sigh, that Hippolito’s were but Fly-blows in Comparison,
that was answered with all the Might Hippolito had, Aurelian ply’d him
close till they were both out of Breath.

Thus not a Word pass’d, though each wondred why the t’other sigh’d, at
last concluded it to be only Complaisance to one another.

Aurelian broke the Silence, by telling him the Misfortune of his
Governour. Hippolito rejoic’d as at the luckiest Accident which could
have befall’n him. Aurelian wondred at his unseasonable Mirth, and
demanded the Cause of it; he answer’d, It would necessitate his longer
Stay in Florence, and for ought he knew be the Means of bringing a
happy Period to his Amour.

His Friend thought him to be little better than a Madman, when he
perceiv’d him of a suddain snatch out of his Bosom a Handkerchief,
which having kiss’d with a great deal of Ardour, he took Aurelian by
the Hand, and smiling at the Surprize he saw him in;

‘Your Florentine Cupid is certainly (said he) ‘the most Expert in the
World. I have since I saw you beheld the most Beautiful of Women. I am
faln desperately in Love with her, and those Papers which you see so
blotted and scattered, are but so many Essays which I have made to the
Declaration of my Passion. And this Handkerchief which I so zealously
Caress, is the Inestimable Token which I have to make my self known to
her. ‘O Leonora! (continued he) ‘how hast thou stamp’d thine Image on
my Soul! How much dearer am I to my self, since I have had thy Heavenly
Form in keeping! Now, my Aurelian, I am worthy thee; my exalted Love
has Dignified me, and rais’d me far above thy poor former Despicable
Hippolito.

Aurelian seeing the Rapture he was in, thought it in vain to expect a
settled Relation of the Adventure, so was reaching to the Table for
some of the Papers, but Hippolito told him, If he would have a little
patience he would acquaint him with the whole Matter; and thereupon
told him Word for Word how he was mistaken for Lorenzo, and his
Management of himself. Aurelian commended his Prudence, in not
discovering himself; and told him, If he could spare so much time from
the Contemplation of his Mistress, he would inform him of an Adventure,
though not so Accidental, yet of as great Concern to his own future
Happiness. So related all that had happened to him with his Beautiful
Incognita.

Having ended the Story, they began to consider of the Means they were
to use toward a Review of their Mistresses. Aurelian was Confounded at
the Difficulty he conceived on his Part. He understood from Hippolito’s
Adventure, that his Father knew of his being in Town, whom he must
unavoidably Disoblige if he yet concealed himself, and Disobey if he
came into his Sight; for he had already entertain’d an Aversion for
Juliana, in apprehension of her being Imposed on him. His Incognita was
rooted in his Heart, yet could he not Comfort himself with any Hopes
when he should see her: He knew not where she lived, and she had made
him no Promise of a second Conference. Then did he repent his
inconsiderate Choice, in preferring the momentary Vision of her Face,
to a certain Intelligence of her Person. Every thought that succeeded
distracted him, and all the Hopes he could presume upon, were within
compass of the Two Days Merriment yet to come; for which Space he hop’d
he might excuse his remaining conceal’d to his Father.

Hippolito on the other side (though Aurelian thought him in a much
better Way) was no less afflicted for himself. The Difficulties which
he saw in his Friend’s Circumstances, put him upon finding out a great
many more in his own, than really there were. But what terrified him
most of all, was his being an utter Stranger to Leonora; she had not
the least knowledge of him but through mistake, and consequently could
form no Idea of him to his Advantage. He look’d upon it as an unlucky
thought in Aurelian to take upon him his Name, since possibly the Two
Ladies were acquainted, and should they communicate to each other their
Adventures; they might both reasonably suffer in their Opinions, and be
thought guilty of Falshood, since it would appear to them as One Person
pretending to Two. Aurelian told him, there was but one Remedy for
that, which was for Hippolito, in the same Manner that he had done, to
make use of his Name, when he writ to Leonora, and use what arguments
he could to perswade her to Secrecy, least his Father should know of
the Reason which kept him concealed in Town. And it was likely, though
perhaps she might not immediately entertain his Passion; yet she would
out of Generosity conceal, what was hidden only for her sake.

Well this was concluded on, after a great many other Reasons used on
either Side, in favour of the Contrivance; they at last argued
themselves into a Belief, that Fortune had befriended them with a
better Plot, than their regular Thinking could have contriv’d. So soon
had they convinc’d themselves, in what they were willing to believe.

Aurelian laid himself down to rest, that is, upon the Bed; for he was a
better Lover than to pretend to sleep that Night, while Hippolito set
himself again to frame his Letter design’d for Leonora. He writ
several, at last pitched upon one, and very probably the worst, as you
may guess when you read it in its proper Place.

It was break of Day when the Servant, who had been employed all the
foregoing Day in procuring Accoutrements for the Two Cavaliers, to
appear in at the Tilting, came into the Room, and told them all the
Young Gentlemen in the Town were trying their Equipage, and preparing
to be early in the Lists. They made themselves ready with all
Expedition at the Alarm: and Hippolito having made a Visit to his
Governour, dispatch’d a Messenger with the Letter and Directions to
Leonora. At the Signal agreed upon the Casement was opened and a String
let down, to which the Bearer having fastned the Letter, saw it drawn
up, and returned. It were a vain attempt to describe Leonora’s
Surprize, when she read the Superscription.—The Unfortunate Aurelian,
to the Beautiful Leonora—After she was a little recovered from her
Amaze, she recollected to her self all the Passages between her and her
supposed Cousin, and immediately concluded him to be Aurelian. Then
several little Circumstances which she thought might have been
sufficient to have convinced her, represented themselves to her; and
she was in a strange Uneasiness to think of her free Carriage to a
Stranger.

She was once in a Mind to have burn’d the Letter, or to have stay’d for
an Opportunity to send it again. But she was a Woman, and her Curiosity
opposed it self to all thoughts of that Nature: at length with a firm
Resolution, she opened it, and found Word for Word, what is
underwritten.

The Letter.

MADAM,


If your fair Eyes, upon the breaking up of this, meet with somewhat too
quick a Surprize, make thence, I beseech you, some reflection upon the
Condition I must needs have been in, at the suddain Appearance of that
Sun of Beauty, which at once shone so full upon my soul. I could not
immediately disengage my self from that Maze of Charms, to let you know
how unworthy a Captive your Eyes had made through mistake. Sure, Madam,
you cannot but remember my Disorder, of which your Innocent (Innocent,
though perhaps to me Fatal) Error made a Charitable (but wide)
Construction. Your Tongue pursued the Victory of your Eyes, and you did
not give me time to rally my poor Disordered Senses, so as to make a
tolerable Retreat. Pardon, Madam, the Continuation of the Deceipt, and
call it not so, that I appear’d to be other than my self; for Heaven
knows I was not then my self, nor am I now my own. You told me
something that concern’d me nearly, as to a Marriage my Father design’d
me, and much more nearly in being told by you. For Heaven’s sake,
disclose not to any Body your Knowledge of me, that I may not be forced
to an immediate Act of Disobedience; for if my future Services and
inviolate Love, cannot recommend me to your Favour, I shall find more
comfort in the cold Embraces of a Grave, than in the Arms of the never
so much admired (but by me dreaded) Juliana. Think, Madam, of those
severe Circumstances I lie under; and withal I beg you, think it is in
your Power, and only in your Power, to make them happy as my Wishes, or
much more miserable than I am able to imagine. That dear, inestimable
(though undesign’d) Favour which I receiv’d from you, shall this Day
distinguish me from the Crowd of your Admirers; that which I really
applied to my inward bleeding Wound, the welcom Wound which you have
made, and which, unless from you, does wish no Cure; then pardon and
have pity on, O Adored Leonora, him, who is your’s by Creation as he is
Heaven’s, though never so unworthy. Have pity on


Your
Aurelian.


She read the Letter over and over, then flung it by, then read it
again; the Novelty of the Adventure made her repeat her Curiosity, and
take more than ordinary Pains to understand it. At last her Familiarity
with the Expressions grew to an Intimacy, and what she at first
permitted she now began to like. She thought there was something in it
a little more serious, than to be barely Gallantry. She wondred at her
own Blindness, and fancy’d she could remember something of a more
becoming Air in the Stranger than was usual to Lorenzo. This thought
was parent to another of the same kind, till a long Chain successively
had Birth, and every one somewhat more than other, in Favour of the
supposed Aurelian. She reflected upon his Discretion, in deferring the
Discovery of himself, till a little time had, as it were, weaned her
from her perswasion, and by removing her farther from her Mistake, had
prepared her for a full and determinate Convincement. She thought his
Behaviour, in personating a Sick Man so readily, upon the first hint
was not amiss, and smil’d to think of his Excuse to procure her
Handkerchief; and last of all, his sifting out the Means to write to
her, which he had done with that Modesty and Respect, she could not
tell how to find fault with it.

She had proceeded thus far in a maze of Thought, when she started to
find her self so lost to her Reason, and would have trod back again
that path of deluding Fancy; accusing her self of Fondness, and
inconsiderate Easiness, in giving Credit to the Letter of a Person
whose Face she never saw, and whose first Acquaintance with her was a
Treachery, and he who could so readily deliver his Tongue of a Lye upon
a Surprize, was scarce to be trusted when he had sufficient Time
allow’d him to beget a Fiction, and Means to perfect the Birth.

How did she know this to be Aurelian, if he were? Nay farther, put it
to the Extremity, What if she should upon farther Conversation with him
proceed to Love him? What Hopes were there for her? Or how could she
consent to Marry a Man already Destined for another Woman? nay, a Woman
that was her Friend, whose Marrying with him was to compleat the happy
Reconciliation of Two Noble Families, and which might prevent the
Effusion of much Blood likely to be shed in that Quarrel: Besides, she
should incurr share of the Guilt, which he would draw upon him by
Disobedience to his Father, whom she was sure would not be consenting
to it.

’Tis strange now, but all Accounts agree, that just here Leonora, who
had run like a violent Stream against Aurelian hitherto, now retorted
with as much precipitation in his Favour. I could never get any Body to
give me a satisfactory reason, for her suddain and dextrous Change of
Opinion just at that stop, which made me conclude she could not help
it; and that Nature boil’d over in her at that time when it had so fair
an Opportunity to show it self: For Leonora it seems was a Woman
Beautiful, and otherwise of an excellent Disposition; but in the Bottom
a very Woman. This last Objection, this Opportunity of perswading Man
to Disobedience, determined the Matter in Favour of Aurelian, more than
all his Excellencies and Qualifications, take him as Aurelian, or
Hippolito, or both together.

Well, the Spirit of Contradiction and of Eve was strong in her; and she
was in a fair Way to Love Aurelian, for she lik’d him already; that it
was Aurelian she no longer doubted, for had it been a Villain, who had
only taken his Name upon him for any ill Designs, he would never have
slip’d so favourable an Opportunity as when they were alone and in the
Night coming through the Garden and broad Space before the Piazza. In
short, thus much she resolv’d, at least to conceal the Knowledge she
had of him, as he had entreated her in his Letter, and to make
particular Remarks of his Behaviour that Day in the Lists, which should
it happen to Charm her with an absolute liking of his Person, she
resolv’d to dress her self to the best Advantage, and mustering up all
her Graces, out of pure Revenge to kill him down right.

I would not have the Reader now be impertinent, and look upon this to
be force, or a whim of the Author’s, that a Woman should proceed so far
in her Approbation of a Man whom she never saw, that it is impossible,
therefore ridiculous to suppose it. Let me tell such a Critick, that he
knows nothing of the Sex, if he does not know that Woman may be taken
with the Character and Description of a Man, when general and
extraordinary, that she may be prepossess’d with an agreeable Idea of
his Person and Conversation; and though she cannot imagine his real
Features, or manner of Wit, yet she has a general Notion of what is
call’d a fine Gentleman, and is prepar’d to like such a one who does
not disagree with that Character. Aurelian, as he bore a very fair
Character, so was he extreamly deserving to make it good, which
otherways might have been to his prejudice; for oftentimes, through an
imprudent Indulgence to our Friends merit, we give so large a
Description of his excellencies, that People make more room in their
Expectation, than the Intrinsick worth of the Man will fill, which
renders him so much the more despicable as there is emptyness to spare.
’Tis certain, though the Women seldom find that out; for though they do
not see so much in a Man as was promised, yet they will be so kind to
imagine he has some hidden excellencies; which time may discover to
them, so are content to allow, him a considerable share of their
esteem, and take him into Favour upon Tick. Aurelian as he had good
Credit, so he had a good Stock to support it, and his Person was a good
promising Security for the payment of any Obligation he could lie under
to the Fair Sex. Hippolito, who at this time was our Aurelian, did not
at all lessen him in appearing for him: So that although Leonora was
indeed mistaken, she could not be said to be much in the wrong. I could
find in my Heart to beg the Reader’s pardon for this Digression, if I
thought he would be sensible of the Civility; for I promise him, I do
not intend to do it again throughout the Story, though I make never so
many, and though he take them never so ill. But because I began this
upon a bare Supposition of his Impertinence, which might be somewhat
impertinent in me to suppose, I do, and hope to make him amends by
telling him, that by the time Leonora was dress’d, several Ladies of
her acquaintance came to accompany her to the place designed for the
Tilting, where we will leave them drinking Chocholate till ’tis time
for them to go.

Our Cavaliers had by good Fortune provided themselves of two curious
Suits of light Armour, finely enammelled and gilt. Hippolito had sent
to Poggio Imperiale for a couple of fine led Horses which he had left
there with the rest of his Train at his entrance into Florence. Mounted
on these and every way well Equipt, they took their way, attended only
by two Lacqueys, toward the Church di Santa Croce, before which they
were to perform their Exercises of Chivalry. Hippolito wore upon his
Helm a large Plume of Crimson Feathers, in the midst of which was
artificially placed Leonora’s Handkerchief. His Armour was gilt, and
enammell’d with Green and Crimson. Aurelian was not so happy as to wear
any token to recommend him to the notice of his Mistress, so had only a
Plume of Sky-colour and White Feathers, suitable to his Armour, which
was Silver enammelled with Azure. I shall not describe the Habits of
any other Cavaliers, or of the Ladies; let it suffice to tell the
Reader they were all very Fine and very Glorious, and let him dress
them in what is most agreeable to his own Fancy.

Our Gallants entred the Lists, and having made their Obeysance to his
Highness, turned round to salute and view the Company. The Scaffold was
circular, so that there was no end of the Delightful Prospect. It
seem’d a Glory of Beauty which shone around the admiring Beholders. Our
Lovers soon perceived the Stars which were to Rule their Destiny, which
sparkled a lustre beyond all the inferiour Constellations, and seem’d
like two Suns to distribute Light to all the Planets in that Heavenly
Sphere. Leonora knew her Slave by his Badge and blushed till the Lilies
and Roses in her cheeks had resemblance to the Plume of Crimson and
White Handkerchief in Hippolito’s Crest. He made her a low bow, and
reined his Horse back with an extraordinary Grace, into a respectful
retreat. Aurelian saw his Angel, his beautiful Incognita, and had no
other way to make himself known to her, but by saluting and bowing to
her after the Spanish mode; she guess’d him by it to be her new Servant
Hippolito, and signified her apprehension, by making him a more
particular and obliging return, than to any of the Cavaliers who had
saluted her before.

The Exercise that was to be perform’d was in general a running at the
Ring; and afterwards two Cavaliers undertook to defend the Beauty of
Donna Catharina, against all who would not allow her preheminence of
their Mistresses. This thing was only designed for show and form, none
presuming that any body would put so great an affront upon the Bride
and Duke’s Kinswoman, as to dispute her pretentions to the first place
in the Court of Venus. But here our Cavaliers were under a mistake; for
seeing a large Shield carry’d before two Knights, with a Lady painted
upon it; not knowing who, but reading the Inscription which was (in
large Gold Letters) Above the Insolence of Competition. They thought
themselves obliged, especially in the presence of their Mistresses, to
vindicate their Beauty; and were just spurring on to engage the
Champions, when a Gentleman stopping them, told them their mistake,
that it was the Picture of Donna Catharina, and a particular Honour
done to her by his Highness’s Commands, and not to be disputed. Upon
this they would have returned to their Post, much concerned for their
mistake; but notice being taken by Don Ferdinand of some Show of
Opposition that was made, he would have begged leave of the Duke, to
have maintained his Lady’s Honour against the Insolence of those
Cavaliers; but the Duke would by no means permit it. They were arguing
about it when one of them came up, before whom the Shield was born, and
demanded his Highness’s Permission, to inform those Gentlemen better of
their mistake, by giving them the Foyl. By the Intercession of Don
Ferdinand, leave was given them; whereupon a Civil Challenge was sent
to the two Strangers, informing them of their Error, and withal telling
them they must either maintain it by force of Arms, or make a publick
acknowledgment by riding bare headed before the Picture once round the
Lists. The Stranger-Cavaliers remonstrated to the Duke how sensible
they were of their Error, and though they would not justifie it, yet
they could not decline the Combate, being pressed to it beyond an
honourable refusal. To the Bride they sent a Complement, wherein,
having first begg’d her pardon for not knowing her Picture, they gave
her to understand, that now they were not about to dispute her
undoubted right to the Crown of Beauty, but the honour of being her
Champions was the Prize they fought for, which they thought themselves
as able to maintain as any other Pretenders. Wherefore they pray’d her,
that if fortune so far befriended their endeavours as to make them
Victors, that they might receive no other Reward, but to be crown’d
with the Titles of their Adversaries, and be ever after esteem’d as her
most humble Servants. The excuse was so handsomely designed, and much
better express’d than it is here, that it took effect. The Duke, Don
Ferdinand and his Lady were so well satisfied with it as to grant their
Request.

While the running at the Ring lasted, our Cavaliers alternately bore
away great share of the Honour. That Sport ended, Marshals were
appointed for the Field, and every thing in great form settled for the
Combat. The Cavaliers were all in good earnest, but orders were given
to bring ’em blunted Lances, and to forbid the drawing of a Sword upon
pain of his Highness’s Displeasure. The Trumpets sounded and they began
their Course: The Ladies’ Hearts, particularly the Incognita and
Leonora’s beat time to the Horses Hoofs, and hope and fear made a mock
Fight within their tender Breasts, each wishing and doubting success
where she lik’d: But as the generality of their Prayers were for the
graceful Strangers, they accordingly succeeded. Aurelian’s Adversary
was unhorsed in the first Encounter, and Hippolito’s lost both Stirrups
and dropt his Lance to save himself. The Honour of the Field was
immediately granted to them, and Don Catharina sent them both Favours,
which she pray’d them to wear as her Knights. The Crowd breaking up,
our Cavaliers made a shift to steal off unmarked, save by the watchful
Leonora and Incognita, whose Eyes were never off from their respective
Servants. There was enquiry made for them, but to no purpose; for they
to prevent their being discovered had prepared another House, distant
from their Lodging, where a Servant attended to disarm them, and
another carried back their Horses to the Villa, while they walked
unsuspected to their Lodging; but Incognita had given command to a Page
to dog ’em till the Evening, at a distance, and bring her word where
they were latest housed.

While several Conjectures pass’d among the Company, who were all gone
to Dinner at the Palace, who those Cavaliers should be, Don Fabio
thought himself the only Man able to guess; for he knew for certain
that his Son and Hippolito were both in Town, and was well enough
pleased with his humour of remaining Incognito till the Diversions
should be over, believing then that the surprize of his Discovery would
add much to the Gallantry he had shown in Masquerade; but hearing the
extraordinary liking that every body express’d, and in a particular
manner, the great Duke himself, to the Persons and Behaviour of the
unknown Cavaliers, the Old Gentleman could not forbear the Vanity to
tell his Highness, that he believed he had an interest in one of the
Gentlemen, whom he was pleased to honour with so favourable a
Character; and told him what reason he had to believe the one to be his
Son, and the other a Spanish Nobleman, his Friend.

This discovery having thus got vent, was diffused like Air; every body
suck’d it in, and let it out again with their Breath to the next they
met withal; and in half an hours time it was talked of in the House
where our Adventurers were lodged. Aurelian was stark mad at the News,
and knew what search would be immediately made for him. Hippolito, had
he not been desperately in Love, would certainly have taken Horse and
rid out of Town just then, for he could make no longer doubt of being
discovered, and he was afraid of the just Exceptions Leonora might make
to a Person who had now deceived her twice. Well, we will leave them
both fretting and contriving to no purpose, to look about and see what
was done at the Palace, where their doom was determined much quicker
than they imagined.

Dinner ended, the Duke retired with some chosen Friends to a Glass of
Wine; among whom were the Marquess of Viterbo and Don Fabio. His
Highness was no Stranger to the long Fewd that had been between the two
Families, and also understood what Overtures of Reconciliation had been
lately made, with the Proposals of Marriage between Aurelian and the
Marquess’s Daughter. Having waited till the Wine had taken the effect
proposed, and the Company were raised to an uncommon pitch of
Chearfulness, which he also encouraged by an Example of Freedom and
Good Humour, he took an opportunity of rallying the two grave Signiors
into an Accommodation: That was seconded with the praises of the young
Couple, and the whole Company joined in a large Encomium upon the
Graces of Aurelian and the Beauties of Juliana. The old Fellows were
tickled with Delight to hear their Darlings so admired, which the Duke
perceiving, out of a Principle of Generosity and Friendship, urged the
present Consummation of the Marriage; telling them there was yet one
day of publick Rejoycing to come, and how glad he should be to have it
improved by so acceptable an Alliance; and what an honour it would be
to have his Cousin’s Marriage attended by the Conjunction of so
extraordinary a Pair, the performance of which Ceremony would crown the
Joy that was then in Agitation, and make the last day vie for equal
Glory and Happiness with the first. In short, by the Complaisant and
Perswasive Authority of the Duke, the Dons were wrought into a
Compliance, and accordingly embraced and shook Hands upon the Matter.
This News was dispersed like the former, and Don Fabio gave orders for
the enquiring out his Son’s Lodging, that the Marquess and he might
make him a Visit, as soon as he had acquainted Juliana with his
purpose, that she might prepare her self. He found her very chearful
with Donna Catharina and several other Ladies; whereupon the old
Gentleman, pretty well warmed with the Duke’s Goodfellowship, told her
aloud he was come to crown their Mirth with another Wedding; that his
Highness had been pleased to provide a Husband for his Daughter, and he
would have her provide her self to receive him to-morrow. All the
Company at first, as well as Juliana her self, thought he had rally’d,
till the Duke coming in confirmed the serious part of his Discourse.
Juliana was confounded at the haste that was imposed on her, and
desired a little time to consider what she was about. But the Marquess
told her, she should have all the rest of her Life to consider in; that
Aurelian should come and consider with her in the Morning, if she
pleased; but in the mean time, he advised her to go home and call her
Maids to Counsel.

Juliana took her leave of the Company very gravely, as if not much
delighted with her Father’s Rallery. Leonora happened to be by, and
heard all that passed; she was ready to swoon, and found her self
seized with a more violent Passion than ever for Aurelian: Now upon her
apprehensions of losing him, her active fancy had brought him before
her with all the advantages imaginable, and though she had before found
great tenderness in her Inclination toward him, yet was she somewhat
surprized to find she really lov’d him. She was so uneasie at what she
had heard, that she thought it convenient to steal out of the presence
and retire to her Closet, to bemoan her unhappy helpless Condition.

Our Two Cavalier-Lovers had rack’d their Invention till it was quite
disabled, and could not make discovery of one Contrivance more for
their Relief. Both sat silent, each depending upon his Friend, and
still expecting when t’other should speak. Night came upon them while
they sate thus thoughtless, or rather drowned in Thought; but a Servant
bringing Lights into the Room awakened them: And Hippolito’s Speech,
usher’d by a profound Sigh, broke Silence.

‘Well! (said he) what must we do, Aurelian? We must suffer, replied
Aurelian faintly. When immediately raising his Voice, he cry’d out, ‘Oh
ye unequal Powers, why do ye urge us to desire what ye doom us to
forbear; give us a Will to chuse, then curb us with a Duty to restrain
that Choice! Cruel Father, Will nothing else suffice! Am I to be the
Sacrifice to expiate your Offences past; past ere I was born? Were I to
lose my Life, I’d gladly Seal your Reconcilement with my Blood. ‘But Oh
my Soul is free, you have no Title to my Immortal Being, that has
Existence independent of your Power; and must I lose my Love, the
Extract of that Being, the Joy, Light, Life, and Darling of my Soul?
No, I’ll own my Flame, and plead my Title too.—But hold, wretched
Aurelian, hold, whither does thy Passion hurry thee? Alas! the cruel
fair Incognita Loves thee not! She knows not of thy Love! If she did,
what Merit hast thou to pretend?—Only Love.—Excess of Love. And all the
World has that. All that have seen her. Yet I had only seen her once,
and in that once I lov’d above the World; nay, lov’d beyond my self,
such vigorous Flame, so strong, so quick she darted at my Breast; it
must rebound, and by Reflection, warm her self. Ah! welcome Thought,
lovely deluding Fancy, hang still upon my Soul, let me but think, that
once she Loves and perish my Despair.

Here a suddain stop gave a Period also to Hippolito’s Expectation, and
he hoped now that his Friend had given his Passion so free a vent, he
might recollect and bethink himself of what was convenient to be done;
but Aurelia, as if he had mustered up all his Spirits purely to acquit
himself of that passionate Harangue, stood mute and insensible like an
Alarum Clock, that had spent all its force in one violent Emotion.
Hippolito shook him by the Arm to rouze him from his Lethargy, when his
Lacquey coming into the Room, out of Breath, told him there was a Coach
just stopp’d at the Door, but he did not take time to who came in it.
Aurelian concluded immediately it was his Father in quest of him; and
without saying any more to Hippolito, than that he was Ruined if
discovered, took his Sword and slipp’d down a back pair of Stairs into
the Garden, from whence he conveyed himself into the Street. Hippolito
had not bethought himself what to do, before he perceiv’d a Lady come
into the Chamber close veil’d, and make toward him. At the first
Appearance of a Woman, his Imagination flattered him with a Thought of
Leonora; but that was quickly over upon nearer Approach to the Lady,
who had much the Advantage in Stature of his Mistress. He very civilly
accosted her, and asked if he were the Person to whom the Honour of
that Visit was intended. She said, her Business was with Don Hippolito
di Saviolina, to whom she had Matter of Concern to import, and which
required haste. He had like to have told her, That he was the Man, but
by good Chance reflecting upon his Friend’s Adventure, who had taken
his name, he made Answer, that he believed Don Hippolito not far off,
and if she had a Moments Patience he would enquire for him.

He went out, leaving the Lady in the Room, and made search all round
the House and Garden for Aurelian, but to no purpose. The Lady
impatient of his long stay took a Pen and Ink and some Paper which she
found upon the Table, and had just made an End of her Letter, when
hearing a Noise of more than one coming up Stairs, she concluded his
Friend had found him, and that her Letter would be to no purpose, so
tore it in pieces, which she repented; when turning about, she found
her Mistake, and beheld Don Fabio and the Marquess of Viterbo just
entring at the Door. She gave a Shriek at the Surprize of their
Appearance, which much troubled the Old Gentlemen, and made them retire
in Confusion for putting a Gentlewoman into such a Fright. The Marquess
thinking they had been misinformed, or had mistaken the Lodgings, came
forward again, and made an Apology to the Lady for their Errour; but
she making no reply, walk’d directly by him down Stairs and went into
her Coach, which hurried her away as speedily as the Horses were able
to draw.

The Dons were at a loss what to think, when, Hippolito coming into the
Room to give the Lady an Account of his Errant, was no less astonished
to find she was departed, and had left Two Old Signiors in her stead.
He knew Don Fabio’s Face, for Aurelian had shewn him his Father at the
Tilting; but being confident he was not known to him, he ventur’d to
ask him concerning a Lady whom just now he had left in that Chamber.
Don Fabio told him, she was just gone down, and doubted they had been
Guilty of a Mistake, in coming to enquire for a Couple of Gentlemen
whom they were informed were Lodged in that House; he begg’d his Pardon
if he had any Relation to that Lady, and desired to know if he could
give them any Account of the Persons they sought for. Hippolito made
answer, He was a Stranger in the Place, and only a Servant to that Lady
whom they had disturb’d, and whom he must go and seek out. And in this
Perplexity he left them, going again in Search of Aurelian, to inform
him of what had passed.

The Old Gentlemen at last meeting with a Servant of the House, were
directed to Signior Claudio’s Chamber, where they were no sooner
entered but Aurelian came into the House. A Servant who had skulk’d for
him by Hippolito’s Order, followed him up into the Chamber, and told
him who was with Claudio then making Enquiry for him. He thought that
to be no Place for him, since Claudio must needs discover all the Truth
to his Father; wherefore he left Directions with the Servant, where
Hippolito should meet him in the Morning. As he was going out of the
Room he espied the torn Paper, which the Lady had thrown upon the
Floor: The first piece he took up had Incognita written upon it; the
sight of which so Alarum’d him, he scarce knew what he was about; but
hearing a Noise of a Door opening over Head, with as much Care as was
consistent with the haste he was then in, he gathered up scattered
pieces of Paper, and betook himself to a Ramble.

Coming by a Light which hung at the Corner of a Street, he join’d the
torn Papers and collected thus much, that Incognita had Written the
Note, and earnestly desired (if there were any reality in what he
pretended to her) to meet her at Twelve a Clock that Night at a Convent
Gate; but unluckily the Bit of Paper which should have mentioned what
Convent, was broken off and lost.

Here was a large Subject for Aurelian’s Passion, which he did not spare
to pour forth in Abundance of Curses on his Stars. So earnest was he in
the Contemplation of his Misfortunes, that he walk’d on unwittingly;
till at length Silence (and such as was only to be found in that part
the Town, whither his unguided Steps had carried him) surpriz’d his
Attention. I say, a profound Silence rouzed him from his Thought; and a
clap of Thunder could have done no more.

Now because it is possible this at some time or other may happen to be
read by some Malicious or Ignorant Person, (no Reflection upon the
present Reader) who will not admit, or does not understand that Silence
should make a Man start; and have the same Effect, in provoking his
Attention, with its opposite Noise; I will illustrate this matter, to
such a diminutive Critick, by a Parallel Instance of Light; which
though it does chiefly entertain the Eyes, and is indeed the prime
Object of the Sight, yet should it immediately cease, to have a Man
left in the Dark by a suddain deficiency of it, would make him stare
with his Eyes, and though he could not see, endeavour to look about
him. Why just thus did it fare with our Adventurer; who seeming to have
wandred both into the Dominions of Silence and of Night, began to have
some tender for his own Safety, and would willingly have groped his Way
back again; when he heard a Voice, as from a Person whose Breath had
been stopp’d by some forcible Oppression, and just then, by a violent
Effort, was broke through the Restraint.—‘Yet—Yet—(again reply’d the
Voice, still struggling for Air,) ‘Forbear—and I’ll forgive what’s
past—I have done nothing yet that needs a Pardon, (says another) and
what is to come, will admit of none.

Here the Person who seemed to be the Oppressed, made several Attempts
to speak, but they were only inarticulate Sounds, being all interrupted
and choaked in their Passage.

Aurelian was sufficiently astonish’d, and would have crept nearer to
the Place whence he guessed the Voice to come; but he was got among the
Runes of an Old Monastery, and could not stir so silently, but some
loose Stones he met with made a rumbling. The Noise alarm’d both
Parties; and as it gave Comfort to the one, it so Terrified the
t’other, that he could not hinder the Oppressed from calling for help.
Aurelian fancy’d it was a Woman’s Voice, and immediately drawing his
Sword, demanded what was the Matter; he was answered with the
Appearance of a Man, who had opened a Dark Lanthorn which he had by
him, and came toward him with a Pistol in his Hand ready cock’d.

Aurelian seeing the irresistable advantage his Adversary had over him,
would fain have retired; and, by the greatest Providence in the World,
going backwards fell down over some loose Stones that lay in his Way,
just in that Instant of Time when the Villain fired his Pistol, who
seeing him fall, concluded he had Shot him. The Crys of the afflicted
Person were redoubled at the Tragical Sight, which made the Murderer,
drawing a Poniard, to threaten him, that the next Murmur should be his
last. Aurelian, who was scarce assured that he was unhurt, got softly
up; and coming near enough to perceive the Violence that was used to
stop the Injured Man’s Mouth; (for now he saw plainly it was a Man)
cry’d out,—Turn, Villain, and look upon thy Death.—The Fellow amazed at
the Voice, turn’d about to have snatch’d up the Lanthorn from the
Ground; either to have given Light only to himself, or to have put out
the Candle, that he might have made his Escape; but which of the Two he
designed, no Body could tell but himself: and if the Reader have a
Curiosity to know, he must blame Aurelian; who thinking there could be
no foul play offered to such a Villain, ran him immediately through the
Heart, so that he drop’d down Dead at his Feet, without speaking a
Word. He would have seen who the Person was he had thus happily
delivered, but the Dead Body had fallen upon the Lanthorn, which put
out the Candle: However coming up toward him, he ask’d him how he did,
and bid him be of good Heart; he was answered with nothing but Prayers,
Blessings and Thanks, called a Thousand Deliverers, good Genius’s and
Guardian Angels. And the Rescued would certainly have gone upon his
Knees to have worshipped him, had he not been bound Hand and Foot;
which Aurelian understanding, groped for the Knots, and either untied
them or cut them asunder; but ’tis more probable the latter, because
more expeditious.

They took little heed what became of the Body which they left behind
them, and Aurelian was conducted from out the Ruins by the Hand of him
he had delivered. By a faint light issuing from the just rising Moon,
he could discern that it was a Youth; but coming into a more frequented
part of the Town, where several Lights were hung out, he was amaz’d at
the extream Beauty which appeared in his Face, though a little pale and
disordered with his late fright. Aurelian longed to hear the Story of
so odd an adventure, and entreated his Charge to tell it him by the
way; but he desired him to forbear till they were come into some House
or other, where he might rest and recover his tired Spirits, for yet he
was so faint he was unable to look up. Aurelian thought these last
words were delivered in a Voice, whose accent was not new to him. That
thought made him look earnestly in the Youth’s Face, which he now was
sure he had somewhere seen before, and thereupon asked him if he had
never been at Siena? That Question made the young Gentleman look up,
and something of a Joy appeared in his Countenance, which yet he
endeavoured to smother; so praying Aurelian to conduct him to his
Lodging, he promised him that as soon as they should come thither, he
would acquaint him with any thing he desired to know. Aurelian would
rather have gone any where else than to his own Lodging; but being so
very late he was at a loss, and so forced to be contented.

As soon as they were come into his Chamber, and that Lights were
brought them and the Servant dismissed, the paleness which so visibly
before had usurped the sweet Countenance of the afflicted Youth
vanished, and gave place to a more lively Flood of Crimson, which with
a modest heat glow’d freshly on his Cheeks. Aurelian waited with a
pleasing Admiration the discovery promised him, when the Youth still
struggling with his Resolution, with a timorous haste, pulled off a
Peruke which had concealed the most beautiful abundance of Hair that
ever graced one Female Head; those dishevelled spreading tresses, as at
first they made a discovery of, so at last they served for a veil to
the modest lovely blushes of the fair Incognita; for she it was and
none other. But Oh! the inexpressible, inconceivable joy and amazement
of Aurelian! As soon as he durst venture to think, he concluded it to
be all Vision, and never doubted so much of any thing in his Life as of
his being then awake. But she taking him by the Hand, and desiring him
to sit down by her, partly convinced him of the reality of her
presence.

‘This is the second time, Don Hippolito, (said she to him) ‘that I have
been here this Night. What the occasion was of my seeking you out, and
how by miracle you preserved me, would add too much to the surprize I
perceive you to be already in should I tell you: Nor will I make any
further discovery, till I know what censure you pass upon the
confidence which I have put in you, and the strange Circumstances in
which you find me at this time. I am sensible they are such, that I
shall not blame your severest Conjectures; but I hope to convince you,
when you shall hear what I have to say in justification of my Vertue.

‘Justification! (cry’d Aurelian) what Infidel dares doubt it! Then
kneeling down, and taking her Hand, ‘Ah Madam (says he) would Heaven
would no other ways look upon, than I behold your Perfections—Wrong not
your Creature with a Thought, he can be guilty of that horrid Impiety
as once to doubt your Vertue—Heavens! (cry’d he, starting up) ‘am I so
really blessed to see you once again! May I trust my Sight?—Or does my
fancy now only more strongly work?—For still I did preserve your Image
in my Heart, and you were ever present to my dearest Thoughts.—

‘Enough Hippolito, enough of Rapture (said she) you cannot much accuse
me of Ingratitude; for you see I have not been unmindful of you; but
moderate your Joy till I have told you my Condition, and if for my sake
you are raised to this Delight, it is not of a long continuance.

At that (as Aurelian tells the Story) a Sigh diffused a mournful
sweetness through the Air, and liquid grief fell gently from her Eyes,
triumphant sadness sat upon her Brow, and even sorrow seem’d delighted
with the Conquest he had made. See what a change Aurelian felt! His
Heart bled Tears, and trembled in his Breast; Sighs struggling for a
vent had choaked each others passage up: His Floods of Joys were all
supprest; cold doubts and fears had chill’d ’em with a sudden Frost,
and he was troubled to excess; yet knew not why. Well, the Learned say
it was Sympathy; and I am always of the Opinion with the Learned, if
they speak first.

After a World of Condoleance had passed between them, he prevailed with
her to tell him her Story. So having put all her Sighs into one great
Sigh, she discharged her self of ’em all at once, and formed the
Relation you are just about to Read.

‘Having been in my Infancy Contracted to a Man I could never endure,
and now by my Parents being likely to be forced to Marry him, is in
short, the great occasion of my grief. I fansy’d (continued she)
something so Generous in your Countenance, and uncommon in your
Behaviour, while you were diverting your self, and rallying me with
Expressions of Gallantry, at the Ball, as induced me to hold Conference
with you. I now freely confess to you, out of design, That if things
should happen as I then feared, and as now they are come to pass, I
might rely upon your assistance in a matter of Concern; and in which I
would sooner chuse to depend upon a generous Stranger, than any
Acquaintance I have. What Mirth and Freedom I then put on, were, I can
assure you, far distant from my Heart; but I did violence to my self
out of Complaisance to your Temper.—I knew you at the Tilting, and
wished you might come off as you did; though I do not doubt, but you
would have had as good Success had it been opposite to my
Inclinations.—Not to detain you by too tedious a Relation, every day my
Friends urged me to the Match they had agreed upon for me, before I was
capable of Consenting; at last their importunities grew to that degree,
that I found I must either consent, which would make me miserable, or
be miserable by perpetually enduring to be baited by my Father, Brother
and other Relations. I resolved yesterday, on a suddain to give firm
Faith to the Opinion I had conceived of you; and accordingly came in
the Evening to request your assistance, in delivering me from my
Tormentors, by a safe and private conveyance of me to a Monastery about
four Leagues hence, where I have an Aunt who would receive me, and is
the only Relation I have averse to the Match. I was surprized at the
appearance of some Company I did not expect at your Lodgings; which
made me in haste tear a Paper which I had written to you with
Directions where to find me, and get speedily away in my Coach to an
old Servant’s House, whom I acquainted with my purpose: By my Order she
provided me of this Habit which I now wear; I ventured to trust my self
with her Brother, and resolved to go under his Conduct to the
Monastery; he proved to be a Villain, and Pretending to take me a short
and private way to the place where he was to take up a Hackney Coach
(for that which I came in was broke some where or other with the haste
it made to carry me from your Lodging) led me into an old ruined
Monastery, where it pleased Heaven, by what Accident I know not, to
direct you. I need not tell you how you saved my Life and my Honour, by
revenging me with the Death of my Perfidious Guide. This is the summ of
my present Condition, bating the apprehensions I am in of being taken
by some of my Relations, and forced to a thing so quite contrary to my
Inclinations.

Aurelian was confounded at the Relation she had made, and began to fear
his own Estate to be more desperate than ever he had imagined. He made
her a very Passionate and Eloquent Speech in behalf of himself (much
better than I intend to insert here) and expressed a mighty concern
that she should look upon his ardent Affection to be only Rallery or
Gallantry. He was very free of his Oaths to confirm the Truth of what
he pretended, nor I believe did she doubt it, or at least was unwilling
so to do: For I would Caution the Reader by the bye, not to believe
every word which she told him, nor that admirable sorrow which she
counterfeited to be accurately true. It was indeed truth so cunningly
intermingled with Fiction, that it required no less Wit and Presence of
Mind than she was endowed with so to acquit her self on the suddain.
She had entrusted her self indeed with a Fellow who proved a Villain,
to conduct her to a Monastery; but one which was in the Town, and where
she intended only to lie concealed for his sake; as the Reader shall
understand ere long: For we have another Discovery to make to him, if
he have not found it out of himself already.

After Aurelian had said what he was able upon the Subject in hand, with
a mournful tone and dejected look, he demanded his Doom. She asked him
if he would endeavour to convey her to the Monastery she had told him
of? ‘Your commands, Madam, (replied he) ‘are Sacred to me; and were
they to lay down my Life I would obey them. With that he would have
gone out of the Room, to have given order for his Horses to be got
ready immediately; but with a Countenance so full of sorrow as moved
Compassion in the tender hearted Incognita. ‘Stay a little Don
Hippolito (said she) I fear I shall not be able to undergo the Fatigue
of a Journey this Night.—Stay and give me your Advice how I shall
conceal my self if I continue to morrow in this Town. Aurelian could
have satisfied her she was not then in a place to avoid discovery: But
he must also have told her then the reason of it, viz. whom he was, and
who were in quest of him, which he did not think convenient to declare
till necessity should urge him; for he feared least her knowledge of
those designs which were in agitation between him and Juliana, might
deter her more from giving her consent. At last he resolved to try his
utmost perswasions to gain her, and told her accordingly, he was afraid
she would be disturbed there in the Morning, and he knew no other way
(if she had not as great an aversion for him as the Man whom she now
endeavour’d to avoid) than by making him happy to make her self secure.
He demonstrated to her,—that the disobligation to her Parents would be
greater by going to a Monastery, since it was only to avoid a choice
which they had made for her, and which she could not have so just a
pretence to do till she had made one for her self.

A World of other Arguments he used, which she contradicted as long as
she was able, or at least willing. At last she told him, she would
consult her Pillow, and in the Morning conclude what was fit to be
done. He thought it convenient to leave her to her rest, and having
lock’d her up in his Room, went himself to repose upon a Pallat by
Signior Claudio.

In the mean time, it may be convenient to enquire what became of
Hippolito. He had wandered much in pursuit of Aurelian, though Leonora
equally took up his Thoughts; He was reflecting upon the oddness and
extravagance of his Circumstances, the Continuation of which had
doubtless created in him a great uneasiness, when it was interrupted
with the noise of opening the Gates of the Convent of St. Lawrence,
whither he was arrived sooner than he thought for, being the place
Aurelian had appointed by the Lacquey to meet him in. He wondered to
see the Gates opened at so unseasonable an hour, and went to enquire
the reason of it from them who were employ’d; but they proved to be
Novices, and made him signs to go in, where he might meet with some
body allow’d to answer him. He found the Religious Men all up, and
Tapers lighting every where: at last he follow’d a Friar who was going
into the Garden, and asking him the cause of these Preparations, he was
answered, That they were entreated to pray for the Soul of a Cavalier,
who was just departing or departed this Life, and whom upon farther
talk with him, he found to be the same Lorenzo so often mentioned. Don
Mario, it seems Uncle to Lorenzo and Father to Leonora, had a private
Door out of the Garden belonging to his House into that of the Convent,
which Door this Father was now a going to open, that he and his Family
might come and offer up their Oraisons for the Soul of their Kinsman.
Hippolito having informed himself of as much as he could ask without
suspicion, took his leave of the Friar, not a little joyful at the
Hopes he had by such unexpected Means, of seeing his Beautiful Leonora:
As soon as he was got at convenient Distance from the Friar, (who ’tis
like thought he had return’d into the Convent to his Devotion) he
turned back through a close Walk which led him with a little Compass,
to the same private Door, where just before he had left the Friar, who
now he saw was gone, and the Door open.

He went into Don Mario’s Garden, and walk’d round with much Caution and
Circumspection; for the Moon was then about to rise, and had already
diffused a glimmering Light, sufficient to distinguish a Man from a
Tree. By Computation now (which is a very remarkable Circumstance)
Hippolito entred this Garden near upon the same Instant, when Aurelian
wandred into the Old Monastery and found his Incognita in Distress. He
was pretty well acquainted with the Platform, and Sight of the Garden;
for he had formerly surveyed the Outside, and knew what part to make to
if he should be surpriz’d and driven to a precipitate Escape. He took
his Stand behind a well grown Bush of Myrtle, which, should the Moon
shine brighter than was required, had the Advantage to be shaded by the
Indulgent Boughs of an ancient Bay-Tree. He was delighted with the
Choice he had made, for he found a Hollow in the Myrtle, as if
purposely contriv’d for the Reception of one Person, who might
undiscovered perceive all about him. He looked upon it as a good Omen,
that the Tree Consecrated to Venus was so propitious to him in his
Amorous Distress. The Consideration of that, together with the
Obligation he lay under to the Muses, for sheltering him also with so
large a Crown of Bays, had like to have set him a Rhyming.

He was, to tell the Truth, naturally addicted to Madrigal, and we
should undoubtedly have had a small desert of Numbers to have pick’d
and Criticiz’d upon, had he not been interrupted just upon his
Delivery; nay, after the Preliminary Sigh had made Way for his
Utterance. But so was his Fortune, Don Mario was coming towards the
Door at that very nick of Time, where he met with a Priest just out of
Breath, who told him that Lorenzo was just breathing his last, and
desired to know if he would come and take his final Leave before they
were to administer the Extream Unction. Don Mario, who had been at some
Difference with his Nephew, now thought it his Duty to be reconciled to
him; so calling to Leonora, who was coming after him, he bid her go to
her Devotions in the Chappel, and told her where he was going.

He went on with the Priest, while Hippolito saw Leonora come forward,
only accompanied by her Woman. She was in an undress, and by reason of
a Melancholy visible in her Face, more Careless than usual in her
Attire, which he thought added as much as was possible to the abundance
of her Charms. He had not much Time to Contemplate this Beauteous
Vision, for she soon passed into the Garden of the Convent, leaving him
Confounded with Love, Admiration, Joy, Hope, Fear, and all the Train of
Passions, which seize upon Men in his Condition, all at once. He was so
teazed with this Variety of Torment, that he never missed the Two Hours
that had slipped away during his Automachy and Intestine Conflict.
Leonora’s Return settled his Spirits, at least united them, and he had
now no other Thought but how he should present himself before her. When
she calling her Woman, bid her bolt the Garden Door on the Inside, that
she might not be Surpriz’d by her Father, if he returned through the
Convent, which done, she ordered her to bring down her Lute, and leave
her to her self in the Garden.

All this Hippolito saw and heard to his inexpressible Content, yet had
he much to do to smother his Joy, and hinder it from taking a Vent,
which would have ruined the only Opportunity of his Life. Leonora
withdrew into an Arbour so near him, that he could distinctly hear her
if she Played or Sung: Having tuned her Lute, with a Voice soft as the
Breath of Angels, she flung to it this following Air:

I.


Ah! Whither, whither shall I fly,
    A poor unhappy Maid;
To hopeless Love and Misery
    By my own Heart betray’d?
Not by Alexis Eyes undone,
    Nor by his Charming Faithless Tongue,
Or any Practis’d Art;
    Such real Ills may hope a Cure,
But the sad Pains which I endure
    Proceed from fansied Smart.


II.


’Twas Fancy gave Alexis Charms,
    Ere I beheld his Face:
Kind Fancy (then) could fold our Arms,
    And form a soft Embrace.
But since I’ve seen the real Swain,
    And try’d to fancy him again,
I’m by my Fancy taught,
    Though ’tis a Bliss no Tongue can tell,
To have Alexis, yet ’tis Hell
    To have him but in Thought.


The Song ended grieved Hippolito that it was so soon ended; and in the
Ecstacy he was then rapt, I believe he would have been satisfied to
have expired with it. He could not help Flattering himself, (though at
the same Time he checked his own Vanity) that he was the Person meant
in the Song. While he was indulging which thought, to his happy
Astonishment, he heard it encouraged by these Words:

‘Unhappy Leonora (said she) how is thy poor unwary Heart misled?
Whither am I come? The false deluding Lights of an imaginary Flame,
have led me, a poor benighted Victim, to a real Fire. I burn and am
consumed with hopeless Love; those Beams in whose soft temperate warmth
I wanton’d heretofore, now flash destruction to my Soul, my Treacherous
greedy Eyes have suck’d the glaring Light, they have united all its
Rays, and, like a burning-Glass, convey’d the pointed Meteor to my
Heart—Ah! Aurelian, how quickly hast thou Conquer’d, and how quickly
must thou Forsake. Oh Happy (to me unfortunately Happy) Juliana! I am
to be the subject of thy Triumph—To thee Aurelian comes laden with the
Tribute of my Heart and Glories in the Oblation of his broken
Vows.—What then, is Aurelian False! False! alass, I know not what I
say; How can he be False, or True, or any Thing to me? What Promises
did he ere make or I receive? Sure I dream, or I am mad, and fansie it
to be Love; Foolish Girl, recal thy banish’d Reason.—Ah! would it were
no more, would I could rave, sure that would give me Ease, and rob me
of the Sense of Pain; at least, among my wandring Thoughts, I should at
sometime light upon Aurelian, and fansie him to be mine; kind Madness
would flatter my poor feeble Wishes, and sometimes tell me Aurelian is
not lost—not irrecoverably—not for ever lost.

Hippolito could hear no more, he had not Room for half his Transport.
When Leonora perceived a Man coming toward her, she fell a trembling,
and could not speak. Hippolito approached with Reverence, as to a
Sacred Shrine; when coming near enough to see her Consternation, he
fell upon his Knees.

‘Behold, O Adored Leonora (said he) ‘your ravished Aurelian, behold at
your Feet the Happiest of Men, be not disturb’d at my Appearance, but
think that Heaven conducted me to hear my Bliss pronounced by that dear
Mouth alone, whose breath could fill me with new Life.

Here he would have come nearer, but Leonora (scarce come to her self)
was getting up in haste to have gone away: he catch’d her Hand, and
with all the Endearments of Love and Transport pressed her stay; she
was a long time in great Confusion, at last, with many Blushes, she
entreated him to let her go where she might hide her Guilty Head, and
not expose her shame before his Eyes, since his Ears had been
sufficient Witnesses of her Crime. He begg’d pardon for his Treachery
in over-hearing, and confessed it to be a Crime he had now repeated.
With a Thousand Submissions, Entreaties, Prayers, Praises, Blessings,
and passionate Expressions he wrought upon her to stay and hear him.
Here Hippolito made use of his Rhetorick, and it proved prevailing:
’Twere tedious to tell the many ingenious Arguments he used, with all
her Nice Distinctions and Objections. In short, he convinced her of his
Passion, represented to her the necessity they were under, of being
speedy in their Resolves: That his Father (for still he was Aurelian)
would undoubtedly find him in the Morning, and then it would be too
late to Repent. She on the other Hand, knew it was in vain to deny a
Passion, which he had heard her so frankly own; (and no doubt was very
glad it was past and done;) besides apprehending the danger of delay,
and having some little Jealousies and Fears of what Effect might be
produced between the Commands of his Father and the Beauties of
Juliana; after some decent Denials, she consented to be Conducted by
him through the Garden into the Convent, where she would prevail with
her Confessor to Marry them. He was a scrupulous Old Father whom they
had to deal withal, insomuch that ere they had perswaded him, Don Mario
was returned by the Way of his own House, where missing his Daughter,
and her Woman not being able to give any farther Account of her, than
that she left her in the Garden; he concluded she was gone again to her
Devotions, and indeed he found her in the Chappel upon her Knees with
Hippolito in her hand, receiving the Father’s Benediction upon
Conclusion of the Ceremony.

It would have asked a very skilful Hand, to have depicted to the Life
the Faces of those Three Persons, at Don Mario’s Appearance. He that
has seen some admirable Piece of Transmutation by a Gorgon’s Head, may
form to himself the most probable Idea of the Prototype. The Old
Gentleman was himself in a sort of a Wood, to find his Daughter with a
Young Fellow and a Priest, but as yet he did not know the Worst, till
Hippolito and Leonora came, and kneeling at his Feet, begg’d his
Forgiveness and Blessing as his Son and Daughter. Don Mario, instead of
that, fell into a most violent Passion, and would undoubtedly have
committed some extravagant Action, had he not been restrained, more by
the Sanctity of the Place, than the Perswasions of all the Religious,
who were now come about him. Leonora stirr’d not off her Knees all this
time, but continued begging of him that he would hear her.

‘Ah! Ungrateful and Undutiful Wretch (cry’d he) ‘how hast thou requited
all my Care and Tenderness of thee? Now when I might have expected some
return of Comfort, to throw thy self away upon an unknown Person, and,
for ought I know, a Villain; to me I’m sure he is a Villain, who has
robb’d me of my Treasure, my Darling Joy, and all the future Happiness
of my Life prevented. Go—go, thou now-to-be-forgotten Leonora, go and
enjoy thy unprosperous Choice; you who wanted not a Father’s Counsel,
cannot need, or else will slight his Blessing.

These last Words were spoken with so much Passion and feeling Concern,
that Leonora, moved with Excess of Grief, fainted at his Feet, just as
she had caught hold to Embrace his Knees. The Old Man would have shook
her off, but Compassion and Fatherly Affection came upon him in the
midst of his Resolve, and melted him into Tears, he Embraced his
Daughter in his Arms, and wept over her, while they endeavoured to
restore her Senses.

Hippolito was in such Concern he could not speak, but was busily
employed in rubbing and chafing her Temples; when she opening her Eyes
laid hold of his Arm, and cry’d out—Oh my Aurelian—how unhappy have you
made me! With that she had again like to have fainted away, but he took
her in his Arms, and begg’d Don Mario to have some pity on his
Daughter, since by his Severity she was reduced to that Condition. The
Old Man hearing his Daughter name Aurelian, was a little revived, and
began to hope Things were in a pretty good Condition; he was perswaded
to comfort her, and having brought her wholly to her self, was content
to hear her Excuse, and in a little time was so far wrought upon as to
beg Hippolito’s Pardon for the Ill Opinion he had conceived of him, and
not long after gave his Consent.

The Night was spent in this Conflict, and it was now clear Day, when
Don Mario Conducting his new Son and Daughter through the Garden, was
met by some Servants of the Marquess of Viterbo, who had been enquiring
for Donna Leonora, to know if Juliana had lately been with her; for
that she was missing from her Father’s House, and no conjectures could
be made of what might become of her. Don Mario and Leonora were
surprized at the News, for he knew well enough of the Match that was
design’d for Juliana; and having enquired where the Marquess was, it
was told him, That he was gone with Don Fabio and Fabritio toward
Aurelian’s Lodgings. Don Mario having assured the Servants that Juliana
had not been there, dismissed them, and advised with his Son and
Daughter how they should undeceive the Marquess and Don Fabio in their
Expectations of Aurelian. Hippolito could oftentimes scarce forbear
smiling at the old Man’s Contrivances who was most deceived himself; he
at length advised them to go all down together to his Lodging, where he
would present himself before his Father, and ingenuously confess to him
the truth, and he did not question his approving of his Choice.

This was agreed to, and the Coach made ready. While they were upon
their way, Hippolito pray’d heartily that his Friend Aurelian might be
at the Lodging, to satisfie Don Mario and Leonora of his Circumstances
and Quality, when he should be obliged to discover himself. His
Petitions were granted; for Don Fabio had beset the House long before
his Son was up or Incognita awake.

Upon the arrival of Don Mario and Hippolito, they heard a great Noise
and Hubbub above Stairs, which Don Mario concluded was occasioned by
their not finding Aurelian, whom he thought he could give the best
account of: So that it was not in Hippolito’s power to disswade him
from going up before to prepare his Father to receive and forgive him.
While Hippolito and Leonora were left in the Coach at the Door, he made
himself known to her, and begg’d her pardon a thousand times for
continuing the deceit. She was under some concern at first to find she
was still mistaken; but his Behaviour, and the Reasons he gave, soon
reconciled him to her; his Person was altogether as agreeable, his
Estate and Quality not at all inferiour to Aurelian’s; in the mean
time, the true Aurelian who had seen his Father, begg’d leave of him to
withdraw for a moment; in which time he went into the Chamber where his
Incognita was dressing her self, by his design, in Woman’s Apparel,
while he was consulting with her how they should break the matter to
his Father; it happened that Don Mario came up Stairs where the
Marquess and Don Fabio were; they undoubtedly concluded him Mad, to
hear him making Apologies and Excuses for Aurelian, whom he told them
if they would promise to forgive he would present before them
immediately. The Marquess asked him if his Daughter had lain with
Leonora that Night; he answered him with another question in behalf of
Aurelian. In short, they could not understand one another, but each
thought ’tother beside himself. Don Mario was so concern’d that they
would not believe him, that he ran down Stairs and came to the Door out
of Breath, desiring Hippolito that he would come into the House
quickly, for that he could not perswade his Father but that he had
already seen and spoke to him. Hippolito by that understood that
Aurelian was in the House; so taking Leonora by the Hand, he followed
Don Mario, who led him up into the Dining-Room, where they found
Aurelian upon his Knees, begging his Father to forgive him, that he
could not agree to the Choice he had made for him, since he had already
disposed of himself, and that before he understood the designs he had
for him, which was the reason that he had hitherto concealed himself.
Don Fabio knew not how to answer him, but look’d upon the Marquess, and
the Marquess upon him, as if the Cement had been cool’d which was to
have united their Families.

All was silent, and Don Mario for his part took it to be all
Conjuration; he was coming forward to present Hippolito to them, when
Aurelian spying his Friend, started from his Knees and ran to embrace
him—My dear Hippolito (said he) what happy chance has brought you
hither, just at my Necessity? Hippolito pointed to Don Mario and
Leonora, and told him upon what terms he came. Don Mario was ready to
run mad, hearing him called Hippolito, and went again to examine his
Daughter. While she was informing him of the truth, the Marquess’s
Servants returned with the melancholy News that his Daughter was no
where to be found. While the Marquess and Don Fabritio were wondering
at, and lamenting the Misfortune of her loss, Hippolito came towards
Don Fabio and interceded for his Son, since the Lady perhaps had
withdrawn her self out of an Aversion to the Match. Don Fabio, though
very much incens’d, yet forgot not the Respect due to Hippolito’s
Quality; and by his perswasion spoke to Aurelian, though with a stern
Look and angry Voice, and asked him where he had disposed the cause of
his Disobedience, if he were worthy to see her or no; Aurelian made
answer, That he desired no more than for him to see her; and he did not
doubt a Consequence of his Approbation and Forgiveness—Well (said Don
Fabio) you are very conceited of your own Discretion, let us see this
Rarety. While Aurelian was gone in for Incognita, the Marquess of
Viterbo and Don Fabritio were taking their leaves in great disorder for
their loss and disappointment; but Don Fabio entreated their stay a
moment longer till the return of his Son. Aurelian led Incognita into
the Room veil’d, who seeing some Company there which he had not told
her of, would have gone back again. But Don Fabio came bluntly
forwards, and ere she was aware, lifted up her Veil and beheld the Fair
Incognita, differing nothing from Juliana, but in her Name. This
discovery was so extreamly surprizing and welcome, that either Joy or
Amazement had tied up the Tongues of the whole Company. Aurelian here
was most at a loss, for he knew not of his Happiness; and that which
all along prevented Juliana’s confessing her self to him, was her
knowing Hippolito (for whom she took him) to be Aurelian’s Friend, and
she feared if he had known her, that he would never have consented to
have deprived him of her. Juliana was the first that spoke, falling
upon her Knees to her Father, who was not enough himself to take her
up. Don Fabio ran to her, and awakened the Marquess, who then embraced
her, but could not yet speak. Fabritio and Leonora strove who should
first take her in their Arms; for Aurelian he was out of his wits for
Joy, and Juliana was not much behind him, to see how happily their
Loves and Duties were reconciled. Don Fabio embraced his Son and
forgave him. The Marquess and Fabritio gave Juliana into his hands, he
received the Blessing upon his Knees; all were over-joy’d, and Don
Mario not a little proud at the discovery of his Son-in-Law, whom
Aurelian did not fail to set forth with all the ardent Zeal and
Eloquence of Friendship. Juliana and Leonora had pleasant Discourse
about their unknown and mistaken Rivalship, and it was the Subject of a
great deal of Mirth to hear Juliana relate the several Contrivances
which she had to avoid Aurelian for the sake of Hippolito.

Having diverted themselves with many Remarks upon the pleasing
surprize, they all thought it proper to attend upon the Great Duke that
Morning at the Palace, and to acquaint him with the Novelty of what had
pass’d; while, by the way, the two Young Couple entertained the Company
with the Relation of several Particulars of their Three Days
Adventures.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Incognita; Or, Love and Duty Reconcil'd" ***

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