Book the First.

'TIS not to justify my self, that I under­take to write the Memoirs of my Life. For 'tis a long time since that God has given me the grace to look upon the Injurious Reports that have bin spread abroad concerning me in the World, as a punishment of my vanity. And for that reason I submit my self to the conduct of his Providence: Happy in this, that I am sensible of my own Innocence as to every thing that Calumny has laid to my Charge; but on the other side, unfortunate to have lost the me­rit of my Innocence by the Scandals to which I have bin too guilty of giving the occasion.

[Page 2] I thought it might be permitted me to write my own History, were it but to justify by my Example such Persons of my Sex as have of late been made the Objects of common Reproach. 'Tis well known to what degree Reproaches are improv'd in that re­spect; seeing that now-a-days we meet with so ma­ny People so adventurous to maintain, That there is hardly an honest Woman in the Town. 'Tis true, the malignity of Men is not the only reason of the little justice which they do us, seeing there are Women, who may be thought to have taken de­light in confirming the ill opinion which men have of us: And indeed, there are none who have done more injustice to their Sex, then they who have written the Memoirs of their Amours, and dispers'd into the World Letters for which their Passion and Debauchery found Materials. From their Examples men have condemn'd all those whom they suspected of having any Amorous In­treagues; and when a Woman has once got the Reputation of a Coquette, she is presently ad­judg'd to be one of those that make it their glory to be so.

I therefore thought it might be one means to de­stroy this growing Opinion, by a faithful recital of the Adventures of my Life, to shew, that a Woman may be defam'd, yet not be guilty; and that there is many times more of Misfortune then Irregularity in the Conduct of several Women, upon whom the Public is pleas'd to throw their Scandals. There is also another benefit to be reap'd from these Me­moirs: For from thence you will learn to avoid all such Misfortunes as are lookt upon as Crimes; and to shun those things which may give occasion to fully the Reputation of Women, by observing where I my self became an ill Manager of my own.

[Page 3] I am well descended as well by the Father's as by the Mother's side; but it was the first of my Mis­fortunes that I was born too soon; for my Mother was hardly arriv'd to Sixteen years of Age when she lay in of me. And because that in Ten years after my Mother had no more Children, I was lookt upon as Heiress of my Father's Estate. All this while my Mother was too young to let a Daughter grow up with her at home, that would have kept the Hand of her Dyal from standing long at Sixteen. So she sent me to a Grandmother, who had that fond love for me, which Women advanc'd in years have manytimes for Children by whom they expect the continuation of their Name and Family. She made it her business to infuse into me, upon the score of my Birth and Beauty, all the Vanity and Pride she had been guil­ty of her self; and the first thing that I learnt, was, that I was Fair, and destin'd to the most noble and elevated Pretensions. With these Fancies I was flat­ter'd all along; and I had already attain'd Eleven years of Age, when my Mother was brought to bed of a Boy. But no sooner was this Son and Heir come into the World, but my Grandmother began to lavish out all her Affection for me, upon him; my Beauty was no longer flatter'd: No more talk of my being a Princess or a Dutchess at least: No—I must stifle all those gaudy Expectations: My Bro­ther had bereav'd me of all those great Advantages. On the other side, they began to instill into me In­clinations to a Religious Life; and at length, they told me flat and plain, it was the manner of living, and all the Preferment my Parents had design'd me.

I was already big enough, and had so much Rea­son about me, as to be deeply sensible how disastrous such a Resolution would be to me: And the very thoughts of it infus'd into me as great an aversion [Page 4] for my nearest Relations, as before I had respect and complacency for 'em. My Father was the only Person for whom I still preserv'd some little affe­ction; for he still seem'd to have something of kind­ness for me. So that whenever they talk'd of put­ting me into a Nunnery, I always had recourse to him, and to him made known my Reluctancy and Despair. Which I so well exprest in words accom­pani'd with tears, that my Father himself could not refrain from weeping. But he, good man, wore not the Breeches: And therefore he advis'd me, for his sake, to suffer for a while the Inconveniencies of a Convent, with a promise that I should not long be under that Confinement, but that he would dispose of me so soon as I was ripe for Marriage.

Upon this I obey'd, and I was put into a Nunne­ry, where the Abbess was my Father's Cousin Ger­man; and in her I met again with as much fond­ness as formerly my Grandmother had for me. Which together with the hopes that my Father had giv'n me, was no small consolation to me.

Now in regard I had all the liberty I could desire in the Nunnery, I had so accustom'd my self to do what I pleas'd, that no body durst contradict me: And being thus flatter'd and caress'd, it was no wonder if I gave a second harbour to all that vani­ty which my Grandmother had infus'd into me. The Praises also which the Nuns continually gave me, daily swell'd this Vanity: And by that means I came to understand, that Convents, where young People are allow'd the liberty I had, are no better Schools for Children, then the Houses of Fondling Parents that idolize their own Issue. The more I was persuaded that all Nuns were Saints, the more I sooth'd my self that I deserv'd their Praises; and the more vainly I flatter'd my self, that there was [Page 5] nothing in me to be amended, seeing those very Persons who were entrusted with the care of my Conduct, applauded every thing I did, and every thing which I desir'd to do.

In this manner I was bred up, with little instru­ction in the Duties of my Religion. Not that they omitted to teach me the grounds of it; but in re­gard I had an excellent Memory, I made it my ap­plication to study those grounds, rather to shew my wit, then for the sake of information: Nor did I make any difference between the Articles of my Faith, and the Songs and Verses which I got by heart. To me they seem'd all alike, and I lookt up­on it only as an exercise of my Memory, which was put upon me to try whether I had a good one or no. How many times have I [...]amented afterwards my being so little taught the difference between Solid and Trivial! and my being left to my self to make my choice of which of the two my Fancy best ap­prov'd. Both Nuns and other Persons, who are en­trusted with the Education of Children, are very imprudent to make no distinction between things of so different a nature; but rather to permit the stu­dy of Trifles, before the Memory and the Heart are well season'd with the first impressions of Truth and Vertue.

The reading of Romances brought me to reflect upon things, of which till then I had but a confus'd and imperfect apprehension. By reading them, I learnt there was a Passion that gave to Women an absolute dominion over Men. And I was not a little overjoy'd to think, that I could as well as others pretend to that empire; and that perhaps I had an opportunity already to exercise that Power.

In short, I call'd to mind, that when I liv'd with my Grandmother, there was a Person of Quality [Page 6] who lov'd me, and who usually call'd me his little Queen. I recall'd to my memory all the marks that he gave me of his Affection: And I made no que­stion but that that Affection was an effect of that same Passion which I found so well express'd in Romances. I was sorry I had bin ignorant of it so long; and that I had made no better use of my empire over that Lover. Who is regard he was a Person of Quality, and one that appear'd to have more merit then any of the rest with whom I was acquainted, seem'd to me most worthy of paying me his Assiduities. I resolv'd therefore to engage him to give me a Visit, that I might please my self with enjoying the honour of submitting a Man to my own Laws.

I was too young to have any other motive to this Attempt then vanity: Nor indeed was I acquainted with any other; neither did I believe that Love was any other thing then that same Power and Command wherewith I flatter'd my self.

The course which I took to engage the Marquiss of Blossac (for that was then his Title) to come to me, was to write to him. To which end, not knowing what I did, I copi'd out of several Ro­mances, what seem'd to me the most endearing, to express that I very much desir'd to see him. That is to say, I wrote a most passionate and tender Let­ter, without being sensible of the thing which I ex­press'd, and without divining in the least that there was any harm in writing after that manner. This without doubt is an effect the most innocent that the reading of Romances can produce in the mind of a young Person. But after all, it is a dangerous effect; seeing that by accustoming our selves to read the Language of Love, we expose our selves, how harmless soever our Intentions may be, to love the [Page 7] name of it, and to feel the effects and power of it.

Romances therefore having taught me, that there was a secret and mysterious method to be observ'd in the delivery of Letters; I bethought my self of putting mine into a small Bundle of Rarities wrought by the Nuns, of which I pretended to make a Present to Blossac upon the Festival Day of the Nunnery's particular Saint. In this manner then I sent him my Letter, with orders to the Bearer to deliver the Bundle into his own hands. Thus had my Passion bin never so violent, it could not have taught me to take better measures then my own Vanity inspir'd into me. For the two Passions of Love and Vanity force Women to act for the most part much after the same manner, as I found by experience in the progress of my life.

Blossac receiv'd my Letter; and had always lookt upon me as a Child: But he found that Letter so witty, that his first thoughts advis'd him to shew it to my Parents, to the end they might see what an extraordinary Daughter they had. However, he met with so much Passion, so much tenderness in it, that he believ'd it impossible that I should write in such a manner, without being in some measure sensible of what I had written to him. And the younger I was, the more he flatter'd himself with being the first Object of a growing Passion: And whatever in my Letter seem'd to him to be above my years, he ascrib'd to nothing but Love. So that from thence forward he began to love me in earnest, and return'd me a most passionate Answer, wherein he promis'd to come and see me the next day.

However, I met with something in his Letter that offended me; for he call'd me his Pretty Child. Now I had never read that the Hero's in Romances [Page 8] gave such Language to their Mistresses; so that I expected him with impatience, that I might have the pleasure to abuse him for it. He came; and be­cause he had not seen me in above a year before, he found me so well grown, though then but in the Twelfth of my Age, that the sight of my Person com­pleated what my Letter had begun. He became my most Passionate Lover; nevertheless, being desirous, before he discover'd his Love, to be assur'd, whe­ther I had reason enough about me to sustain the weight of such a Declaration, he appli'd himself to me with the same terms of familiarity as formerly, calling me his Little Miss, and his Pretty Sweet-heart, and teling me with an Aire of Fondness, that I was the most delicate Girl in the World. All these low Titles I took ill; and therefore in the Tone of a Romantic Heroess, I talk'd to him as Astrea talks to Celadon, when she banishes him her presence. At first he laught at my Childish Indignation; but see­ing me persist in the same Language, he was so much the more at a loss, because he lov'd me with so much the more tenderness. Thereupon he came to a seri­ous Explanation of himself, and told me after such a manner, as somewhat daunted me, that he was asham'd at his years, to confess himself so weak as to have a Passion for me; however, that he could not forbear to let me know, as much a Child as I was, that his Life and his Repose depended upon me, and that he should dye without an Assurance that my heart was his. And he pronounc'd these words in such a manner, that they pierc'd my very Soul: And had I had but a little more Experience, I should have understood to have made a distinction between him and others; and that it was no longer that I acted by the same Motive that oblig'd me to send for him.

[Page 9] I then forgot all that Romances had taught me concerning the Disdain and Pride of their Heroesses: I fell a weeping; and begging his pardon for ha­ving offended him; I assur'd him of the surrender of my heart, and that I would never say any thing to him agen that should excite his Anger. He was overjoy'd to find such an alteration in me, and con­tinu'd his Arguments to persuade me how passio­nately he lov'd me, when our Conversation was in­terrupted by the coming in of the Abbess; for then he fell a cockering me again with tendernesses suita­ble to my Age, and calling me Pretty Child, ad­vis'd me to be a good Girl. Nor was it out of Po­licy that I forbore to shew my self displeas'd with his Discourse, but because I found an inclination in my self to pardon every thing in him but indiffe­rency. I was so much afraid he did not love me, that having found an opportunity before we parted, to ask him whether he were still offended, I oblig'd him to swear that he would love me as long as he liv'd.

Thus it was, that without knowing what it meant, I surrender'd my self up to that fatal Passion that since has so much troubl'd my repose. 'Twas not for any other design that I desir'd to see Blossac, but only to trample upon his Submission, when I became so much his Slave, that I took delight in nothing else but thinking of him. To such a Pre­cipice had the aiery Vanity of Romances insensibly led me.

I lov'd, yet knew not what Love was: And I lov'd so much the more, because I was ignorant what it was to love: Nor would my Ignorance permit me to contend with what I knew not. I saw nothing that frighted me in the kind Senti­ments I had for Blossac; nor had I any desire to be [Page 10] afraid of Consequences which I foresaw not. I stu­di'd nothing so much as how to please him, and find out ways to see him often. Romances then, that formerly were my chief delight, began to grow irksome to me; I did not like it that their Heroesses should take so much pleasure in treating their Lo­vers so uncivilly: And I blam'd their Pride so much the more, the less I understood that it was a vertue to be proud. Thus whither is it that we may not be transported, when we unwarily deliver up our selves to a Danger which we understand not, yet for which we have a kindness! When I was alone, I would be writing Letters to Blossac; and though I knew not there was any harm in what I did, yet I was most terribly afraid of being taken in the Act. But it was impossible for me to be so cautious as to preven [...] it. Some of my Epistles were found, and carri'd to the Abbess, who blest her self to see Sa­tan so prevalent in a Girl of my years. She sent for me, and ask'd me where I had learnt to write after that manner? I knew not what answer to make her, seeing her, as I thought, in such an angry Mood. And my silence making her believe that I was bet­ter instructed, and more guilty then indeed I was, she told me, I deserv'd to be buri'd alive for wri­ting such Letters as those. Upon that I fell a blub­bering, and pleaded for my self, that I did not think there had bin any harm in writing after such a manner. But she gave me such a Juniper Lecture by way of answer, as open'd the eyes of my Un­derstanding, and soon convinc'd me of my Errors; and I was so asham'd of what I had done, that I began from that very moment to have as great an aversion for Blossac, as I had kindness before. But among all the Abbess's Pious Taunts, and Matron­ly Sentences, there was none that made so deep an [Page 11] impression upon me, as her upbraiding me for ha­ving given a Man an occasion to believe I was in love with him. She told me, there was nothing so mean and despicable; and that Virgins who had no more wit then so to expose themselves, were the slight and contempt of those very Men by whom they sought to be belov'd.

This toucht me to the very Soul: So that I was not so much afraid of the Scandals and other Incon­veniences, to which, as she assur'd me, I had ex­pos'd my self, as I was asham'd to have done a thing, which as they told me, would make me the scorn of the Person whom I lov'd.

I resolv'd therefore not only not to write to Blos­sac any more, but never to see him agen. I pro­mis'd the same to the Abbess, and I consented to let my Paper and my Pens be taken from me, to let 'em see that I had a desire, by my disdain, to make amends for my overforwardness, which now I blam'd in my self as much as they could do.

The Abbess had reason to believe, by my inge­nuity and submission to her Corrections, that there was nothing but Innocence in what I had done. However, she was one of those who will never miss an opportunity to exalt their own Merit, and get a Reputation for Zeal and Regularity, whatever becomes of their Neighbours. This Lady, who was never lookt upon to be one of the exactest Gover­nesses in the World, inform'd my Parents of what had happen'd, in hopes that they would judge, by the Account she gave 'em of her Vigilance, that she was not a Woman that would suffer any other then Virgin Maries in her House.

This was the first Stain that ever blemish'd my Reputation, and which inclin'd so many People to judg amiss of my Conduct; and doubtless the Im­prudence [Page 12] of the Abbess was the cause of all my Mis­fortunes. For had she known how to manage this first Fault, I might perhaps have afterwards con­sented to whatever they demanded of me, to re­pair it.

My Mother judg'd by those Letters, that I had an inclination to Gallantry; which together with some other Reasons that she had to make me a Nun, made her give the Abbess a strict charge to mould me for that course of life.

The Abbess perceiving how much I endeavour'd to obliterate the Fault with which I was upbraided, believ'd the change of my Behaviour to be an effect of my Repentance: She knew not that Pride was, the cause of it, and that this Pride proceeded from no other Reason, but because I would not be de­spis'd by Blossac. It never came into her thoughts that a Girl of no more then Thirteen years of Age should be capable of such a refin'd piece of Cunning. She believ'd I had quite forgot Blossac; and that now being recover'd from that little Love-frenzy of mine, I would readily yield to those Reasons she should make use of to persuade me, that the only Heaven upon Earth was a Nunnery.

She told me that all my Relations knew what had pass'd between Blossac and my self: And that after such a Transgression they could not think of marrying me; because no body would marry a Maid who had bin guilty at my years of an In­treague: That the Story had made a great noise, and done me so much injury, that there was no other way for me but to betake my self to a Reli­gious Life. Then she made me a long Harangue upon the Pleasures of Retirement; she flatter'd me with hopes that I might suddenly come to be her Coadjutrix, and that she would leave me her Abby.

[Page 13] I was not so much a Child as not to see whither all this tended; nor so much a Fool as not to know that there was nothing but Innocence in the main thing with which they upbraided me. And I as readily found by the Abbess's Sermons, that my Re­lations had a great desire to make a Nun of me. Now in regard there was nothing so remote from my Resolutions, as the Sentiments which she strove to infuse into me, I gave her this confident Answer, That that same Gallantry which she inveigh'd a­gainst so much, was not a thing so criminal as she would needs persuade me. But though what you tell me, said I, were true, yet if it be my Parents absolute pleasure that I must vail my self, I make no question but to obtain this Liberty from them at the least, to make my choice of another House.

The Abbess astonish'd at my Answer, and my Resolution, endeavour'd to sooth me up, and as­sur'd me she would talk no more of it.

After all these Disputes I perceiv'd in my self a violent desire to see Blossac, and to inform him of every thing that the Abbess had told me. For not doubting but that he would be glad to marry me, and for that he was otherwise a Person suitable to my humour, I thought I could not do better then to renew my Friendship with him. I quite forgot that petty Pride which I assum'd upon the discove­ry of our private Familiarity; nor was I afraid of his despising me when I renew'd those Addresses that seem'd requisite to recall him. And thus it came to pass, that they restor'd me to my Passion by the cares which they took to divert me from it.

It was now near ten Months that he had heard no tydings of me, from the time that I had told him I would see him no more. He had endeavour'd to penetrate into the motive that induc'd me to [Page 14] this change. But at length the Nuns having in­form'd him, that I had shewn his Letters, and that I only made it my business to make him my Sport, he was asham'd that he had ever had any kindness for me. He took me for a Child, and for one who had a Character of Inconstancy and Deceit, which it became him to avoid; and with th [...]se thoughts he resolv'd to forget me.

He thought me unworthy of his Sedulities; at what time I found a way to let him know, that I desir'd to speak with him, and that I desir'd him to come disguis'd to the Window of the Speaking-place, where I promis'd to be at such an Hour. But he receiv'd the Message with a disdainful smile, and bid the Messenger tell me, he would come and see me when I had learnt more wit.

What a Rage was I in, when they brought me this Answer! I began to believe what the Abbess had told me, that forwardness in Persons of my Sex always drew contempt upon themselves.

I was sensible of all the mortification that could cast down a Person naturally vain, when her Vani­ty is humbl'd to the lowest degree. I could not tell what course to take to disingage my self from the Trouble which I had brought upon my self. Prompt­ed by my Revenge, sometimes I sa [...]e musing which way to take away the Life of a perfidious Contemner of my Favours; but then agen, condemning so vio­lent a Resolution, nothing would serve me, but to throw my self at his Feet, that I might regain him by my Tears. In short, a thousand extravagant Ideas rowl'd in my mind, which the reading of Romances had furnish'd me withal, and which my Youth confirm'd.

After I had spent two or three Months in this doleful condition, I fell into a languishing Distem­per, [Page 15] the cause of which the Nuns were ignorant of. I admir'd the guidance of my Discretion at those years. For I made no body the Confident of my Grievances. And my vanity made me a Dissem­bler; for I was too much humbl'd in my own Eyes, to make my self lower in the Eyes of others.

At length, overwhelm'd with grief, and not knowing what to resolve, I made as if I had had a liking to a Religious Life.

This alteration in my Behaviour astonish'd the Abbess and the Nuns, who mistook the irregular mo­tions of a Heart too much devoted to what it lov'd, for the effects of Grace. Never did Virgin testify a more ardent Zeal to take the Vaile upon her, then my self. For I was impatient to try, whether the noise of such a Sacrifice would not awake Blossac to a recollecting himself: And on the other side, I had before my Eyes the Honour which such a goodly Action would procure me in the World.

So soon as my Relations were inform'd of my Design, they hasten'd me to take the Habit upon me: And indeed considering the steps that I had made, I could not well go back. However, I found an Expedient to suspend the execution of a Design which began already to terrify me. I told my Parents, that I did not find they led such regular Lives as I could wish, in the Nunnery where I was; and therefore being desirous to renounce the World in good earnest, 'twas my intention to make choice among all the Nunneries, of one the most Au­stere that I could hear of.

Now no sooner had I declar'd my resolution to go to another House, but the Abbess and the Nuns endeavour'd to dissuade me from taking the Habit upon me in any House whatever. They told me that I was not of a Constitution proper for a Con­vent; [Page 16] and some there were who made me the Con­fident of their secret disgusts against Retirement.

I ascrib'd all this good Counsel to the irregulari­ty of their Lives: Nor indeed was I at all troubl'd to have found out new Reasons for my leaving their Convent. I was therefore still importunate to be carri'd to another Nunnery; my Mother also com­pli'd with my desires; and so I left the Abbess and her Abby, not knowing whether I had reason to be sorry or to rejoyce.

The Nuns no sooner saw me out of their House, but they told me, like a company of Charitable Baggages as they were, that I was a Coquetting Slut, whom they were overjoy'd to be rid of; nei­ther did they fail to make my pretended Amorous Intreague the subject of their Tittle-tattle to those who were ignorant of it before.

When I came to the Convent I had made choice of, as well for that I was not yet Fifteen years of Age, as because the Nuns had bin inform'd of all the Reports which had been spread abroad concern­ing me, they thought it proper to defer the putting me among the Noviciats, but only gave me the Habit and Title of a Postulant.

This Convent seem'd to me quite different from the other: For the Nuns liv'd all in a perfect Re­gularity; every one appear'd contented with her Condition; there was a holy Emulation among 'em; and in short, they perform'd all their Duties with an extraordinary Exactness. More then this, the general opinion of their Sanctity had drawn to their House Ladies and Virgins of the highest Qua­lity; and they were so accustom'd never to frequent other Houses, that they would not so much as con­verse with a Lay-sister. They desir'd always to have Prelates to officiate at all their Solemn Festivals, and [Page 17] never to hear any but the most famous Preachers. Now whether this Affectation were altogether ex­empt from Pride, and all suspicion of Vanity, is a question not so easily determin'd.

One would have thought however, that being so vain as I was, I should have agreed with a Con­vent where I met with so much Vanity; but be­sides that I had very little Piety, I scorn'd that Ri­diculous Vanity that sacrifices only to Rank and Out­ward shew. I was only an Idolatress of that vanity which Beauty and Merit inspire; with some kind­ness too for that other Vanity, to see my self ador'd by the Person for whom I had an affection.

And this Vanity made me still retain a lively re­membrance of the Affront which, as I thought, Blossac had put upon me: Nor did I so loudly pro­claim, as I said before, my Intention to be a Nun, but only to try, whether the Noise of my Design would rouse him to prevent it. But I heard no­thing of him; and in the mean time the Day ap­pointed for me to take the Habit upon me, drew near.

Some few days before, my Father came to see me, and putting the Question to me, whether I really persisted in my Resolution to take the Veil, only my Tea [...] made answer for me. By that he understood more then I durst let him know. He told me, he was glad I had not so much Zeal, as others would persuade him I had, for a Condition which he could not permit me to embrace, as having resolv'd to marry me to a Gentleman whom he had made choice of for me. He farther added, That the Match was suitable to the Condi­tion of his Affairs, and that he was come to talk with me about it. He did not name the Husband whom he had design'd me; only he told me in ge­neral, [Page 18] that he was a Person with whom I should live happily, well descended, and of a good Estate; but that the Business was to be speedily concluded, and to be kept private from the knowledge of my Mother; for that though the Match were never so advantagious, she would oppose my Marriage, ha­ving such an aversion as she had for my advance­ment, and absolutely resolving to make me a Nun. He told me moreover, that to make sure work, he had design'd to take me from the Convent by force; and gave me an account what measures he had stu­dy'd for that purpose.

I had not so easily consented to my Father's De­sign, but that I imagin'd at the same time, that the Husband he had provided for me might be Blossac himself. I had also some remnants of Ro­mantick Notions rowling in my Head, which made me believe that Blossac had an intention to make a Knight-Errant Wedding of it, by some pleasing surprise, which would be so much the more agree­able to my Humour. I ask'd my Father therefore whether he were not the Man? And the manner of my Father's refusal to explain himself, fully per­suaded me that it could be no other then Blossac, Besides, I was so wrapt up with a belief of this Fancy, that I durst not press my Father any far­ther, for fear of finding my self deceiv'd. So that I only told him I should be ready to obey him in every thing. Thus while my Mother was prepa­ring for me a Religious Vail, my Father was pro­viding for me Nuptial Sheets. A thing perhaps which never happen'd before, that two such diffe­rent Ceremonies should be preparing at the same time for the same Person.

Some days after this Discourse with my Father, he return'd to the Convent, bringing my Mother [Page 19] with him: And then it was that he desir'd her to let him take me out from the Company, that he might have the consolation of taking his last fare­wel of me, since he was after that to resign me wholly to God and the Blessed Virgin. My Mo­ther consented; and then my Father taking me by the hand, while my Mother was talking with the Nuns, led me into the Court. At the same time three sturdy Fellows came to us, and taking me up in their Arms, carry'd me without the Gate, and then threw me into a Coach with six Horses. Pre­sently the Coachman drove away, and I was out of sight in the twinkling of an Eye.

My Father being now to act his part, return'd in a seeming haste to the speaking-Room, and with an aire of Grief and Fury told my Mother a plausi­ble Story, such as his Invention had supply'd him with, and then pretending a world of eagerness to pursue the Ravishers, he flew to his own Coach, leaving my Mother half maz'd, and the Convent in such an uproar, as might well be the effect of so strange and unexpected an Accident.

My Mother, who suspected not my Father in the least, accus'd Blossac to be the Contriver and Author of This, and swore she would spare for no cost, till she had obtain'd full satisfaction for this Violence.

On the other side, my Father, who knew better then any body what was become of me, made the Coachman drive this way and t'other way, till he had almost tir'd his Horses, and then sending him back to my Mother, bid him tell her that he was going to take post in pursuit of me, according to such directions as he had receiv'd from the Country People.

[Page 20] In the mean time the Coach, wherein I was, whirl'd it away full speed; never stopping till it was toward night, that we came to a Place which I was altogether unacquainted with, and where my Father met us about an hour after our Arrival.

As for my own part, during the whole Journey, I could not find out for my life who the Lady, nor the three Men were, that bore me company. They answer'd to all my Questions, That my Father would satisfy me.

When he arriv'd, he told me the Lady was a Friend of his, whom he had desir'd to keep me company; and that the three Men were honest Fel­lows, and faithful Servants of his; how that he would not leave me till he had deliver'd me safe in­to the hands of my Husband, who liv'd at such a Place, which he nam'd, and where his Estate lay. All this while these Stories did nothing correspond with my Imaginations that this Husband might be Blossac: So that now beginning to find I was mi­staken, I conjur'd my Father to have pity upon me, and not to sacrifice me to a Person for whom per­haps I might not have the least inclination. But he only bid me have patience, and all would be well. Thus we continu'd our Journey, and much ado I had to resist the Mortal Inquietudes that tur­moil'd my Thoughts; though I did not altogether despair of finding such a Person in my Husband, whose Complacencies might make me forget Blossac.

In the mean time I observ'd, during our Jour­ney▪ that one of the Men that accompany'd me would be always viewing me with a nice and inqui­sitive Eye; [...] besides that, was very officious to please me. Nevertheless, it never came into my mind so much as to guess that he was the Person [Page 21] design'd to be my Husband. However he was the Man. And when we were come within half a day's journey from the Village whither we were travel­ing, he left us, without discovering who he was. So soon as he was gone, my Father askt me, what I thought of him? and whether he were not a handsome Gentleman? And these Questions he put to me after such a manner, that I knew before-hand what he was going to say to me. However I made him no reply to his Interrogatories, for fear my answer should not please him. I know not whe­ther he found by me, that I had no great stomach to the person of the Man; however, after he had acknowledg'd him to be the Husband he had pro­vided for me, he told me, he had only left us, to return agen and meet us in an Equipage more be­coming his Quality. How are poor Maids to be pity'd, when their Parents seek only their own In­terest in the preferment of their Children! I will now then tell ye the Reasons why my Father sa­crific'd me to this Gentleman.

He was the Son of a Counsellor of the Parliament of his Province, who not having any inclination to the Law, had purchas'd a very great Lordship, with an intention to get it erected into a Marquisate. Which being somewhat difficult to obtain, he had recourse to my Father, who had formerly bin his Father's intimate Friend, and who by his Credit at Court procur'd him what he desir'd. His Estate indeed was very considerable, and therefore he was doubtless an Advantageous Match for a Virgin who had no Portion.

There was yet another Reason of greater impor­tance that press'd my Father to marry me. For this Gentleman, after he came to his Estate, had lent my Father a Considerable Sum of Money; and [Page 22] he had so order'd his Business, that my Marriage was to extinguish the Debt. 'Tis true, he did not tell me all this at first; he only told me that he was utter­ly ruin'd if I did not comply with his Desires. But when he heard me conjure him not to precipitate my Marriage, he thought it behov'd him to tell me the whole Truth, with this farther Circumstance, that my Mother knew nothing of the Debt, and that she would be like a Mad-woman, if ever it came to her Ears.

I did not complain to my Father for seeking by my Marriage to repair the Decays of his Estate; but I could not forbear telling him, that I was sorry he did not sooner let me know the Reasons that in­duc'd him to marry me, for that I was persuaded that if he would have bestow'd me upon the Mar­quiss of Blossac, he would have been as generous to have engag'd the payment of the Debt upon the same Condition. At which my Father fell a laugh­ing, and embracing me, My dear Child, said he, thou dost not understand the World; we live not in an Age, where Persons of Estates pay so dear for their Wives.

I reply'd, that he was not acquainted with Blos­sac's Humour, and that if he pleas'd, before he marry'd me, to make him the proposal of marrying me upon the same Conditions that he gave me to another, I made no question but that he would ac­cept 'em.

I gave this Character of Blossac, because I lov'd him; and not being able to conceal from my self the Affection I had for him, I endeavour'd to per­suade my self, that the Good Qualities which I con­ceited in him, render'd him a Person worthy of my love: And judging of his Sentiments by my own, I imagin'd he would never refuse to obtain me at [Page 23] any rate whatever. Thus I forgat the Contempt of which I had till then accus'd him: And I had still the vanity to flatter my self that he would ne­ver have patiently endur'd my being marry'd to another, had he bin inform'd of my Destiny. Upon this, I desir'd my Father to let me write to him, and to put off the Wedding till I receiv'd his An­swer. But my Father told me I was a Chicken, to imagin that a Man from whom I had not heard in so long time, would impair his Estate to purchase a Bedfellow. Yet such were still the vain Hopes, wherewith I was wont to flatter my self in the suc­ceeding course of my Life: For I always had a good opinion of those that lov'd me.

In the mean time my Husband met us with a Magnificent Train; and then, I must acknowledge, he appear'd to me quite another thing then what he seem'd to be upon the Road. So that after I had for some time wistly view'd and consider'd him, I felt no farther reluctancy to give him my hand; and therefore making a vertue of necessity, I re­solv'd to make the best of my Fortue.

We stay'd no longer in the Town where we ar­riv'd, then to get all things ready for the Nuptial Ceremonies: During which time I was visited by all the Neighbours; and in regard my Father was with me, no body ever dreamt that I had bin hur­ry'd away in a Coach and Six Horses to a stollen Wedding.

So soon as the fatal Knot was ty'd, we went to my Husband's Lordship, where my Father left me, having all the reason in the world to believe that he had dispos'd of me to a plentiful and happy Be­ing. He had before his departure written to my Mother, that he had met with my Ravisher, and had forc'd him to marry me: That I had bin more [Page 24] fortunate then prudent; for that I had suffer'd my self to be forc'd from the Convent by a Person of a great Estate, and of no mean Birth.

My Father was desirous that I should approve his writing to my Mother after that manner; and that my being forc'd from the Nunnery should be thought a Contrivance of my own. And this was another Blot upon my Reputation, and of which I too plainly foresaw the Consequences. For no bo­dy that saw my Father's Letter, question'd the truth of my being stollen by force; and they as little doubted that it was my Contrivance, because they were ignorant that I was altogether a stranger to my Husband at that time. Besides, my former In­clination for Blossac, so well known, render'd all that my Father had written too probable to be de­ni'd: Nor was it any wonder that I should have so much wit, at Sixteen years of Age, to manage a Nuptial Amour, which was the only Remedy I had to prevent my being lockt up in a Cloyster.

Thus it fell out, that though I never deserv'd it, I had all the Honour, or rather all the Shame of this Intreague: My Wit was admir'd; but People neither thought, nor spoke so well of my Prudence and Conduct. The Story of my being taken by force out of a Nunnery, was the Discourse of all Paris for a long time, and every body told it after a different manner. The Idea that all Persons had of my Wit and Contrivance for the carrying on of an Amoros Intriegue, shelter'd my Father from having any hand in it. But the Relation it self of the Matter of Fact was so remote from Truth, that I should have deni'd it my self, had I heard it repeated; for there was no disguise which they did not make me put on to facilitate my Escape out of the Cloy­ster▪ insomuch that I was strangely surpriz'd to [Page 25] find that a certain Author, in a Book, wherein he has the goodness to name me, should presume to aver, that I was disguis'd in Man's Apparal, and that I made my Escape in a Gardner's Cloaths. Thus if there be but the least foundation for Slan­der, she believes her self fully authoriz'd to publish whatever Malice dares invent. And I am assur'd that so many Scandalous Stories as are every day made upon Persons of my Sex are only the effect of this Malignity. But 'tis too early yet to make Re­flections. I have many other Adventures to re­count, wherein you will find that Slander has as little spar'd me, though no more guilty, then in this.

One of the first, to whom the Story of my being forc'd from the Convent, and my Mar­riage, was told with all the most malicious Circumstances that Publick Report could imbellish it withal, was Blossac. Which when he had heard, he seem'd to repent his refusing to meet me at the Time and Place appointed. For he had no other Reasons to forbear seeing me, then the noise which our Letters had made; and not believing, that be­ing so young as I was, I could have Discretion and Conduct enough to make use of all the Means and Opportunities that might present themselves to fa­vour our Private Meetings, he resolv'd to stay till I had more Judgment. And besides, he was not well satisfi'd with me, because he still conceited it was I who had inform'd the Abbess of our private Amour. At least it was this that he told me in excuse of himself. For my part, I am persuaded, by what happen'd after that, that from the time of those Reports he ceas'd to love me, and that his Flame did not re-kindle, till the noise of my be­ing forc'd from the Convent gave him to under­stand, [Page 26] that I was not so much a Child as he took me to be.

However it were, when he understood that I was marri'd to a Person much below him in Qua­lity, and inferior to him in Estate, he resolv'd to find me out, not able to forget in what a passionate manner formerly I was wont to breathe into his Amorous Breast my Vows and Resolutions to be always his. Nor was it an unusual thing for him to visit the Province where my Residence was, be­cause his Grandfather had bin Governor of it; and for that the Gentry of the Country had a great value for his Respect and Name.

Book the Second.

WHILE Blossac was meditating the Recove­ry of my Affection, I was wholly taken up with the care of pleasing my Husband. Me thought I lov'd no body but him, tho in truth I could make daily discoveries, as well in his Disposition, as in his Person, of those defects which in some measure stag­ger'd my Inclination. He was a Man naturally given to debauchery, and one who preferr'd Wine and Good Chear before all other Pleasure. He would be fre­quently fuddl'd; and in that Condition he was ve­ry offensive and disobliging in his Language. He would be still upbraiding me, That instead of bring­ing him a Portion, I had bin the cause of making him part with some of his Choicest Acres: And this Reproach he would usually throw upon me in Public. All People blam'd him, and took my part at those times; but there was no alteration; it was not an Injury that was offer'd me now and then. Nevertheless, I dissembl'd it so well, that I gave him not the least occasion to accuse me of failing in my Complacency and Respect for him. I led a Life in the Country very retir'd; having only the Socie­ty of one Gentleman that liv'd in the Neighbour­hood, a Person of Wit and Learning. This was M [...]de Balzac: He brought me to love Reading and Study; and by his Advice I apply'd my self to read more solid and substantial Authors then any I had hitherto known; I found my self also well enclin'd to learn the Languages, and to write with more [Page 28] exactness then the generality of Women. This was both a diversion to me, and procur'd me much honour in the Province; so that I became an Um­press among the Wits, and Judge of their Works. Now receiving so many Verses every day as I did, it may well be thought that they were sent me com­pos'd in my Praise; and among Sparkling Wits, I'll assure ye, there were some that made love to me in Verse. But I receiv'd nothing from their hands, with which I did not make my Husband acquainted; nor did I perceive that he had any in­clination to Jealousy. But I did not long enjoy this Repose. Some body inform'd him, that before I was Twelve years of Age I had written Amorous Letters to Blossac, which had made a great deal of noise. Which made him believe, that having dis­cover'd such an early inclination to Love, I must needs retain it still; and being moreover conscious of his ill usage of [...], a conceit came into his head that I could not love him, and that therefore I must have an Amorous Intriegue elsewhere.

Nor was it long before he knew of whom it was that it behov'd him to be jealous. Blossac was come into the Province with some of his Friends; and presently they came all together to pay me a Visit. I was alone in the Castle: But it is impossible to express in what a strange disorder all the motions of my Body were, when I beheld the Man who once had bin so dear to me. On the other side, he seem'd to me no less embarrass'd then my self. After the first Complements, his Friends commended the Situation and Beauty of the Castle, and desir'd to see the Apartiments. Which while they were do­ing, Blossac made a dextrous Escape from his Friends, and having found a way to speak to me in Private, he gave me to understand in the most tender Ex­pressions [Page 29] in the World, that he had always lov'd me, and that I could not in justice deprive him of a Heart which I had formerly giv'n him. But I had still so much power left as to conjure him never to think more of me, at least, never to make me any more Visits. Nor did I forget to forbid him to write to me, fearing as I acknowledg'd to him, that my Husband would have no good opinion of any familiar Intercourse between us.

While we were thus in parley together, my Hus­band arriv'd, and it was no body's fault but his own, if he did not perceive that Blossac and I had both been weeping. I am apt to believe that he was sensible of the disorder wherein he found us, but he dissembl'd it, and all the rest of the day de­mean'd himself with great civility.

The Marquis of Sauveboeuf was one of those who accompani'd Blossac; and resembl'd very much the Young Sparks of the Times: He was inconsiderate, and lov'd to talk to Women without discretion. I know not whether or no he had ever heard, that I had once a kindness for Blossac, or whether it were out of a humour to please himself by crossing my Husband; but all the time we sate chatting toge­ther, he would still be telling him, that I was the most Beautiful Woman that ever he beheld in his life; and frankly confess'd that he would make love to me, but that I liv'd in a Province so remote. However, because what Sauveboeuf prattl'd was on­ly in jest, my Husband took no offence at it. So that when I saw that my Husband seem'd so well to understand Ralliery, to remove that jealousy which he had of Blossac, I resolv'd, though very imprudently, to bestow the main of my Civilities upon Sauveboeuf, and seem desirous to please him. Wherein I did very unadvisedly; for Blossac grew [Page 30] jealous of it; my Husband's Suspicions were there­by confirm'd; Sauveboeuf lov'd me in earnest; and all three took me for the Arrantest Cocquet in na­ture.

After our Company had left us, my Husband no longer put any constraint upon himself, but began to reproach me with what I had formerly done for Blossac, and with what I had now done for Sauve­boeuf; he swore he would not be the Cully of my Amours, and that I should never stir out of the Castle.

Some days after, he made a shew of having inter­cepted one of Blossac's Letters which confirm'd his Suspicions. He had bin so cunningly malicious as to compose the Letter himself: But I knew not what to think of it: For indeed, notwithstanding the Injunction I had laid upon Blossac not to write to me, I was afraid lest he might have ventur'd a Letter; and I found my self in a strange Laby­rinth.

And here I will aver it with the same sincerity with which I purpose to write these Memoirs, that it was not so much what the Jealousy of my Hus­band caus'd me to fear, that busied most my thoughts in the sad Reflections which I made upon my Destiny, as the consequence of an Amour, of which I had formerly bin sensible, and which had then got the mastery of my Heart. I was more pleas'd to think that I was belov'd by Blossac, then I was afraid of my Husband's Resentment. I par­don'd Blossac also for his imprudence in writing to me: And lastly, Whatever seem'd to assure me of his Fidelity, made a deeper impression upon me, then all the Dangers to which he expos'd me. Ne­vertheless, I will say thus much more with the same sincerity, that I had no design in all this, contrary [Page 31] to my Duty. I was also prepar'd to suffer whatever my Husband should inflict upon me. Nor did I hope for any other happiness, then to observe a blind obe­dience to his Humour, and to foster at the bottom of my Heart the secret pleasure of loving another, with so much the more fidelity, because I was re­solv'd to yield nothing to my Passion. What an Example of Vertue should I have bin, had I had a Husband endu'd with greater Prudence! But he spar'd me so little, and took so much care to cry me down, that Vexation and Despite made me lose something of the delicacy of my Sentiments. 'Twas my Opinion that I might seek a means to se­cure my Repose, provided I did nothing that could bring reproach upon my Actions.

My Husband's behaviour toward me, gave occa­sion to all the Reports that were spread abroad at that time: 'Twas believ'd he did not use me so, without just cause: Nay, it was reported, that du­ring the Visit which Blossac paid me, my Hus­band had surpriz'd me in the very Act.

My Husband gave credit to that Scandal, and conceited with himself, that it became him to treat me as if I had bin guilty. So that the fear of being oppress'd, made me study the most speedy way to free my self out of his hands. To that purpose, one of my Women, and my self, disguis'd our selves in the Habit of Country Girls, and intermixing our selves with the Workmen that wrought in the Ca­stle, we went out in the dusk of the Evening along with them, and walk'd it to a Place where a Lac­quey, whose Fidelity I had gain'd by Reward, staid for us with Horses.

After we had rode all Night, we came the next Morning to a Convent, the Abbess of which had promis'd me sanctuary.

[Page 32] So soon as I was safe there, I wrote to my Hus­band, complaining of his Severity, which had con­strain'd me to betake my self to flight: And to my Father, to inform him of the Reasons why I left my Husband. I besought both the one and the other to examine without passion whether I had de­serv'd such usage. My Affection also tempted me to write to Blossac: But I had strength enough to resist that Temptation; fearing lest my Letter might be intercepted, and produc'd as a Testimony to prove me guilty, at a time when it so much con­cern'd me to appear innocent.

My Husband made me no return: But my Fa­ther sent me word, that I had done ill to leave him; that he would write to him, in order to en­gage him to take me home again; and that he would not fail to be speedily with me, and be a means to return me reconcil'd into his hands.

How easy is it for People who behold the Misfor­tunes of others only at a distance, to take that course which then my Father took! I was so ill sa­tisfi'd with his Letter, that I wrote him an Answer, That I would rather dye then return to my Hus­band, who being the first to accuse his Wife of a Disorder, which he well knew she was innocent of, had thereby acquir'd a right to misuse her when he pleas'd.

My Father to appease me, and at the same time to convince me that I was in the wrong, sent me a Letter which my Husband had written to him, wherein he only complain'd of my little Affection for him, without mentioning a word of those Jea­lousies and Suspicions which he had manifested to me: Protesting on the other side, that he had al­ways ador'd me, and swearing that he would spare▪ for nothing to make me forget the Causes [Page 33] which he might have given me to complain of him.

My Father was mov'd with the Tenderness that appear'd in that Letter; and at first I was mollifi'd with it my self; so little of evil did my Heart con­tain, and so easy would it have bin for my Husband to have liv'd happily with me, would he have bin so pleas'd himself. But at length, upon a review of his Letter, I perceiv'd the Spirit of it, and I saw well that his Softness was only an Artifice to surprize me. And this confirm'd me more then ever in my Resolution never to return home agen.

All this while my Reputation was cruelly at­tack'd: And then I began to understand, that of all the Resolutions that a Woman, whether guilty or innocent, can take, the worst is to leave her Hus­band's House. Yet after all, how prejudicial soever this Resolution was to my Reputation, it seem'd necessary for my Repose, and I was of opinion that my Quiet ought to be more dear to me then my Honour. Doubtless this was an Illusion: For the one cannot be lost without the other: And an ho­nest Woman must never hope for repose, that ne­glects the care of her Honour. Such are the Extre­mities to which we are reduc'd by Matrimony. What Woman therefore would engage in it, did she but consider, that there is no other remedy for an unfortunate Woman, but to endure, without daring to complain of her Sufferings, or seek the means to avoid 'em?

But in regard, that when I marri'd, I did not apprehend it was my duty to render my self un­happy, I only made it my endeavour to set my self at liberty. And I may also say, That the less ground I saw for the Reports that were spread abroad a­gainst my Honour, the more Courage, and the [Page 34] greater Resolution I had to contemn 'em. But I must also confess, that the more I was persuaded that People had an ill opinion of me, the more I accustom'd my self to slight the Probabilities that might confirm it. I minded only to preserve my self innocent. That was all the vertue and the me­rit which I propos'd to my self. Neither did my Delicacy aim so far as to appear exactly what I was: whether it were, that I despair'd of success, or that the love of my repose made that Niceness seem to me quite out of season. But in short, 'twas only the obstinacy of People to cry me down, which fix'd me in that disposition of mind. I wish that Women, who are under the same Circumstances, may not follow my Example; if there be any one however that can do otherwise.

But to let my Father see that my Husband's Let­ter was full of Artifice, I sent him a new Scroll of all his severe Usage and Menaces with which he continually worri'd me, and put me into hourly Frights; and conjur'd him not to overwhelm me with Despair, by obliging me to live with him again. I must confess, that my Husband's ill usage of me was not sufficient to authorize a Separation; but it was too terrible for me to endure. I tremble every time I think upon it, that he should threaten to keep me lockt up in the Castle; and it raises my Anger when I call to mind the injurious and threat­ning Language which he continually peal'd in my Ears. More then this, I did not believe that a Wo­man was bound to stay till utmost Extremities to be separated from a Husband: Nor did I much mind whether the Law or my Parents made the Separa­tion, provided we might be parted.

In the mean time I understood that my Father, instead of returning an Answer to my last Letter, [Page 35] was preparing to deliver me back into my Hus­band's possession.

On the other side, my Mother, who was afraid of nothing more then that I should return to Paris, and put her to charges, wrote me troublesome Let­ters, wherein she gave me those admirable Lessons, which I much question whether she would have pra­ctis'd her self, had she bin in my Condition.

This made me take a Resolution which I with­stood at first; but which, after all, was that which flatter'd me most, and of which the very thought afforded me consolation in the midst of my Trou­bles and Afflictions. I wrote to Blossac, and gave him an Account of my Condition, desiring his Ad­vice and Assistance. However, because I was still afraid lest my Letter should be intercepted, I let no­thing fall from my Pen that might give him the least hint that I had still a Passion for him. I only seem'd to repair to him, as to a general Friend, not knowing where else to address my self, But this Precaution quite ruin'd me in the good opinion of Blossac, or rather serv'd as a pretence for his Incon­stancy. For certain it is, that if he had always lov'd me, he would never have quarrell'd with me for making so little a shew of my Passion, because he might well judge that I could not in prudence write otherwise, considering the Circumstances I was under.

I have already told ye, that he was jealous of my Civilities to Sauveboeuf. This Jealousy was strengthen'd by the many Reports which my Hus­band had spread about to my Disgrace. For in all Companies where he took pains to dishonour me, Sauveboeuf's Name was not forgotten. And the ve­ry naming of a Person who was fam'd for being one of the greatest Intrieguers about the Coun­try, [Page 36] was enough to render the Calumny probable.

Now Blossac not finding in my Letter my former tenderness of Expressions, believ'd me another Woman; and that it was not out of inclination or preference that I address'd my self to him, but out of pure necessity. So that he was neither a Lover that had the Tenderness, nor a Friend that had the Ge­nerosity to serve me. He return'd me an Answer the flattest, the most spropositous, and the most offensive in the World, reproaching me with my ill Conduct, and my natural propensity to Coquettry. Alas! he forgot that 'twas himself who had infus'd that pro­pensity into me: And his Perfidiousness went so far as to make that criminal in me, which I had only done for his sake.

I read over his Letter no less then ten times, not being able to persuade my self that ever he could have been capable of so much Ingratitude as to write to me in that manner. But being fully at length convinc'd of it, I ceas'd from that moment to have any longer for him, I will not say, not only the least Inclination, but the least Esteem. I was astonish'd that I should be so long before I un­derstood it; and I repented that I had not taken a Resolution to despise him, from the very time that he refus'd to give me the meeting already spoken of. This speedy change in my heart in reference to Blossac, convinc'd me that there is not any Woman sensible of her Honour, who is proof against some certain Injuries. From that time forward I could never en­dure either to see, or have any value for him. All that I could do, in consideration of the Sentiments which he had inspir'd into me, was only never to name him. I know not whether all Women will approve this speedy Resolution of mine to forget him. But I can hardly believe there is any Wo­man [Page 37] so low-spirited, as to continue her Affection to a Man that should forsake her in necessity, and under a slight Pretence, when unfortunate only for his sake. We may pardon Inconstancy, Fantastical Hu­mour, and even Injuries themselves, when they are not the Character of a Base and Interested Heart; but I cannot believe it other then a Crime to love a Man who suffers a Woman whom he had lov'd, and who craves his Assistance, to become a prey to her Enemies. He ought to have serv'd me without any hesitation, and that done, he might have chosen whether he would have lov'd me or no. And there­fore in my opinion I did no more then what any Ra­tional Woman would have done, in defacing him out of my heart.

So soon as I had receiv'd the foremention'd Letter, and that it had caus'd so suddain a change in my Affection all things, methought began to look with a new face. I did not think my Husband's Behaviour so hateful as it seem'd to be: I blam'd my self for ha­ving left him; and I expected the arrival of my Fa­ther with as much impatience, as fear of see­ing him before. I found no reluctancy to submit to what he had propounded to me; and I lookt up­on the Misfortunes which I had so much dreaded, to be no other then the effects of vain Terror. By which we may see, that Love is that which gives what Tincture it pleases to things; and that when a Woman ceases to have a Passion for another Man besides her Husband, she has courage enough, either not to magnify the causes of her fear, or else not to be afraid at all. How happy had I bin, had I con­sider'd these things sooner, and had always remem­ber'd 'em during the continu'd course of my Life.

How great a power did my Father believe he had over me, when he beheld me so submissive to what- [...] [Page 40] not how, from the Sparks that stopt him, came ri­ding up with his Sword in his hand, and threaten'd to kill me. Upon which Sauveboeuf not believing it safe to trust me in such rude hands, carri'd me away by force, notwithstanding all that I could say or plead for my self.

Thus by the most unexpected Accident that ever was, I found my self as it were torn from the hands of my Husband, at a time when I began to love him; and I became at the same time an Innocent Occasion of new Stories and fresh Calamities to the prejudice of my Reputation, when I was wholly ta­ken up with a desire to have fix'd my self to my duty.

What a noise did this Story make; and what did not People say of me in the World! My Father and my Husband made no question, but that it was a Contrivance of mine which had engag'd Sauveboeuf to this Act of Violence: And being so prepossess'd, they made no wonder that I so readily consented to my Reconciliation; and after this, my Father no less readily believ'd whatever my Husband had told him before. And indeed, Probabilities render'd the Proceeding so Criminal, that neither the one nor the other could well excuse me. And upon this they were so incens'd against me and Sauveboeuf, that without any consideration of their own Ho­nours and my Reputation, they went to Bourdeaux, to make their Complaint to the Parlament.

But they were not a little amaz'd to meet Sauve­boeuf there, who to justify me as I had desir'd him, had follow'd 'em to that City. However, 'twas in vain for him to lay before 'em, that I had no hand in the Violence: For that was thought to be an Excuse only to hinder the Prosecution of the Law.

In the mean time Publick Report had spread abroad a new Story, by which it was given out, [Page 41] that Sauveboeuf, having forc'd me from my Friends, only to satisfy a transitory Passion, had left me so soon as he had humour'd his loose Desires.

What a troublesome thing it is to lie at the mercy of certain Conjunctures! while every body takes the liberty to vent Probabilities for truth; so that it may be said that the good or bad Reputation of Women depends upon the Circumstances of their Adventures.

Besides that Sauveboeuf was well esteem'd in the Parlament of Bourdeaux, and had very powerful Friends, there was another Reason which hinder'd my Father and my Husband from prosecuting this Affair. Nor did Sauveboeuf shun 'em, but waited on 'em himself to give 'em an Account of his Con­duct; and among other things he told 'em, that the same day that he forc'd me from 'em, he carri'd me back to the Nunnery which I left that Morning. Certainly they must have bin most dreadfully pre­possess'd against me, to question my Innocency after that. For, in short, had I lov'd Sauveboeuf in such a manner as they seem'd to believe, and to that end, had engag'd him to force me out of their hands, most assuredly I would never have return'd the same day to the Convent; I should have doubt­less chosen some other Sanctuary; nor would I so soon have taken care to justify my self.

My Father and my Husband made a shew of gi­ving credit to what Sauveboeuf told 'em; and so, quitting their Prosecutions, perhaps because they thought they should get nothing by 'em, they re­turn'd to me, who stay'd all this while in the Con­vent. But this Visit was quite different from the former. They both of them distrusted me; nei­ther had I those kind thoughts of my Husband as before, while I began to look on Sauveboeuf with no indifferent Eye.

[Page 42] Thus we quitted the Convent a second time: But then I must acknowledge, I follow'd my Fa­ther and my Husband with as much Reluctancy and Sadness, as Chearfulness and Joy before this un­lucky Adventure.

My Father staid with us a few days; and before he left me, he prepar'd me for all the cold Treat­ments of my Husband, which in a little time he fail'd not to make me sensible of. I did all that lay in my power to remove from my Father's mind all those Suspicions, which my being forcibly carri'd away had created in him. But he made me answer, that nothing but my future behaviour could unde­ceive him, and that if ever I gave him occasion to be displeas'd with me again, I must never expect to find any Protection among my Relations. And thus I became expos'd to greater Misfortunes then those which hitherto had befallen me.

Some time after I found my self to be with Child; and because it pleas'd my Husband to for­get that we had bin together near two days when he came the first time with my Father to the Con­vent, he imputed to Sauveboeuf what he ought not to have imputed to any but himself. Never had Calumny a weaker foundation: For all the World knew, that since my first acquaintance with Sauve­boeuf, he had never spoken to me but in the pre­sence of Witnesses. But whether it were that my Husband resolv'd to ruin me, or that it was his pleasure to assert an untruth, he openly declar'd that I could not be with Child by him.

Then I foresaw all the Sorrows that afterwards befel me. I wrote to my Father an Account of my Condition, and of the Injury my Husband did me: But, my Father di'd about the same time, which re­dounded still to my disgrace, and became an addi­tion [Page 43] to my Misfortune, because his Death was im­puted to my having broken his heart. Nor was there any body now left to whom I could repair for Succour, but my Mother, who perfectly hated me; and for fear I should return home, was the first that confirm'd my Husband's Suspicions, and in­fus'd into him thoughts of shutting me up in a Nunnery.

I shall not say anything how I liv'd after this with my Husband. There is no need that the World should be inform'd of my ill usage, to beget com­passion of my Misfortunes. My Condition was suf­ficient to make People apprehensive that never Wo­man was more unfortunate.

I also owe so much prudence to the Memory of a Man whose Wife I was, to say nothing of him, more then what I cannot dispence with letting the World know: But certain it is, that I suffer'd whatever Cruelty and Scorn could invent to torment a Wo­man.

At length, in the midst of that despair to which I was reduc'd; and dreading as well for my self, as the Child in my Womb, all those dismal Conse­quences which I had reason to fear, once more I thought it my best way to commit my self to the Fortune of a second Flight. This Design of mine I imparted to Balzac, who, as I said before, was a near Neighbour of mine, and often came to visit me. He advis'd me to go to Bourdeaux, and complain to the Parlament. This, no question, was good Counsel, but my love for Sauveboeuf would not let me follow it, and forc'd me to take a bad Resolution. I went to the Marchioness of R—For the vexation of having recourse to a Rivaless did not so much prevail with me, as the hopes of obtaining by her Assistance the succour and [Page 44] protection of a Person whom I lov'd: But I never committed a fault in my life, for which I deserv'd to be more severely rebuk'd, then this. Yet after all, whither must a Woman carry her Complaints, when she is altogether void of Succour, and has al­so a prevailing Passion in her Heart that blinds her Reason.

Sauveboeuf was in Languedoc; and the Marchioness, as jealous of me and could possibly be of her, found a means to render fruitless all the Letters which I wrote to him, either by stopping 'em, or by pre­possessing him against me. At least this was what I imagin'd; not being able to persuade my self, that a Man should testify so great a Passion for me, yet never write me back one Answer, in such a deplo­rable Condition as mine.

Thus it was that I was well enough punish'd for the choice I had made of the Marchioness's House. Not that the Marchioness fail'd in any point of Civility toward me; but on the other side, did me a thousand good Offices: But in short, I suffer'd my self to be beholding to a Woman who receiv'd Letters every day from Sauveboeuf, while I could hear no tydings what was become of him. I found I was too unfortunate to have faithful Friends. But as unfortunate as I was, I found my self vain enough not to digest the seeing another so severely preferr'd before me.

I resolv'd therefore to quit the Marchioness, and that I might conceal the motive of my Resolution, I faign'd the Receit of Letters from my Mother, who had sent for me to lye in at Paris. She believ'd it; or else she dissembl'd the believing of it: And so, though very near my time, I set forward in the Road to Paris, not knowing where to lodge when I came there: For I never thought that my Mother would ever receive me.

[Page 45] I order'd therefore two Places to be hir'd in the Publick Coach under another Name; and so I de­parted, attended only by one of my Chamber-maids. Now in regard that none of the Passengers knew me, I heard my self frequently talk'd of during the Journey. Nothing made more a noise in the Pro­vince, then this my second Flight from my Hus­band's House. 'Twas all the Discourse of the Strangers in the Coach; and I had more then once an occasion to be angry at the fooleries which they prattl'd. There was one Man, whom I never saw in my life, who averr'd that he was perfectly well acquainted with me, and who not dreaming that he was trifling in my presence, maintain'd, that it was none of his fault that he had not bin one of my Gallants. He affirm'd, that I had left my Hus­band to run after Sauveboeuf; and he added to all the rest a thousand Abominable Circumstances. And thus it is that we meet with People every day, who corroborate Scandal by a false Honour which they attribute to themselves; and who, that they may seem to be privy to Affairs that make a great noise, invent Particulars of which they pretend to under­stand the original Reason. I had a mind more then once to have confounded those Calumnies by dis­covering my self: But I thought it much better, without making my self known, to take the Lady's part, of whom so much ill was spoken.

I was not ignorant that I was become the pub­lick Discourse; but I never imagin'd that Scandal was arriv'd to that height, as I had reason to know, to my cost, by the Things that were dis­cours'd of in my own hearing. Which shews us, that how much vilifi'd soever a Woman may be, she never thinks her self so much cri'd down as she is. And therefore it would be very requisite some­times, [Page 46] that they who have given the World an oc­casion to censure their Conduct, should hear what People say of 'em. Perhaps they might make a better advantage of such a piece of Knowledge then I did. For I believing that nothing could be charg'd upon me, to the prejudice of that Fidelity which I ow'd my Husband, whatever they said mov'd me no more, then only to stir up within me a secret desire of Revenge. Whereas I should have under­stood, that seeing outward Appearances afforded Calumny such fair Handles to lay hold of, I should have bin more circumspect to have avoided 'em.

The heat wherewith I took the part of those Ladies whom the Publick signalizes for Adventures, won me the Friendship of a Young Gentlewoman who rode in the Coach with her Husband. They were Persons, who after they had resided for some time in the Province where the Husband had a very considerable Employment, were returning to Paris, where they had left their Family. The Hus­band was call'd M. Laval: And Mademoiselle Laval was a Lady pretty enough to make me believe that she was a little concern'd in my defence of the Wo­men. However, they seem'd to live, both of 'em, in perfect agreement, and their Union made me envy their happiness, and bemoan the Fate of Young Virgins of Quality who are sacrific'd to Interest.

I had [...]ill taken my Measures, and was so near my Time, that I was forc'd to stop in a Little Vil­lage, within a Day's journey of Paris. Mademoiselle Laval would not leave me; but judging by my de­portment that I was a Person of Quality, desir'd her Husband that he would let her stay with me: And he was so complaisant, as to give her per­mission.

[Page 47] I was brought to bed of a Boy, who has since made me amends for the Misfortunes of his Birth, by his Merit, and the Reputation he has acquir'd. But a Son, who has bin so much the more a Suf­ferer for my sake, because he never fail'd in his Re­spect and Tenderness for a Mother, who too frequent­ly, yet without being guilty, gave him occasion to complain.

I was three Weeks before I was able to sit up; and all the while Mademoiselle never left me; for which I oblig'd her to accept of a Diamond, as a small recompence of her Care. Soon after her Hus­band came to visit us, and seeing the Present I had made his Wife, he offer'd me his House in Paris: A kindness which I was willing to accept, till I had sounded how my Mother stood affected to­ward me.

So soon as I came to my Lodging, I sent her, by my Maid, a Letter, which I had written in such a Stile as I thought most prevalent to mollify her Ob­duracy, giving her an account of my being brought to bed, and of the Reasons that forc'd me to leave my Husband. But upon reading it, she burst out into such a heat of Indignation against me, as no way became a Parent, nor would she vouchsafe so much as to ask where I lodg'd: Neither did my Maid, seeing her in such a Chafe, think it proper to tell her. All that the Maid could obtain from her was, that she would receive the Child; and I order'd it to be carri'd to her, with a second Let­ter, which had no better Success then the former; for she still refus'd to see me.

This Severity of my Mother most cruelly per­plex'd me: And I thought to have appli'd my self to my Relations: But fearing to find them no less morose and inflexible then she, I resolv'd to let no [Page 48] body understand who I was but Monsieur Laval, and Mademoiselle Laval; in hopes thereby to en­gage 'em to a continuance of their Cares. But it had a contrary Effect. Monsieur Laval became jea­lous. He imagin'd that the Friendship which his Wife had shew'd me, had no other ground then the conformity of our Inclinations. The Stories that had bin told him in the Province, and what he had heard in the Coach, made him believe me to be a Woman that had neither Honour nor Conduct; and thus assuring himself that I was a Person of a lewd Conversation, he bid his Wife give me fair warning to provide me another Lodging, and for­bad her to have any farther familiarity with me.

Mademoisel Laval, who had still a greater friend­ship for me when she knew who I was, was at her Wits-end, having receiv'd such absolute and pe­remptory Orders from her Husband: She told my Maid, and she brought me the News.

These unseasonable Tydings made me very unea­sy: Nevertheless I told Madam Laval, that it was her Duty to obey her Husband; and I made her a long Sermon upon that Subject, stuft with Admonitions and Lessons, which I had more reason to practise then she. But this is not the first time that we have seen People quick sighted in the Omissions of others, that were always blind in the observance of their own Neglects.

She promis'd me, that whatever Lodgings I took, she would find a way to come and visit me. Thus I left Madam Laval's House, and hir'd a Lodging ready furnish'd; from whence I sent, time after time to my Mother, that whenever she pleas'd to hear me, and be a means that I might have justice done, I would not refuse to return to my Husband. But I was astonish'd, when instead of receiving any [Page 49] answer from my Mother, I understood that my Husband was come to Paris, that he never stirr'd out of her House; and that both of 'em spar'd for no cost to obtain an Order from the King to shut me up in a Cloyster.

Fearing therefore lest they might accomplish their Design, I resolv'd to lie conceal'd, till I could meet some Person, under whose Protection I might have justice done my Innocence.

In the mean time, my Money was almost all gone, and I began to be afraid of Necessity and Poverty, which are doubtless the severest of all Punishments, when my Maid came to me with a great deal of joy, and told me, that she had met Blossac, that she had inform'd him where I lay, and that he had promis'd to come and visit me the same day.

Now that which fill'd my Maid with so much joy, was her hopes that Blossac would offer me Mo­ney; for she was not ignorant of my Wants; be­sides that, a Person the least scrupulous of any in the World, and would willingly have propounded to me all sorts of ways to get Money, had she found me dispos'd to follow her Counsels.

I chid her severely for telling Blossac where I lodg'd, seeing I had resolv'd never to see him more; and at the same time, after I had paid my Landlord, I remov'd immediately to another House, letting no body know where I lay, unless it were Madam Laval; resolving rather to suffer the Indignities of Want, then to be oblig'd to so unworthy a Person. All the while my Maid us'd all her Art, with a world of Tittle-tattle to vanquish my unseasonable Pride, as she call'd it, and quoted me a hundred Women of as great Quality as my self, to convince me by their Example, that I was not to refuse any Relief when I stood in need of it. But at the same [Page 50] time Madam Laval, who guest at my Condition, brought me Forty Pistoles, which she desir'd me to accept. I perceiv'd she had sold the Jewel which I gave her; so that I refus'd at first to receive the Money. But judging by the manner of her present­ing it, that she would think her self highly disob­lig'd if I refus'd her Offer, I compli'd with her Kindness.

As for my Maid, she endeavour'd to persuade me to admit Blossac to give me a Visit, though it were but once, and no more; and seeing she lost time in Persuasions, she went her self to find him out, and told him doubtless where I lodg'd: for he appear'd to me like an Apparition▪ when I least expected him. 'Tis true, my Misfortunes had not alter'd me in the least; and I was glad that he found me the same as he had seen me formerly, that I might make him the more sensible of the Entertainment I resolv'd to give him.

Madam Laval was then in the Room, and was a Witness of our Converse. So soon as he saw me, he blush'd and turn'd pale almost at the same time. Presently, at the first view of him, I rose up, and going towards him, I ask'd him what his Business was, and desir'd him to be gone. Nevertheless, he would have put on an Air of Familiarity; but find­ing such a coldness in my Reception, he laid aside his Gayety, and ask'd me what I had to object against him? I answer'd him, that I knew him not; that in truth, I took him formerly for one of my Friends, but that I had bin mistaken in him. Now because he was conscious that he had pro­vok'd me, he told me, that if he did not come to my Assistance, he had Reasons for it, which he hop'd would satisfy me, when I heard 'em. But perceiving that I would not heark'n to him, he [Page 51] drew a Purse, which he desir'd me to accept; ad­ding withal, that I might have occasion for it. I refus'd it; he would have giv'n it my Maid; but I forbid her so severely to receive it, that she durst not disobey me. Blossac seeing me thus obstinate, in a kind of fury put up his Purse into his Pocket, and going out of the Room, in an insolent manner told me, that the next time I wanted him, I should come after him.

I made Madam Laval acquainted with the Rea­sons I had to be offended with Blossac, and she commended me for using him as I had done.

She had a Kinsman that liv'd at the Hostel' d' Epernon, whose Name was Morille: And one day she took an occasion to talk to him concerning me, and the Condition I was in. Morille was generous and obliging: And for that Reason, compassiona­ting my Sufferings, he spoke of me to the Duke of Candale.

The Duke, to whom my Name was not un­known, and who had heard talk of my Adven­tures, gave Morille Orders to wait upon me, and to give Madam Laval two hundred Pistoles for my present Occasions. Madam Laval was too much my Friend, to conceal from my knowledge that Morille acted by the Duke of Candale's Orders: And I was willing to be beholding to the Duke, because I had reason to believe, that what he did was only out of Generosity; of which I was so much the more readily convinc'd, because he did not seem to have any desire to see me.

I must confess, I was not a little taken with the Duke's Civilities; and a little thing perhaps would have persuaded me not to have taken amiss a Visit from him. But I understood soon after, that there was something of Interest in his Generosity. For [Page 52] so soon▪ as he understood that I had accepted his two hundred Pistoles, he sent to me that he might be admitted to kiss my Hand, which I could not well refuse him. He spoke not a word that tended to give me the least intimation of what he had done; and always interrupted me, when he per­ceiv'd me going about to testify my acknowledg­ment. But though he were so diligent to prevent my Acknowledgments of his Generosity, he affected no less to talk of the Passion, which as he said, he had for me: And I was bound to hear him, and to believe some part of his Discourse.

There was nothing in my heart that oppos'd the Inclination that I had for him, but the necessity of being oblig'd to him, under which I labour'd. Thus by an odd effect of Scruple and Delicacy, the same things, which having convinc'd me of his Genero­sity, had infus'd into me an esteem and value for him, hinder'd me from resolving to give him proofs of it. I must confess, that had I not bin beholding to him, I am apt to think I should have had as great an Affection for him as he protested Love for me. But imagining with my self, that it would be suspected my Passion was grounded upon Interest, I took a Resolution to resist whatever might ripen an Inclination for him. For this reason I answer'd him in such a manner as might deprive him of all hope; and I conjur'd him also never to see me more, till I was in a condition to acknowledge his Bounty.

Book the Third.

BUT the World is so persuaded that Women are altogether govern'd by Interest, that the Duke of Condale made no question of my having a private Amour somewhere else. Which made him talk to the Count of B—of my contempt of In­terest, as of a Novelty newly come into the World. The Count, who was one of those that believ'd there could be no honest Woman, told him that he had bin a Cully to his own Generosity; and offer'd to give him proofs of it. To which purpose he resolv'd to enter into a strict acquaintance with me, as well to undeceive the Duke, as to rank me among his Heroesses. But he was mistaken in his Aims; for he found nothing in the Reception I made him, that was for his purpose, to embellish his Memoirs withal. After I had refus'd to hearken to a Person who had highly oblig'd me, it could not be imagin'd I would be over hasty to flatter the Assiduities of one who attempted my Vertue, to make sport with it.

At first he sent me Letters without any Name; as if my Fortune had depended upon his Conquest; and because he wrote better then another, he thought I would be glad to entertain a Correspon­dence with so witty a Lover. I found his Letters very pretty; but I was not in a Condition to take any delight in reading 'em: And when I saw that he persisted in writing to me, I not only refus'd to receiv 'em, but burnt those which I [Page 54] had already receiv'd, in the presence of Madam Laval.

However, the ill fate of those Letters did not discourage the Count; and being inform'd of the time and place where I went to Mass, he made his appearance there several times; and because I would not be seen to take any notice of him, he accosted me. At what time after he had testifi'd to me his extraordinary desire to be acquainted with me, he talk'd to me of his Letters. I answer'd him, that I had never read 'em; that the Business which detain'd me at Paris, would not permit me to lose so much time; and more, that I did not under­stand why he should pretend to so much Boldness, as to write and talk to a Woman who had no ac­quaintance with him, nor ever desir'd to have any. These words put him quite out of order; so that he brush'd away from me, and went to tell the Duke of Candale, that I was not a Woman who had common sense.

The Duke of Candale laught at him for his Pre­sumption, and conceiv'd a greater esteem for me. Nevertheless, he was not so eager to pay me his Assiduities; but forbore to visit me, whether it were that he despair'd to reape any fruit of his Pains, or that he were naturally impatient.

In the mean time Necessity press'd harder and harder upon me every day. And though none of my Relations were ignorant of the Wrongs my Hus­band and my Mother did me, none of 'em sent me any relief. 'Tis true, that some of 'em were down­right with my Mother, and laid before her, how much she was bound in Conscience to assist me; but her Hatred suppli'd her with Reasons that stopp'd their mouths. And then they cri'd, her Mother knows more then we; there must be some­thing [Page 55] in the matter, or else a Mother could never be so cruel to her own Flesh and Blood. For it is always a much more easy thing to condemn the Un­fortunate, then to afford 'em any Succour in their Distress. Nevertheless there was a Lady who took some compassion upon my deplorable Condition. This Lady was the Dutchess of Chastillon; and tho she were my Mother's Friend, she offer'd me both her House and her Table. But by the unlucky in­fluence of my Stars, all the Dutchess's Favours and Bounty became fatal to her Reputation and mine.

The Abbot Fouquet was one of her Acquaintance, and gave us frequent Visits. This Abbot the Dutchess would be still obliging to make me Pre­sents; to which purpose she made use of a means that put me to no little shame. We frequently play'd all three together, and in regard the Abbot never play'd but with a design to lose, I won con­siderably every day. Nevertheless, Madam de Cha­tillon not contented with having suppli'd me with Money by this means, after she had one day won, at the Fair, a Service of great value, she caus'd it to be sold, and press'd me to accept the Money. But the Abbot, who was desirous that Madam de Chatillon should be beholding to him for it, bought the Plate again the next day, and sent it her home to her House.

This Piece of Gallantry made a great noise; and because few People knew the motive of Charity that induc'd the Dutchess to act in that manner, they thought she had sold the Service merely for the sake of the Money. And as for the Abbot, after this, there was no farther question made of it, but that he was in love with Madam de Chatillon, and that I was the Confident privy to the Intreague.

[Page 56] This Scandal spread abroad to that degree far and near that the Dutchess was constrain'd to re­move me from her House. And I parted from her with all the Sorrow, that it was possible for me to be sensible of, for having innocently given an occasion to the Injurious Reports that had bin rais'd to the prejudice of her Honour. And they made the same interpretation of my Removal, as they had done of her Bounty. For they gave out that I was only sent away, because she perceiv'd that the Abbot Fouquet was in love with me. And indeed he was medita­ting Secret Designs, which I discover'd after­wards.

After I left Madam de Chatillon, I put my self in­to a Convent; and three days after the Abbot Fou­quet brought me a Letter from her, wherein she sent me word, that notwithstanding the Reasons which oblig'd her to refrain my Company, she was still my Friend: That it became me seriously to think of forcing my Husband and my Mother to do me Reason; and to the end I might have more liberty to act then in a Convent, she had given order for a House for me in such a Quarter of the City, where she would take care that I should want for nothing. I really-believ'd that this Letter came from Madam de Chatillon: And being earnestly desirous to put an end to the Disputes between me and my Husband, I consented to what she had order'd in my behalf, without any more ado. So that after I had return'd her a thousand Thanks in a long Letter, I quitted the Convent, and went to the House prepar'd for me, in company with Mrs. Laval. For her Husband, who was then in the Province, no longer minded his Wife's coming to see me, so long as he perceiv'd that I had found Protection and Support.

[Page 57] I found in this Lodging an Apartment very rich­ly and modestly furnish'd, as also a Coach with the Cyphers of Madam de Chatillon. I admir'd her Ge­nerosity, and often complain'd to her in my Letters, that notwithstanding I receiv'd so many Favours from her Bounty, I had not the liberty to visit her. For I forgot to let ye know, that when we parted, she told me 'twas not convenient we should visit one another. I must confess, I never receiv'd any Answers to my Letter; but the Abbot Fouquet, who still undertook to deliver 'em, and who frequently came to visit me, always brought me Compliments and Excuses in the Dutchesses Name. However, in a little time I began to consider, that the Abbot's Visits were too frequent: But in regard he still brought me news of Madam de Chatillon, and that he seem'd to visit me only upon the account of my Business, I durst not desire him to forbear coming so often.

In this manner I liv'd for some time, without dreaming in the least that there had bin any foul play in these Civilities that were shewn; when Mrs. Laval one morning enter'd my Chamber, and gave me to understand with tears in her Eyes, that the Lodging where I lay, belong'd to the Abbot Fouquet, and that it was the Publick Talk of the Town, that he kept me. In a word, That Ma­dam de Chatillon was no way concern'd in any of these Favours, for which I thought my self wholly beholding to her Liberality.

It is not to be imagin'd how much I was asto­nish'd at this News. Methought I saw at that ve­ry instant every thing that I had not the wit to see before. I made no doubt but the Things which had bin told me, were true; and I admir'd how I could be so palpably cheated. Presently I flew to [Page 58] Madam de Chatillon's House; but so soon as I ap­pear'd, she came towards me, and loading me with Reproaches, bid me be gone out of doors immediately. This Reception seiz'd me with amazement; I fell into a swoon, from which they had much ado to recover me: I ask'd in vain to speak with Madam de Chatillon, but she refus'd me admittance, and sent me word again to make haste out of her House. This Usage having too sadly convinc'd me of the truth of what Mrs. Laval had told me, I resolv'd to return no more to that Fatal House; but went directly to the Convent which I left some Weeks before: But the House refus'd to admit me: And I found by the Language which they gave me, that I alone was ignorant of the Trick that had bin put upon me.

Mrs. Laval, who knew me to be innocent of all this, gave me the best comfort that she could; and, I believe, that had it not been for her, I had stabb'd my self. She carri'd me to one of her own Friends, where she left me, till she went to fetch away such things as were properly my own; but more especially to seek for the Letter wherein M. de Cha­tillon had offer'd me the Lodging. There she met the Abbot Fouquet in a heavy toss to know what was become of me. She told him that I was fallen ill at a House where I intended to have spent the Afternoon, and that they had put me to Bed. He really believ'd what she told him to be true, and desir'd Mrs. Laval to be his Guide to the Place where I was; nor could any thing that she could say to be rid of him, prevent his coming along with her: Neither indeed was she unwilling that he should see me, to the end I might school him for the injury he had done me. But so soon as I per­ceiv'd him, my Tears that were but newly ceas'd, [Page 59] burst forth again: I had not strength enough to speak a word. So that Mrs. Laval beholding me in that Condition, told him the true Reason of my Af­fliction.

But the Abbot with a smiling Countenance bid me be of good chear, assuring me that nothing had bin done but by Madam de Chatillon's Order: And to prove the falshood of all those things which had bin told me, he alledg'd the Respect which he had always had for me.

I was so cast down by the Troubles and Vexa­tions attending this Adventure, that I listen'd with delight to the Assurances which he gave me, that all was but a false Alarum. So true it is, that in overwhelming Misfortunes we lay hold on every Bough to save our selves. But in short, the Re­ception which the Dutchess of Chatillon gave me, no way agreed with the Abbot Fouquet's Oaths: So that without examining any farther, whether it were true or no, I desir'd him to refrain all manner of Visits for the future. He obey'd me; still protesting at his departure, that he had done no­thing but what Madam de Chatillon had order'd him to do.

So soon as he was gone, I immediately sent away to Madam de Chatillon the Letter which had bin the cause of so many bad Effects. Which Letter the Abbot Fouquet had devis'd on purpose to decoy me into his Lodging, with a design to have told me more of his mind when opportunity should assist him.

However, Madam de Chatillon being persuaded that I had acted by consent with the Abbot, as yet continu'd to harbour a Conceit that I had contriv'd the Letter in my own justification; nor would she begin to do me justice, till she saw me persevere in [Page 60] my Resolution never to return to that Lodging again. But afterwards the Abbot himself fully un­deceiv'd her, by confessing that he had counterfeited the Letter, to the end I might be in a Place where I might be more at liberty to look after my Affairs: Adding withal, that he had not made use of that Artifice, but only to oblige me to accept of the Lodging.

But the World judg'd otherwise of the matter: For it was the publick Discourse, that I had bin en­gag'd in an Amorous Intriegue with the Abbot, but that being weary of me, he had turn'd me out of his House. And thus I underwent both the Shame and Mortification to be lookt upon as a Mistress abandon'd by her Gallant.

Madam de Chatillon, and the Abbot Fouquet, en­deavour'd in vain to undeceive the Publick. All the Favour which they, who believ'd I left the House by my own Choice, did me, was to say, I had not done it, but to avoid the Prosecutions of my Mother and my Husband.

'Tis true, that They, no sooner both of 'em un­derstood that I lodg'd in a House that belong'd to Abbot Fouquet, and which he furnish'd for me at his own Charges, but they presented a Petition against me, and they were just upon the point of obtaining leave to seize me when I left those Lodg­ings. I had notice of it, and I thought it my best way to conceal my self. For I suppose that no body would have advis'd me to have deliver'd my self up to the Hatred of a Mother, and the Jealousy of an Enrag'd Husband.

So soon as Madam de Chatillon was fully con­vinc'd of my Innocence, she employ'd all her Cre­dit and Friends in my behalf; and she had enow to procure me an Injunction to stop all farther Pro­secutions [Page 61] against me. By this means she set me at liberty to appear and sollicit a legal Separation from my Husband. She recommended me to a Magi­strate who promis'd to assist me, and who took up­on himself the management of my Business. I had also a yearly maintenance of a Thousand Crowns allow'd me by Decree, which secur'd me from the Gripes of Want; all which I should have done at my first coming to Paris. But though I could have spar'd for no pains, how could I ever hope to have brought it to pass, when I had neither Protection nor Friends?

The Magistrate with whom Madam de Chatillon had brought me acquainted, provided me a Lodg­ing in the House of one of his Kinswomen; where he came to me every day, and gave me an account of what he did for me. So that I blest my self that I had got for my Friend a Person whose Zeal ap­pear'd so fervent. Therefore it was that I wholly reli'd upon him for the management of my Affairs; and gave my self up to enjoy the Repose which I had bin so long depriv'd of.

But this Magistrate had another aim; for he in­sensibly gave me an occasion to discover that my Person was no way displeasing to him; nor was I at all alarum'd at his good Opinion. On the other side, I was extreamly glad of it; imagining that his Zeal being enliven'd by Love, my Business could not go amiss.

He had a proper handsome Son already in the King's Service, and who went by the Name and Title of Marquiss of St. Albe: He was brisk, po­lite, and witty; he came frequently to his Kins­woman's House, where he had a fight of me, and soon became his Father's Rival.

[Page 62] The method of Courtship which these two Lo­vers took was very different. The Son always re­spectful, durst not open his Lips to speak of his Pas­sion: The Father embolden'd by the Services he did me, never scrupl'd to discover his love to me. I then began to repent of delivering up into his Hands the whole management of my Suit; but 'twas now too late. He was become master of it; and I could not be without him.

I therefore lent him a patient Ear, and heard with moderation a Language which my Misfor­tunes had render'd odious to me; and I forbore all manner of Ralliery to a Person, whom it became me to be careful of displeasing. Nor could I put him quite out of hopes, for fear of exasperating him against my Interests; believing that by keep­ing him in suspence, I should engage him to serve me: But this Conduct of mine produc'd a contrary effect. He persuaded himself, that since I heard him with so much calmness, I had an inclination for him; and with these thoughts he redoubl'd his Assiduities, and press'd me to declare my self. I must confess, that till then, I saw no great harm in his Addresses, which were rather a diversion to me. But now I began to dread the Consequences of such an Amour. And indeed, considering these new attacks upon my Reputation, I had reason to be of this opinion, That whatever good Intentions a Woman might have, it was always dangerous to her Honour to suffer her self to be belov'd.

His Sollicitations became so earnest, and his Im­portunities so pressing, that I knew not what course to take, that I might be rid of him. My first thoughts prompted me to let him plainly under­stand the vanity of his Hopes: But then considering he was a Person I stood in need of, I alter'd my [Page 63] mind, and took a Resolution, which in truth I ought not to have taken. For I made him believe I was not insensible of his love, and constrain'd my self to suffer it with some compliance. This way of pro­ceeding augmented his foolish Hopes, and within a few days after he had the boldness to let me under­stand as much. Had I not bin restrain'd by Honour and my Duty, yet my aversion for him would have preserv'd me from offending: For the Extremities wherewith I was threaten'd, seem'd to me less se­vere then the Compliance which he demanded. So that I gave him all the Ill Language that Anger and Contempt could inspire into my thoughts, and de­sir'd him to meddle no more with my Business. And to the end I might wholly disingage my self from him, and deprive him of all opportunities of seeing me, I was preparing to leave his Kinswo­man's House; when a new Accident befel me.

The Young Marquiss of St. Albe was belov'd by a Damsel that waited upon his Mother; I know not what pass'd between 'em; but this Maid per­ceiving that her Lover began to neglect her since his acquaintance with me, she resolv'd to watch him. Now it happen'd one day that she found a most tender and passionate Letter which he had written, with a design perhaps to have put it into my hands. However it were, the Maid ne're que­stion'd but that it was intended for me; and to pu­nish me for having got her Lover away from her, in the height of her malice she resolv'd to answer it in my name; wherein she made me write whatever was proper to make the World believe that I lov'd St. Albe as much as I was belov'd by him. And to suppress all proof of the falshood of the Letter, which was none of my Hand, she gave it out that I had reasons for what I did. This was but a shal­low [Page 64] Contrivance: However, it pass'd among those who only sought to put me to trouble.

The Maid, who made use of this Stratagem, was not [...]gnorant of my being belov'd by the Fa­ther of her Galant, because she was her Mistress's Confident, who being naturally of a jealous hu­mour, had the Curiosity to have her Husband watch'd; and you may be sure she was nothing sorry to have an opportunity to plague him. She therefore jeer'd him every day with his affection for me; and to let him see how unfortunate he was in his Courtships, she shew'd him the Letter which his Son had written to me, and my pretended Answer to it. The Father, who was already jealous of his Son, was fully convinc'd of the truth of his Amour when he read those Letters. He never troubl'd himself to examine a Story that was so sillily con­triv'd; but overjoy'd that he had got proofs of the secret correspondence between me and his Son, he resolv'd to observe no measures of civility with mee, and flew out into a most violent Rage against his Son. In vain his Friends persuaded him to more mild and gentle Sentiments. This unnatural Fa­ther, who by his Credit, and his Office, had Au­thority enough to bring about his unjust Designs, threw his Son into Prison, never considering the indignity of such usage. For in short, St. Albe was already an Officer, had Courage, and was well esteem'd in his Regiment. Nor was he content with punishing St. Albe; but comes to me on pur­pose to affront me. He upbraided me with de­bauching his Son, and let go a Torrent of Injurious Language, and as he went out, told me that I deserv'd no less to be sent to some House of Confinement.

[Page 65] I thought at first that he himself had counterfeited those Letters on purpose to pick a quarrel with me: Afterwards I accus'd his Son to have bin the Author of 'em; believing, that in imitation of some Young Sparks, he might have fram'd 'em, to give himself the Reputation of a Fortunate Gentleman. I was labour­ing under the violence of these various Agitations, when the Magistrate return'd to me again. It seems he had consider'd that I had said nothing in my own vindication; and therefore it was probable he would have heard what I could say for my self. But I receiv'd him with all the disdain imaginable. But I scorn'd to undeceive him about the Letters, so ex­travagant he seem'd to me in his Behaviour. I only bid him be gone, and trouble me no more with his Impertinences. The next day the Maid, who had bin the cause of all this Disorder, seeing St. Albe in Prison, mov'd with the misfortune of her Lover, came to me and confess'd what she had done: And upon her promise to confirm her Confession to me before his Father, I sent for him again. Nor was he long absent; verily believing that I had sent for him back to make my peace with him. He heard the Maid's Recantation; but he would not believe her; at least he counterfeited Incredulity. He ask'd me, in derision, how much I had given her to make that Confession; farther adding, that he was no Fool to be put upon by my little Artifices▪

When the Maid was gone, and he saw me alone, he told me, there was but one way to prevent the noise that he was going to make in the World; that he needed not to interpret what he meant; for that I knew well enough what it was he desir'd. 'Twas in vain to tell him, that the course he took to gain my Love, was the only way to make me hate him. He continu'd obstinate in his imperti­nent [Page 66] Pretensions; telling me, that men of the Long Robe were not Persons that us'd to be foil'd in their Undertakings. In short, he forc'd me by his inso­lent Language, to return him as bad; to which he repli'd with Menaces and Reproaches, swearing as he went out, to acquaint my Mother and my Hus­band with my Irregular Actions.

I went immediately to give the Dutchess of Cha­tillon an account of every thing that had past. She spoke to the Magistrate, and with a great deal ado obtain'd so much favour from him, as to promise her that he would make no noise, nor shew my Mo­ther the Letter which he had in his custody. How­ever, the Villain told the Dutchess so many plausi­ble Stories concerning my pretended Intriegue with his Son, that she firmly believ'd him; so that I was forc'd to endure the Sermons that she preach'd to me upon Folly and Indiscretion. 'Twas in vain to assure her that the Magistrate was a wicked Fellow, and that I resolv'd to stay no longer in his Kinswo­man's House. She lay'd before me the need I had of him, and scar'd me with the fear of his Revenge. I found my self then reduc'd to a necessity of dis­sembling; so that we patch'd up a Reconciliation, upon condition that he should speak to me no more of his Passion. He promis'd me so to do, though re­solv'd not to keep his word, and more obstinate then ever to make an ill use of the need I had of him.

In the mean time, the Unfortunate St. Albe took a resolution to write to me, and begg'd of me that I would endeavour to procure his Liberty. Mov'd therefore with his Sufferings, and forgetting the just Reasons I had to refrain from medling in his Busi­ness, I listen'd to my Compassion. I sent impru­dently to his Mother the Letter which he had writ­ten to me, and wherein he made me a lively de­scription [Page 67] of his Ill usage. I made no question but that her heart would have bin mollifi'd with read­ing it; but she was more jealous then compassio­nate, and preferr'd her desire to embroil me again with her Husband, before the care of delivering her Son from his oppression. She shew'd her Son's Letter to her Husband; which prov'd the cause of a new Prejudice against me. For the Father reassum'd his first Fury, and swore he would ruin me, if I did not shun his Revenge by satisfying his Passion. I likewise acquainted Madam de Chatillon with this Accident, who blam'd me for receiving and show­ing St. Albe's Letter; and told me I must get out of this Labyrinth as well as I could.

Now then to get rid of the Magistrate, a certain Stratagem came into my head that brought me into new trouble. I made a shew of surrendring to his Im­portunities, and I promis'd him a meeting the next day at a Place appointed. But I went the very same day to his Wife, and made her acquainted with her Husband's Follies, and the meeting wherewith I had flatter'd his Hopes. I thought it might be per­mitted me, considering my Circumstances, to take this Course, seeing that his Wife had let loose all her fury against me; and gave out that I had as much kindness for her Husband, as indeed I had a real aversion for him.

I thought, to the end I might undeceive her, that it would be my best way to inform her of what pass'd between us; which I did, withal desiring her to give our meeting an interruption, and affording her all the opportunities of doing it.

This Woman, who imagin'd that this was not the first meeting I had given her Husband, thought at first I had entrusted her with a false Secret; but at length she was convinc'd of my Sincerity. She [Page 68] thank'd me then for the Advice I had given her, and assur'd me she would do what I desir'd. But her mismanagement of the Affair turn'd the inno­cent means which I made choice of to disincumber my self from my Persecutors, to my prejudice.

I was hardly arriv'd at the Place appointed for my meeting the Magistrate, but she appear'd, bring­ing along with her two other Relations, who were to be Witnesses of this Adventure.

This Scene would have been a diversion to me, had I not thought, that they who were to be Testi­monies of her Husband's Shame, might be likewise Witnesses against my self; and that it was impossi­ble but that an Affair that would be known to so many People, must expose my Reputation after a most cruel manner. The Wife also, who would have it thought that this was not the first time her Husband had broke his Conjugal Covenant, instead of informing her Witnesses that I had acquainted her with the Assignation, told 'em quite the contra­ry, and bestow'd upon me a liberal share of the bad Language which she gave him. The Husband all in confusion sneak'd out of the Room without speak­ing a word: At what time I thought the least thing the Wife could have done would have bin to have given a fair Testimony of my Innocency to the Peo­ple whom she brought along with her. But she was as wicked in her Generation, as her Husband was in his; for she upbraided me before their faces with debauching her Husband. This Adventure present­ly took wing, and the Publick that already had a prejudice against me, made no scruple to believe me engag'd in a re [...]l Intriegue with the Magistrate. However, I did what I could to undeceive the two Kinsmen; and they listen'd to me, believ'd me, and offer'd me their Protection.

[Page 69] The Husband, who had not the least suspicion of my informing the Wife of the Rendevouze, came to see me the next day. But then I told him, I durst not be seen with him any more; conjuring him in the midst of those Extremities to which he had re­duc'd me, to let me understand the condition of my Affairs, since I could not in honour employ him any longer. He bid me not to trouble my self; for he would serve me to the end; that the Adventure the day before was a trifle; and that his Wife was a kind of Beldame, to whom no body gave credit. Then he renew'd his Importunities to answer his Desires: But he no longer talk'd like a Master; nor was I any more afraid of him. Of all this I gave a faithful Account to Madam de Chatillon, who order'd me to leave my Lodging with the Magistrate's Kins­woman, and fell out with the Magistrate himself in such a manner, that she would never suffer him to come near her more.

But understanding after this, that his Wife had never surpriz'd him at the Assignation, but by the Information that I gave her, he would not let go his hold, resolving to ruin me, or vanquish my Re­luctancy.

In the mean time St. Albe found a way to break Prison; upon which his Father, who was extream­ly troubl'd at it, and knew not what was become of him, came to acquaint me with it; and talk'd to me as if I had had a hand in his Escape; and it was true that it was so reported abroad in the World. For his Father gave out these Reports to scare me, in hopes to overcome me by dint of Defamation; persuaded that I would at length take off my Mask, when I saw my self lost in my Reputation. And this was the only hope wherewith he flatter'd his Passion for me. But the more he strove to defame [Page 70] me, the less occasion I thought I had given, and the greater was my comfort to find my self inno­cent: For God had giv'n me the grace to look so many Misfortunes in the face, without losing my Reason. I defended my self from the Accusation of having contributed to St. Albe's Escape, and justifi'd my self with so much the less trouble, because I was ignorant of the means he had made use of.

And now the Father resolv'd to make his last Ef­fort for obtaining what he had bin so long desiring with so much importunity. To this purpose he came to give me notice that my Husband was just upon the point of obtaining a Sentence in his Suit that would be nothing for my advantage; but that he alone had a Trick to delay Judgment, and that he would assist me in such a manner, that I should gain my Cause, if I would heark'n to his Suit. I answer'd with disdain, that I would with patience wait the end of my Business; and that how unhappy soever my Destiny were, I would ra­ther chuse to be unfortunate, then purchase my Re­pose by so foul a Crime.

The Lodging where Madam de Chatillon had plac'd me, when I left the Magistrate's Kinswoman, was a House which had several Lodgers that were not acquainted one with another. I had the first Apartment, and I had no converse with any of the People that lodg'd in the House. As for Mrs. Laval, she liv'd with her Husband, who was return'd from his Province: 'Tis true, that she frequently visited me, and that was all the comfort I had. At the same time also I hir'd the Maid again that I brought with me from my Husband's House, and who left me when I went to live with Madam de Chatillon. I must confess, 'tis a pernicious thing to the Repu­tation of a Young Woman, to keep Servants so full [Page 71] of Mercury as she was. And it should be the first care of a Person of my Sex to avoid entertaining in their Service wild and disorderly Wantons, and ne­ver to be too familiar with Servants, how modest and regular soever.

This Maid had many ill Qualities, as will appear by the sequel or the Story. Nor had she ever seen St. Albe. which was the occasion of an Adventure which may seem fabulous, but which fell out as I am going to relate it.

My Maid having frequently heard how eagerly the Magistrate persecuted me with his impertinent Courtsh [...]p contriv'd an Enterprize which she never imparted to me.

She had already got acquaintance with the People of the House; and one day she told me, that there was a very pretty Lady among the rest of the Lodgers who every day very diligently enquir'd after my health; and manifested an earnest desire to be ac­quainted with me. I bid her be sure not to bring her to me; for that I resolv'd to have no converse with Persons that I knew not, having reason to be afraid of every body, in the Condition I was in. Nevertheless my Curiosity led me one day to take a view of her from my Window. 'Tis true, I had not time to examine her well: However, I ob­serv'd something in her Countenance which me­thought was not unknown to me; but I could not remember where I had seen her.

All this while my Maid had lai'd a Design in her head, which she resolv'd to put in execution, while I spent the Afternoon with Mrs. Laval. She went to the Magistrate's House, and after she had ask'd to speak with him in private, she told him, that my unkind usage of him was only to try his Constancy: And moreover, that it was no wonder that I had [Page 72] so scornfully rejected him, since he never made me any Present: That Women were byass'd by Inte­rest; assuring him that his Courtships would be ac­ceptable to me, provided he would be but liberal. In short, That if he desir'd that I should comply with his Addresses, he had no more to do, but to come the same day to my Lodging. The Magistrate promis'd not only not to fail, but to bring Money along with him. The Maid, having thus taken her leave, went to the Young Gentlewoman before mention'd, and propos'd to her that she would be pleas'd to admit, under my Name, and in my Ha­bit, the Visit of a certain Gentleman, whose com­pany was very diverting to me; telling her withal, that if she would do me that kindness, I should look upon it as an infinite Obligation. The Lady made some Scruples at first, but at length accepted the Proposal. She suffer'd 'em to dress her in one of my Habits; but still while she was dressing, she would still be laughing, as if she had found a Mare's Nest. She demanded also the Name of the Man that was to come; but the Maid gave her a wrong Name, which really satisfi'd the Gentlewoman, to do whatever they desir'd of her, but still laugh­ing, and telling him that she was never cut out for an Actress.

Soon after the Old Fornicator of a Magistrate ar­riv'd; at what time the Maid going to meet him, and taking him aside, gave him to understand, that before he was to be introduc'd into the Apartment where I was, I desir'd him not to meddle with the Window Shutters, but to let 'em be as they were; adding withal, that I had order'd her to take the Money, because it was beneath her to ask for it. Presently he put a Purse into my Maid's hand, and enter'd my Apartment with all the Joy, which the [Page 73] hopes of a Blessing, from which he thought him­self not far remote, could inspire into him. At the same time there was so little light in the Chamber, as would hardly admit the distinction of Objects. However, he could perceive a Young Person, that seem'd to him to be very handsome; and being so prepossess'd as he was with the Idea of his Pleasure, he never suspected in the least any Trick to be put upon him. He accosted the Lady; but finding her as mute as a Fish, and that he could not get one word out of her Mouth, he began to distrust his Good Fortune: But though she would not speak, as busy as he was about her, he thought he heard her laugh: Upon which he stept to the Windows to let in the Light; but while he was fumbling about the Shutters, the Lady having open'd the Chamber-door, was going to fly for't. Which the Lawyer perceiving, more nimble then she, laid hold of her; but seeing her Face stood motionless, as if he had seen a Medusa's Head; while the Lady wrests her self out of his Hands, and ran up into her own Apartment.

Down came the Magistrate, and having got his People about him, up stairs he went again, and de­manded his Son to be deliver'd into his hands; his Son, who lay conceal'd in the House in Womens Habit.

All this while my Maid thought verily that the Magistrate had bin stark staring mad; for she was utterly ignorant that the Lady, whom she had got to act my part, was the Unfortunate St. Albe. For it seems that after he had escap'd from the Place where his Father had imprison'd him, he had dis­guis'd himself in Womens Habit, and was come to lodge in the same House where I lay, in hopes that being thus secur'd from the Persecutions of his Fa­ther, [Page 74] he might meet with an opportunity to offer me his Service.

The Magistrate having caus'd the Chamber-door to be broken open, St. Albe was deliver'd into his hands in the same disguize he had on; that is to say, in my Cloaths. What a dreadful Accident was this for me! Though an Angel should have descend­ed from Heav'n to have born witness of my Inno­cence, he would not have bin believ'd. 'Twas known that St. Albe had a love for me; and he was found lodg'd in the House where I lay, dis­guis'd in Female Habit, and in Cloaths that be­long'd to my self. Could any body believe other­wise, but that all this was done by Consent. What a folly was it in St. Albe, since he had taken a Re­solution to lye at my Lodging, that he did not sooner make himself known? or at least that he did not refuse to comply with what was desir'd of him? But he never dreamt of his Father's coming, espe­cially after the Maid had giv'n him a wrong Name: Besides, that his Love made him look upon the man, for whom the Cheat was intended, as a Ri­val, upon whom he was willing enough to revenge himself.

During this Hurly-burly at my Lodging, I ex­pected my Maid, whom I order'd to come to me. But being quite tir'd with staying for her, I desir'd Mrs. Laval to accompany me to my Lodging. When I came there, the Neighbours told me the whole Story of this Adventure; and my Maid not coming, I thought her afraid to see my face.

They who heard this Story, made no question but that it was a Contrivance of mine. They thought it had bin a Device of mine to make sport with the Magistrate; and gave it out, that I had done it after a very facetious manner; but at the [Page 75] same time, they shrewdly suspected that St. Albe and I were agreed together; and thence inferr'd that I was an ill Woman for betraying him in that man­ner to his Father. In short, They thought me to be of the Humour of those Amorous Dames, who care not what becomes of their Lovers, so they may but satisfy their Revenge, or their Divertisement.

However, the Consequences of this Affair were not so pernicious to me as I imagin'd. The Magistrate was advis'd not to make any noise, be­cause he could not do it, without making himself a Laughing-stock to the whole Town: And therefore he only gave out, that understanding his Son lay disguis'd in the House where I lodg'd, he only went to fetch him thence.

By this means I found my self deliver'd from a hateful and importunate Lover. He had no mind to make love any more to a Woman that knew how to play such Tricks as those. So that he only hated me from the bottom of his heart; and the weight of his fury fell upon his Son, whom he caus'd to be more closely confind.

All this while my Suit remain'd in the same con­dition still; for the Magistrate did nothing for me; and Madam de Chatillon's Interest so far prevail'd, that neither my Mother nor my Husband could get any ground upon me. She had so order'd the mat­ter, that none of the most famous Advocates would meddle with the Cause; but still answer'd my Ad­versaries when they came to entertain 'em, that it was a Cause no way proper for the Bar; but ra­ther to be ended by a Friendly Accommodation: But because we could not agree upon the Condi­tions, there was nothing done on either side. How­ever, I still enjoy'd my Allowance without seeing either Husband or Mother; though 'tis true, that [Page 76] I took all the care I could to avoid their Com­pany.

What was become of my Maid all this while, I knew not; nor was I at all sorry to be so rid of her, till I heard how ill a use she made of her Absence to my prejudice: For in all Places where she came, she would be always bespattering my Reputation. And I will tell ye one Adventure, by which you will fully understand the Character of this same wicked Baggage.

She then perceiving that nothing made the Ma­gistrate so mad as to be impos'd upon by one of his own Sex, made sure of a handsome young Female, and persuaded her to take my Name upon her. And thus it was, that she offer'd me to several Young Sparks at the Court, as a Woman whom necessity had reduc'd to seek her Subsistence by this way of living. Among the rest, she address'd her helf to Blossac, and told him, that I had bin a slave to my Reputation, which was the only Reason that made me refuse the offer of his Purse; but that I would not be so haughty, when I thought my self secure from being known; and provided he had so much discretion as to make a show of being a Stranger to me, that he might assure himself of success. Now in regard that Blossac had never done me the ho­nour to have any great respect for me, he readily gave credit to the Wenches fair Story; and desirous to revenge himself of the Inconstancies which he laid to my charge, he accepted the Proposal, with a design to insult over me. This was doubtless his Intention, because he told the Maid that he would bring some of his Friends along with him, when he gave me the meeting; resolving they should be Sha­rers with him in his good Fortune. Blossac there­fore told his Friend of it, and his Friend told [Page 77] another, and so it spread insensibly all over the Town.

The Duke of Candale, whom I sometimes met at Madam de Chatillon's, was astonish'd at the Reports that were spread about concerning me, and was so civil as to believe 'em false. He also inform'd Mrs. La­val of what he heard, who besought him to let her know his Authors; and he confess'd ingenuously that Blossac was his Intelligencer.

In a word, Blossac had given the Duke an ac­count of the Discourse between him and my Maid; and having also told the Place and Day appointed for the Meeting, the Duke knew not what to think of it; but being desirous to be convinc'd of the truth, he requested Blossac that he might accompany him to the Assignation.

Mrs. Laval acquainted me with what the Duke of Candale had discover'd to her; nor did we know to whom to impute a Story so extravagant. I confess the first motions of my Imagination accus'd my Mo­ther and my Husband, whom I saw persisting still so obstinately in their Resolutions to ruin me. But all this while there was nothing of certainty in Sur­mises.

In the midst of these Perplexities Mrs. Laval and I were debating which way to put a stop to these violent Calumnies, when word was brought me that the Duke of Candale desir'd to speak with me. I was glad of the opportunity, in hopes that he might give me some light into these Mysteries. He enter'd: But seeing that he only talk'd to me of general Matters, I interrupted him, and ask'd him the meaning of the many Reports that so terribly attackt my Reputation, and of which he had alreary bin talking to Mrs. Laval. Then he up and told me what had pass'd between him and Blossac, with a [Page 78] farther Account of what had pass'd between Blossac and my Maid. Adding, with a smile, that he came to see whether I was at home or no; because he had bin told I was to have bin at another Place; and that Blossac stay'd for him to carry him to the Meet­ing. At length he concluded, that he would still make a show of believing as they did, that he would meet Blossac, and go along with him, and that he would send me word who they were that made use of my Name.

I was overjoy'd to become Mistress of the means that would so suddenly enlighten me into these dark Secrets that had so much disturb'd my Rest: And I begg'd of the Duke of Candale to give me all the clearest Informations he could, that so I might cause Blossac to be surpriz'd in company with the Person that had assum'd my Name. I told him of what importance it was to my Reputation, that this Affair should be made clearly out, and conjur'd the Duke to do me justice. He promis'd me; but he told me withal, that it would be much more for my Honour that my Husband should surprize Blos­sac; because it could not be thought but that he knew of the Reports as well as others; that he would go immediately and give him notice that I had given Blossac a meeting, and that it would be no body's fault but his own if he did not surprize me. I approv'd the Duke of Candale's Design; and so leaving to him the management of all things, I took my leave of him with as much joy, as I was overwhelm'd before with sadness and amazement.

The Duke of Candale so well order'd his Busi­ness, that my Husband and my Mother had notice of the Assignation before he met Blossac. And the People whom he employ'd to carry 'em the News, would not let 'em be at rest, but peal'd it in their [Page 79] Ears, that there was no time to be lost: Though in­deed they wanted no Spurs, as believing that this Adventure would put an end to their Process; and therefore they resolv'd not to let me escape 'em this bout.

In the mean time the Duke of Candale returning to Blossac, told him, that an Accident had fallen out, so that he could not possibly go along with him. Blossac therefore seeing no other remedy, went all alone to the Place appointed, while the Duke follow'd him at a distance, and kept himself conceal'd in the Neighbourhood, resolving to be a Witness of what happen'd. As for my Mother and my Husband, they were so indiscreet as to tell all the World that now they had me safe: So that the noise of their Design ran like Wildfire from one end of the Town to the other; insomuch that they were attended by a Train of several Persons, that laught in their Sleeves to think they were going to be the Spectators of a strange Sight; that is to say, of a Husband, who was going, as he thought, to convince himself of being a Cuckold.

Blossac was met by my Maid, and he was hardly enter'd the Room where the mistaken Gentlewo­man stay'd for him, but my Mother and my Hus­band, with all their Troop, were close at his heels. Upon the noise they made, out came my Damsel: She was known, and when they saw her, they made no question I was not far off. Presently the Doors were forc'd open; but then, to tell ye who lookt most like a Changeling of the Two, when they saw themselves both mistaken, would be too hard a Task for me to undertake; 'tis only for you to imagine. My Mother dropt out first, my Husband sneak'd out after her, and Blossac follow'd him, looking all like People upon the News of a great [Page 80] Loss at Sea. So soon as they were gone, the Duke of Candale arriv'd, and gave order for seizing my Maid and her Coadjutrix; and after he had given farther order that they might be secur'd, he made haste to my Lodging to acquaint me with the issue of the Adventure.

I was in hopes this disappointment my Husband had met with, would have bin a sufficient Proof of my Innocency, and of the little ground he had for all his Suspicions and Surmises; and I lookt upon this Adventure as a finishing Stroke, that would have put an end to all my Misfortunes. But People made another interpretation of it. They cri'd, that all this was but a Trick of my own nimble Wit; and that my Maid, by agreement with Blossac and I, had drawn my Husband and my Mother into this Snare, to make it serviceable toward the gaining of my Cause. In short, the less reason they had to believe I had a share in it, the more convinc'd they were of my having a hand in it, and the better they judg'd it carri'd on: Every body laught that heard of it, and I only, by it, reap'd the Applause of being a Woman of Wit and Address. But that was not the commendation that I sought: I desir'd only that I might have my due. But 'tis impossible when a Woman is engag'd in Concernments that will admit of two Interpretations, to avoid the worst, and enjoy a happy Reputation; 'tis not enough for a Per­son of my Sex to govern her self according to the Rules of Wisdom and good Conduct; there must be nothing that will cary two Senses in the Acci­dents of her Life: A Woman must needs be always guilty, when Innocence has need of so many Justifi­cations. Happy those Women who are not expos'd to these Inconveniences. A smooth even way of living is the only thing in the World which they [Page 81] ought most of all to desire; and they ought to ac­custom themselves betimes to look upon Intriegues and Adventures as the Rocks of their Repose and Honour. I my self confirm'd the Tour which was given to this Story, by my compassion upon the two Confederates in Custody. For being persuaded that I had no more need of Proof to justify my In­nocence, I thought 'em Objects of my Pity; nor could I endure to hear of the Punishments that were threaten'd to be inflicted upon a Maid that had serv'd me: So I order'd her to be set at liberty, together with her Accomplice. I must confess, I could not have committed a greater Act of Impru­dence, and never was Compassion more unseasona­ble. For then, with much more reason then be­fore, it was adjudg'd that the Maid had acted by my Orders, when it was known that I was the oc­casion of her Release.

I advise no body therefore to do as I did: This Creature became so forgetful of my goodness to­wards her, that she was afterwards always the first to raise and spread about the Town a hunderd ri­diculous Stories of me. A Woman who has Ser­vants that expose her Reputation, ought to cause 'em to be punish'd without mercy.

My Husband about the same time return'd into his Province; whether it were that he could not brook the shame of his last Adventure, or that he thought his absence requisite to make me hearken to an Accommodation; for he began to be a weary of lying alone; and since I had found Money and Friends, my Mother, who could not endure the sight of me in Paris, had persuaded him, that it was for his Interest to be reconcil'd, and live with me.

[Page 82] For my own part, I could not take a better Resolu­tion then to consent to such a Reconciliation, had it bin only to turn the last Story to my advantage. The World would doubtless have more easily be­liev'd that I had no hand in it, had I immediately after return'd to my Husband. Well then, he sent a Gentleman to me, one of his Friends, whose Name was Montalzac, with Orders to make me ve­ry fair Propositions, if I would forget what was past. Nor did he only entrust that Gentleman with this Negociation, he also employ'd an Ecclesiastic, who was a Famous Director. But these two An­gels, instead of forwarding this Accommodation, put it farther off, by the different Methods which they took.

Montalzac had not seen me above twice, before he gave me to understand he was in love with me, and that the only motive that induc'd him to labour a Reconciliation between me and my Husband, was, because that being his Neighbour, it would be the more easy for him to visit me. As for the Director, he troubl'd me with long Discourses that were of­fensive to me: He would be proving in Mood and Figure, that I could not in Conscience live a-part from my Husband; and he repeated so many dis­obliging Stories about my ill Conduct, that he made me mad. I answerd him, that I had nothing to do with his long Sermons, and sent him away with great indignation. He was not accustom'd to be so rudely handl'd; but on the other side, had the Reputation of an Oracle in all Pious Negociations which he undertook. So that he lookt upon me as a Reprobate: And after he had left me in a kind of Passion, he went and gave out in all Companies where I came, that my heart was harden'd, and that I would dye in my Iniquity. Of all the People [Page 83] that ever attack'd my Reputation, no body did it with more malice, nor more elaborately then this devout Ecclesiastic. He thought he did God good service in defaming me; and I quickly found my self become a Prey to the fury of False Zealots, who cri'd out that I was a Gangreen'd Member that was to be cut off from the rest of the Body. Such sorts of Zealots are never to be employ'd in Affairs of the same nature with mine; at least they ought to be instructed before they go to work, that Mild­ness and Patience are the most approved means to obtain success; and operate much more effectually then the Transports and Invectives of an over-pas­sionate Zeal. 'Tis a strange thing that they, who, by reason of the Confidence which their Profes­sion demands▪ ought to be the most sparing of the honour of their Neighbour, should be, as ge­nerally they are, the first that rend and tear it with most inhumanity. A Director, by vertue of his Office, will never pardon those by whom his Zeal is ill receiv'd: And Zealots, like the Person whom we speak of, are seldom soft and charitable, but when they are flatter'd and applauded.

As for Montalzac, so soon as he had discover'd his Passion to me, I began as soon to suspect all the Advice he gave me: And for fear that by admitting his Visits, he might think I had some intention to flatter his Hopes, I told him, I would acquaint my Husband with his audacious discovery of his Amorous Sentiments to his Friend's Wife: And that notwithstanding my real Inclinations to an Accommodation, I would defer it till he had a more faithful Friend for his Neighbour. Montalzac, fuming, to see himself so disdainfully rejected, resolv'd to observe all my mo­tions, and to inform my Husband of every step I took; which he did exactly; but still setting out [Page 84] the most innocent things in what Colours he pleas'd. Thus let a Woman be never so discreet and wary, 'tis impossible she should avoid the stroaks of Scan­dal and Calumny, when she is so unfortunate as to be belov'd by wicked People.

While they were thus labouring to reconcile me to my Husband, I had a greater desire then ever to be parted from him. The Protection of Madam de Chatillon had procur'd me the same Favour from Monsieur the Prince. I must confess, that had I not bin so powerfully supported, I should have bin more willing to have hearken'd to my Husband's Offers; but all that came near me, persuaded me against 'em; some out of Interest; others because they would not give themselves the trouble to let me see the inconveniences of a Design, wherein I ran the hazard of ill Success. And indeed there are few real Friends, that know how to give Women those Counsels which are most agreeable to their real Exigencies. There was no body but Mrs. La­val, who thought it unfriendly to flatter me. She told me every day, that I could not take a more ho­nourable Course then to live with my Husband; and insisted that it behov'd me at least to hear the advantageous Offers which he made me. But I was not then in a condition to relish the solid Reasons with which she supported her wholsome Advice. The ill Usuge which so good a Woman daily suffer'd from her Husband, made me afraid of the like from mine. I had not as yet learnt the Lesson she had done, that the Reputation of a Woman is never secure, when she lives asunder from him, whom God has once united to her. On the other side, I thought I should be happy if I could obtain a Sepa­ration; and this was that which I only thought it my duty to labour for.

[Page 85] St. Albe had still recourse to me under the Op­pression of his Father; nor can I deny, but that the respect with which he always accompani'd his Pas­sion for me, made me very desirous to be service­able to him. I imputed all his Father's ill usage of him to my self: I was mov'd that he should so long disguize himself for my sake; and moreover, I par­don'd him all reports to which he had expos'd me, in favour of the pleasing Vengeance which he had given me the occasion to take upon his Father's Im­portunities. I was also good-natur'd; and tho as yet I fe [...]o motions of affection for him, however I had too [...]t an esteem for his Person, to refuse him whatever I could in civility contribute toward the making of his Life less miserable. To sum up all in a word, I did not think it was a crime in him to love me, and I thought that an Amour which was no way offensive to me, could be no inducement to hinder me from doing that, which I would have done out of generosity. Thereupon I spoke to Ma­dam de Chatillon in his favour, lay'd before her the sad condition of the Young Gentleman, and begg'd of her to make use of her credit in his behalf. She was well pleas'd that I took his part; however at the same time she made me sensible, that it would be another blot upon my Reputation, should it be known that I had any hand in serving him. Which made me request her to procure St. Albe's Liberty, yet so that I might not be seen in the business. In short, Madam de Chatillon spoke to Monsieur the Prince, who obtain'd an Order for his Release, and at the same time procur'd him an Employment in the Army better then that which he had before.

It was presently the Publick Opinion that Ma­dam de Chatillon had never procur'd St. Albe's Li­berty, had it not bin at my request. But give me [Page 86] leave to question whether I was to be blam'd for concerning my self in his behalf. The Delicacy which I ow'd my Reputation, did not require me to be insensible of the misfortunes of a Person, who for his merit and his Youth was worthy of compas­sion. There was not any body but my self to whom he could have recourse; and I never repented of the service I did him. Whatever occasion after­wards it gave to be objected against me as a Crime, it had bin a great piece of Cruelty to have aban­don'd St. Albe in that deplorable Condition where­in he was; especially when it was in my power to relieve him. How careful soever a Woman ought to be of her Honour, I am of opinion that 'tis law­ful for her to do a good Action. And when a Wo­man is defam'd upon those accounts, she is only to complain of certain unhappy Circumstances that sometimes will not suffer Women to do good Actions unpunish'd.

So soon as St. Albe was got safe out of his Fa­ther's Clutches by the Credit of Monsieur the Prince, Publick Rumours gave it out more then ever, to be an effect of the love that was be­tween us. This was what his Father spread abroad in all Companies; and Montalzac was no less diligent to inform my Husband of the Com­mon Report. Which oblig'd me to a steady Re­solution never to see St. Albe more: And though I did not think I had deserv'd any thing of Re­proach for having procur'd his Liberty, yet I thought it my duty to avoid a sort of Visits which would have drawn a Scandal upon me with much more justice.

But St. Albe had a heart as generous as my self; and as the injury that I might do my self in acting for him, had not hinder'd me from being serviceable [Page 87] to him; he on his side could not believe, that the wrong which his Gratitude might do me, was a sufficient Obstacle to hinder him from shewing it. He thereforefore several times by the Sollicitations of others begg'd the favour of admitting him but to one single Visit: But finding me obstinate in my denial, he resolv'd to see me whatever it cost him. 'Tis true, I had better have given him ad­mission at first without so much opposition; but my Nicety prov'd prejudicial to me upon this Oc­casion.

At the same time Madam de Chatillon went to her Signiory of Marlou, whither I accompani'd her, and where the Abbot Fouquet came often to visit us. Certain it is, that Madam de Chatillon would never have suffer'd his Assiduities, but be­cause she was unwilling to displease a man who had too much Credit at Court, which is an Argu­ment that she was not so guilty of Coquetry, as a Scandalous Memoir would make her. She was al­ways convinc'd, since the Adventure of his Lodg­ings, that the Abbot had a kindness for me; which was the reason perhaps that she carri'd me along with her to Marlou; in hopes that the Abbot would be more then ever my Servant, or at least that she might put upon my Account the frequent Journ­neys that he made to Marlou. I conjectur'd her Design; but I was so highly beholding to her, that I was willing for her sake to expose my self to whatever could be said of me; and I think I had reason to do as I did. There are certain Obliga­tions that will never permit us to be ungrateful; and I should have thought it a ridiculous piece of Niceness to have oppos'd Madam de Chatillon's De­sign. I thought it sufficient if I did not contribute by my ill Conduct to the Sinister Constructions [Page 88] which the Journey might produce, if at least such Complacencies might be allow'd of without Re­proach. In a word, I set my self above all Scru­ples. These are also Circumstances which it is trou­blesome for a Woman to be engag'd in; and where a Woman cannot do a good Action without losing something of her Honour. But what must she do! She must either renounce the World for good and­all, or else resolve to meet with these Inconveniences sometimes.

Book the Fourth.

WHILE we stai'd at Marlou, the Lord Digby who had hir'd a House in the Neighbour­hood, thought himself oblig'd to pay a Visit to Madam de Chatillon; but this Visit was attended by so many others, that presently a Report was spread about, that my Lord was in love with her; nor was she sorry it should be imagin'd that my Lord bent all his Assiduities to her: For then she was in hopes it would not be nois'd about that she had any kindness for Abbot Fouquet, when she hearken'd to another.

The Abbot, at his first coming to Marlou, said nothing to me that seem'd to make me any way the Object of his thoughts. But so soon as he perceiv'd that my Lord was in love with Madam de Chatillon, he was desirous to try whether she would not dis­cover some effects of her Jealousy. I understood his Intentions by the continual Complaints he made of her to my self: And it may be well believ'd that I had no desire to comply with his faign'd Affection for me. But the more I was resolv'd to give him no Answer, the more I imagin'd it might be law­ful for me to carry my self civilly towards him. This engag'd him farther then I intended; and things came to that pass, that I thought my self assur'd that he lov'd me really. I resolv'd therefore not to keep him in suspence: For I told him plain­ly that all his Pains would be in vain. But then I found by Experience, that a Woman hazards her [Page 90] Reputation no less by giving marks of a Passion of which she is not at all sensible, then in declaring an absolute Aversion.

The Abbot told me, he wonder'd I made no better use of his kindness, since it was in his power to do me an injury by discovering my private fami­liarity with one of my Lord's Domestic Servants. Those words surpriz'd me, and I desir'd him to interpret his meaning, which he refus'd to do, but flung out of the Room full of despite and anger.

A little while after I was going to inform Madam de Chatillon of what had pass'd; but she interrupted me, telling me that I was a Fool, and ran the ha­zard of ruining my self past all redemption; that it was known that St. Albe was with me every day; and that to the end we might see one another with more convenience, I had order'd him to disguise himself: in short, that he waited upon my Lord in the nature of his Valet de Chambre. I protested to her, that if that were the Business, I knew nothing of it; that I had never seen St. Albe since his being releas'd out of Prison, and that I understood not the meaning of these Discourses.

However, what Madam de Chatillon told me, was true: For St. Albe, still possess'd with his Love, and not knowing what course to take upon my re­fusal to see him, yet understanding that I was at Marlou, and that my Lord Digby pay'd frequent Visits to Madam de Chatillon, got into his Service under a borrow'd Name. But I had not as yet seen him; he satisfy'd himself with only seeing me some­times in the Crowd, waiting for the Opportunity which he sought. However he was known, and up­on that it was imagin'd that we convers'd together every Day.

[Page 91] I begg'd of Madam de Chatillon, that St. Albe might be spoken to, and desir'd to be gone, before the Business made any further noise, and that I should be his mortal Enemy if he disobey'd me.

Upon this Madam de Chatillon sent for St. Albe, and lay'd before him the Injury which he did my Reputation. But he appear'd to her so pierc'd with sorrow for having displeas'd me, and so ready to obey, that she took pity of him, and promis'd him that before she return'd to Paris, she would give him an opportunity of seeing me, and immediately sending for me, she left me with him. He threw himself at my feet, without being able to speak one word: On the other side, I had not the power to chide him; I only lay'd before him the Injuries to which he expos'd me by his Follies; and told him, that it behov'd him to overcome a Passion that was neither convenient for him or me; that I would be always one of his Friends; but that I should hate him, if he did not apply himself more seriously to the Duty which he ow'd the King's Service, and made it his endeavour to render himself worthy the Favours which Madam de Chatillon had procur'd him. This said, away he went, charm'd with my gentle reception of him, and as he left me, told me, that he should never be happy, till he had for my sake lost a Life for which he was indebted only to my Goodness.

However, this could not be carri'd so privately, but that it came to the Ears of St. Albe's Father and Montalzac; who Both made it their business to publish this Adventure, set forth and garnish'd with a thousand horrid Circumstances of their own.

The Abbot Fouquet seeing all his Attempts upon me prov'd unsuccessful, renew'd his Sedulities to [...] [Page 94] declar'd to Montalzac, that I was sorry my Hus­band was in such a Humour, for that I was sin­cerely inclin'd to a Reconciliation with him.

Montalzac assur'd me, that if I would give him any hopes of success in his Amour, he would work my Husband to other Sentiments. This made me bethink my self of managing Montalzac to the best advantage; for I knew he had a great power over my Husband; and I consider'd, that if he did not accomplish his Negociation, yet that at least I should make it apparent to all the World that I desir'd an Agreement, by my keeping fair with Montalzac. Therefore I play'd the Dissembler upon this Occasion; and so forbearing to promise Montalzac that I would reward his Diligence, I left him some glimmering Hopes that I might one day not be insensible of his Passion. From that very moment he imagin'd that his Person was not displeasing to me. But believing me prepossess'd for St. Albe, he requir'd a Promise from me that I would never see him more. To which I return'd him an Ambiguous Reply, with­out any tartness in the least. On the contrary, as if I had bin to justify my self in every thing that had bin rumour'd in the World concerning St. Albe and my self, I told him, that in truth I was be­lov'd by him, but that I had always us'd him very severely; that my manner of receiving him at Mar­lou, was a convincing Proof of what I said; that I had forbid him to come near; and that in short, I had quite given over seeing him; when just as I had spok'n the words, St. Albe comes into my Chamber.

I leave ye now to judge at the Trouble and Asto­nishment I was in; because that really I had not seen St. Albe in a long time before, and that I knew [Page 95] not what was become of him. I spoke to him therefore like one that was heartily angry with him, and bid him be gone immediately. Nor did St. Albe dare to offend me, but retir'd with all the submission imaginable, begging pardon for his having displeas'd me. However, his unexpected Arrival persuaded Montalzac that all I had told him was false; and because that St. Albe withdrew so quickly, he thought it to be a Trick concerted be­tween us. Oh, said he in a king of Ironical Ralliery, You are very sincere indeed; who dares question your Vertue? The World certainly does ye a great deal of wrong to suspect your Chastity: In short, he gave me so much offensive Language, that he made me angry. I then repented I had sent away St. Albe, and I was just about to have sent for him back, to let Montalzac see how little I car'd for what he thought of me; so true it is, that Women care not what they do, when they are provok'd However, I did not recall St. Albe, but satisfy'd my self with only sending away Montalzac with a befitting Indignation.

Now as St. Albe went out of the House, he un­derstood that the Person whom he saw in my Chamber was the Marquis of Montalzac, and there­fore calling to mind at the same time the ill Offices he had done me, he resolv'd to wait his coming forth, and revenge the Injuries I had complain'd of St. Albe never consider'd the Consequences of what he was going to do, but follow'd the motions of his Anger. So soon therefore as he saw Montalzac, he clos'd up with him, and asking him how he durst defame a Lady who deserv'd to be spoken of with so much respect, he presently forc'd him to draw his Sword. For some time they sought without any advantage; but at length Montalzac, after he had [Page 96] wounded St. Albe, fell dead at his feet. This Duel was fought almost under my Windows, and the noise with which the People, who, though too late, made haste to part 'em, fill'd the Street, ob­lig'd me to open 'em; where the first sight that strook my Eye, was St. Albe, who, though scarce able to stand, endeavour'd to gain the Door of the Hostel' d' Entragues. I could not be so cruel as to shut it gainst him; on the other side, I ran down, and was the first who order'd him to be let in. So soon as he saw me, he fell at my feet, and with a languishing Tone, Madam, said he, I dye the hap­py Person that has reveng'd the Injuries done you. But I begg'd the Master of the House to carry him without delay through a Back-door into a Neigh­bour's House, where his Wounds were drest the first time; and from thence I took care to have him re­mov'd to another House a little farther off. And by this means it so happen'd, that the Pursuit, which was after him, could not find him out.

However, the thing happen'd at such a time that Duels were punish'd more severely then ever, and I saw that St. Albe would stand in need of Great Credit to procure a Gentle Prosecution on the King's Side. To this purpose, away I flew to Ma­dam de Chatillon's, and inform'd her of the whole Adventure. There I luckily met the Abbot Fou­quet, who promis'd me that the Informations should not be given to the Proctor General his Brother, till he had view'd 'em; and that he would so order it, that it should appear as if St. Albe had bin first assaulted.

The Abbot was as good as his word; so that by his Diligence and his Care, no harm ensu'd, but St. Albe had liberty to appear abroad, so soon as his Health would permit him; his Pardon was pro­cur'd [Page 97] and dispatch'd; so that nothing remain'd of this Adventure, but the Prejudice which it did my self. For how was it otherwise to be believ'd but that I had a kindness for St. Albe, considering what I had done for him? Nevertheless I only serv'd him out of generosity and compassion, and my Opinion was, that Women, the most severe Professors of Vertue, would have done as much as I did. All the while that St. Albe lay private, I never went to see him. I must confess, I put a constraint upon my self in so doing; because that besides that my Visits might have contributed to his Cure, the love which he testifi'd for me was accompani'd with a charming respect and awful submission. Perhaps the greatest part of Women, who enjoy an unble­blish'd Reputation, would not have bin so nice up­on such an Occasion.

Nevertheless, when I consider'd what the World talk'd publickly of St. Albe, and my self, it was an affliction to me, and I thought my self unhappy: For in short, St. Albe's uninterested Zeal did me as much harm, as the Character of those who lov'd me with less niceness. Thus there is no Lover which it does not behove a Woman to be afraid of, seeing there is so much danger in the Visits of an honest man.

Now in regard the Abbot Fouquet believ'd that I had a love for St. Albe, he was no less persuaded that I was greatly beholding to himself, and there­fore thought he had a right to demand of me some Marks of my acknowledgment. He told me, that seeing he had for my sake sav'd the Life of my Lo­ver, he expected from me a piece of Service which I could not deny him without Ingratitude; which was to give him information how Madam Chatillon demean'd her self with the Marshal d' H [...]quincourt, [Page 98] who for some Months had seem'd to be very much her Servant. I made him answer, that I had not yet observ'd that Madam de Chatillon had any kind­ness for those that had a love for her, and that she only admitted 'em into her Company out of civi­lity. I added, that it became him better to under­stand Madam de Chatillon's Character, which was rather to seek the settlement of a Good Fortune, then to live under the uncertainty of Wanton Amours.

The Abbot de Fouquet told me, he knew that well enough; however, he desir'd me to do him the fa­vour which he requested of me.

But though I was oblig'd to the Abbot Fouquet, yet I thought my self much more beholding to Ma­dam de Chatillon; and therefore I fail'd not to give her an account of the Trust which the Abbot endeavour'd to repose in me. To which, You are not the first, said Madam de Chatillon to me, whom he has tri'd to engage to inform him of all my Actions. He is a jealous Friend, who cannot endure that any body else should have a kindness for me; and because I cannot love him after such a manner as he desires, he conceits that I reserve that sort of friendship for another. With these thoughts he torments himself; all those that visit me di­sturb his rest, and upon the least appearance he frames Suspicions to himself, which he will not suffer to be rooted from his mind; he disperses 'em in the world, and finds out people that spread 'em abroad in all Companies. Is it not He who has endeavour'd to persuade all the Earth that I love Monsieur de Candale, and Monsieur de Nemours? I do not wonder therefore that the Visits of Marshal d' Hoquincourt alarum him; 'tis the Character which he bears. But you know, added she, the Reasons that induc'd me to be civil to him: And I must now dissemble. Do you make as if you had ne­ver [Page 99] spok'n to me; I permit you to give him an ac­count of my Demeanour with the Marshal; but it will be to no purpose for you to tell him the truth; he will never believe ye; he will accuse ye of Dissimu­lation; for he is a Man who will not be satisfi'd with any Relations that make his Injustice appear: In a word, 'tis his desire that People should speak ill of me.

What Madam de Chatillon told me, came to pass; for the Abbot believ'd I would never betray her; and when I assur'd him that no man could have a just Suspicion of Madam de Chatillon's Vertue; he told me, he well knew what thoughts it behov'd him to have of it, and flew into a passion because I would not tell him an untruth.

Nevertheless, Madam de Chatillon forbore not to see him, but still admitted his Visits: And this Compliance alone it was which caus'd her Conduct to be suspected; but for this, she had preserv'd en­tire the Reputation which she deserv'd.

For my own part, I had still more reason to complain then Madam de Chatillon, being oblig'd to be careful how I offended my Friends, and finding my self in such a condition as gave opportunities to authorize whatever the World would say of me. For when a Woman lives a-part from her Hus­band, she furnishes Discourse with Weapons against her self; nor is it thought an injury done her to suspect her Behaviour.

St. Albe was no sooner cur'd, but his Father dy'd; and happy for him he dy'd so suddainly, that he had no time to make a Will, whereby to disinherit him.

The first use that St. Albe made of his Inheritance, was to offer it to my self. He wrote to me, that I was Mistress of all his Estate; and desir'd I would [Page 100] permit him to make it over to me by a Deed of Gift, for a particular Reason. His Friends were all for having him to marry; and in regard it was im­possible to consent to any such Proposal, he thought to rid himself of their Importunities, by letting 'em see that he had dispos'd of his Estate.

Though this Proposal seem'd to be very extrava­gant, yet I was not insensible of the Gentleman's Generosity. And at the same time I bewail'd my Misfortune to be belov'd by a man, who, the more capable he was to perform Heroic Actions, the more he prejudic'd my Reputation. And how did I ex­pose my self to the Fury of his Relations, when they should come to understand the Design which he had propounded to me! A Rock so much the more dangerous, by how much I felt my self more pleasingly flatter'd; for I knew then, it would not be possible for me to hate a man that gave me every day new occasions to esteem him.

Had I not had a thousand Reasons of Prudence and Vertue, yet methought I would not have bin without 'em then, to render my self worthy the Sentiments which St. Albe had for me; and I de­sir'd no other Proof to justify my Conduct. From that time forward I was convinc'd, that there was no Woman, let her have but never so little Reason, that can deny her self not to be touch'd with Principles of Honour, when she is belov'd by a Man who only deserves to be the Object of her Affection. And if we meet with Women every day who are somewhat nice in fixing their Amours, 'tis because they can find no Person who merits a more refined Delicacy. For generally the Character of those by whom they are belov'd, is that which procures 'em their happy or unhappy Destiny; and nothing [Page 101] teaches 'em their duty better, then a Lover who understands the performance of his own.

That which St. Albe did on his part, taught me what it behov'd me to do on mine. I resolv'd not only to refuse his Offers, but also to oblige him to marry. I sent him word, that he would ruin me by doing what he intended; but if he desir'd I should have a kindness for him as long as I liv'd, that it behov'd him to comply with the Desires of his Relations; which I conjur'd him to accomplish, by the care it became him to have of my Repu­tation.

My Answer afflicted him; he fell sick; and du­ring his Sickness he wrote me several Letters, where­in he endeavour'd to persuade me to consent to the Deed of Gift. But I resolutely refus'd him; and wrote to him fresh Exhortations to marry, unless he had a mind to lose my Favour for ever. And indeed it was easy to be seen, that I could never have avoided the Persecutions of his Family, had they had the least intimation of his Design.

As for the Donation, I suppose he consider'd the ill consequences that would infallibly have attended it, and therefore never spoke to me more concerningit; but he sent me word that he could not resolve to marry; for that seeing I had refus'd him, he valu'd no body else beside. And the pleasure which this Sen­timent infus'd into me, hinder'd me from opposing it, which was the reason that I could not avoid be­ing made the Object of what the Malice of his Re­lations could throw upon me.

For in regard that they were very earnest with him to marry, and so much the rather, because a consi­derable Match was offer'd him, which they were afraid of missing, they imputed his refusal of it to mee. So that his Kindred being prepossess'd with [Page 102] that Opinion, broke all the Laws of Decorum with me, and fell upon my Reputation with all the cru­elty imaginable. On the one side they sent to my Husband, and peal'd it in my Mother's Ears that St. Albe kept me; and on the other side they hant­ed St. Albe with ridiculous Stories of my pretended Amours. And things were carri'd so high, that a Great Lord, who had a mind to marry his Daughter to St. Albe, propos'd the sending me away to my Husband by force, which I had notice of; and up­on that, falling out with St. Albe in good earnest, I sent him word that I would hate him, and never see him more, if he did not comply with the De­sires of his Friends.

He tri'd divers ways to dispence with this Ne­cessity; but seeing that the longer he delay'd his Marriage, the more bitterly they inveigh'd against me, he promis'd to marry the Party propos'd to him: He went to see her, and the Articles of the Contract were soon sign'd.

After he had given me this proof of his Submissi­on, he begg'd leave that he might pay me a Visit; nor did I think it proper to refuse him. He came to me with such a face of Grief, as made me repent of what I had exacted from him; nor could I dis­semble how great a Sharer I was with him in his Sorrow. But in short, said I, there is no other way for you to assure me of your Love. Marry then; and to compleat the proof of your Affection for me, you must likewise love the Person whom you are going to marry; and as you demean your self to her, I shall judge of your love to me. But have a care how you behave your self with the least scorn and contempt, for the reason of it will be pre­sently conjectur'd. Well, Madam, repli'd St. Albe, with a sigh, I will do what whatever you command [Page 103] me; but my Relations and my Wife shall know, that 'tis to you they are beholding for it; and up­on condition that they come and ask you pardon for the Injuries they have done you. No, said I, that would produce a bad effect; for your Wife will never love ye, when she should come to understand that any other then her self had oblig'd you to mar­ry her. But as for your Relations, I give you leave to let 'em see that you had all along a kindness for me; nevertheless, that I never was the Woman who gave you bad Counsel. At least permit me, Madam, repli'd St. Albe, to bring my Mother hi­ther, that she may be acquainted with your Sen­timents, and by that means be enabl'd afterwards to undeceive those who verily believe 'twas you that obstructed my Marriage; for I protest, said he, concluding, that I will never marry, if some­body does not know, that it was only done by your Command. I answer'd him, that he might bring his Mother to me; and that I would gladly see her, since it was a Satisfaction which he would not be deni'd.

Thus St. Albe, by causing this sort of Amends to be made me, thought he had found a means to bind me in a Tye of Friendship with his Mother, that so he might have afterwards opportunities to see me. Nor did he conceal this Inducement from me; and I was sensible of it, because I found that I could hardly dispence with a perpetual absence from him: Besides, that I thought it would be a means to silence the Prittle-prattle of the World, when they should see me in friendship with his Wife, and the rest of his Relations.

His Mother fail'd not to come and see me with the first; for since the Adventure that befel her Husband, she had an inclination for me. And [...] [Page 106] and besides that, I was beginning to think seriously of reconciling my self to my Husband. He would have said a great deal more, but I refus'd to hear­ken to him, and bid him be gone.

He return'd the next day, but I deni'd him ad­mittance, and at length he despair'd of ever ma­king me alter my Resolution. But when it was known about the Town that I went no more to vi­sit his Wife, 'twas then given out that she had for­bid me the House; and this Report confirm'd what had bin formerly spread abroad concerning me. I must confess I found my self under very unfortunate Circumstances; for I could not carry my self with that circumspectness upon this Occasion, but that some ill interpretation or other would be put upon my Behaviour; so that I rather chose to suffer that it should be said St. Albe had sacrific'd me to the jealousy of his Wife, then that it should be re­ported he had sacrific'd his Wife to his Affection for me.

But when St. Albe began to be assur'd of my Re­solution never to see him more, he laid aside all con­straint upon himself, and began to lead his Wife a very ill life: Upon which it was presently given out, that I had advis'd him to take that Course to satisfy my Revenge.

So soon therefore as I found that St. Albe neglect­ed to pursue the Counsel I had given him, I be­gan to abate of the good opinion I had of him. He appear'd to me to be too much like other men; I accus'd him for want of Niceness; and I was so un­just as to imagine with my self that his Behaviour offended me: I thought he fail'd in the respect and value which he ow'd me; and therefore I resolv'd to cure him of his Passion; seeing there was no other way to oblige him to live lovingly with a [Page 107] Woman, whom he would have thought sufficient­ly amiable had he not had a love for me.

I communicated this Design to Mistris Laval, and we agreed together, that I should make a shew of being in love with a Gentleman whose Name was Savigny, with whom I had bin acquainted for some time, and whom I frequently saw at Madam de Chatillon's, whose Kisman he was; and that Mistris Laval should go to St. Albe, and tell him as a great Secret, of this new Amour of mine. I was in hopes by this means that St. Albe would have relinquish'd all his kindness for me, and that he would have liv'd lovingly with his Wife, when he thought me prepossess'd for another. I was too well acquainted with St. Albe's Discretion, not to be afraid lest he should make an ill use of this Confidence, or that it was not in his power to defame me. Which made me determine to give him proofs of this imaginary Intriegue by several Letters which I feign'd to have written to Savigny, and which Mrs. Laval was to shew St. Albe as one of the greatest Secrets in the World. I must confess, this Artifice lay a little too open to discovery. For they that were but ne­ver so little acquainted with me, knew full well that I had no manner of private engagement with Savigny, and that he never came to my Lodging. However, I fanci'd that St. Albe might suffer him­self to be surpriz'd by it; and perhaps it might be no trouble to me to try him that way; or at the worst, I thought that if he discover'd the Artifice, he would understand thereby that it was my abso­lute desire that he would live more lovingly then he did with his Wife, since I made use of so strange a means to oblige him to it.

A part of what I foresaw came exactly to pass. For it was not in St. Albe's power to have an Opi­nion [Page 108] meanly favourable of me; since never any man made good the Character of a True Lover better then he did, which is to have an inviolable esteem for the Person whom he loves. But it was not only the value he had for me, that hinder'd him from giving credit to the Secret that was told him with so much caution; the good Opinion he had of Mistris Laval, would not permit him to believe her. He was convinc'd that a Woman so much my Friend as she was, could never be induc'd to betray me; so that he told Madam Laval in plain terms, that he would not believe one tittle of all her Insinua­tions.

Mrs. Laval orejoy'd to find him so honest a Gen­tleman, acknowledg'd to him, that I had made use of that means to let him understand how much his Harshness to his Wife offended her.

St. Albe could not refrain from tears, when he saw that I did the same thing to engage him to his Duty, which others would have done to draw him off from it. And he desir'd Mrs. Laval to give her self the trouble of delivering me the following Letter.

I Surrender, Madam, to your Goodness in my behalf. Mrs. Laval can tell ye, that I never hesitated one moment to take your part against your self. The esteem which I have for you, made me judge at first sight, that you had a design to impose upon me. But undeceive your self; for nothing shall ever create in me any other Opinion of your Vertue, then what I first conceiv'd, when I sa­crific'd my heart and Life to your Service. I shall submit to what you enjoin me: However, permit me to beg of you, in recompence of this Sacrifice, a share in your heart: I cannot forbear admiring it; and I suffer extremity of pain, because I cannot deserve it. Assist me to support the [Page 109] Misfortune to which you condemn me, in obliging me to shew another what I can never be truly sensible of for any but your self: Convince me from time to time that you have not quite forgotten me; and suffer me to flatter my self that I should have bin more happy, if your Duty and mine would have allow'd me that felicity.

Mrs. Laval deliver'd me this Letter, and she wept when she gave me an account of what she had ob­serv'd of Great and Heroic in the Sentiments of St. Albe. We both together admir'd and bewail'd the unhappy▪ Chance of my Destiny, which made so many People cherish such bad Opinions of me, those especially among whom I endeavour'd to gain that esteem which I thought was due to me, while the only Person that I would have had prepossess'd against me, could not suffer an ill thought concern­ing me to enter his Breast.

How happy should I have bin, said I to Made­moisel Laval, if all men were of his Character! Alas! why are they not so?—what a detesta­ble inclination have they to judge amiss of Women? At least, added I, since I have met with one who partakes not either of their Blindness or Malignity, it is but just that I should have an esteem for him only, and this is that I will do the whole remain­der of my Life. Happy if they who were the Au­thors of my first Affections had resembl'd him. But no, repli'd I presently, it would have vex'd me to the Soul, if ever any other but St. Albe had merit­ed an esteem which I would have bestow'd upon another. Well, said Mrs. Laval, but what at length is your Resolution? Will you grant him his Request? will you let him hear from you some­times? Alas, repli'd I, wherefore should I not? Can I do too much for a man that thinks nothing [Page 110] too good for me? Go, find him out, I conjure ye, and tell him he may reck'n upon what ever I can grant him without prejudice to my Duty; and if ever I come to be in a condition—But stay, repli'd I as soon, we must not flatter our selves with idle Hopes—tell him I am wholly his—provided that he never sees me, and that he never requires any Letters from me; which though they may be altogether innocent, will however render me su­spected. You have much ado, repli'd Mrs. Laval, to take any Resolution, Madam—for my part I advise ye not to send to him at all; but to wait till he performs what he promises to ye, and that an opportunity present it self to let him know how sensible you are of it. I submitted to her Advice; though I must acknowledge, that had Mrs. Laval but never so little enclin'd to have giv'n me other Counsel, I should without delay have taken it; and it may be I might not have bin sufficiently▪ Mistress of my self, to have prevented the declaring to him the entire Passion I had for him.

If I had reason to be satisfi'd with St. Albe's Let­ter, I was much more pleas'd with him, when I understood his kind demeanour toward his Wife. He was so careful in his behaviour, so full of re­spect and complacency, that he was become a Mo­del for all Husbands. Whatever passion I had for him, I had no inclination to be jealous of him: And I thought my self so well acquainted with St. Albe's Character, that I attributed to my self whatever he did for his Wife.

But the World made another judgment of the Matter: People believ'd that St. Albe's kindness to his Wife proceeded from his being separated from my Company: And they cri'd, there was all the reason in the World to remove me from him, [Page 111] seeing it was I who set 'em formerly at vari­ance.

St. Albe was at his Wit's end when he heard 'em talk at this rate; but he durst not undeceive 'em; for that if he intended to live in peace with his Wife, and follow exactly my Advice, it behov'd him to be careful how he discover'd me to have any hand in the change of his Humour.

But Madam de St. Albe, being fully persuaded that her Husband's kindness to her was only due to her own Merit, was the first that rail'd against me in all Places. 'Tis true, she was more reserv'd in the presence of her Husband, before whom she durst not so much as utter my Name, for fear of recal­ling to remembrance what was past. Of this every body inform'd me, and advis'd me to ask St. Albe the reason of it. But I had no mind to do it, and I found my self enclin'd to speak as much good of her, as she spoke ill of me. I must confess, this Moderation deserv'd no great applause; for me­thought, that a Woman under my Circumstances could not well do otherwise; besides that I lov'd St. Albe too well, not to pardon the Tittle-tattle of his Wife, upon whom I could not be reveng'd, without setting 'em again together by the Ears.

About this time he was engag'd to go to the Army; and because he thought my Allowance not sufficient to maintain me, he found out Monsieur Brice, who was entrusted with the payment of it; and putting a considerable Sum into his hands, he desir'd him to let me want for nothing; and so to manage the Business, that I might think my self beholding only to Mr. Brice. And he, was so exact in the performance of what St. Albe had recom­mended to his care, that I was a long time igno­rant whence this Generosity proceeded. But when [Page 112] I understood it, my esteem and my love encreas'd for a man so worthy to be belov'd. I must acknow­ledge I needed no new Testimonies of his Merit to make me resolve to love him as long as I liv'd: I was fully determin'd upon that already; but at the same time I promis'd my self to do nothing for him but what might correspond with my Duty. The innocent Pleasures of loving St. Albe, and being be­lov'd by him, was my comfort in the midst of all my Sufferings with which my froward Destiny af­flicted me; and whatever compassion the recital of my Misfortunes drew upon me, I thought it a thing to be really envi'd, that I should have the happiness to meet, in the Person of St. Albe, with a Lover worthy to possess my heart, and in the Person of Mrs. Laval, with a Friend that so well merited my Confidence.

St. Albe's absence gave his Wife her full liberty to exercise her hatred against me: Nothing pleas'd her so much as to hear my Conduct ill spoken of. Her Gossips, who understood her Sentiments, fed her Malice with their compliance; so that at length she resolv'd my ruin to all intents and purposes. And to bring about her Design, she bethought her self of contriving several Letters of her own head, wherein she stufft a world of horrible Fictions rela­ting to Mrs. Laval and my self. These Letters she put into the hands of the Director, of whom I have already made some mention; who believing that the Glory of God requir'd him to be reveng'd up­on me for slighting his Admonitions, shew'd 'em with a hypocritical gravity to Mrs. Laval's Husband, and after that to my own Husband, and my Mo­the. Nor did he stop there, but found a way to have the Queen inform'd of my loose behaviour, with an humble Petition that she would be pleas'd [Page 113] to interpose her Authority to remedy those Dis­orders which he could not but lament; and of which he might have easily seen the falshood, would he but have taken the pains to examine by whom those Letters were written. But Pru­dence and Charity are Vertues to which Hypocrisy is a Stranger.

Book the Fifth.

WHEN Reputation is become a prey to the indiscreet Zeal of counterfeit Godliness, the Mischief is without a Remedy. The Letters before mention'd made a most terrible noise; and Madam de Chatillon inform'd me that the Queen had bin made acquainted with 'em, and that she had bin importun'd for an Order to have us Both con­find, Mrs. Laval and my self. All this was done by the pious Care of the Director before mention'd, as I have already said. And I made no question but that our Enemies had obtain'd their desires, had not Madam de Chatillon bin so kind as to undeceive the Queen. But she justifi'd me in such a manner, that the Director could do us no harm.

In the mean time Madam de Chatillon advis'd us to betake our selves to some Convent, till our Hus­bands could be brought either by fair or foule means to do us justice. Which Advice we follow'd; and I can say we did it without reluctancy.

After this I made it my business to bring my Suit to an end. To which effect Madam de Chatillon took the pains to speak to my Judges, and the Cause was just ready for judgment, when my Mother came to me, and propos'd an accommodation be­tween me and my Husband. I was apt to believe that my Mother did this of her own head, without any Order from my Husband: She was afraid, lest having such powerful Friends at Court as I had, that I should have obtain'd an absolute Separation, [Page 115] and liv'd continually at Paris; where, for her that still aspir'd to go for a young Widow, a Daughter of my years was the most mortifying Sight in the World, and therefore she would fain have got me out of the way: But she did not find me to be in such haste to correspond with her Desires. I told her that I had bin too much abus'd to be satisfy'd with a private Agreement, and therefore I would be justifi'd in Publick: Which Answer did not a little exasperate her against me, so that we parted no way satisfi'd one with another. But for my part, I must confess 'twas not so much my Husband's ill usage, and my Mother's unkindness which oblig'd me still to thwart her in what she desir'd: I was mad that a Mother, who had always forsak'n me when she saw me without support, should make her Applications to me, when she saw I had no more need of her.

Therefore, as I said before, I mov'd every day by my Counsel for Sentence in my Cause, and was just upon the point to obtain it, when the Death of my Husband put an end to the Suit after an unex­pected manner. He was return'd home with an in­tention, as they said, to have suborn'd Witnesses against me; at what time he was seiz'd with a sud­dain Sickness, that gave him no time to do me ju­stice. However, he declar'd before his death, that he repented of his unkindness to me; that he had bin jealous without a cause of my behaviour, for which he blam'd himself; and that he desir'd that all the World might know, that I was innocent of all those things which Scandal had laid to my charge, and of which he confess'd himself to be the chief cause.

The Tydings of his Death reach'd first my Mo­ther's ears before they came to mine, so that she [Page 116] made more then ordinary haste to inform me of it, and it would have bin a difficult thing to have added any thing to her Demonstrations of Joy and Ten­derness. All the Ladies in the Convent came to complement me upon the News. But then I, who took notice that I was lookt upon before by the same Persons as a Woman whose company they ra­ther suffer'd, then were plea'd with among 'em, was struck with admiration at their Civilities, and how much they congratulated themselves, that I had done them the honour to make choice of their House for my Aboad.

The first Counsel that my Mother gave me, was to go forthwith into the Province, and look after the fair Estate which my Son was then Heir to: But the Death of another Person, which happen'd almost at the same time, chang'd my Fortuue much more to my advantage. For my Brother being about Fifteen years of Age, had over-heated him­self in the Colledge, and dying of a Pleurisy, left me the sole Heiress of a considerable Fortune.

My Mother was so griev'd for the loss of my Brother, that I thought she would never have sur­viv'd him. I offer'd her all the Consolation that I could give her, and might have bin a comfort to her, would she but have done me that justice that would have made me capable of being so; but I endeavour'd in vain to persuade her, that she should regain in me what she had lost in my Brother: She had the same Sentiments of me as formerly; whe­ther it were, that she imagin'd her former Harsh­ness to me would not permit me to love her, or that she still continu'd her malicious Inclinations to ruin me.

The change of my Fortune was so much the more accept [...]ble, as being that which I the least ex­pected. [Page 117] The first thing then that I did in this same Exaltation of my Fortune, was to bethink my self of a way to make Madam Laval some satisfaction for the Obligations she had laid upon me. I re­concil'd her to her Husband, to whom I lent a con­siderable Sum of Money to buy an Employment in the King's Houshold; but he liv'd not long in his new Advancement. After that, I would have pro­vided an advantageous Settlement for Mrs. Laval; but she testifi'd so great a desire to live with me, that I consented to it; so much the rather, because I was assur'd of her Sincerity, and that she had a more then ordinary love for me.

While I was giving these demonstrations of my Gratitude, the World, accustom'd to empoyson all my Actions, fail'd not to give out, that I had pro­cur'd an Employment for Mrs. Laval's Husband for no other reason, but because I was in love with him. But I shall not need to say any thing in con­tradiction to such an irrational Calumny.

As for St. Albe, I had still a passionate love for him; and I answer'd the marks of Tenderness which he continually gave me, as much as Decen­cy and Decorum would permit me. It may well be thought that the change of my Fortune was no small pleasure to him: And I must confess, that when I found my self my own Mistress, I repented that I had oblig'd him to marry; I should have bin overjoy'd to have made him a Sharer with me in my Estate. 'Tis true, he was not my Equal in Qua­lity, nor rich enough to pretend to marry me; but what he had done for me, and the respect with which he had always accompany'd his Passion, made me believe that there was no Person but he in the World who was worthy of me; but there was no ground for me to give him any such hope. On the [Page 116] [...] [Page 117] [...] [Page 118] other side, I thought, that if I gave him an occa­sion for the least Presumption, it would but serve to augment his Misfortune, and create in his Breast a greater contempt of his Wife: Therefore I resolv'd to conceal from him more then ever the Sentiments of kindness which I had for him. I paid him ex­actly what I thought was due to him, and in my Turn offering to him my Estate to be wholly at his Service, I desir'd him to allow me an opportunity to testify my Gratitude to him. But at the same time I conjur'd him to use all his Endeavours to stifle a Passion, which would but only serve to render him unhappy.

He lov'd me with so much delicacy, that he durst not contradict the Resolution which I seem'd to have taken to forget him: How unwilling so­ever he was to receive the Money which I sent him, he only accepted it for fear of displeasing me; and fearing lest the outward marks of his Love should prove at length offensive to me, he took a Resolution to dissemble it as much as he could, and consenting to my Resolution neither to see him, nor admit his Visits; he only sent me word that his Love should last as long as he liv'd, but that he would never give me an occasion to complain of him.

This Submission of his, render'd him still more dear to me; and if it were my grief that I could not do for him what I would, it was my equal joy that I had in him a Lover who was proof against all Trials.

There are but few Women, perhaps, who are capable of containing themselves within those bounds which I prescribe my self; perhaps, because they know not how to relish what is most exquisite in the pleasure of being belov'd. For my part I am [Page 119] of opinion, that a Woman may dispose of her Love with her Duty, yet have nothing to upbraid her self for so doing.

Soon after the Death of my Husband I had se­veral considerable Matches propounded to me by se­veral People. However, what I had suffer'd during my first Nuptials, or rather my love for St. Albe, made me reject all their Proposals.

Then no body made any scruple of keeping me company, or of professing themselves to be my Friends. For I was rich, and my Wealth had quite defac'd the remembrance of whatever had bin invented to my ruin. Then I understood the hu­mour of the World: They who had the most de­fam'd me, were the first that sought my Acquain­tance; and swore that they never gave credit to the Stories publish'd by my Enemies. But I was nothing dazl'd with this Change; I knew still how to distinguish People that had bin kind to me in my Misery, from those that only flatter'd my Abun­dance.

The Affairs wherein the Death of my Husband had involv'd me, oblig'd me to take a Journey in­to the Province, where my stay was longer then I expected: And passing through Lyons, I understood that the Duke of Candale lay there so desperately sick, that he was quite giv'n over. Touch'd with this News, and forgetting then the Reasons which I had to believe him none of my Friends, I only re­member'd what he had done for me, and I thought it my duty to offer him my Service in the Con­dition he was in. So soon as he perceiv'd me, he could not forbear asking me pardon for not ha­ving sent to me in so long time; and he told me, sighing, that it had bin his misfortune not to know his Real Friends. I answer'd him, that I would [Page 120] freely pardon him what was past, provided he would but strive to recover his Health. He repli'd, he was sen­sible he should dye, but that he was glad that Death had given him so much time as to assure me, that he always had a greater esteem for me then for any other Woman. After that, he told me what Women he had lov'd; and I perceiv'd I was not the only Woman to whom he had prov'd inconstant. Oh! if I might but live a little longer, cri'd he, I would make known to the World, that there are Women both of merit and vertue; and my Example should undeceive all those who are the cause of the Injuries that are done 'em. I could not forbear weeping, seeing him persuaded that he was going to dye: He also wept himself; and our Tears made People believe that there had bin a mutual Amour be­tween us.

Thus what I did out of meer gratitude for the Duke of Candale, turn'd to the prejudice of my Reputation after a strange manner. So true it is, that when a Woman is unfortunate, she cannot do a good Action, which shall not be conster'd in a bad Sense. For presently it was spread abroad, that I had bin driven out of the Duke of Candale's Cham­ber as an Object that terrifi'd his Conscience. But what will not People say▪ when they have a mind to defame a Woman! However, I was little mov'd with these Rumours. For because I was not con­scious of what they laid to my Charge, I thought it my duty to neglect 'em. Nor was it a wonder that I was not more cautius for the future then I had bin till that time. My Innocence hinder'd me still from keeping a guard upon my self, and was the first cause of the Attacks that were made upon my Reputation. I should have bin more studious of outward Appearances, had my Desires bin more [Page 121] irregular. But Hypocrisy and Grimace seem'd to me the most unworthy of all Vices: I was igno­rant how much People have need of 'em in their Conversation in this World.

I met in the Province a Lady whose Misfortunes had render'd her no less illustrious then my self: And because I undertook to write these Memoirs for no other reason then to prove that People are fre­quently mistak'n in the judgments which they make concerning Women, I thought it proper in this Place to relate the Story of this Lady, by which it will be seen how deceitful outward Shews are; and I shall set it down in the following words, as she repeated it her self.

When the Duke of Beaufort, said she, first made his Applications to me, I was ambitious enough to wish him for my Husband; and I flatter'd my self with those hopes, because he gave me some reason so to do. The Duke of Nemours his Brother in-Law, at the same time also testifi'd a very great Passion for me; and doubtless I had had a greater love for the Duke of Nemours, but he was marri'd, and I was too proud to hearken to a Lover who could not be my Husband. Therefore I gave an ear to the Duke of Beaufort, and endeavour'd to se­parate him from the Duke of Nemours. Now it was the less known that either the one or the other courted me, because all People were persuaded that they were otherwise engag'd; nor was it believ'd they had any other Quarrels then such as frequently divided the whole Court, and of which the two Ladies, with whom they seem'd to be in love, were the occasion. The Duke of Beaufort also promis'd to marry me, so soon as he had brought about a Design which he had in his head, and which he imparted to me.

[Page 122] The Promise of a Match so advantageous, aug­mented my Pride, and made me carry my self more stately toward the Duke of Nemour; but I made it my business to humour the Duke of Beaufort. The Duke of Nemours had too great a conceit of his Merit, and too much Wit not to unravel the reason of my preferring his Brother before him. Never­theless it made him mad, to have the meanest share in my Affection; and he endeavour'd to infuse into me a contempt of his Rival. But notwithstanding all the unpleasing Portraitures he gave of him, I still continu'd my compliance with the Duke of Beaufort.

The Duke of Nemours was so enrag'd at this, that seeing he could not put me out of conceit with his Rival, he resolv'd to make his Rival have an ill opi­nion of me. Therefore he inform'd him by a Person suspected to neither, that I betray'd him, and that the Duke of Nemours spent whole Nights with me.

The Duke of Beaufort took no notice of any thing to my self, but resolv'd to have me carefully watch'd. On the other side, the Duke of Nemours, who made no question but his Brother-in-Law would set Sen­tinels enow upon me, dream'd of nothing else but how he might procure a Witness that would swear he saw him enter my Chamber in the Night; and at length he gain'd one of my Servants, who left open a low Window that lookt into the Street; and through that Window it was that the Duke of Nemours enter'd, at such a time when he was sure to be observ'd by the Duke of Beaufort's Spies.

This Adventure was not long kept secret, but was publish'd the next Morning; and all the while I knew nothing of it. And indeed what care, what caution can be sufficient against Adventures of this nature! What Woman can promise her self to be [Page 123] exempt from disgrace, when there needs no more then an Enemy or a Lover to satisfy his Revenge upon her.

But when I understood what had past, I went to the Duke of Beaufort to ask him the reason of spread­ing such a Scandal. He answer'd me, that I knew better then any body; that it was no Calumny, be­cause his Rival had bin seen to go in and come out of my Lodging but the Night before. Upon that I made such a Hubub in my House that I discover'd the Truth. I sent for the Duke of Beaufort to come to me; he came; and the Lacquey who had bin brib'd, confess'd the whole truth before him, so that at length he began to believe, or else he made a shew of believing I was innocent. I told him far­ther, that I was not satisfi'd with those Proofs, but that I would give him others yet more convincing, by obliging the Duke of Nemours to disown the thing himself. But the Duke desir'd me to forget the Adventure, assuring me that he desir'd no other satisfaction, and that he was fully convinc'd of my Innocence.

However, I saw no other way to restore my Re­putation to its first integrity, but my marrying the Duke of Beaufort: But I soon perceiv'd he had flat­ter'd me with false hopes; he abated his Sedulities, and insensibly forbore to visit me. And to [...]ustify this change of his mind, he wrote me word, that during the Agitations of his Fortune, he could not think of marrying. So that I plainly saw, I was no longer to reck'n upon him. I must confess, it was no great trouble to me to forget him, because I ne­ver lov'd him. However, I was vex'd he had es­cap'd me; and therefore not caring to live any longer at Paris, I retir'd into my Province. Where, while I remain'd in my own Signiory, which as you [Page 124] well know, borders upon the Duke of Savoy's Ter­ritories, another Adventure befel me.

One Evening word was brought me, that two Gentlemen, having lost their way in following some Chase or other, desir'd to know whether I would be so courteous as to afford 'em a Lodging till the next day, in regard it was late, and they being quite tir'd, it was impossible for 'em to ride any farther. The Person that spoke for 'em would not tell me their Names; only he assur'd me, they were Persons of Quality, and that I would not re­pent me of the kindness I did 'em.

I had with me a Lady, one of my intimate Friends, and an old Gentleman, who was nearly related to me. I was also at a stand, whether it be­came me to entertain Gentlemen who refus'd to let me know who they were: But when they appear'd, I found such an Aire of Nobleness in their Faces, and they requested me to lodge 'em with such a graceful demeanour, that I could not refuse 'em. These two Persons were the Duke of Savoy, and the Marquiss of Fleuri, who under pretence of ha­ving lost their way, came out of curiosity to see me.

The Duke of Savoy had for a long time an ear­nest desire to be acquainted with me. He had seen my Picture, among others of the Ladies of the Court of France that had been sent him; and in re­gard he was an Amorous Prince, who took delight in Adventures, understanding that I liv'd in a Castle bordering upon his Dominions, his Curiosity led him to give me a Visit, in company with the Marquess of Fleuri.

The Duke of Savoy, who was unwilling to dis­cover himself to any body but only to me, that he might not lose time, made a sign to the Marquiss to [Page 125] engage in a discourse with the Old Gentleman, and the Lady, my Friend, while he kept me in discourse: And then so soon as he could speak without being heard by any body but my self, Madam, said He, you see [...] Prince, who for above these two years has had so great a Passion for you, which has made him forget his Quality, that he might have the Honour of seeing you. I am the Duke of Savoy; but I do not ground my Hopes of gaining your Favour so much upon my Quality, as upon the most tender and p [...]ssionate Love that ever was pledg'd to Woman-kind. While he was thus talking to me, I kept my Eyes attentively fix'd upon him: A sort of surprize which he percei­ving, and afraid lest I should interrupt him, tho it were onely to shew the astonishment I was in, he earnestly desir'd me not to disclose it to others that He had discover'd himself; and after a World of Amorous Ejaculations, he press'd me to tell him what Impression they had made upon my Heart.

But I was not over-hasty to let him understand my Sentiments; I perceiv'd in my self an Inclina­tion for the Marquess of Fleuri, before I knew who he was; and I was sorry that I had shewn any thing of Complacency to the Duke of Savoy, be­cause I foresaw he would prove an Obstacle to my growing Passion: In short, I was already more in love then I could imagin my self to be. Instead of answering to the Duke of Savoy's Amorous Im­portunities, I ask'd him with a kind of unseason­able Transport, the Name of the Person that ac­company'd him; but immediately repenting that I had bin so foolish to put such a Question to him, I fell into a sort of Rambling Gibb [...]ish, that put the Duke into a fit of Laughter. However, he attributed [Page 126] the little Ramblings of my Expressions to the Dis­order of my Mind, and still press'd to know what he was to hope for. By which time, having a little recollected my self from the Agitations that tur­moyl'd my surprized Thoughts, I told him, I could not think my self any way oblig'd to him for a seeming Honour that so much expos'd my Reputa­tion. He laught at my niceness in point of Re­putation; and told me, that the thing which he requir'd from a Woman that he lov'd, was, that she would lay aside that part of Delicacy. Upon this Subject we had a long discourse, and our Con­versation ended in many earnest Invitations, which he made me, to the Court of Savoy.

The Marquess de Fleuri, as my Friend afterwards told me, was under a strange disturbance all the while that the Duke of Savoy was talking to me; and she could perceive, I was a Person who had made no small Impression in his Breast. Therefore, before we parted, the Marquiss took his Opportu­nity, and whispering me in the Ear, Madam, said He, I shall dye if you surrender to the Duke of Savoy a Heart which I alone deserve, because of that Infinite Love which I have for you. He was unwilling to say more to me, for fear of being observ'd; and I must confess, it was my happiness that I could not have time to discourse him in private; for I should have had much ado to have conceal'd from him the Joy which the assurance of his Love infus'd in­to me; considering how little we are Mistresses of our selves in the first Agitations of a violent Passion. At the same time the Duke of Savoy desir'd leave that he might tarry the next day also at my House; which the Pleasure of the Marquiss de Fleuri's Com­pany, and the Hopes of understanding who he was, easily prevail'd upon me to grant.

[Page 127] When my Friend the Lady and I were alone together, I gave her an account of the Conversation I had had with the Duke of Savoy; but said not a word to her of my Inclinations for the Marquis de Fleuri: Not, that I distrusted the Sincerity of her Friendship; but because Secrecy is always the first thing that inspires us with a Real Passion. My Friend would hardly believe me at first, when I told her that one of the Persons was the Duke of Savoy; but fully at length convinc'd, she blam'd me for consenting to let 'em tarry all the next day. She foresaw better then I did, the Consequences of this Adventure; and told me moreover, that if it should come to be known, the Higher the Duke of Savoy's Quality was, the more my Reputation would suffer. I assur'd her, that he should never have any occasion to boast of any thing that could do me an Injury, and that I did not find in my self the least Inclination for him. We spent all that night in discoursing of this Adventure, not being able in all that time to think of disclosing to her my Sentiments for the Marquiss de Fleuri; a fault for which I have often since that time deser­vedly blam'd my self; for a Woman has never more need of the Counsel and Advice of a prudent and discerning Friend, then when a Passion begins to blind her. When she thinks to be her own Con­ductress, she makes a thousand false Steps, and falls into a thousand mistakes.

Thus then, consulting no body but my self, I resolv'd upon two things that were ill contriv'd, yet which at the same time seem'd to give me an occasion to satisfy both my Inclination and my Ver­tue. I took a Resolution not to let the Marquiss de Fleuri understand the Sentiments I had for him, nor to discourage the Duke of Savoy, that I might [Page 128] not be depriv'd of the Marquiss's Company. This Design appear'd to me Heroic; besides, that it concern'd me to try whether the Marquiss lov'd me really or no; and I thought there was no bet­ter way to convince my self of this Truth, then by making a shew of having a greater Fondness for the Duke of Savoy then I had. The next day I put my project in Execution; as being onely ci­vil and complaisant to the Duke of Savoy, and care­fully avoiding to discourse or cast my Eye upon the Marquis de Fleuri.

As for the Duke of Savoy, whose love for me, was one of those sorts of Passions, that never lan­guish by degrees, but seek a speedy satisfaction; he was so charm'd with my converse and disposi­tion, that without any more ado, he propos'd to me what his Passion made him desire. On the other side, I who had a design to manage him, return'd him no such Answer as I should have done; so that he thought there was now no more to be done, but to find an Opportunity that we might be both in Private together. He dissembl'd there­fore, and having made me promise him to take a Journey into Savoy, he took his leave of me, and I believ'd him really gone. The Marquis of Fleuri endeavour'd in vain to speak to me before they took horse, for I still avoided him; so that all he could do, was to slip a Billet-Doux into my hand, which I had not the Power to refuse; and there­fore so soon as they were out of sight, I open'd it in great haste, and found the following words.

Nothing but an Affection for you as violent as mine, could force me to betray the Duke of Savoy, by giving you notice that he is this night to be let into your Chamber. Your Conversation has flatter'd him; but since I have [Page 129] found you worthy of my love, I cannot believe you give to his so much Encouragement.

The Marquis of Fleuri's Merit was too well known, and I had had such an advantageous Rela­tion made of it, that I was over-joy'd when I un­derstood 'twas He that lov'd me no less passionately then I did him already. However his Bill [...]t put me into a great perplexity, so that I thought at first to have shewn it to my Friend; but in regard I was unwilling she should understand the Sentiments which the Marquiss had for me, I only told her what I had heard of the Duke's Resolution. She lay'd before me, that I had done ill to flatter the Passion of that Prince, and ask'd we what was my Intention? I answer'd her, that I saw no likelihood that he could put his Design in execution; how­ever, that I would break his Measures, by keeping her all Night in my Company, and giving order that no body should be let into the Castle▪ But she advis'd me to take another course, and to spend the Night among the Ladies in the Neighbourhood. But alas, I could not relish that Advice; for the hope of the Marquiss's Company over-rul'd me to stay at home, and there expect the issue of the Ad­venture. And I thought that standing upon my guard would be enough to secure my Reputation.

After I had given all such Orders as I thought necessary to frustrate the Duke's Enterprize, I re­tir'd betimes in company with my Friend. I thought that after such Precautions as I had taken, there could be no fear of the Duke of Savoy: But I had to do with a Prince sufficiently ingenious to bring about his Amorous Designs. One of my Women whom he had brib'd, had let him in betimes into the Castle, and lockt him up in my Wardrobe. [Page 130] The Marquiss of Fleuri was also hid in one of the Courts, where being discover'd by one of my Peo­ple, there was presently a loud Cry of Thieves; all my Servants were immediately in Arms, and they had certalnly kill'd him, if my Friend and I, so soon as we heard the noise, had not immediately ran down to his rescue. By that means we sav'd the Marquiss's Life. In the mean time the Duke of Savoy enter'd my Chamber: But in regard I was now assur'd of his being in the Castle, I did not re­turn to my Chamber without my female Friend, in company with the Old Gentleman and the Mar­quiss.

The Duke of Savoy seeing his Design discover'd, shew'd himself; and I flew out in bitter Language against him; but he did but laugh at me; and or­dering the Marquiss of Fleuri to follow him, he left the Castle before day. On the other side, I was vext to the Soul at the Marquiss's departure; and me­thought I perceiv'd so much affliction in his Coun­tenance for the same Reason, that I was about to have stopt him.

Some days after I receiv'd a Letter, wherein he sent me word, that he lov'd me above all Women, though he could not question but that I lov'd the Duke of Savoy as well. But then the vexation which the Marquiss of Fleuri's Letter gave me, made me sensible that I lov'd him more and more: Yet I could not understand why he should be so positive that I lov'd the Duke of Savoy. Thereupon I re­call'd to mind all that I had said, and all that I had done, that could manifest any such Inclination for that Prince; and not being able to live in that un­certainty wherein I was, I took a Resolution to go to the Court of Savoy.

[Page 131] I never examin'd whether or no my Design was contrary to my Honour, and I shut my Eyes a­gainst whatever could divert me from it; and only listning to my Love, made hast to be gone.

The Duke of Savoy was surpriz'd at my Arrival; for he never expected to see me at Turin, consider­ing what had past. But being one who lov'd to flatter himself, he thought I had repented of ha­ving us'd him no better, and imagin'd that the motive of my Journey was out of a design to please him.

The Marquiss of Fleuri was jealous of the same thing; and was mortally perplex'd at it; but whe­ther it were to make himself amends for his loss, or to be reveng'd upon his Rival, he made all his Applications to a Person for whom the Duke seem'd to have a very great Affection. This was a young Lady of Bretagne, whose Name and Adventures are known to all the World. So that when I had ta­ken a journey into Savoy for the sake only of the Marquis of Fleuri, he was labouring to forget me, and lov'd another.

I spar'd for nothing of Bravery to make a shew: Wherein I follow'd my natural Inclination to Luster and Expence. This made a cry at Court, that all my Finery was at the Duke's Charge, and the Mar­quis was carri'd away with the common Opinion: And this Opinion advanc'd his Affairs with his Mi­stress. For a fancy took her in the head, that the Duke of Savoy had an affection for me: And judg­ing by the present what he might hereafter do for me, she listen'd to the Marquis of Fleuris's Ad­dresses.

I undeceiv'd her Royal Highness, who had suffer'd her self to be prepossess'd as well as others: And giving her a faithful account of what had pass'd be­tween [Page 132] the Duke and my self, my Sincerity pleas'd her, and she was pleas'd to honour me with her Friendship.

My heart however could not be at rest: The Marquiss of Fleury seem'd to shun me in all places: I knew of his Intriegue with the Lady of Bretagne; nor was the Duke of Savoy ignorant of it.

One day also discoursing with me about it, he told me, I was the cause he suffer'd unreveng'd the Affront which the Marquiss had put upon him; and that I might judge by that, that he intended to have no other Mistress but my self. I discover'd to him some part of my Sentiments, which no way satisfi'd him; and I lay'd before him the injustice which the Marquiss did him, and that in honour it became him not to relinquish to another, a Per­son whom he had once lov'd: And Jealousy infus'd into me a wonderful Eloquence. The Duke of Sa­voy also could not but perceive how much I was concern'd in the injury which the Marquis did him: For according to the manner that I talk'd to him, it might be easily perceiv'd that I was more offend­ed at it then the Duke.

But as much taken up with the Person whom he admir'd as the Marquiss was, he could not but ob­serve, that I had little kindness for the Duke: And the love which he had once had for me, and which was not quite extinguish'd, made him keep a strict watch upon the Motions of that Prince; and he perceiv'd that the Duke was ill satisfi'd with me, and that I avoided him with care. This was the reason that he forbore to shun me, and that I had a suddain opportunity to discourse him. He talk'd to me of his Suspicions; I undeceiv'd him; and my joy to find that he still lov'd me, would not per­mit me to conceal from him the affection I had for him.

[Page 133] Nor did he make an ill use of his Information: Never was a violent Passion accompany'd with more respect. I desir'd him to be contented with the Assurance which I gave him that he was be­lov'd, and conjur'd him to be careful of my Re­putation. I met with a Character in him far different from that of other men, who believe they have a right to be rude and uncivil with a Woman whom Scandal has not spar'd. Quite the contrary, the Marquiss told me, that he would do himself the kindness to convince me by a re­spectful adherence, how much he was assur'd that I deserv'd a better Reputation; and begg'd my permission to do me that Service in publick, as to persuade the World into the same Opinion he himself had of me. Which demeanour of his ap­pear'd to me so noble, and so generous, that I could not refuse him what he requested; and from that time forward he began to redouble his Addresses to me, as to a Woman that he intend­ed to marry. For I flatter'd him with hopes that I would marry him, though it were not my design: And perhaps I may be blam'd for putting him in hopes of a thing which I never intended to do. I will not deny but that there was some­thing of Treachery in it on my part: But one Consideration which some People perhaps will censure for Chymerical, would not permit me to think of such a Match. I foresaw, that so soon as the Marquiss of Fleuri should marry me, there would have bin those who would have laid before him, with a world of aggravation, the Stories that render'd my Conduct suspected in France. And I was afraid, that his Passion being satisfi'd, would have bin rambling after other Objects, while I must have bin the forsaken Monument of his extinguish'd [Page 134] Love. And I look'd upon the expiration of his Love as the greatest Misfortune that could befal me. This was the Reason that prevail'd with me against that Match: Now that which oblig'd me to put him in hopes of marrying me, was this. I imagin'd that nothing could be more for my Honour, nor more conduce to the re establishment of my Reputation, then to see a man of his Merit, and his Delicacy, make me the only Subject of his Addresses, and judge me worthy to be his Wife, when so many People seem'd to take delight in scandalizing me for a Woman that had neither vertue nor government of her self. I thought it lawful for me to make use of such an occasion to recover my Honour.

The Marquiss of Fleuri's Constancy to me pro­vok'd the Duke of Savoy, and drew upon me the hatred of the Damsel of Bretagne. She had bin al­ready jealous of the Duke of Savoy's Sedulities to me; but the Marquiss of Fleuri's Inconstancy offend­ed her Vanity to that degree, that she resolv'd to be reveng'd both of me and him. To this purpose she reconcil'd her self to the Duke of Savoy, whose Levity she manag'd so well, that she easily accom­plish'd what she undertook.

The Duke of Savoy soon after sent the Marquiss of Fleuri to the Court of France: And though we saw that this Employment was only a pretence to part us, yet there was no remedy but Obedience.

However, I was not so sensibly displeas'd at this same Separation as I should have bin, had we not bin both in hopes to meet each other again at Lion, where the King and the Duke, with both their Courts, were to be toward the end of the Year.

Book the Sixth.

THE Duke of Savoy, after he had thus remov'd the Marquis of Fleuri, minded nothing more then to lay such a Snare for me, as might either put him into a Condition to triumph over me, or else give him an occasion to revenge himself upon the Marquis by defaming my Conduct.

The Damsel of Bretagne and I became very good Friends upon the Assurances I gave her, that I ne­ver had bin engag'd in any Intreague with the Duke of Savoy. She begg'd my pardon for being jealous of me; and because it concern'd me that the Duke should court her more then evr he had done, I did my utmost to preserve a good understanding be­tween 'em, and by a persuasion of bad Policy, per­mitted the Duke to visit her at my Lodging. Thi­ther she came frequently, and there it was that the Duke met her as often. Nor did the Report, that the Duke came thither for my sake, much trouble me, because it was well known that I never was with him but in the Damsel's company: Besides that, I thought him quite estrang'd from me, while he was so passionate a Lover of his Mistress. How­ever, the Report continu'd that he was still a zealous Servant of mine; and there were People that sent the Marquiss of Fleuri word, that the Duke was never from my Lodging, and that we were both engag'd together in a familiarity which began to make a noise. This Rumour renew'd his first Jealousies; he wrote to me therefore in such terms, as plainly [Page 136] shew'd him to be persuaded that I was not cautious enough of my own Reputation, or his Delicacy, and earnestly desir'd me to find out a way to avoid the Duke's coming any more to my Lodging. 'Twas in vain to lay before him the Reasons I had to per­mit him; there was a necessity that for his satisfa­ction I must break off the Duke's Visits.

To that purpose I faign'd my self sick, and af­fected Privacy: But it was said, that all whatever I should do would turn to the prejudice of my Re­putation: And they who made it their business to defame me, made their Comments upon my Sick­ness, and gave out that I was with Child. In Sa­voy 'twas said, that the Marquiss of Fleuri had done my Business; but into France they sent him word, that it was by the Duke of Savoy. There were also some People who pretended to know the truth from my own Servants; and perhaps there might be some one among 'em who might undertake to support this false Report: For frequently our Servants are our most dangerous Enemies.

When I understood what the World said of me, I shew'd my self, to undeceive such Persons as had too lightly given credit to the Scandal; and People of Sense were undeceiv'd. But in regard there are some who will sooner believe the worst then the best, there were others gave out I had miscarri'd; and others looking upon things according to their prepossession, pretended to discover in my Coun­tenance and my Gate several signs of that Impo­sture; yet I was never better in health, never lookt better then I did at that time.

But the most pernicious Effect of this Calumny was not what was reported in Savoy, but what was believ'd in Paris. The Marquiss of Fleuri was ful­ly persuaded of the truth of it, and wrote to me to [Page 137] the same purpose. Upon the receit of his Letter I was not a little nettl'd and imbitter'd against him: His giving credit to such Reports with so much ea­siness, render'd him so different to me from what he always had bin, that I repented of having thrown away my Love upon him: And then it was that I found by experience, that Absence operates more ways then one to the prejudice of Love. This be­gat a little coldness between us, and we forbore writing one to another. He that will undertake to love a Woman, ought to have a strong Head, more especially when the Person upon whom he desires to place his Esteem, has the misfortune to have Ene­mies. For I believe there is no man strong enough upon that account, since the Marquiss of Fleuri, who was a man of the best Character that ever I knew, was so weak as to believe whatever Tales and Sto­ries reach'd his Ears.

These Scandals and Reproaches pleas'd the Duke of Savoy, as much as the Marquiss of Fleuri was vext to hear 'em; and thereby 'twas easy to under­stand the difference of their Love.

The Duke of Savoy, who had only a Roughhewn Passion for me, ne'er laid my Defamations to heart: Nay, he rather believ'd it would be no hard mat­ter to win a Woman who had little Reputation to be cautious of. For this is that which happens but too frequently: There are few Women, when the greatest part of their Honour is sacrific'd, make any scruple to offer up the remainder. On the other side, the Marquis of Fleuri, who never lov'd me but because he thought I had not merited my Mis­fortunes, was at his wits end to have the least rea­son to question my Innocence; his Love not being able to support it self without Esteem, which was the foundation of it, he valu'd not a Heart accu­stom'd to surrender.

[Page 138] At the same time the Marquiss of Cah—fell in love with the Damself of Bretagne, which was a Match of great Advantage for her; and in regard the Duke of Savoy had a desire to bestow her, he desir'd me that I would be pleas'd to visit her some­times, and to accompany her when the Marquiss propos'd to carry her abroad: He also desir'd me to speak to the Marquiss de Cah—in favour of his Mistress; which I did with that success, that he marry'd her within a year or two after.

One day the Duke of Savoy propos'd the taking of a Tour by Water upon the Poe; where I was present with all the Court. In our return, it was perceiv'd that the Barge which carri'd us began to leake: And presently the Duke of Savoy order'd us to be set ashore, where Coaches were ready to re­ceive us, and carry us to Turin, from whence we were not above a League, and Night drawing on. I know not by what Enchantment, thinking to have taken Coach with the Marquiss of Cah—and his Mistress, I mistook, and put my self into ano­ther, which drove away like Lightning, and where­in I found my self alone with a single Person whom I knew soon after to be the Duke of Savoy. I was suf­ficiently vext that it should be said I return'd alone with the Duke; but I had juster cause soon after to be more afflicted. The Wheel of our Coach broke, as the Duke himself had taken order, and we were forc'd to alight, as Fortune, or rather Design would have it, near a House which belong'd to the Mar­quiss of Fleuri, and which flew open to us as soon as the Duke's Name was heard. It seems, 'twas no new thing in that Principality to see the Duke engage himself in such Adventures, and never was Prince less shie of publick Discourse upon that score. I made no scruple to enter the House, believing the [Page 139] other Coaches had follow'd us; but they had taken another Road, and I was all alone with the Duke of Savoy. However, I thought to meet with Com­pany in the House; and when I understood that it belong'd to the Marquis of Fleuri, I flatter'd my self that no Misfortune could befall me, and that in the House of so dear a Lover I should be nimble and cunning enough to defend my self from any Affront that his Rival could put upon me. Hardly were we enter'd, when a certain Person arriv'd; you will scarcely believe it, when I shall tell you it was the Marquiss of Fleuri, seeing I have told ye that he was in France: However, it was He, and you shall hear the reason why he return'd.

Receiving no Letters from me, and being no less able to persuade himself to write to me, he took a Resolution to come and satisfy his Curiosity and his Jealousies upon the Place it self; for he lov'd me really, and was at his Wit's-end that he could not be assur'd of my Vertue. Nor was it a hard matter for him to take this Journey, because the Court of France was then removing to Lion; and therefore taking his advantage of these Circumstances, he took Post and came to his House with a design to remain there Incognito, and not to make known his return to any but those by whom he intended to inform himself of the truth of things.

He arriv'd almost as soon as We; and the House­keeper telling him that the Duke of Savoy was but just come before with a Lady, his thoughts misgave him presently that 'twas my self. He was at a stand whether or no he should conceal himself, when the Duke who was desirous to know who he was, per­ceiv'd him; and presently taking notice of him, ask'd him why he was not in France, and where­fore he was return'd without his Order. The Mar­quiss, [Page 140] in his own excuse made answer, that his Negotiations being at an end, he thought he might be permitted to leave a Place where he had nothing more to do.

The Duke of Savoy, who despair'd not all this while to vanquish my Reluctancy, commanded the Marquis to go and stay for him at Turin, as be­ing unwil [...]ing he should see me in his Company. Thereupon the Marquis made a shew of yielding him Obedience, tho having more exactly inform'd himself who the Lady was that the Duke of Savoy had brought along with him, he understood it was my self. But then it was that he minded little the Disobeying of his Prince, provided he could but convince himself by his own Eyes of what he had bin long doubtful, and in some measure perswa­ded. Now in regard he was better acquainted then any Body with the Apartiments of his own House, he hid himself in a Closet, where he could hear and see what was done in the Chamber where we were together.

Nothing could have fallen out more to my Ad­vantage; for the Marquis de Fleuri was a witness how coursely I handl'd the Duke of Savoy; and his Esteem for my Vertue restor'd me to his Heart, and made him lay aside all his Jealousies. In the mean time the Duke press'd me to correspond with his Passion, and he urg'd his Importunities to that de­gree, that the Marquis thought it no longer became him to conceal himself, but that it was time to suc­cour me in that distress. He appear'd then, and never considering that he expos'd himself by so do­ing to his Ruin, he enter'd the Chamber where we were, and approaching the Duke with a world of Respect, he besought him to be pleas'd that he might afford me the Succour which I implor'd. [Page 141] The Duke laid his hand upon his Sword, and had I not interpos'd between, he had certainly kill'd the Marquis; which he might have easily done, because he neither offer'd to defend himself, nor to avoid the Duke's fury by flight. However the Duke's wrath was not appeas'd by the Marquis's Submissi­on; he confin'd him to his House, and forbid him to stir from thence till further Order; I also under­went the Duke's Resentment; for he sent me back to Turin, and told me 'twas his Pleasure I should appear no more at Court; and so taking Horse he rode a private way to Turin.

Report and Scandal would have never spar'd me, had it bin known that I had bin alone with the Duke; but I was sufficiently bespatter'd the next day; for then it was known that the Duke and the Mar­quis had had a Rancounter. It was reported that I had given the Marquis a Meeting, and that the Duke would never have minded coming back alone with me, had it not bin to break the measures which the Marquis and I had taken to meet one another.

All this while, I must do the Duke that Justice, that he was always an Enemy to Violence; and that he had not been so rude with me, but that he thought me to be of the Humour of those Women who would have that torn from them which they most eagerly desire to part with. So that whatever was violent in the Duke of Savoy's Behaviour was on­ly to be attributed to the misfortune of my Reputa­tion. He might have manag'd me better, had he bin better acquainted with my Humour, and had he not built too much upon the Opinion he had of my former Intrigues.

The next day he came to see me, and having made me a thousand Excuses, desir'd me to ap­pear again at Court. And as for the Marquis of [Page 142] Fleuri, he requested me in respect of him, not to take it amiss, that he continu'd in his confinement forsome few days, for returning without his Order. But the Marquis of Fleuri, who did not believe he should come off at so cheap a rate, was not to be found when they sought for him, neither did any Body know what was become of him.

Though I was a little surpriz'd that he had not found a way to send me word where he was, yet was I not much disturb'd at it; but rather glad that he had betaken himself to flight, because I ima­gin'd he was return'd into France, whither I was suddenly to follow him. In short, I departed with the Court of Savoy in a little time after, and we came to Lions, where the Court of France was expected in a day or two.

The Marquis of Fleuri had bin in that City in­cognito, ever since what had past in his own House; and now he was no longer jealous; nay, the same adventure seem'd to have given a new vigour to his Passion; he frequently came to see me; but be­cause I was afraid least he should be discover'd, I perswaded him to bethink himself of reconciling himself to the Duke of Savoy; which I thought it might be no difficult thing to do at a time when that Prince had nothing but Divertisement in his thoughts; and it is true that there never were seen so many Pastimes and Divertisements as while the two Courts remain'd at Lions.

The Marquis told me that he knew but one as­sured means to appease the Duke of Savoy, which was for me to marry him. Thereupon he call'd to my remembrance the hopes I had given him to that purpose, and press'd me with so much Im­portunity no longer to delay a Thing that would restore him to his Master's favour, and make him [Page 143] perfectly happy, that I had not the power to let him understand my resolution never to be his Wife. I only told him I did not think he could regain the Duke's Confidence by such a Marriage, because his Highness lov'd me still too well, to let me choose for a Husband a person with whom he thought he had just reason to be offended.

The Marquis de Fleuri was too Amorous to be satisfy'd with that Excuse, and upbraided me with want of Affection for him. But then I told him frankly that I would never marry him, because I fear'd that Marriage would abate his Love. He could not relish so exquisite a Piece of Delicacy; and therefore thinking my mind alter'd, he began to revile me, and intermixt his Taunts with a lit­tle too much bitterness. That displeas'd me, and I found there was too much unpoliteness and In­terest in his Love. I was at my Wits end, that he had not so much Delicacy as my self; and out of a strange and fantastick Humour not easie to be com­prehended, the more I lov'd him, the more reason I thought I had to be dissatisfy'd with him. Fain would I, that it would have contented him to be assur'd, that I gave him in my heart a Precedency above all other men, and that he had bin as ap­prehensive as I, of what I imagin'd would one day destroy so fair a Union.

In the mean time it was known that the Mar­quis of Fleuri was at Lion, and that he visited me every day. And I know not whether he were in hopes to engage me to marry him, by giving out that we were already marry'd; but such a Report was spread about, and I understood that he was Author of it.

The Duke of Savoy also spoke to me about it, and upbraided me for not having inform'd him [Page 144] how nearly I was concern'd in the Marquis of Fleuri's Fortune; and protested to me that since he was my Husband, he would not only pardon him for what was past, but that he would endeavour by his Favours to render my Residence in Piemont acceptable to me. I assur'd the Duke that there was no such thing as a Marriage, but I besought him to restore the Marquis to his Confidence. This Request made his R. Highness believe that I had some reasons to keep my Marriage private. He therefore sent for the Marquis, and restor'd him to his Familiarity. Thereupon, so soon as I saw the Marquis of Fleuri, I chid him for not undeceiving the Duke in his opinion of our being marry'd; and I told him that I took it very ill that he himself had spread abroad the Report of it. He did not at all deny it, but desir'd me to forgive a fault which he thought necessary to reconcile him to the Duke his Master. Afterwards he gave me an Account, after what manner the Duke had restor'd him to his friendship, and made that an Argument that I could have no longer any reason which could hin­der me from Marrying him. I return'd him the same Answers I had done when he urg'd me to give him my consent; but seeing me stedfast in my determination not to marry him, he flew out into such a violent Passion that I could not have thought him guilty of, and told me, that he be­gan to think that whatever had been said of me was true. I was so sensible of that Affront, that in the height of my Anger which it had infus'd into me, I forbid him to see me any more. With that he flung out of the Room, and I was more pro­vok'd at his obedience, then I was with his Inju­rious Language; for his manner of leaving me, made me judge that it would be no difficult thing for him to forsake my Company.

[Page 145] I never had such violent pangs of Grief as then; but at length I recover'd my Courage and Resolu­tion; and whatever passion I felt for the Marquiss, I scorn'd to recall him agen. Thus we should always be Mistrisses of our Passions, were we not too much in love with 'em.

In the mean time, the Marquiss of Fleuri, after he had left me, took post, and went I know not whither. And they that were my former Scanda­lizers took no compassion upon me on that occasion. But I made use of the old Remedy, Patience, and leaving both the Courts at Lyon, return'd to my own Territories, resolv'd to comfort my self for the loss of a Person who had not delicacy enough to be contented with my heart. For if I had not the advantage to bring the Marquiss to my Sentiments, I had at least the consolation not to have bin so weak as to conform to his.

The Lady who recounted this Story to me, told me an infinite number of other Adventures that had befallen her; and while I tarri'd in the Pro­vince, we often made those Reflexions together, which her Destiny and mine gave us an occasion to make upon the Misfortunes of Women.

After I had put an end to those Affairs which detain'd me in the Province, I return'd to Paris. There the Baron de Sarcelles, who was my Kinsman, came to see me so soon as I was arriv'd, and gave me to understand, that during my absence he had made a particular Acquaintance with St. Albe and his Wife; that he gave frequent Visits to both; and in short, that he had listed himself in the number of their Friends. He told me farther, that Madam St. Albe had charg'd him to make a perfect reconci­liation between her and I; that she was absolutely undeceiv'd in every thing that had bin infus'd into [Page 146] her concerning my familiarity with her Husband; that she most earnestly desir'd to give me cause to for­get what was past, and to become one of my Friends. As for St. Albe, I had heard no tidings of him all the while I stay'd in the Province: And though I was fully convinc'd that he durst not write to me for fear of displeasing me, yet I was troubl'd that I could hear nothing of him.

I persuaded my self that Sarcelles spoke to me af­ter that manner by St. Albe's Order, who had brought his Wife to hear Reason, and had advis'd her to be Friends with me, that he might recover the lost advantage of my Society. I lov'd St. Albe too well to deny my consent to a Reconciliation that flatter'd him with so much delight. And besides, I was glad to find his Wife reduc'd to Reason, and that she sought my friendship: So I told Sarcelles, that I would willingly wait upon her, and that he might carry me to her when she pleas'd. Nor did he de­lay to bring us together; at what time we talk'd of nothing that was past; nor did any thing fall from me, during our whole discourse, that could give her an occasion to recollect her memory: and when she went about to talk of any thing to that purpose, I always interrupted her; and because she loaded me with her Caresses, I imagin'd that she lov'd me in good earnest. I ask'd her for her Husband; she told me, he was in the Country, and that he would not return in three Weeks. I durst not ask any more particular Questions; but I made no doubt but that when he should come to know that I had visited his Wife, he would write to me, and hasten his return; nevertheless, I heard no news concern­ing him. I repay'd Madam de St. Albe her Visit, who after that came frequently to see me, always bringing Sarcelles along with her, which made me be­lieve [Page 147] 'em to be good Friends, but I little suspected 'em to be in that familiar league together as they were.

St. Albe return'd by this time out of the Coun­try, but was not very hasty to come and see me; which very much disturb'd me; but because I thought he would not presume to visit me without leave, I went to his House, two days after I under­stood he was come home. He was then with his Wife, but receiv'd me coldly; nor did he say one word to me how joyful he was that I should be­come a frequent Visitant of his Wife, which I ex­pected from him. I observ'd however in his Eyes, that still he lov'd me, and that it was with great constraint upon himself that he forbore to let me know how glad he was to see me again. He seem'd to me to be sad, and I saw that he was dissatisfi'd: However, I said not a word to him in his Wife's presence; but having giv'n him my Hand to lead me to my Coach, Well, Sir, said I, how like ye Madam St. Albe's Discourse in reference to me? Is not this a wonderful Change? If outward Shews may be believ'd, I am apt to think she loves me with all her heart. St. Albe return'd no Answer. Upon which, why so silent? said I. You cannot but know the cause, repli'd he; I am troubl'd, Ma­dam, that you have so easily done for Sarcelles what you have so often refus'd to do for me. How so, repli'd I, was it not you that persuaded Madam St. Albe to be reconcil'd to me? Upon those words he smil'd, and told me, I could not be ignorant of the Motive that induc'd her to that Reconcilia­tion. The Place would not permit us time suffici­ent to clear this Mystery; for had I kept him lon­ger, it would have bred suspicion; and therefore I only desir'd him to come to me the next day and unfold this Riddle; telling him withal, that I should [Page 148] not take him for my Friend, if he did not release me from the trouble I was in. He promis'd to obey me; and so I left him for that time, not knowing what to think of the Story.

So soon as I came to my Lodging, I told Madam Laval what I had heard and seen, and we thought we had divin'd the cause of St. Albe's Melancholy. But he came the next day and unfolded it himself. I am no more a Visionary, said he, nor a Jealous Shallow-brains then another; nor do I love Madam St. Albe so well as to be alarum'd at her private Fa­miliarities. But I love you, Madam, with a deli­cacy that renders me sensible of your Honour. All the World believes that Sarcelles courts my Wife, and that you are the Manager of their Private Con­junctions.

This Complaint of St. Albe touch'd me to the quick: I ask'd him whether he could accuse me of so foul a piece of Treachery? No, Madam, repli'd St. Albe, though I had some reason to wonder at first, that you should visit my Wife at Sarcelles's re­quest, a Person whom I hate, and whom I had ere now full dearly made repent of his Insolence, but for the honour which he has to be your Kinsman, yet I did you justice without delay. I thought you were impos'd upon by the Artifices which they us'd to draw ye to my House, and I thought that your Compliance proceeded only from your Civility and your Natural Goodness. Do you believe, said I, hastily interrupting, that I had no other Motive—and so saying, I blush'd, and fix'd a more tender look upon him then ever I had done, while he be­held me in the same manner, and both stood speech­less for a time. Yes, Madam, repli'd St. Albe at length, though you have always bin so cruel to make me sensible of your indifferency for me, I was [Page 149] less troubl'd to imagin with my self that you sought see me again, then to believe you capable of Malice or Blindness. As for Malice, said I, I never had any; but I think I have bin a little too blind; and I would have you be convinc'd, that 'twas my de­sire to see you again that was the cause of my Blind­ness. For, in short, St. Albe, I knew your Merit to the full, nor could I be insensible of so many Testimonies of your Friendship, as you have giv'n me. I thought, added I, it had bin you your self who had persuaded Madam St. Albe to desire my company: I saw nothing in her Conduct with Sar­celles that gave me any cause of suspicion, and I am apt to believe that nothing criminal passes between 'em. St. Albe took no notice of my last words; he only minded to assure himself of the sincerity of my Sentiments for himself; and though he could not doubt but that I lov'd him, yet was it the first time I ever disclos'd my Sentiments to him. Nor did I repent that I had let him understand 'em: He ac­company'd with so much respect the Joy and Tran­sports which the assurance of my Love infus'd into him, that he still appear'd to me more worthy of my love: And I believe there would be little rea­son to upbraid Women for being so weak as to let men know they love 'em, if all Lovers were as re­spectful and as delicate as St. Albe.

After he had a hunderd times renew'd his Oaths to be eternally mine, and to exact no other recom­pence of his love, then the pleasure of loving me, and being by me belov'd, I put him again upon the Story of Sarcelles, and he told me, that he had bin for a long time a Sedulous Courtier of his Wife, in­somuch that it had bin the talk of the Town, and that Sarcelles and his Wife foreseeing that his Pa­tience might at length be tir'd, they bethought [Page 150] themselves that the only way to preserve their Uni­on, was to draw me to Madam St. Albe's House, because that St. Albe being still in love with me, the pleasure of my Company would make him amends for the trouble that Sarcelles gave him.

I found much probability in St. Albe's Relation, and that put us into new Confusions: For I could not forbear visiting Madam St. Albe without depri­ving my self of her Husband's Company, and exas­perating her a second time against me: On the other side, I could not continue my Visits without blasting my Reputation in the World. I understood also that Publick Report had begun to bespatter me already, by giving out upon my renewing my Vi­sits to Madam St. Albe, that we acted all four by concert; and that St. Albe for the pleasure of my company had prostituted his Wife to Sarcelles.

This Report appear'd so injurious to my own, and the Reputation of St. Albe, that for the more speedy stifling it, I resolv'd neither to visit St. Albe nor his Wife any more.

St Albe had too great a value for my Honour, and was too sensible of his own, to disapprove my De­sign: But because it was too great a trouble to us to want the company of one another, there was an Expedient found out, that I should refrain for some time from visiting Madam St. Albe, and that during that time I should oblige Sarcelles to carry himself with more caution.

But this turn'd also to my prejudice: For in re­gard it was known how coldly St. Albe had receiv'd me, and that the Visit was not known which he paid me the next day, 'twas reported abroad that I forbore to see his Wife, because the Husband had found it out that I favour'd Sarcelles's Designs. Which made People believe that I lov'd St. Albe bet­ter [Page 151] then he did me; and I was lookt upon as a Woman that never minded any thing else, provided I might but satisfy my own Passion. However, I deserv'd a better Reputation; and I believ'd that few Women would have had the courage that I had, to refrain the Company of a Person I lov'd, when I had so favourable an opportunity to see him every day.

About the same time Madam St. Albe fell sick, and notwithstanding all the Remedies that could be administer'd to her, she dy'd of the Small Pox. Her Death ruin'd St. Albe, who having no Chil­dren by her, was oblig'd to restore what she brought him: And because he had bin no good Husband of his own Estate, he was forc'd to despoil himself of all he had to satisfy his Wife's Heirs: So that he fell from a Plentiful Estate into great Poverty.

It was now some time ago that the Dutchess of Chatillon had propos'd to marry me to the Duke of—who was a Widower, and who had a Daughter much about the Age of my Son. The Duke also agreed, if the Match went on, that my Son should marry his Daughter, which was a very advantageous Match for my Son, and which I ought not to have refus'd, had it bin only because Ma­dam de Chatillon propos'd it: But I could not re­solve to marry agen; not that the Experimented Vexations of my first Marriage made me afraid to venture, but the Esteem and Affection I had for St. Albe. Nevertheless, because I could not fore­see the death of his Wife, I had accepted the Civil Proposals of Madam de Chatillon, and could give no other Reason to put off my Marriage, but the ten­der years of my Son.

Madam de St. Albe dy'd just at the same time that Madam de Chatillon prest me to forbear insisting [Page 152] upon that Reason. But St. Albe being a Widower, I thought it became me not to marry any other; and that which before was only an effect of my Pas­sion, was now a Reason of Generosity. I was rich, and he was poor; I thought I could not in justice refuse to relieve him, and I knew no way to afford him a more noble Relief, nor more comfor­mable to my Inclination, then to marry him. This was the real Motive which engag'd me in a Design which has bin so much blam'd by those who accus'd me of only consulting a blind Passion. But to ju­stify my self from this Reproach, I shall give an Ac­count of the manner how our Marriage came to be concluded, by which it will be the better seen how worthy St. Albe was of the Advantage he met with in marrying me. Any other Woman, had she bin in my place would have done as I did: For I dare be bold to say, there are Women still who have no­ble Sentiments, and they who believe they act only out of humour or interst, are not acquainted with 'em.

When St. Albe, after the loss of his Wife, saw himself reduc'd to lose the best Estate which he en­joy'd, there was nothing talk'd of about the Town but my Marriage with the Duke of—and whether St. Albe apprehended that the Match was too too much for my advantage for him to endeavour to persuade me against it; whether really he did not believe I lov'd him so well as to prefer him before the Duke of—or lastly, whether he were asham'd to find himself without an Estate, he left Paris, and withdrew to some Remainder of his own, which when he had sold, he design'd to go for Holland, and seek for some Employment in that Country. As for my own part, I had seen him but once since the death of his Wife; and though I had [Page 153] taken a Resolution to marry him, I had not said a word to him of it; I only offer'd him what Money he stood in need of to redeem his Estate. He had thankt me for my Offers, but would not accept 'em: Two days after which, he left the Town, and I knew not for some time what was become of him; when at last, after much Expectation, I receiv'd the following Letter.

Upon the reading this Letter, I felt my self tur­moil'd with various Sentiments. At first I was charm'd with St. Albe's Generosity: Then I accus'd him of loving me too little, since he gave me my Liberty with such a seeming unconcern'dness. Me­thought his Letter did not become a tender Lover, and a little thing would have made me deem him inconstant. But at length, I knew him too well to continue long those sinister thoughts of his Affe­ction, [Page 154] and I made this judgment of him, That he lov'd me so much the more, the more resolv'd he ap­pear'd to sacrifice himself for my sake.

Thereupon I sent away a Messenger with a Billet, wherein I earnestly desir'd him to return to Paris, having something of importance to impart to him; and for the more speed, I order'd the Messenger to take Post. He found him ready to go for Holland; but not being able to withstand my Orders, he laid aside those Thoughts, and return'd immediately to Paris.

Book the Seventh.

IN the mean time, Madam de Chatillon was so importunate with me to conclude my own, and my Son's Marriage, that I thought it my Duty no longer to dally with her. I told her therefore, that for my own part I was fully resolv'd not to marry; only if she could so bring it to pass that my Son might marry the Duke's Daughter, the Obliga­tion she would lay upon me, would be still the same. But she told me, the Duke would never consent to the Marriage of my Son, unless he mar­ried me first. To which I answer'd, that if it were so, there was no farther thinking either of the One or the Other. Upon which Madam de Chatillon up­braided me with having little Affection for my Son, since he would never meet with a Match so Advan­tageous as the Duke's Daughter. But I repli'd, that my Son was too young to think of Marriage, and that I had no mind to sacrifice my Liberty and Repose to his Interests. I see now, said Madam de Chatillon, that you intend to marry St. Albe. Which words she utter'd in such a Tone, as hinder'd me at first from acknowledging it to be my real design. If you marry him, added she, you will commit a great piece of Folly: It is a Match that will be uni­versally condemn'd; and besides, I am afraid 'tis a Match of Inclination. Afterwards she laid before me the Inconveniences that would attend it. Notwith­standing all this, because it was my Interest that Ma­dam de Chatillon should approve my Resolution to [Page 156] marry St. Albe, I gave her such a Portraiture of the Man as did not displease her; and when I shew'd her his last Letter, she alter'd her mind. After she had read it, she told me, that she piti'd St. Albe, and that she would not advise me to abandon him to his despair.

You may easily judge how joyful I was to see that Madam de Chatillon approv'd my Design. What a pleasure it is to be applauded in our Wishes and Desires! After that, I made no scruple to discover my heart to a Friend who confirm'd me in my Sen­timents. I acknowledg'd to her that I had refus'd the Duke for no other reason, but only because I was resolv'd to marry St. Albe; that I was mov'd with his ill Fortune; and that after what he had done for me, I lookt upon it as a piece of Treachery and In­gratitude to forsake him. Madam de Chatillon com­mended my Generosity, and promis'd to serve me as far as lay in her power; but she told me withal, that my Marriage was to be kept secret; and I re­sign'd all my Concerns into her hands. Then send St. Albe to my House, repli'd she; 'tis requisite that I should talk with him first, and that I should fully understand him, before I acquaint him with his Happiness: For if he resembles other Men, I would never advise ye to marry him. 'Tis necessary, that before you make him your Husband, you should be sure; that you may have nothing to tax your self with afterwards; and that you know whether he can make you so happy as you expect.

I was glad that Madam de Chatillon was pleas'd to take upon her the trouble; well assur'd that St. Al­be would appear to her the same that she would have him to be; and besides, I was not sorry that any other but my self should prepare him for a Happi­ness which he so little expected. It came into my [Page 157] mind also, that while Madam de Chatillon took up­on her this Affair, I might be able to say, that 'twas She who had advis'd me to it. And I desir'd no more then to be able to clear my self from every thing that might be objected against my Conduct in this respect.

After I parted with Madam de Chatillon, I met with St. Albe, who tarried for me at my Lodging. I told him, that I could not but disapprove a scru­pulous Niceness, that would not suffer him to be beholding to me; that I knew the Condition of his Affairs, and that I had thought of a way to set him up again, of which Madam de Chatillon would tell him more; that what we had design'd to do for him would be no Obstacle to my Marriage with the Duke of—At which last words St. Albe im­mediately chang'd Colour—Alas, Madam, said he, why have you sent for me back? for in your presence that strength fails me which I had remote from your sight. Go to Madam de Chatillon, said I, she will revive your Courage. Which said, I would not permit him to speak any more, but sent him away. I must confess however, that had he stay'd but ne­ver so little longer, I should not have had the power to have conceal'd my Intentions from him. For I was nothing scrupulous of my Sentiments since Ma­dam de Chatillon approv'd 'em.

The next day St. Albe went to wait upon Madam de Chatillon, who shewing him the last Letter which he had written to me, and which she had then in her own Custody; What was your Design, said she, in writing this Letter? Confess the truth, did not you believe it would have wrought with the Marchioness to have broke off her Marriage with the Duke of—? For if it were true that you approv'd that Marriage, you would have left [Page 158] her to conclude it without saying any thing. I will not dissemble with you, added she; for it is manifest by this Letter, that you did fancy to your self ridiculous hopes, and that you imagin'd that for love of you, a match so much to her advan­tage would have bin broken off. Is it possible that you should so little understand your self, or that you should be ignorant how impossible it is for my Friend to marry you? This Lecture put St. Albe quite out of Countenance, who after a silence for some time, Madam, said He, what is there so Cri­minal in that Letter? or where have I given De­monstrations of those vain Hopes for which you blame me? Never dissemble, reply'd Madam de Chatillon, you love the Marchioness, you believe her to be in love with you, and you would have her marry ye? Who I! Madam—answer'd St. Albe; No—Madam—so far from it, that were it her desire, I would be the first to oppose it. I have too high a value for her Honour, to allow that she should prefer an Unfortunate Beggar, who has nothing but an Honest Heart, before a Person that is going to exalt her to that Illustrious degree which she deserves above any Person in the World. I am glad, said Madam Chatillon, to hear ye confirm what you have writ to her; for I must not conceal it from you, that the Marchioness would hardly be induc'd to marry the Duke of—did she not believe you to be so just a Person as to consent to it: you have been already too badly us'd by Fortune, to be loaded with more sorrows; 'twas her pleasure therefore, I should see you, that I might prepare you for this Marriage; and to shew you that you are still in her thoughts, she is resolv'd to give or lend you forty Thousand Crowns to set you up in the World a­gain; with this you must be content, and I must [Page 159] tell you, few Women would have been so gene­rous. But this is not all, she and I have consulted together, and we have some thoughts of helping you to a Wife; and it will be your fault if you do not marry a handsome Lady that will bring you a fair Fortune. If you love the Marchioness, you will promise me to accept of this Match. This is that you must resolve upon, nor shall you stir from hence, till you have promis'd to marry the person that we recommend to your Affection. I promise you, Madam, whatever may contribute to render the Marchioness happy. I marry'd once already for the Love of her; and you may assure her, that in lo­ving her I ne're conceiv'd the least vain hope of what you seem'd to intimate: I only made my happiness consist in loving her, and I will always love her. You would talk at another rate, re­ply'd Madam Chatillon, interrupting him, were you her Husband: believe me, Wedlock alters the strongest Inclinations; and were the Marchioness inclin'd to marry ye, I would perswade her to the contrary, for fear lest Wedlock should have the same effect upon you. Wherefore, Madam, cry'd St. Albe, does your Ladiship take such delight in tor­menting, by soothing me with those Idea's with which I never flatter'd my self? I will amuse ye then no longer, reply'd the Dutchess, the Marchio­ness intends to marry ye. She is an unwary Wo­man, who in so doing follows her own Inclinati­on, never considering to what Extremities this Marriage will expose her. But I hope that you will be more discreet than she; and that 'tis none of your desire that she should render her self ridicu­lous to all the Kingdom. St. Albe, upon those words, beheld the Dutchess with an awful silence, and perceiving she had done, Madam, said he, I can­not [Page 160] not think you serious in your Discourse: I never flater'd my self that the Marchioness had so much inclination for me, as you would seem to perswade me: but if it be true, that her design is the same which you mention, I am assur'd that the infinite Respect and Love which I shall have for her till the separation of Death, will justifie her Choice; and that there is no Body that will censure her for marrying the only person who atall times did justice to her merit; I lov'd her as soon as I saw her; from that very time I never ceas'd to adore her; and the love which I have for her has bin always stedfast and permanent. Can it be possible, added he, trans­ported with Delight, and throwing himself at Ma­dam de Chatillon's Feet, that the Marchioness should have any such design as that wherewith you bless my Ears? Oh Madam, in the Name of God, I be­seech ye never to oppose it. If you love her, you ought to desire her happiness: I dare presume to say, that I am the only person who can make her happy.—Here his Tears stop'd him, and would not permit him to say more. Madam de Chatillon also felt her self wholly vanquish'd; and raising him from the ground, No, said she, I shall never op­pose your Union; she can also tell ye, that 'twas I who confirm'd her in her resolution to marry ye. And I can farther assure ye, that if she does not marry you, she will never be Wife to any other Person.

In what an Extasie of Delight and Satisfaction was over-joy'd St. Albe, when he heard such Con­firmations of his Felicity as these! He embrac'd the Dutchesses Knees, conjuring her at the same time to deal sincerely with him. Madam de Cha­tillon answer'd him, that to let him see, she did not deceive him, she would send for me; which she [Page 161] did, and I as soon repair'd to her Lodgings, impatient to know what had past between 'em, where St. Albe was still upon his Knees when I entred the Room. 'Tis well y'are come, Madam, said she, for I know not what to do; and if you do not take some spee­dy care, I'm afraid St. Alhe will die at my Feet. I knew not what the Dutchess had said to him, and therefore seeing him in that condition, I was afraid she had put him into a fit of despair, by telling him that I intended to marry the Duke of—. Scar'd with these thoughts, Ah, Madam, said I, you have bin too cruel to put the poor St. Albe in pain—and to St. Albe, cry'd I, What has she told ye, that so terribly afflicts ye?—Then turning to me, and embracing my Knees in the same manner,—No, Madam, cry'd he, I cannot believe what I have heard—my happiness is so unconceivable, that it astonishes me. I was then afraid lest Madam de Chatillon had told him too much; and blushing, I askt him, what happiness it was had so transported him? Alas, Madam, reply'd he, I am not able to express it; all that I am sensible of is only this, that I adore ye; I wish that you could read it in my heart. I find then, reply'd I, that Madam de Cha­tillon has betray'd me, and 'tis in vain to dissemble any longer. Rise, St. Albe, and hearken to me; I love you; and all that you have done for me for these dozen years together has convinc'd me that you merit my Affection. I never thought that the Disposal of Providence would order things in such a manner as to testifie the impression which your Accomplishments have made in my heart. I must also tell ye farther, that tho we are now in a fair way both you and I to a lasting Union, I should hardly have resolv'd upon it, had [...]ot your misfor­tunes depriv'd ye of your Estate. But now you

'Tis true, 'twas Passion that fix'd my Resolution to marry St. Albe; but I saw nothing of so much ine­quality in the Match, that was any way a lessening to my Honour. He was a Gentleman, and a Per­son of singular merit: And I am persuaded, that had he bin as rich as I, they who blam'd the Mar­riage most of all, would have bin the first Advisers of me to it. For my part, I was not of their Opi­nions that, Estate and Fortune are to be the Rules of Wedlock; but on the other side, the less St. Albe was worth, the more I thought my self oblig'd to do things generously. But Generosity is not a Ver­tue that men imagin we ought to boast of when we marry. That Engagement is only lookt upon as a driv'n Bargain, where we are to propose no­thing to our selves but Profit and Interest. But I insist too much upon the Justification of my Con­duct: 'tis enough for me, that my Marriage was approv'd by all those that are endu'd with noble and vertuous Sentiments.

St. Albe was nothing alter'd in his Behaviour af­ter he had marri'd me, but rather redoubl'd his Consideration and Respect for me. I thought my self then going to lead a Life of Happiness and Tran­quillity: But I was not yet arriv'd at the end of my Sorrows. My Marriage being made publick, all the Women, except Madam de Chatillon, forsook me, lamenting my ill Conduct: And had you heard 'em, you would have thought they would have more easily excus'd a piece of forbidden Galantry then this Lawful Marriage. Such is the Unjustice of the World, to judge of things by fantastical Con­ceit and Capriccio. They pardon'd me no more for having married a man that I lov'd, then formerly for having sought a Separation from a Husband that I could not endure.

[Page 167] The Old Count of—who had serv'd me in my former Misfortunes, took my part at Court, and came to visit me, on purpose to give me an Account of the Good Offices he did me, by answering those that told Idle Tales and Stories to the Queen con­cerning my Marriage. At my House he met with Mrs. Laval, with whom he enter'd into a long Con­versation. She was witty and comely withal; and the Count took a liking to her. He judg'd by her Fidelity, and her constant Adherence to me, that a man might be happy in his old Age to have a Woman of her Character; and with these, and perhaps some other Considerations, he return'd the next day, renew'd his Discourse with Mrs. Laval, and in eight days after made her a proposal of mar­riage: And though he had Children marri'd, yet for her he was a considerable Match. For my part, I had such a desire to see Mrs. Laval advanc'd to a degree becoming her Merit and her Vertue, that I spar'd for nothing to bring about the Match. At length the old Count marri'd her, but kept a pri­vate Wedding, and the Marriage being a Secret, his new Wife remain'd at my House; whither while the old Count came every day to her, People began to talk of them, as they did of St. Albe and me, when they thought we were not marri'd.

The Count therefore, to stop the Mouth of Scan­dal, declar'd his Marriage, carri'd his Wife, whom henceforward I must call the Countess of—to his own House, and caus'd all the Honours to be paid her, that were due to the Wife of a Person of his Quality.

Nevertheless, the Old Count's Marriage became a Story full of divertisement; and they who had enur'd their Tongues to Scandal and Calumny, could not forbear talking. They renew'd the Sto­ries [Page 168] of my past Galantries, and fail'd not to bring in the Countess of—for her share, of whom they told a hundred Idle Tales.

I found my self in this manner become a third time a prey to Envy and Reproach. Which when they fasten once upon any Woman, let her Conduct be never so void of Offence, she cannot shun the Whirrits of their Malice.

The Children of the Count of—beheld their Father's Marriage with an Evil Eye; and not being able to null it, they endeavour'd at least to poison the pleasure of it. To which purpose they maliciously order'd Letters to be deliver'd to the Count, wherein they gave him Hypocritical Adver­tisements of my irregular Life, and that the Coun­tess his Wife was my Companion and Sharer in all my Pleasures.

The Count, who was a Person but of weak Parts, gave credit to those Letters, became jealous, and desir'd his Wife to see me no more. But she refus'd to give him that Satisfaction, convinc'd as she was, that he was in the wrong to require it of her: Withal she conjur'd him to tell her who in­fus'd into him those vain Suspicions of my Con­duct. Upon that he shew'd her the Letters he had receiv'd, and she thought she knew the Hand: she also shew'd 'em to me, and I found they were writ­ten by Blossac. He was both a Friend and nearly related to the Children of the Count of—and in regard he was acquainted with my first Adven­tures, it was an easy thing for him to make what use of 'em he pleas'd, as he had done in those Let­ters: For there was nothing more lewdly invented, no [...] more unworthy an honest Gentleman, then what he sent to the Count.

[Page 169] Though I had an Opinion bad enough of Blossac, yet I did not think he could have bin guilty of so much Baseness; nor could I divine any other Rea­son for it, unless it were out of despight for the de­served Scorn that I had put upon him. My second Marriage had more incens'd him; whether that he were naturally an Enemy to every thing that was a pleasure to me, or that in despight of his wicked Disposition, he had still preserv'd some remainders of a passion for me. For th [...] are some People who let loose their fury against a Woman, for no other Reason, but because they cannot forbear having an affection for her. They revenge themselves upon her for the want of merit, which renders 'em de­spicable in her Eyes: Nor do I believe there can be any Enemies more dangerous to the Reputation of Women, then Lovers that cannot gain the reci­procal Affection of their Mistresses.

The Countess then, no longer doubting but that the Letters were written by Blossac, gave her Hus­band a desccription of him, and demanded justice of him for the Calumnies thrown upon her. The Count, who was a Man of sincerity, but somewhat of a rude and unpolish'd nature, swore that if it were Blossac who had written those Letters, he would force him either to prove his foppish Tales, or else make him eat his words. Presently the Count went to look for him, and having found him, he ask'd him whether he had writ the Letters which he had receiv'd? But instead of returning an Answer, Blossac fell a laughing; and then with the Aire of a Person zealous for the Count's Inte­rest, he told him, that he had nothing to object against his Wife; only he was willing, as his Friend and Servant, to let him know that I was very bad Company, that no body was better acquainted [Page 170] with me then he, for that he had formerly bin a sharer of my Favours; till finding me to be a per­fect Coquette, he forbore my Company. Mon. Blossac, says the Count, this that you say deserves a serious Consi­deration: My Wife has told me other things, which no way agree with what you tell me: Come along then, and let us see whether you will make good these Stories to her Face. Blossac answer'd, that he was not a Person [...] was to be compell'd to give such strict Accounts; that he had done the du­ty of a Friend to inform him of what he knew; and that he might make what use of his kindness he pleas'd; if not, he might let it alone. And having so said, he would have snatch'd the Letters out of the Count's hands; but the Count lifting up his Cane, threaten'd to use him like a Rascal as he was. Upon which Blossac drew; but he was com­pell'd to put up his Sword and retire. The Count made a great noise about this Adventure; he com­plain'd also to the Queen, and soon after Blossac was committed to the Bastille. But though he ap­pear'd to be guilty enough, I was not lookt upon as innocent. 'Twas believ'd that he was not com­mitted to the Bastille for the Falshoods written in his Letters, but for having utter'd Truth, which a Ci­vil Gentleman is never allow'd to publish. So that all the Ridiculous Stories that had bin so often and so unjustly attributed to me, were renew'd upon occasion of this Quarrel.

This Tempest was no sooner calm'd, but the Death of my Mother, which happen'd about the same time, gave an occasion for the raising of new Batteries against my Reputation. Tho all the Estate that was at her disposal was but very small, yet she made a Will, by which she disinherited both me and my Son, and left what she had to a Kinsman [Page 171] a far off, a Man that was hardly known in the World. This Kinsman, desirous to make the best of the Will, finding he should be hardly able to make it good, endeavour'd to insinuate into the Public, that the reason why my Mother had disin­herited me, was, because to her certain knowledge, she was assur'd that my Son was none of my Hus­band's. And for proof of this, he publish'd the Reasons which my Mother had given of her being so well assur'd; that is to say, he reviv'd whatever my Husband had formerly invented to ruin me. All which Scandals had bin so often reported, so often refuted, that I wonder'd there should be still any People so vain as to give themselves the trouble of renewing 'em. But it is not with Calumny and Reproach, as with other things that displease and grow nauseous with being often repeated. Stories that have bin told a thousand times over, are still new, when they are reviv'd to the prejudice of another; and there are People who have itching Ears, and who are always ready to listen to 'em.

Soon after the Count had wedded Madam Laval, I married my Son, and at another time it would have bin the greatest grief to me in the World to have liv'd a-part from two Persons so dear to me; but I had a Husband, the Consolation of whose Company made full amends for those Lesser Dis­quiets. We spent the Winters at Paris; and when he departed for the Army, I retir'd to one of my Mannors, where I had no greater pleasure, then to write to him, and receive Letters from him. Three years of my Marriage we spent in perfect Union; nothing troubled our Felicity: And in truth, all the honour of so happy a Union was due to St. Albe. For never did man accompany his tenderness with more respect and good humour; but men were ne­ver [Page 172] born to enjoy an uninterrupted and lasting Hap­piness in this World.

The Mannor where I made my usual Residence, when my Husband was in the Army, adjoin'd to the Estate of a Gentleman whom I must call the Count of Velley: A Person whom particular Rea­sons had oblig'd to quit the Service, and who had purchas'd a considerable Employment in the Pro­vince. Now in regard he was not satisfi'd with the Court, he rarely went thither; nevertheless his Business call'd him frequently to Paris. This Per­son, so soon as he had made himself acquainted with St. Albe and my self, propos'd to us the letting him have an Apartment in our House at Paris. He was a Widower, and had only one Daughter about Eighteen years of Age, whom he had caus'd to be bred up in a Convent. However, Velley was yet young enough, well shap'd, and had a great deal of Wit: He was born with so great an Inclination for all sorts of Sciences, and was so studiously addicted to 'em, that he had attain'd to a considerable per­fection in 'em: But among all the Good Qualities, he had one very Bad one, which had like to have ruin'd St. Albe and my self, and which we never were so curious as to mistrust.

Velley, who could not believe, after all that had bin reported of me in the World, that I was an Enemy to Gallantry, took a fancy to court me. Now in regard I was not sensible of any Inclination for him, I was not offended with the marks which he gave me of his Love; I treated him also after such a manner as made him believe I was not displeas'd with his Courtship: I also perceiv'd what he drove at, because he redoubl'd his Sedulities, and gave me sufficient Intimations that he was passionately in love with me. Till then I little minded his [Page 173] Courtship; but when I found him in earnest, I car­ri'd my self more warily, and so behav'd my self toward him, as to let him see there was no hopes. And whether it were that my entire devotion to my Husband made him forbear his Courtship, or whe­ther he lookt upon my Severity as an Artifice which I made use of to engage him the more, he spoke no more to me concerning his Passion, and we be­gan to live together as if he had never mention'd any such thing to me.

St. Albe return'd from the Army, and we went to spend the Winter at Paris. Velley accompani'd us, and having fetch'd his Daughter out of the Convent, presented her to me. She was witty, and chearful in her humour, and I was glad of such a pleasant Companion in my House. 'Tis true that her Beauty was so lively and so charming, that had I bin never so little addicted to Jealousy, or rather could I have imagin'd that St. Albe, who lov'd on­ly Me and the War, could have bin of a humour to alter his Inclination, I might have bin afraid of her Allurements. I gladly therefore accepted Vel­ley's Proposal to let him have an Apartment in my House, though my Husband told me it would be in­convenient to lodge Strangers under the same Roof: but I assur'd him they were People that would be no trouble to us in the World. He was not accustom'd to contradict me, and therefore would not oppose a thing which I seem'd to desire; but added he with a smile, blame no body but your self for what may happen, for Mademoiselle de Vel­ley is very amiable. I answer'd him also with a smile, that instead of alarumming my self at that, I desir'd he might find her to his humour, for I lov'd him too well to dislike what he lov'd. But he found too soon that I did not mean as I said.

[Page 174] About a Month Velley and his Daughter had liv'd with us, when I perceiv'd that St. Albe labour'd with a secret melancholy that tormented him, and which he strove to conceal under various Infirmities of which he complain'd; he spent the Nights without sleeping; he sigh'd continually, and me thought he avoided the sight of me; for when I came to him to ask him what he ail'd, he shun'd me, and sighing only cry'd that he was very ill. This began to disturb me, and I desir'd him to enter into a Course of Physick, to which he an­swer'd, that nothing but death could cure him. I redoubled my cares and my Caresses, which he cold­ly receiv'd, and which I attributed to his Distem­per; I judg'd him to be very sick indeed, since in­stead of being a comfort, I was become a trouble to him. I was so persuaded that his indifference for me was no other then an Effect of his Disease, that I durst not complain of it for fear of adding to the pain of his distemper, the trouble which I thought it would be to to him, should he perceive me to be discontented with him. I made it my Busi­ness to divert him, and in regard that Velley was a Jolly-man, I desir'd his Conversation. But I found that his Company rather augmented then lessen'd my Husband's Disturbances: only methought that Mademoiselle de Velley's appearance gave him some Relief.

This began to create disturbances within me of another nature: I felt Suspicions and Jealousie brooding in my Breast. But then thought I to my self, if he loves Mademoiselle de Velley, wherefore does his Love make him sick, since he sees her eve­ry day, and she, if I mistake not, no way seems dis­pleas'd with his Company? It must be doubtless then Remorse of Conscience for being thus perfidi­ous [Page 175] to me; and he seeks to punish himself for his falseness in loving another.

I had so good an opinion of him, that I made no question but that his sickness, supposing he did love Mademoiselle de Velley, proceeded from his being a­sham'd of his having Sentiments offensive to me; but then again I was as soon of another mind, and thought him like those Husbands who cannot en­dure the sight of their Wives when once they be­come unfaithful. While I was rowling these thoughts in my mind, Velley enter'd my Chamber, seemingly pierc'd with Grief and Vexation: in which condition, when I ask'd him what he ail'd, Madam, said he, I have strange News to tell ye,—you here behold a Man at his Wits end—of ne­cessity I must leave your House—I understand your Husband Monsieur St. Albe's Disease—Here are two Letters which he has written to my Daughter, and which I intercepted—read 'em, and then tell me, whether I am not the most un­fortunate man in the World to come to your House, to be the trouble of your felicity and Re­pose. I took the Letters, trembling, I open'd 'em, and found the Hand to be St. Albe's. The first contain'd the following Expressions.

[Page 176] 'Tis impossible to express the shame and indig­nation that seiz'd me after I had read this Letter. I had not strength enough to read the other, but Velley press'd me to peruse it, and it was thus in­dited:

Ah, Perfidious Wretch! Cry'd I, how hast thou been able to delude me all this while!—No—I will not not follow thy Example—but it behoves me to be reveng'd of a Traytor—My Sighs and Tears would not permit me to say more—and how it came to pass, I did not die under the pressure of my over-whelming sorrows, I cannot say.

Book the Eighth.

VElley strove to comfort me, and ask'd me, what Satisfaction I desir'd his Daughter should make me? 'Tis not your Daughter, said I, that I complain against, but against a Man who has abus'd my most sincere and constant Love. Speak, Madam, reply'd Velley, what Commands will you be pleas'd to lay upon me; I adore ye, I will sacrifice my life to serve you in your revenge; for I must not dissemble with you, the injury done you has re­new'd in my heart all those Sentiments of Kindness and Affection which formerly my Love disclos'd to your Disdain. Let your Husband alone to follow his indiscreet Passion: I'le answer for my Daughter, that her Verture shall sufficiently punish him for his Treachery. And as for your self, Madam, forget an unworthy Husband were it only to make a hap­py change, and vow your Embraces to a Lover that adores ye.

I was at that instant so deeply perswaded of St. Albe's infidelity, and so resolv'd to revenge my self, that I hearken'd to every thing that Velley said to me; and I thought that the more he lov'd me, the more ready I should find him to assist me with his Counsel and his Services; and to tell ye the whole Truth, I must confess my Vanity was so humbled by St. Albe's Contempt, that I would have listen'd to any man that would have but pretended to afford me Consolation. For the supplys of Pride are infinite in the heart of a Woman.

[Page 178] I desir'd Velley not to forsake me; but to assist me as a Friend. He advis'd me to take no notice to my Husband of any thing that he had said to me; and as he went out of my Chamber, he told me he was going to study some pretence or other to put his Daughter into a Convent; and indeed he carry'd her that very day to St. Anthonies Abbey.

After this Discourse I went to Bed, where I was seis'd with a Fever. St. Albe desir'd to see me; but I desir'd him to let me take my rest: however he came into the Room without my leave. He took me by the Arm, and as he was feeling my Pulse, I perceiv'd the Tears that trickl'd from his Eyes. He askt me whether I knew that Velley had carry'd his Daughter to a Convent? But I made him no an­swer: for I believ'd the tears he shed to be no other then the effect of his Grief for being separated from his Mistress. He conjur'd me to take care of my Health, but still I made him no answer; so that he was forc'd to leave me.

I spent that Night but very ill; and the next Morning they told me that my Husband desir'd to see me; but I sent him word that I had need of rest, not having slept a wink all night. With that he went away; and about Noon a Letter was brought me from him; and I was also farther gi­ven to understand that he had taken Horse, with­out leaving any word whither he was gone. The Contents of the Letter were these.

This Letter I read over and over again above twenty times, yet could not apprehend the mean­ing of it. Could it be possible, thought [...] to give him any occasion to suspect my Loyalty? No, 'tis a pretence which he takes to lay the blame at my door. But to what purpose does he absent him­self? 'Tis because he thinks I love him too well to endure him out of my sight; he believes me ig­norant of his infidelity; he knows I am sick; and desiring my death, he picks a quarrel with me, that he may quite overwhelm me. For what else can be his aim in betraying me? Alas, continu'd I with tears in my Eyes, 'tis I who ought to com­plain that his heart is taken from me. Is it possible that St. Albe, that St. Albe, so different from all other men, should be capable of so foul a Treason! These were the Reflexions which I made; for I was so prepossest against him, that it never came into my mind that he might be innocent.

After Dinner Velley came to see me, and gave me an account how he had carry'd his Daughter to a Convent: he told me also that she went with a hearty good will, as being tormented to the soul to be the occasion of St. Albe's being in love with any other but his own Wife. I told Velley that he had left Paris; at which he seem'd to be in a great fit of Admiration, and buzz'd it into my Head, that St. Albe was meditating violence to his Daugh­ter. [Page 180] Then I shew'd him St. Albe's Letter, at which he seem'd to be more surpriz'd; and after he had stood a while in a Brown study, he told me that my Husband had wrote to me in that manner for no other reason but to puzzle and amuse me, and to oblige me perhaps to run after him, but that it behov'd me to stand upon my guard; for that if I did not keep stedfast, he would make an ill use of my weakness and my fondness for him. Velley would afterwards have entertain'd me with Vows and Protestations, and a long Preamble of his Pas­sion; but I cut him off short, and told him that besides other reasons which I had for not hearken­ing to him, my Husband's Letter furnish'd me with one more: for in regard I thought he was in part suspected by St. Albe, I was willing to shun him. Afterwards I desir'd him to change his Lodging, under pretence that it did not look well for a stran­ger to lye in my House, while my Husband was ab­sent.

I shew'd the Letters which St. Albe had written to Mademoiselle de Velley, to the Countess of—as also the Letter which he had written to me upon his going out of Town. She told me, she under­stood nothing of the Business; but that she fear'd that both St. Albe and I were deceiv'd. 'Tis requisite, added she, that I should see and discourse Mademoiselle de Velley, perhaps I might then pick out something of the Truth. I approv'd her Contri­vance, and away she went to St. Anthonies Abbey to find the young Lady; but the Bird was flown; and the Abbess told her that her Father had sent for her from thence to put her into another House. The Countess coming back to bring me the News, found Velley with me, who swore he knew nothing of the matter, and therefore it must certainly be my [Page 181] Husband, who had made use of his Name to carry away his Daughter [...] ▪ At the same time also away he ran, pretending to inform himself more fully of the Particulars; and returning in the Evening, he told me his Conjectures were too true; that his Daughter was lost, and that he would prosecute my Husband, who was the only man that could be suspected for ha­ving stollen his Daughter. To which purpose he de­sir'd me to return him his Letters, which would be of great service to him in point of Evidence. But I re­fus'd to deliver 'em; for I had still some remainders of kindness for St. Albe, which made me earnestly re­quest Velley to desist from all Proceedings against him. I confess I had some reason to urge it for the sake of my own Honour; but I was more concern'd for St. Albe's Reputation.

In the mean time a Report was spread abroad in Paris, that St. Albe and I were parted; 'twas also said, that I desir'd to be rid of him, because he was an Obstacle to my familiarity with Velley. And all this while I kept my Bed, detain'd there rather by my own Vexations, then by any Distemper that troubl'd me. I also press'd Velley to leave my House, because his Lodging in it at such a Conjuncture, au­thoriz'd the greatest part of the Scandals that flew abroad. And well it was I was rid of him; for no sooner was he got to his new Lodging, but he was apprehended by the King's Order, and carry'd to the Bastile.

I made no question but that St. Albe had really stollen Mademoiselle de Velley; nevertheless, though I was truly incens'd against him for his Perfidi­ousness, yet I could not chuse but be afraid of the danger that threaten'd him for stealing the Young Lady; and I was extreamly troubl'd because I knew not what was become of him; neither [Page 182] would I enquire after him, because I was unwilling to let him have the pleasure to know that I troubl'd my self about him. I was haughty enough to con­ceal the weakness which I found my self still sensi­ble of for an Ingrateful Person, who as I thought deserv'd my hatred.

Two or three days after Velley was apprehended, I receiv'd a Letter from his Daughter, who sent me word that she was in the Abby Aux-Bois, where she desir'd to see me. You may be sure I did not at all defer that Visit, but taking the Letters which my Husband had written to Mademoiselle de Velley, away I went in haste to the Abby Aux Bois.

There I found her so much the more afflicted for the confinement of her Father, because she was ig­norant of the reason of his Commitment: And I was so impatient to be inform'd of what I desir'd to know, that instead of chearing her up, I ask'd her briskly where my Husband was, and whether he had not fetch'd her out of St. Anthony's Con­vent? He! Madam, answer'd Mademoiselle de Vel­ley in great Surprize, what business of his was that? 'twas my Father fetch'd me from thence to put me here. How! repli'd I, with some commotion of mind, is it not true that my Husband courts ye? No—I'le assure ye, repli'd she, nor do I apprehend the meaning of these surprizing Questions. What think ye then of these Letters, answer'd I, shewing her the Letters which Velley had given me. I know not what to say to 'em, repli'd Mademoiselle de Vel­ley, after she had read 'em, but I never receiv'd any Letters from Monsieur de St. Albe, nor did he ever declare to me that he had any such Passion for me. Ah! Mademoiselle, cri'd I with a more then ordi­nary agitation, if what you tell me be true, where am I, or what have I done? If my Husband be in­nocent, [Page 183] how guilty am I! Mademoiselle de Vel­ley was extreamly astonish'd to hear me talk at that rate: Her Astonishment too appear'd to me un­feigned, which made me ask her more Questions, and her Answers confirm'd me in my thoughts that Velley must have impos'd upon me. However, the Letters seem'd to me to be St. Albe's own Hand­writing, and I judg'd that he might have written 'em to some other Person. Upon that, I ask'd Ma­demoiselle de Velley if ever my Husband had said any thing to her concerning her Father's making love to me? She answer'd that St. Albe had never men­tion'd any such thing to her; but that by his Sighs and his profound Sadness he seem'd to her to be as­sur'd that there was an Intreague between Velley and My self. I blam'd her for not having given me notice of it: However, now believing I had div'd to the bottom of the Villany that had bin put upon me, I desir'd Mademoiselle de Velley to go along with me home; to which the Abbess was the more willing to consent, persuaded that I took her away, that she might be the more at liberty to sollicit her Father's Enlargement. This made all People be­lieve that I was concern'd for Valley's Confinement, and that we corresponded in private. But I valu'd not what they could say; my Business was only to clear up the truth of a Mystery, wherein I began to perceive that a Surprize had bin put upon me. My Cautions vanish'd then, lest St. Albe should think I ran after him; I order'd him to be sought for in all places where I thought he might be found. But I could hear no tydings of him, and I saw my self become a prey to all the most dreadful Torments of Grief and Disquiet. I did whatever lay in my power to discover the truth of this Adventure, and us'd my utmost endeavours to speak with Velley, in [Page 184] hopes he might be able to afford me full satisfacti­on; but no body was permitted to come to him; so that I fell sick again, and Grief had infallibly kill'd me, had not an unknown Person put into my hands a Pacquet of Letters directed to me. I knew St. Albe's Hand and Seal, which made me open 'em in great haste, to read the following Lines.

After I had read this Letter, I open'd with the same impatience the Letters enclos'd, and which contain'd the Proof of my Infidelity. And indeed the Hand and Style of these Letters was so like my own, that if I had not certainly known that I never wrote 'em, I should have bin deceiv'd. The Contents were these.

I had not patience to read the rest of the Letters which were all of the same nature: For now I no longer doubted but that my Hand had bin counter­feited as well as St. Albe's, and that the whole was done by Velley. In short, 'twas he who wrote 'em; for he had a singular Talent to counterfeit all manner of Hands; and as afterwards I understood, he was sent to the Bastile for having counterfeited the Hand of a Great Minister of State. I was then sensible of the Fraud that had then put upon me, and with­out losing a moment's time, I enquir'd of him that brought the Pacquet, where my Husband was. I understood by him that he was at St. Florentin: Thither I flew in a Post-Calash, and in Thirty hours I arriv'd where St. Albe was. I found him very sick, and almost past his Senses, as it were gasping between Life and Death. I threw my self about his Neck, and embracing him, with Tears in my Eyes, I cri'd out aloud, My Dear St. Albe look upon your own Wife. He open'd his Eyes, I redoubl'd my Outcries, and Embraces, and at last I perceiv'd that he began to know me. 'Tis not to be express'd what then I felt in my heart; and I be­lieve that never any Person was sensible of the like; for where is that Woman that ever was under the same Circumstances?

Half an hour after St. Albe came perfectly to himself, and knew me exactly: However, he had not strength enough to speak; only his feeble hands by grasping mine, exprest his meaning; [Page 186] and I saw the Tears come trickling from his Eyes; which was the cause I felt two contrary Passions at the same time strugling in my Breast, Joy and Grief. How griev'd was I to see him in that plight! how overjoy'd to find him still the same in affection and tenderness! How dearly soever I lov'd him before, I never felt till then such tender motions.

St. Albe by degrees recover'd strength, and I gave him an account of Velley's Villany, shewing him the Letters which he had counterfeited. But he was no sooner convinc'd of my Innocency, but he had like to have relaps'd into the same Condi­tion from which I had recover'd him, such were the effects of his Grief, Repentance and Joy; Oh, Madam, said he, I am unworthy of your Good­ness: Is it possible I should be so base to suspect your Vertue? I ought to have distrusted my own Eyes, rather then have injur'd your Vertue, as I have done. Revenge your self, dear Madam, upon a Husband so unworthy your Embraces, and let me die to make an Atonement for such un­manly Jealousies. Live, answer'd I, my dear St. Al­be, if you desire that I should live; 'tis I that am th' Offender; 'tis I that never understood your Real worth; and had I not bin quite forsaken by my Senses, I could ne're have thought it in your power to become unfaithful. These Renovations of Conjugal Friendship contributed more then all the Doctors Prescriptions to St. Albe's Cure. So that in a little time he was in a condition to travel, and we return'd to Paris, to the wonder of all those who had bin Testimonies of this Adventure.

In the mean time Velley kill'd himself in Prison to avoid the Punishment he foresaw would be in­flicted on him. A Death so terrible was a greater [Page 187] revenge for the Villanous Legerdemain that he had play'd us, and we began to pity his Daughter. And therefore, knowing well she had no share in her Father's Crime, we sollicited for her, and prevent­ed the Confiscation of her Estate.

This Adventure which had thus embroil'd my Husband and I, did but serve to unite us more lo­vingly together: I began to relish the Delights of my Marriage, and never was St. Albe more kind and obliging then after that time. And therefore in retaliation, I thought it my duty to spare for no­thing that might render him happy. The Em­ployment of—which I purchas'd for him in the King's Houshold made all people murmur, and set my Relations all in an uproar about my Ears. But St. Albe was esteem'd at Court for his true Merit; and he perform'd an Action besides, which stopt the Mouths of his Detractors, and made 'em judge more clearly of his Character. He had a tender love for my Son, because he was my Son, and for that he had a high value for every thing that belong'd to me. He had no sooner obtain'd the Government of—which the King con­ferr'd upon him without asking, in recompence of his good Services; but he obtain'd a Grant of his Employment for my Son, and made him a Present of it. On the other side, my Husband still bare in mind a lively resentment of Blossac's ungenteel Pra­ctises to my prejudice, and had long waited an op­portunity of revenge, which at last Fortune put in­to his hands.

They Both serv'd in Flanders; where St. Albe understanding that Blossac made it his Business to speak disgracefully of Me and himself in all Com­pany that he frequented, his Patience could no longer contain it self. He forgot the Prohibitions [Page 188] against Duelling for my sake, and sent Blossac a Challenge: Blossac met him at a private Place at a distance from the Camp, where while they were actually engag'd one against the other, they were surrounded by a Party of the Enemy; and instead of duelling each other, were forc'd to defend them­selves. Blossac was presently wounded, and con­strain'd to surrender to three Troopers, who dis­puting whose Prisoner he should be, were about to have knock'd out Blossac's Brains, when St. Albe, who had disingag'd himself from those that sur­runded him, perceiving Blossac's danger, forgot his private Enmity, and flying to his Succour, fell upon the three Troopers that had taken him, kill'd one, and putting the other two to flight, sav'd Blossac's Life, and rescu'd him from the Danger he was in. 'Tis true that St. Albe was assisted by some Officers of our Troops, who observing some Passages between him and Blossac, and seeing 'em Both walk off together privately from the Camp, follow'd 'em at a distance, and came in time enough to beat off the Enemy's Party; which had they not done, as well St. Albe as Blossac might have both undergone the same Fate, and both perish'd together.

Blossac could not be so ill-condition'd as not to be mov'd with what St. Albe had done for him; so that he acknowledg'd in all Companies that he was beholding to St. Albe for his Life, and offer'd to make me all the publick Satisfaction I desir'd. He confess'd that all his Evil Practises were only the effect of his Despite to see himself rejected by me; yet after all, he could not forbear his having a very great affection for me: He desir'd St. Albe also to beg my pardon in his behalf. St. Albe, contented with this Satisfaction, demanded no more; and [Page 189] having inform'd me of this Adventure, we both concluded that Blossac had bin sufficiently punish'd for his ungenteel demeanour, by the shame and mortification of being beholding for his Life to a Person against whom he had always had an uncivil Enmity. From that time forward he always shun'd me: Nor did I know, nor did I care whether he continu'd his love to me or no; but this I am sure of, that the Hatred of Men of his Chara­cter is less pernicious to Women, then their Love; and that the greatest Misfortune that can befal us, is to be belov'd by men, who not being able to win the Affection of those they court, prove so base as to seek their Revenge by throwing Scan­dals and Calumnies upon those that [...]light their Ad­dresses. There are another sort of men no less to be fear'd by Women; and those are they who would prefer themselves to a Reputation by a fa­miliarity with those they court, when there is no such thing; and as if I had bin destin'd to suffer whatever could attack a Woman's Honour, I was still expos'd to that Misfortune.

Now though it were not to be question'd but that I had a singular Affection for St. Albe, yet there were People who persuaded themselves, it was impossible that a Woman upon whom Scandal had fasten'd so many Adventures, should be con­stant to a Husband. The Chevalier de Clausonne prepossess'd with this Error, undertook to court me; He was a Young man very handsome indeed, and who had no other defect, but the vanity to be thought a Fortunate Man in the World. He took an acquaintance with my Husband, and became one of his intimate Friends. St. Albe was naturally ve­ry grateful for Civilities done him, and moreover he lov'd Mirth and Good Company, and because [Page 190] he look'd upon Clausonne to have a Sportive Wit, he introduc'd him into my Company. And now you shall hear what method Clausonne took to bring about his Design. He came every day to my House, but he let fall nothing in his Conversation that might give me the least occasion to distrust him; so that believing he had no farther Ends, I was pleas'd with his Company. He was still ready to do whatever I desir'd him; which made me some­times write to him, and frequently send to his Lodging. On the other side, he was no less care­ful to make known the confidence I had in him: However, he was not very apt to shew the Billets he receiv'd from me; but though he did not shew 'em, he omitted nothing that might make People believe that the only reason why I wrote to him so often was, because I lov'd him. All this he reckon'd as an honour to him; and by the manner of his letting it be imagin'd that we understood one ano­ther, he gain'd the Credit to be look'd upon as ad­mitted upon the Score he aim'd at, by all those who knew not upon what accompt I suffer'd his Com­pany. 'Tis one of the greatest Faults a Woman can commit, to be guilty of these sorts of Familiarities with Young men; and I would never advise any of our Sex to follow my Example. 'Tis true, that I was far from thinking it could be believ'd that a Woman of my Years and Experience should begin to dote upon a Young man. Nevertheless the World imagin'd it, and began to talk aloud, that my Husband was the Cully to his Friend­ship with Clausonne. And the Chevalier him­self confirm'd this Report by his Assiduities, and the Impostures which his Vanity invented. But at length I came to understand what People talk'd of Clausonne and my self, und told my Hus­Husband [Page 191] of it, who did but laugh it, and advis'd me to contemn reports, and to admit Clausonne in­to my Company as I was wont to do. He laid be­fore me, that if I forbid him my House, it would but give a credit to those Fooleries that were spread abroad, whereas the still permitting him to keep me Company would extinguish all those flying Ru­mours. I follow'd my Husband's advice, and since he did me that justice which I deserv'd, I did not think it became me to vex my self with with what o­thers thought of me. For these reasons I still admitted Clausonne to come to my House, with the same frank­ness as before. But I never troubled him with any more Errands, nor with any more of my Billets: I also took the same care to avoid being with him alone, and never spoke to him but in Company. He was apprehensive of this Alteration, and suspecting the cause of it, he went and told the Confidents of his Vanity, that I had oblig'd him to behave him­self with more caution, because I perceiv'd that my Husband began to be jealous of him. They gave credit to Clausonne's story; and there needed no more for them to give out that St. Albe was jealous▪ and they reported also that there had been some fallings out between him and I upon the account of my pretended Gallantry.

Clausonne came not now to my House as he was wont, but he affected to follow me where ever I went, and he carry'd this Affectation so far, that I took notice of it, and order'd him to be told that I took his way of proceeding very ill; and that if he did not mend his Manners he might chance to re­pent it. He was afraid of my Threats, and after that, carefully avoided my Company; and at length he gave out that I was fickle in my humour, and had sacrific'd him to my Husband's Jealousie.

[Page 182] Tho this Affair seem'd to be but a Trifle, yet it was a very great damage to my Reputation: for it is not enough for a Womans Honour that her Hus­band is satisfy'd with her Conduct: We are in an Age so prepossess'd against the Wisdom and Vertue of Women, that if a Woman lives lovingly with her Husband, people believe he is either blind, or else that he does but dissemble. Clausonne indeed ought to have bin punish'd for his idle presumption; but the remedy had bin worse then the Disease; which shews how unhappy the Condition of Women is, seeing it is the same thing whether they revenge or not revenge their injur'd Reputation.

But my Husband's good Opinion made me a­mends for the injustice of the World; and it was apparent after so many adventures that our Union could never be disturb'd but by death. But so it fell out, that St. Albe dy'd in the flower of his Age, and in the midst of all his Hopes: and after that, my time was wholly taken up in grieving for the loss of so dear a Husband, and so worthy of my sorrow. Pardon me therefore if I recite the Particulars of so sad a Separation.

At the Battel of—and the taking of—which follow'd that Battel, St. Albe had given all the Proofs of Prudence and Va [...]ur that could be expected from an Officer of his Reputation; and it is said he could not have fail'd of as high a Recompence as could have bin confer'd upon a Soldier. But three or four days after the taking of—advan­cing a little too far to observe the March of the Enemy who was going to fall upon one of our Garisons, he receiv'd a Musquet-shot through his Body, which was not thought so dangerous at first.

[Page 183] So soon as he was wounded, he wrote me word that his Wound was but very slight, and desir'd me not to afflict my self▪ But I could not obey him in that; I was extreamly troubl'd for him, and ha­sten'd to the Town whither they had remov'd him. For two or three days he was in such a condition as made us hope he would live. But all of a sudden his Fever redoubl'd, and it was thought he had an Aposteme in his Breast: however it were, he was the first that knew all Remedies were useless, and that he should die. Perceiving himself therefore in that condition, he sent for me to his Bed side, and ordering all the People to be put out of the Room, he utter'd these last words of a Dying man.

Flatter not your self, Dear Wife, with hopes of my Cure; I am too sensible that you and I must part. Then taking me by the hand, My business is done, said he, and I must leave a Life wherein I had no other delight but that it gave me an Opportunity to serve and please you. Many things might escape me which perhaps you might not so well approve of, perhaps they might be contrary to your good li­king; but attribute them rather to my defects, then to any ill intention: for I have always sought to render my self worthy the Honour you did me. I die full of acknowledgment of your Goodness. I liv'd happy because you lov'd me: and I owe that lit­tle Reputation I have acquir'd, to the Design I had of rendring my self worthy of your Love. I have endeavour'd to live like an honest Man, and to do my duty, because I had the Honour to be your Husband. I have made no Will, because I have no­thing but what is your own, and what you may dispose of. Assure your Son I die his Servant; and be kind to my Servants. So farewell, farewell for ever. Withstand your Grief, and promise me you [Page 184] will not suffer your self to be overwhelm'd with sorrow. And as you are the only person that makes Life desirable to me; be so kind to my weakness, for I must confess that seeing you, I have not that Tranquility I ought to have to think of the Grand Affair; be so kind, I say, as to withdraw your pre­sence from my sight.

While he thus breath'd forth these dying words into my Bosom, my Condition was to be pity'd. I bath'd his hands with my Tears. My sobs and sighs were the Passing-bells that towl'd his departure; nor do I know which of us two were most concern'd in the last moments of our Separation. When he desir'd me to leave the Room, my strength forsook me, and I know not what became of me. He was sensible of my being fallen into a swoon, and find­ing his tenderness did but hasten him to his end, he was unwilling to spend in useless sorrows the small remainder of those minutes that were left him to prepare for death; therefore he call'd the people, and caus'd me to be carry'd away.

They put me to Bed, where I came to my self▪ in two or three Hours: I would fain have return'd to him, but they would not let me; nor would they let me be at liberty till he had breath'd forth his last gasps. Every one was taken up with his own grief. His Servants were all in tears; the Soldiers prest in, in Crouds, to see him, and kiss his hands. The Officers withdrew profoundly si­lent, and had not strength enough to oppose my passage into his Chamber, where I beheld him breathless. Good God! what a Spectacle was it to me! 'Twas a Miracle that I surviv'd him; how­ever I stopt the Deluge of my Tears to pay him my last Duties, and I signaliz'd my Love by the Mag­nificence of his Obsequies.

[Page 185] Here I end the Story of my Life; tho in the Design which I propos'd to my self, to shew the great unjustice done our sex, I may be able to find new Proofs of that Injustice in what afterwards be­fel me when I had utterly renounc'd the world. For I found by experience that the most exact retirement, and the most sincere and blamless Conduct are no sufficient shelter from the Thunderbolts of Scandal. When a Woman has once bin famous for being a Lo­ver of Gallantry, people will have it that she must still retain the same inclination in retirement; and every Friend or Director that comes to her, must be her Servant.

I hope to continue the Design I have begun in justification of Women. I have known several who have bin as little spar'd by publick Report as my self; and I shall shew by the recital of their Adven­tures more clearly then by my own, That outward Appearances are frequently deceitful, and that there is more misfortune then Irregularity in the Con­duct of Women.