To the Lovely Amena.
You accuse me of Cruelty, when at the same Time you kill me with yours: How Vile! How despicable, must I be grown in your Opinion, when you believe I can be Happy, when you are Miserable?---Can I enjoy the Pleasures of a Court, while you are shut within a Cloyster?----Shall I suffer the World to be depriv’d of such a Treasure as Amena? For the Crime of worthless D’elmont-----No, no Fair, injur’d Softness, Return, and bless the Eyes of every Beholder! Shine out again in your native Lustre, uneclips’d by Grief, the Star of Beauty and the guide of Love.---And, if my unlucky Presence will be a Damp to the Brightness of your Fires, I will for ever quit the Place.----Tho’ I cou’d wish, you’d give me leave sometimes to gaze upon you, and draw some hop’d Presages of future Fortune from the Benignity of your Influence,---Yes, Amena, I wou’d sigh out my Repentance at your Feet, and try at least to obtain a Pardon for my Infidelity.----For, ’tis true, what you have heard,----I am Marry’d---But oh Amena! Happiness is not always an Attendant on Hymen.--However, I yet may call you Friend--I yet may Love you, tho’ in a different way from what I once pretended to; and believe me, that the Love of Souls, as it is the most uncommon, especially in our Sex, so ’tis the most refin’d and noble of all Passions, and such a Love shall be for ever yours. Even Alovisa (who has robb’d you of the rest) cannot justly resent my giving you that part,----You’ll wonder at this Alteration in my Temper, but ’tis sincere, I am no more the Gay, the Roving D’elmont, and when you come to Paris, perhaps you will find me in a Condition more liable to your Pity than Indignation. What shall I say Amena? My Crime is my Punishment, I have offended against Love, and against you, and am, if possible, as Miserable, as Guilty: Torn with Remorse, and Tortur’d with----I cannot----must not Name it----but ’tis something which can be term’d no other than the utmost severity of my Fate.---Haste then to Pity me, to comfort, to advise me, if (as you say) you yet retain any remains of your former Tenderness for this Ungrateful Man,
D’elmont.
Ungrateful indeed! Cry’d Alovisa (Transported with Excess of Rage and Jealousie) Oh the Villain!---What Miseries! What Misfortunes are these thou talk’st of? What Unhappiness has waited on thy Himen? ’Tis I alone am wretched! base Deceiver!
Then, as if she wanted to discover something farther to heighten the Indignation she was in, she began to read it over again, and indeed the more she consider’d the meaning of what she read, the more her Passions swell’d, ’till they got at last the entire Dominion of her Reason: She tore the Letter in a thousand pieces, and was not much less unmerciful to her Hair and Garments. ’Tis possible, that in the Violence of her Fury, she might have forgot her promise to the Servant, to vent some part of it on her Husband, if her Woman coming into the Room to know if she was ready to dress, had not prevented her, by telling her the Count was gone abroad, and had left Word, that he shou’d not return ’till the Evening. Alovisa had thrown herself on the Bed, and the Curtains being drawn discover’d not the disorder she was in, and which her Pride made her willing shou’d be still a Secret, therefore dismist her with saying, she wou’d call her when she wanted any thing. Tho’ Alovisa was too apt to give a loose to her Passions on every occasion, to the Destruction of her own Peace, yet she knew well enough how to disguise ’em, when ever she found the Concealing of them wou’d be an Advantage to her Designs: And when the Transports of her Rage was so far over, as to give her Liberty of Reflection, and she began to Examine the State of her Affection to the Count, she soon perceiv’d it had so much the better of all other Considerations, that in spite of the injustice she thought him guilty of to her, she cou’d not perswade her self to do any thing that might give him a pretence to Quarrel with her. She thought she had done enough in Intercepting this Letter, and did not doubt but that Amena wou’d take his not writing to her so much to Heart, as to prevent her ever returning to Paris, and resolv’d to omit nothing of her former Endearments, or make a shew of being in the least disoblig’d; this sort of Carriage she imagin’d wou’d not only lay him more open and unguarded to the diligent watch she design’d to make on all his Words and Actions, but likewise awaken him to a just Sense of her Goodness, and his own Ingratitude.-----She rightly judg’d that when People are Marry’d, Jealousie was not the proper Method to revive a decay’d Passion, and that after Possession it must be only Tenderness, and constant Assiduity to please, that can keep up desire, fresh and gay: Man is too Arbitrary a Creature to bear the least Contradiction, where he pretends an absolute Authority, and that Wife who thinks by ill humour and perpetual Taunts, to make him weary of what she wou’d reclaim him from, only renders her self more hateful, and makes that justifiable which before was blameable in him. These, and the like Considerations made Alovysa put on a Countenance of Serenity, and she so well acted the part of an Unsuspecting Wife, that D’elmont was far from imagining what she had done: However he still behav’d with the same Caution as before, to Melliora; and certainly never did People disguise the Sentiments of their Souls more artfully than did these three---Melliora vail’d her secret Languishments, under the Covert of her grief for her Father, the Count his Burning anguish, in a gloomy Melancholy for the Loss of his Friend; but Alovysa’s Task was much the hardest, who had no pretence for grief (raging, and bleeding with neglected Love, and stifled Pride) to frame her Temper to a seeming Tranquility----All made it their whole study to deceive each other, yet none but Alovysa was intirely in the dark; for the Count and Melliora had but too true a guess at one another’s meaning, every look of his, for he had Eyes that needed no Interpreter, gave her Intelligence of his Heart, and the Confusion which the understanding those looks gave her, sufficiently told him how sensible she was of ’em.----Several Days they liv’d in this Manner, in which time Monsieur Frankville was Interr’d. Which Solemnity, the Count took care shou’d be perform’d with a Magnificence suitable to the Friendship he publickly profest to have born him, and the secret Adoration his Soul paid to his Remains.
Nothing happned of Moment,’till a Day or two after the Funeral, a Gentleman newly arriv’d at Paris, came to visit the Count, and gave him an Account of Amena’s having taken the Habit; how, (said D’elmont Interrupting him) is it possible?----Has she then profest? Yes, answer’d the Gentleman, having a Sister whom I always tenderly lov’d at the Monastery at St. Dennis, my affection oblig’d me to make it in my way to visit her. Amena was with her at the Grate, when she receiv’d me; I know not how, among other Discourses, we hapned to talk of the fine Gentlemen of Paris, which it was Impossible to do, without mentioning Count D’elmont, the Count answer’d not this Complement as he wou’d have done at another time, but only bowing with an humble Air, gave him Liberty to prosecute his Discourse; the moment (resum’d he) that Amena heard your Name, the Tears run from her fair Eyes; in such abundance, and she seem’d opprest with so violent a Grief, that she was not able to stay any longer with us. When she was gone, my Sister whom she had made her Confidant, gave me the History of her Misfortunes, and withal, told me, that the next Day she was to be Initiated into Holy Orders: My Curiosity engag’d me to stay at St. Dennis, to see the Ceremony perform’d, which was Solemn; but not with that Magnificence which I expected; it seems it was Amena’s desire that it should be as private as possible, and for that Reason, none of her Relations were there, and several of the Formalities of Entrance omitted: After it was over, my Sister beckon’d me to come to the Grate, where I saw her before, and Conjur’d me in the Name of her new Sister, to give this to your Hands; in speaking these Words, he took a Letter out of his Pocket, which the Count immediately opening, to his great surprise, found it contain’d, as follows.
To the Inhuman D’elmont.
To be pity’d by you, and that you shou’d tell me so, was all the recompence I ask’d for Loss of Father, Friends, Reputation, and Eternal Peace; but now, too late, I find that the fond Maid who scorns the World for Love, is sure to meet for her reward the scorn of him she Loves----Ungrateful Man! Cou’d you not spare one Moment from that long Date of Happiness, to give a last farewel to her you have undone? What wou’d not this Barbarous Contempt have drawn upon you, were I of Alovisa’s Temper? Sure I am, all that disdain and rage, cou’d Inspire Malice with, had been Inflicted on you, but you well know my Soul is of a another Stamp.----Fool that I was, and little vers’d in the base Arts of Man, believ’d I might by tenderness, and faithful Friendship, gain esteem; tho’ Wit and Beauty the two great Provocatives to create Love were wanting. But do not think that I am yet so mean as to desire to hear from you; no, I have put all future Correspondence with you out of my Power, and hope to drive it even from my wish: Whether your disdain, or the Holy Banner I am listed under, has wrought this Effect, I know not, but methinks I breath another Air, think on you with more Tranquility, and bid you without dying,