Love-Letters Between a Nobleman and His Sister

by Aphra Behn

OCTAVIO.

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

PHILANDER to OCTAVIO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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