The Works of Aphra Behn Volume V Part 19

This Letter _Belvira_ receiv'd with unspeakable Joy, and laid it up safely in her Bosom; laid it, where the dear Author of it lay before, and wonderfully pleas'd with his Humour of writing Verse, resolv'd not to be at all behind-hand with him, and so writ as follows:

_My dear Charmer,_

You knew before what Power your Love could boast, But now your constant Faith confirms me most.

Absent Sincerity the best a.s.sures, } Love may do much, but Faith much more allures, } For now your Constancy has bound me yours. } I find, methinks, in Verse some Pleasure too, I cannot want a Muse, who write to you.

Ah! soon return, return, my charming Dear, Heav'n knows how much we Mourn your Absence here: My poor _Celesia_ now would Charm your Soul, Her Eyes, once Blind, do now Divinely rowl.

An aged Matron has by Charms unknown, Given her clear Sight as perfect as thy own.

And yet, beyond her Eyes, she values thee, 'Tis for thy Sake alone she's glad to see.

She begg'd me, pray remember her to you, That is a Task which now I gladly do.

Gladly, since so I only recommend } A dear Relation, and a dearer Friend, } Ne're shall my Love--but here my Note must end. }

_Your ever true +Belvira+._

When this Letter was written, it was strait shown to _Celesia_, who look'd upon any Thing that belong'd to _Frankwit_, with rejoycing Glances; so eagerly she perus'd it, that her tender Eyes beginning to Water, she cry'd out, (fancying she saw the Words dance before her View) 'Ah! Cousin, Cousin, your Letter is running away, sure it can't go itself to _Frankwit_.' A great Deal of other pleasing innocent Things she said, but still her Eyes flow'd more bright with l.u.s.trous Beams, as if they were to shine out; now all that glancing Radiancy which had been so long kept secret, and, as if, as soon as the Cloud of Blindness once was broke, nothing but Lightnings were to flash for ever after. Thus in mutual Discourse they spent their Hours, while _Frankwit_ was now ravished with the Receipt of this charming Answer of _Belvira's_, and blest his own Eyes which discovered to him the much welcome News of fair _Celesia's_. Often he read the Letters o're and o're, but there his Fate lay hid, for 'twas that very Fondness proved his Ruin. He lodg'd at a Cousin's House of his, and there, (it being a private Family) lodged likewise a Blackamoor Lady, then a Widower; a whimsical Knight had taken a Fancy to enjoy her: _Enjoy her did I say? Enjoy the Devil in the Flesh at once!_ I know not how it was, but he would fain have been a Bed with her, but she not consenting on unlawful Terms, (_but sure all Terms are with her unlawful_) the Knight soon marry'd her, as if there were not h.e.l.l enough in Matrimony, but he must wed the Devil too. The Knight a little after died, and left this Lady of his (whom I shall _Moorea_) an Estate of six thousand Pounds _per Ann_. Now this _Moorea_ observed the joyous _Frankwit_ with an eager Look, her Eyes seemed like Stars of the first Magnitude glaring in the Night; she greatly importuned him to discover the Occasion of his transport, but he denying it, (as 'tis the Humour of our s.e.x) made her the more Inquisitive; and being Jealous that it was from a Mistress, employ'd her Maid to steal it, and if she found it such, to bring it her: accordingly it succeeded, for _Frankwit_ having drank hard with some of the Gentlemen of that Shire, found himself indisposed, and soon went to Bed, having put the Letter in his Pocket: The Maid therefore to _Moorea_ contrived that all the other Servants should be out of the Way, that she might plausibly officiate in the Warming the Bed of the indisposed Lover, but likely, had it not been so, she had warmed it by his Intreaties in a more natural Manner; he being in Bed in an inner Room, she slips out the Letter from his Pocket, carries it to her Mistress to read, and so restores it whence she had it; in the Morning the poor Lover wakened in a violent Fever, burning with a Fire more hot than that of Love. In short, he continued Sick a considerable while, all which time the Lady _Moorea_ constantly visited him, and he as unwillingly saw her (poor Gentleman) as he would have seen a Parson; for as the latter would have perswaded, so the former scared him to Repentance. In the mean while, during his sickness, several Letters were sent to him by his dear _Belvira_, and _Celesia_ too, (then learning to write) had made a shift to give him a line or two in Postscript with her Cousin, but all was intercepted by the jealousy of the Black _Moorea_, black in her mind, and dark, as well as in her body. _Frankwit_ too writ several Letters as he was able, complaining of her unkindness, those likewise were all stopt by the same Blackmoor Devil. At last, it happened that _Wildvill_, (who I told my Reader was _Frankwit's_ friend) came to _London_, his Father likewise dead, and now Master of a very plentiful fortune, he resolves to marry, and paying a visit to _Belvira_, enquires of her concerning _Frankwit_, she all in mourning for the loss, told him his friend was dead. 'Ah! _Wildvill_, he is dead,' said she, 'and died not mine, a Blackmoor Lady had bewitched him from me; I received a Letter lately which informed me all; there was no name subscribed to it, but it intimated, that it was written at the request of dying _Frankwit_.' 'Oh! I am sorry at my Soul,' said _Wildvill_, 'for I loved him with the best, the dearest friendship; no doubt then,' rejoyned he, ''tis Witchcaft indeed that could make him false to you; what delight could he take in a Blackmoor Lady, tho' she had received him at once with a Soul as open as her longing arms, and with her Petticoat put off her modesty. G.o.ds! How could he change a whole _Field Argent_ into downright _Sables_.' ''Twas done,' returned _Celesia_, 'with no small blot, I fancy, to the Female 'Scutcheon.' In short, after some more discourse, but very sorrowful, _Wildvill_ takes his leave, extreamly taken with the fair _Belvira_, more beauteous in her cloud of woe; he paid her afterwards frequent visits, and found her wonder for the odd inconstancy of _Frankwit_, greater than her sorrow, since he dy'd so unworthy of her. _Wildvill_ attack'd her with all the force of vigorous love, and she (as she thought) fully convinc'd of _Frankwit's_ death, urg'd by the fury and impatience of her new ardent Lover, soon surrender'd, and the day of their Nuptials now arriv'd, their hands were joyn'd. In the mean time _Frankwit_ (for he still liv'd) knew nothing of the Injury the base _Moorea_ practis'd, knew not that 'twas thro' her private order, that the fore-mention'd account of his falshood and his death was sent; but impatient to see his Dear _Belvira_, tho' yet extremely weak, rid post to _London_, and that very day arriv'd there, immediately after the Nuptials of his Mistress and his Friend were celebrated. I was at this time in _Cambridge_, and having some small acquaintance with this Blackmoor Lady, and sitting in her Room that evening, after _Frankwit's_ departure thence, in _Moorea's_ absence, saw inadvertently a bundle of Papers, which she had gathered up, as I suppose, to burn, since now they grew but useless, she having no farther Hopes of him: I fancy'd I knew the Hand, and thence my Curiosity only led me to see the Name and finding _Belvira_ subscrib'd, I began to guess there was some foul play in Hand. _Belvira_ being my particularly intimate Acquaintance, I read one of them, and finding the Contents, convey'd them all secretly out with me, as I thought, in Point of Justice I was bound, and sent them to _Belvira_ by that Night's Post; so that they came to her Hands soon after the Minute of her Marriage, with an Account how, and by what Means I came to light on them. No doubt but they exceedingly surpriz'd her: But Oh! Much more she grew amaz'd immediately after, to see the Poor, and now unhappy _Frankwit_, who privately had enquir'd for her below, being received as a Stranger, who said he had some urgent Business with her, in a back Chamber below Stairs. What Tongue, what Pen can express the mournful Sorrow of this Scene! At first they both stood Dumb, and almost Senseless; she took him for the Ghost of _Frankwit_; he looked so pale, new risen from his Sickness, he (for he had heard at his Entrance in the House, that his _Belvira_ marry'd _Wildvill_) stood in Amaze, and like a Ghost indeed, wanted the Power to speak, till spoken to the first. At last, he draws his Sword, designing there to fall upon it in her Presence; she then imagining it his Ghost too sure, and come to kill her, shrieks out and Swoons; he ran immediately to her, and catch'd her in his Arms, and while he strove to revive and bring her to herself, tho' that he thought could never now be done, since she was marry'd. _Wildvill_ missing his Bride, and hearing the loud Shriek, came running down, and entring the Room, sees his Bride lie clasp'd in _Frankwit's_ Arms. 'Ha! Traytor!' He cries out, drawing his Sword with an impatient Fury, 'have you kept that Strumpet all this while, curst _Frankwit_, and now think fit to put your d.a.m.n'd cast Mistress upon me: could not you forbear her neither ev'n on my Wedding Day? abominable Wretch!' Thus saying, he made a full Pa.s.s at _Frankwit_, and run him thro' the left Arm, and quite thro' the Body of the poor _Belvira_; that thrust immediately made her start, tho'

_Frankwit's_ Endeavours all before were useless. Strange! that her Death reviv'd her! For ah! she felt, that now she only liv'd to die! Striving thro' wild Amazement to run from such a Scene of Horror, as her Apprehensions shew'd her; down she dropt, and _Frankwit_ seeing her fall, (all Friendship disannull'd by such a Chain of Injuries) Draws, fights with, and stabs his own loved _Wildvill_. Ah! Who can express the Horror and Distraction of this fatal Misunderstanding! The House was alarm'd, and in came poor _Celesia_, running in Confusion just as _Frankwit_ was off'ring to kill himself, to die with a false Friend, and perjur'd Mistress, for he suppos'd them such. Poor _Celesia_ now bemoan'd her unhappiness of sight, and wish'd she again were blind.

_Wildvill_ dy'd immediately, and _Belvira_ only surviv'd him long enough to unfold all their most unhappy fate, desiring _Frankwit_ with her dying breath, if ever he lov'd her, (and now she said that she deserv'd his love, since she had convinced him that she was not false) to marry her poor dear _Celesia_, and love her tenderly for her _Belvira's_ sake; leaving her, being her nearest Relation, all her fortune, and he, much dearer than it all, to be added to her own; so joyning his and _Celesia's_ Hands, she poured her last breath upon his Lips, and said, 'Dear _Frankwit_, _Frankwit_, I die yours.' With tears and wondrous sorrow he promis'd to obey her Will, and in some months after her interrment, he perform'd his promise.

NOTES: The Unfortunate Bride.

p. 401 _To Richard Norton._ This Epistle Dedicatory is only to be found in the first edition of _The Unfortunate Bride; or, The Blind Lady a Beauty_, 'Printed for Samuel Briscoe, in Charles-Street, Covent-Garden, 1698', and also dated, on t.i.tle page facing the portrait of Mrs. Behn, 1700.

Southwick, Hants, is a parish and village some 1 miles from Portchester, 4 from Fareham. Richard Norton was son and heir of Sir Daniel Norton, who died seised of the manor in 1636. Richard Norton married Anne, daughter of Sir William Earle, by whom he had one child, Sarah. He was, in his county at least, a figure of no little importance.

Tuesday, 12 August, 1701, Luttrell records that 'an addresse from the grand jury of Hampshire . . . was delivered by Richard Norton and Anthony Henly, esqs. to the lords justices, to be laid before his majestie.' He aimed at being a patron of the fine arts, and under his superintendence Dryden's _The Spanish Friar_ was performed in the frater of Southwick Priory,[1] the buildings of which had not been entirely destroyed at the suppression. Colley Cibber addresses the Dedicatory Epistle (January, 1695) of his first play, _Love's Last Shift_ (4to, 1696), to Norton in a highly eulogistic strain. The plate of Southwick Church (S. James), consisting of a communion cup, a standing paten, two flagons, an alms-dish, and a rat-tail spoon, is silver-gilt, and was presented by Richard Norton in 1691. He died 10 December, 1732.

[Footnote 1: The house was one of Black (Austin) Canons.]

THE DUMB VIRGIN; OR, THE FORCE OF IMAGINATION.

INTRODUCTION.

Consanguinity and love which are treated in this novel so romantically and with such tragic catastrophe had already been dealt with in happier mood by Mrs. Behn in _The Dutch Lover_. _Vide_ Note on the Source of that play, Vol. I, p. 218.

In cla.s.sic lore the dipus Saga enthralled the imagination of antiquity and inspired dramas amongst the world's masterpieces. Later forms of the tale may be found in Suidas and Cedrenus.

The Legend of St. Gregory, based on a similar theme, the hero of which, however, is innocent throughout, was widely diffused through mediaeval Europe. It forms No. 81 of the _Gesta Romanorum_. There is an old English poem[1] on the subject, and it also received lyric treatment at the hands of the German meistersinger, Hartmann von Aue. An Italian story, _Il Figliuolo di germani_, the chronicle of St. Albinus, and the Servian romaunt of the Holy Foundling Simeon embody similar circ.u.mstances.

Matteo Bandello, Part II, has a famous[2] novel (35) with rubric, 'un gentiluomo navarrese sposa una, che era sua sorella e figliuola, non lo sapendo,' which is almost exactly the same as the thirtieth story of the _Heptameron_. As the good Bishop declares that it was related to him by a lady living in the district, it is probable that some current tradition furnished both him and the Queen of Navarre with these horrible incidents and that neither copied from the other.[3]

Bandello was imitated in Spanish by J. Perez de Montalvan, _Sucesos y Prodigios de Amor--La Mayor confusion_; in Latin by D. Otho Melander; and he also gave Desfontaines the subject of _L'Inceste Innocent; Histoire Veritable_ (Paris, 1644). A similar tale is touched upon in _Amadis de Gaule_, and in a later century we find _Le Criminel sans le Savoir, Roman Historique et Poetique_ (Amsterdam and Paris, 1783). It is also found in Brevio's _Rime e Prose_; Volgari, novella iv; and in T. Grapulo (or Grappolino), _Il Convito Borghesiano_ (Londra, 1800).

A cognate legend is _Le Dit du Buef_ and _Le Dit de la Bourjosee de Rome_. (ed. Jubinal, _Nouveau Recueil_; and _Nouveau Recueil du Senateur de Rome . . ._ ed. Meon.) Again: the _Leggenda di Vergogna, etc. testi del buon secolo in prosa e in verso_, edited by A. D'Ancona (Bologna, 1869) repeats the same catastrophe. It is also related in Byshop's _Blossoms_.

In Luther's _Colloquia Mensalia_, under the article 'Auricular Confession', the occurrence is said to have taken place at Erfurt in Germany. Julio de Medrano, a Spanish writer of the sixteenth century, says that a similar story was related to him when he was in the Bourbonnois, where the inhabitants pointed out the house which had been the scene of these morbid pa.s.sions. France, indeed, seems to have been the home of the tradition, and Le Roux de Lincy in the notes to his excellent edition of the _Heptameron_ quotes from Millin, _Antiquites Nationales_ (t. iii. f. xxviii. p. 6.) who, speaking of the Collegiate Church of Ecouis, says that in the midst of the nave there was a prominent white marbel tablet with this epitaph:--

Cy-gist la fille, cy-gist le pere, Cy-gist la soeur, cy-gist le frere; Cy-gist la femme, et le mary, Et si n'y a que deux corps icy.

The tradition ran that a son of 'Madame d'Ecouis avait eu de sa mere sans la connaitre et sans en etre reconnu une fille nommee Cecile. Il epousa ensuite en Lorraine cette meme Cecile qui etait aupres de la d.u.c.h.esse de Bar . . . Il furent enterres dans le meme tombeau en 1512 a Ecouis.' An old sacristan used to supply curious visitors to the church with a leaflet detailing the narrative. The same story is attached to other parishes, and at Alincourt, a village between Amiens and Abbeville, the following lines are inscribed upon a grave:--

Ci git le fils, ci git la mere, Ci git la fille avec le pere, Ci git la soeur, ci git le frere, Ci git la femme et le mari, Et ne sont pas que trois corps ici.

When Walpole wrote his tragedy, _The Mysterious Mother_ (1768), he states he had no knowledge of Bandello or the _Heptameron_, but he gives the following account of the origin of his theme. 'I had heard when very young, that a gentlewoman, under uncommon agonies of mind, had waited on Archbishop Tillotson and besought his counsel. A damsel that served her had, many years before, acquainted her that she was importuned by the gentlewoman's son to grant him a private meeting. The mother ordered the maiden to make the a.s.signation, when she said she would discover herself and reprimand him for his criminal pa.s.sion; but, being hurried away by a much more criminal pa.s.sion herself, she kept the a.s.signation without discovering herself. The fruit of this horrid artifice was a daughter, whom the gentlewoman caused to be educated very privately in the country; but proving very lovely and being accidentally met by her father-brother, who never had the slightest suspicion of the truth, he had fallen in love with and actually married her. The wretched guilty mother learning what had happened, and distracted with the consequence of her crime, had now resorted to the Archbishop to know in what manner she should act. The prelate charged her never to let her son and daughter know what had pa.s.sed, as they were innocent of any criminal intention. For herself, he bad her almost despair.'

The same story occurs in the writings of the famous Calvinistic divine, William Perkins (1558-1602), sometime Rector of St. Andrew's, Cambridge.

Thence it was extracted for _The Spectator_.

In Mat Lewis' ghoulish romance, _The Monk_ (1796) it will be remembered that Ambrosio, after having enjoyed Antonia, to whose bedchamber he has gained admittance by demoniacal aid, discovers that she is his sister, and heaping crime upon crime to sorcery and rape he has added incest.

There is a tragic little novel, '_The Illegal Lovers; a True Secret History._ Being an Amour Between A Person of Condition and his Sister.

Written by One who did reside in the Family.' (8vo, 1728.) After the death of his wife, Bellario falls in love with his sister Lindamira.

Various sentimental letters pa.s.s between the two, and eventually Bellario in despair pistols himself. The lady lives to wed another admirer. The tale was obviously suggested by the _Love Letters between a n.o.bleman and his Sister_.

[Footnote 1: There are three MSS. _Vernon MS._, Oxford, edited by Horstmann; _MS. Cott_, _Cleop. D. ix_, British Museum; _Auchinleck MS._, Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, edited with glossary by F. Schultz, 1876.]

[Footnote 2: cf. Masuccio. _Il Novellino_, No. 23.]

[Footnote 3: Bandello's novels first appeared at Lucca, 4to, 1554.

Marguerite of Angouleme died 21 December, 1549. The _Heptameron_ was composed 1544-8 and published 1558.]

THE DUMB VIRGIN: or, the Force of Imagination.

_Rinaldo_, a Senator of the great City _Venice_, by a plentiful Inheritance, and industrious Acquisitions, was become Master of a very plentiful Estate; which, by the Countenance of his Family, sprung from the best Houses in _Italy_, had rendred him extreamly popular and honoured; he had risen to the greatest Dignities of that State, all which Offices he discharged with Wisdom and Conduct, befitting the Importance of his Charge, and Character of the Manager; but this great Person had some Accident in his Children, sufficient to damp all the Pleasure of his more smiling Fortunes; he married when young, a beautiful and virtuous Lady, who had rendred him the happy Father of a Son; but his Joys were soon disturbed by the following Occasion.

There stands an Island in the _Adriatick_ Sea, about twenty Leagues from _Venice_, a Place wonderfully pleasant in the Summer, where Art and Nature seem to out-rival each other, or seem rather to combine in rendring it the most pleasant of their products; being placed under the most benign climate in the World, and situated exactly between _Italy_ and _Greece_, it appears an entire Epitome of all the Pleasures in them both; the proper glories of the Island were not a little augmented by the confluence of Gentlemen and Ladies of the chiefest Rank in the City, insomuch that this was a greater mark for Beauty and Gallantry, than _Venice_ for Trade. Among others _Rinaldo's_ Lady begged her Husband's permission to view this so much celebrated place.

He was unwilling to trust his treasure to the treachery of the watry element; but repeating her request, he yielded to her desires, his love not permitting him the least shew of command, and so thro' its extent, conspiring its own destruction. His Lady with her young Son (whom she would not trust from her sight) and a splendid attendance in a Barge well fitted, sets out for the Island, _Rinaldo_ being detained at home himself about some important affairs relating to the publick, committed the care of his dear Wife and Child to a faithful Servant call'd _Gaspar_; and for their greater security against Pyrates, had obtained his Brother, who commanded a _Venetian_ Galley, to attend them as Convoy. In the evening they set out from _Venice_, with a prosperous gale, but a storm arising in the night, soon separated the Barge from her Convoy, and before morning drove her beyond the designed Port, when, instead of discovering the wish'd-for Island, they could see a _Turkish_ Pyrate bearing towards them, with all her Sail; their late apprehensions of Shipwrack, were drowned in the greater danger of Captivity and lasting Slavery, their fears drove some into resolutions as extravagant as the terrors that caused them, but the confusion of all was so tumultuous, and the designs so various, that nothing could be put in execution for the publick safety; the greatest share of the pa.s.sengers being Ladies, added strangely to the consternation; beauty always adds a pomp to woe, and by its splendid show, makes sorrow look greater and more moving. Some by their piteous plaints and wailings proclaimed their griefs aloud, whilst others bespoke their sorrows more emphatically by sitting mournfully silent; the fears of some animated them to extravagant actions, whilst the terrors of others were so mortifying, that they shewed no sign of Life, but by their trembling; some mourned the rigour of their proper fate, others conscious of the sorrows their Friends and Relations should sustain through their loss, made the griefs of them their own; but the heaviest load of misfortunes lay on _Rinaldo's_ Lady, besides the loss of her liberty, the danger of her honour, the separation from her dear Husband, the care for her tender Infant wrought rueful distractions; she caught her Child in her Arms, and with Tears extorted thro' Fear and Affection, she deplor'd the Misfortune of her Babe, the pretty Innocent smiling in the Embraces of its Mother, shew'd that Innocence cou'd deride the Persecution of Fortune; at length she delivered the Infant into the Hand of _Gasper_, begging him to use all Endeavours in its Preservation, by owning it for his, when they fell into the Hands of the Enemy.

But _Gasper_, who amidst the universal Consternation, had a peculiar Regard to his own Safety, and Master's Interest, undertook a Design desperately brave. Two long Planks, which lay lengthwise in the Barge, as Seats, he had ty'd together with Ropes, and taking the Infant from the Mother, whilst the whole Vessel was in a distracted Confusion, he fast'ned it to the Planks, and shoving both over-board before him, plung'd into the Sea after, dragging the Planks that bore the Infant with one Hand, and swimming with t'other, making the next Land; he had swam about two hundred Paces from the Barge before his Exploit was discover'd, but then the Griefs of _Rinaldo's_ Lady were doubly augmented, seeing her Infant expos'd to the Fury of the merciless Winds and Waves, which she then judged more rigorous than the _Turks_; for to a weak Mind, that Danger works still the strongest, that's most in View; but when the Pirate, who by this time had fetch'd them within Shot, began to Fire, she seem'd pleas'd that her Infant was out of that Hazard, tho' exposed to a greater. Upon their Sign of yielding, the _Turk_ launching out her Boat, brought them all on board her; but she had no time to examine her Booty, being saluted by a Broadside, vigorously discharg'd from a _Venetian_ Galley, which bore down upon them, whilst they were taking aboard their Spoil; this Galley was that commanded by _Rinaldo's_ Brother, which cruising that Way in quest of the Barge, happily engag'd the _Turk_, before they had Leisure to offer any Violence to the Ladies, and plying her warmly the s.p.a.ce of two Hours, made her a Prize, to the inexpressible Joy of the poor Ladies, who all this time under Hatches, had sustain'd the Horrors of ten thousand Deaths by dreading one.

All the greater Dangers over, _Rinaldo's_ Lady began to reflect on the strange Riddle of her Son's Fortune, who by shunning one Fate, had (in all Probability) fallen into a worse, for they were above ten Leagues from any Land, and the Sea still retain'd a Roughness, unsettled since the preceeding Storm; she therefore begg'd her Brother-in-Law to Sail with all Speed in Search of her Son and _Gasper_; but all in vain, for cruising that Day, and the succeeding Night along the Coasts, without making any Discovery of what they sought, he sent a Boat to be inform'd by the Peasants, of any such Landing upon their Coast; but they soon had a dismal Account, finding the Body of _Gasper_ thrown dead on the Sand, and near to him the Planks, the unhappy Occasion of his Flight, and the Faithless Sustainers of the Infant. So thinking these mournful Objects Testimonies enough of the Infant's Loss, they return'd with the doleful Relation to their Captain and the Lady; her Grief at the recital of the Tragic Story, had almost transported her to Madness; what Account must she now make to the mournful Father, who esteem'd this Child the chief Treasure of his Life; she fear'd, that she might forfeit the Affection of a Husband, by being the unfortunate Cause of so great a Loss; but her Fears deceiv'd her, for altho' her Husband, receiv'd her with great Grief, 'twas nevertheless moderated by the Patience of a Christian, and the Joy for recovering his beloved Lady.

This Misfortune was soon lessen'd by the growing Hopes of another Off-spring, which made them divest their Mourning, to make Preparations for the joyful Reception of this new Guest into the World; and upon its Appearance their Sorrows were redoubled, 'twas a Daughter, its Limbs were distorted, its Back bent, and tho' the face was the freest from Deformity, yet had it no Beauty to Recompence the Dis-symetry of the other Parts; Physicians being consulted in this Affair, derived the Cause from the Frights and dismal Apprehensions of the Mother, at her being taken by the Pyrates; about which time they found by Computation, the Conception of the Child to be; the Mother grew very Melancholy, rarely speaking, and not to be comforted by any Diversion. She conceiv'd again, but no hopes of better Fortune cou'd decrease her Grief, which growing with her Burden, eased her of both at once, for she died in Child-birth, and left the most beautiful Daughter to the World that ever adorn'd _Venice_, but naturally and unfortunately Dumb, which defect the learn'd attributed to the Silence and Melancholy of the Mother, as the Deformity of the other was to the Extravagance of her Frights.

_Rinaldo_, waving all Intentions of a second Marriage, directs his Thoughts to the Care of his Children, their Defects not lessening his Inclination, but stirring up his Endeavours in supplying the Defaults of Nature by the Industry of Art; he accordingly makes the greatest Provision for their Breeding and Education, which prov'd so effectual in a little Time, that their Progress was a greater Prodigy than themselves.