 Book 6. CHAPTER IV. THE ADVENTURE CONTINUED. Ah, madam, said I, perceiving she had finished her discourse. Doubt not, but I shall most gratefully preserve the remembrance of what the generous Sidimmerus has done for me, and shall always be ready to lose that life in her defense, which she has had the superlative goodness to take so much care of. But, madam, pursued I, with an earnest look. Do not, I beseech you, refuse me one favour, without which I shall depart with inconceivable sorrow. Depend on it, valiant sir, replied she, that if what you will require of me be in my power, and fit for me to grant, I shall very willingly oblige you. It is then, resumed I, trembling at the boldness of my request, that you would come descend to entreat the most generous Sidimmerus to favour me with an interview, and give me an opportunity of throwing myself at her feet, to thank her for all those favours I have received from her compassion. I cannot promise you, replied the lady, rising, to prevail upon Sidimmerus to grant you an audience, but I assure you that I will endeavour to dispose her to do you this favour, and it shall not be my fault if you are not satisfied. Saying this, she went out of my chamber, I having followed her to the door, with protestations that I would never forget her kindness upon this occasion. I passed the rest of that day in an anxious impatience for night, divided between fear and hope, and more taken up with the thoughts of seeing Sidimmerus than with my expected liberty. Night came at last, and the door of my apartment opening. I saw the lady who had been with me in the morning enter. I have prevailed upon Sidimmerus to see you, said she, and she is willing, at my entreaty, to grant that favour to a person who, she with reason thinks, has been inhumanely treated by her brother. Then, giving me her hand, she conducted me along a large gallery, to a stately apartment, and after traversing several rooms, she led me into one where Sidimmerus herself was, who, as soon as she perceived me, rose from her seat, and received me with great civility. In the transport I then was, I know not how I returned the grateful salute the incomparable Sidimmerus gave me, for most certain it is that I was so lost in wonder at the sight of the many charms I beheld in her person, that I could not unlock my tongue, or remove my eyes from her enchanting face, but remain fixed in a posture which at once expressed my admiration and delight. To give you a description of that beauty which I then contemplated, I must inform you, madam, that Sidimmerus is tall, of a handsome stature, and admirably proportioned. Her hair was of the finest black in the world, her complexion marvelously fair, and all the lineaments of her visage were perfectly beautiful, and her eyes, which were large and black, sparkled with so quick and piercing a fire, that no heart was able to resist their powerful glances. Moreover, Sidimmerus is admirably shaped, her port is high and noble, and her air so free, yet so commanding, that there are few persons in the world with whom she may not dispute the priority of beauty. In fine, madam, Sidimmerus appeared with so many advantages, to a spirit pre-possessed already with the most grateful sense of her favours, that I could not resist the sweet violence wherewith her charms took possession of my heart. I yielded, therefore, without reluctance to my destiny, and resigned myself in an instant to those fetters which the sight of the divine Sidimmerus prepared for me. Recovering, therefore, a little from that admiration, which had so totally engrossed all my faculties, I threw myself at her feet, with an action wholly composed of transport. Divine Sidimmerus said I, beholding her with eyes, in which the letters of my newborn passion might very plainly be read. See at your feet a man devoted to your service, by all the ties of gratitude and respect. I come, madam, to declare to you that from the first moment you gave me liberty, I had devoted that and my life to you. And at your feet I confirm the gift, protesting by all that is most dear and sacred to me, that since I hold my life from the divine Sidimmerus, she alone shall have the absolute disposal of it for the future. And should she please again to demand it, either to appease her brother's fury, or to sacrifice it to her own security, I will most faithfully perform her will, and shed the last drop of that blood at her command, which I would with transport lose in her defence. A fine high-floating speech indeed, said Sir Charles, laughing, but I hope you did not intend to keep your word. Sure, sir, replied Arabella, you do not imagine that Sir George would have failed in executing all he had promised to the beautiful and generous Sidimmerus. What could he possibly have said less? And indeed what less could she have expected from a man whom at the hazard of her own life and happiness she had given freedom to? I accompanied these words, Madam, pursued Sir George, with so passionate a look and accent, that the fair Sidimmerus blushed, and for a moment cast down her eyes with a visible confusion. At last, sir, replied she, I am too well satisfied with what I have done with respect to your safety, to require any proofs of your gratitude that might be dangerous to it, and shall remain extremely well satisfied if the obligations you think you owe me may induce you to moderate your resentment against my brother for the cruel treatment you received from him. Doubt not, Madam, interrupted I eagerly, but I shall, in the person of Markomere, regard the brother of the divine Sidimmerus, and that consideration will be sufficient not only to make me forget all the violences he committed against me, but even to defend his life if need be with the hazard of my own. Excessively generous indeed, said Sir Charles, I never heard anything like it. Oh, dear sir, replied Arabella, there are numberless instances of equal and even superior generosity to be met with in the lives of the heroes of antiquity. You will there see a lover whose mistress has been taken from him, either by treachery or force, venture his life in defense of the injurious husband who possesses her, and though all his felicity depends upon his death, yet he will rescue him from it at the expense of the greater part of his blood. Another who after a long and bloody war has, by taking his enemy prisoner, an opportunity of terminating it honorably, yet through an heroic principle of generosity he gives his captive liberty, without making any conditions, and has all his work to do over again. A third having contracted a violent friendship with the enemies of his country through the same generous sentiments draws his sword in their defense and makes no scruple it to fight against an army where the king his father is in person. I must confess, said Sir Charles, that generosity seems to me very peculiar, that will make a man fight for his enemies against his own father. It is in that peculiarity, sir, said Arabella, that his generosity consists, for certainly there is nothing extraordinary in fighting for one's father and one's country, but when a man has arrived to such a pitch of greatness of soul as to neglect those mean and selfish considerations, and loving virtue in the persons of his enemies can prefer their glory before his own particular interest, he is then a perfect hero indeed. Such a one was Oroandates, Artexerxes, and many others I could name, who all gave eminent proofs of their disinterestedness and greatness of soul upon the like occasions. Therefore not to detract from Sir George's merit, I must still insist that in the resolutions he had taken to defend his enemies' life at the expense of his own, he did no more than what any man of ordinary generosity ought to do, than what he was a particularly obliged to by what the amiable Cydemorus had done for him. I was so happy, however, Madam, continued Sir George, to find that those expressions of my gratitude wrought somewhat upon the heart of the lovely Cydemorus in my favor. Her words discovered as much, and her eyes spoke yet more intelligibly, but our conversation was interrupted by the discreet Urinoe, who, fearing the consequence of so long a stay in her chamber, represented to me that it was time to take my leave. I turned pale at this cruel sound, and beholding Cydemorus with a languishing look, would to heaven, Madam, said I, that instead of giving me liberty, you would keep me eternally your prisoner. For though a dungeon was to be the place of my confinement, yet if it was near you, it would seem a palace to me, for indeed I am no longer in any condition to relish that freedom you bestow upon me, since it must remove me farther from you. But I beseech you, Madam, to believe that in delivering me from your brother's fetters you have cast me into your own, and that I am more a prisoner than ever, but a prisoner to so lovely a conqueror that I do not wish to break my chains, and prefer the sweet and glorious captivity I am in to all the crowns in the world. You are very bold, said Cydemorus, blushing, to entertain me with such discourse, yet I pardon this offense in consideration of what you have suffered from my brother, and on condition that you will depart immediately without speaking another word. Cydemorus spoke this so earnestly that I durst not disobey her, and kissing the hem of her robe with a passionate air, I left her chamber, conducted by Urinoe, who, having brought me to a private door which carried us into the street, I there found a man waiting for me, whom I knew to be the same that had attended me during my stay in that house, Urinoe having recommended to him to see me safe out of the town. I took leave of her, with the most grateful acknowledgments for her kindness, and followed my conductor, so oppressed with grief at the thoughts of leaving the place where Cydemorus was, that I had hardly the strength to walk. by Charlotte Lennox. I went, continued Sir George, the more my regret increased, and finding it would be impossible to live and quit the divine Cydemorus, I all at once took a resolution to remain in the town concealed, and communicating my design to my guide, I engaged him to assist me in it by a present of a considerable sum which he could not resist. Accordingly, he left me in a remote part of the town, and went to find out a convenient lodging for me, which he soon procured, and also a suit of clothes to disguise me, my own being very rich and magnificent. Having recommended me as a relation of his, who was newly arrived, I was received very civilly by the people with whom he placed me, and finding this young man to be very witty and discreet, and also very capable of serving me, I communicated to him my intentions by staying, which were only to be near the divine Cydemorus, and to have the happiness of sometimes seeing her when she went abroad. This man entering into my meaning assured me he would faithfully keep my secret, and that he would not fail to bring me intelligence of all that passed in the palace of Markomere. I could, with difficulty, keep myself from falling at his feet, to express my sense of his kind and generous offers, but I contented myself with presenting him another sum of money larger than the first, and assured him of my future gratitude. He then took leave, and left me to my reflections, which were wholly upon the image of the divine Cydemorus, and the happiness of being so near the object I adored. My confidant came to me the next day, but brought me no other news than that my escape was not yet known to Markomere. I inquired if he had seen Cydemorus, but he replied he had not, and that Urinoe had only asked him if he had conducted me safe out of town, to which he had answered as we had agreed, that I had got out safe and undiscovered. A day or two after he brought me news more pleasing, for he told me that Cydemorus had sent for him into her chamber, and asked him several questions concerning me, that she appeared very melancholy and even blushed whenever she mentioned my name. This account gave sufficient matter for my thoughts to work upon for several days. I interpreted Cydemorus's blush a thousand different ways. I reflected upon all the different causes to which it might be owing, and busied myself with all those innumerable conjectures, which, as you know, madam, such an incident always gives rise to in a lover's imagination. At length I explained it to my own advantage, and felt thereby a considerable increase of my affection. A whole week having elapsed, without another sight of my confidant, I began to be greatly alarmed, when, on the eighth day of this cruel suspense, I saw him appear, but with so many marks of disturbance in his face, that I trembled to hear what he had to acquaint me with. Oh, sir, said he, as soon as his concern suffered him to speak. Markomere has discovered your escape, and the means by which it was procured. One of those in whom Irinoa confided has betrayed it to him, and the beautyous Cydemorus is likely to feel the most terrible effects of his displeasure. He has confined her to her chamber, and vows to sacrifice her life to the honour of his family, which he says she has stained, and he loads that admirable lady with so many reproaches that it is thought her grief for such undeserved calamities will occasion her death. Scource had he finished these cruel words, when I, who all the time he had been speaking, beheld him with a dying eye, sunk down at his feet in a swoon, which continued so long that he began to think me quite dead. However, I at last opened my eyes, but it was only to pour forth a river of tears, and to utter complaints which might have moved the most obdurate heart. After having a long time tormented myself in weeping and complaining, I at last took a resolution which afforded me some alleviation of my grief, and the faithful Tuxares, seeing me a little composed, left me to myself, with a promise to return soon, and acquaint me with what passed further in the palace of Markomere. As soon as he was gone I rose from my bed, and dressing myself in those clothes I wore when I was taken prisoner, I went to the palace of Markomere, and demanding to see him, I was told he was in the apartment of Sidemiris, and at my earnest desire they conducted me thither. When I entered the room, I beheld that incomparable beauty stretched upon a couch, dissolved in tears, and urunoe upon her knees before her, accompanying with her own those precious drops which fell from the bright eyes of her mistress. Markomere, who was walking furiously about the room, exclaiming with the utmost violence against that fair sufferer, did not observe my entrance, so that I had an opportunity of going towards Sidemiris, who lifting up her eyes to look upon me gave a loud shriek, and by a look of extreme anguish let me understand how great her apprehensions were upon my account. I am come, madam, said I, to perform part of the promise I made you, and by dying to prove your innocence, and freeing you from the reproaches you suffer on my account, I shall have the happiness to convince you that my life is infinitely less dear to me than your tranquility. Sidemiris, who hearkened to me with great emotion, was going to make some answer when Markomere, alarmed by his sister's shriek, came towards us, and viewing me at first with astonishment, and then with a smile of cruelty and revenge, is it possible, said he, that I behold my designed murderer again in my power? I am in thy power, said I, because I am willing to be so, and came voluntarily to put myself into your hands, to free that excellent lady from the imputation you have laid on her. No, Markomere, that it is to myself alone I owed my liberty, which I would still preserve against all the forces thou couldst bring to deprive me of it, and this sword, which left thee life enough to threaten mine, would happily once more put yours in danger, were I not restrained by a powerful consideration, which leaves me not the liberty of even wishing you ill. Ah, December, said Markomere in a rage, think not to impose upon me by thy counterfitted mildness, thou art my prisoner once more, and I shall take care to prevent your escaping a second time. I am not your prisoner, replied I, while I possess this sword, which has already defended me against greater numbers than you have here to oppose me, but, continued I, throwing down my sword at Sidimerus's feet, I resign my liberty to restore that lady to your good opinion, and to free her from those base aspersions thou hast unjustly loaded her with upon my account. It matters not, said the brutal brother, taking up my sword, whether thou hast resigned or I have deprived thee of liberty, but since thou art in my power, thou shall feel all the effects of my resentment. Take him away, pursued he to some of his people, put him into the worst dungeon you can find, and let him be guarded carefully upon pain of death, if he again escapes. With these words, several men offered to lead me out of the room, but I repulsed them with disdain, and making a low reverence to Sidimerus, whose countenance expressed the extremes of fear and anguish. I followed my conductors to the prison allotted for me, which, hideous as it was, I contemplated with a secret pleasure, since I had by that action which had brought me into it, given a testimony of my love for the adorable Sidimerus. End of Book 6, Chapter 5. Book 6, Chapter 6 of the Female Quixote, Volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Female Quixote, Volume 2, by Charlotte Lennox. Book 6, Chapter 6. In which it will be seen that the lady is as generous as her lover. I passed some days in this confinement melancholy enough. My ignorance of the destiny of Sidimerus gave me more pain than the sense of my own misfortunes, and one evening when I was more than usually disquieted, one of my guard entered my prison, and giving me a letter retired without speaking a word. I opened this letter with precipitation, and by the light of a lamp which was allowed me, I read the following words. Sidimerus to the generous Balmor. It is not enough to tell you that the method you took to free me from my brother's severity has filled me with the utmost esteem and admiration, so generous an action merits a greater acknowledgement, and I will make no scruple to confess, that my heart is most sensibly touched by it. Yes, Balmor, I have received this glorious testimony of your affection with such a gratitude, as you yourself could have wished to inspire me with, and it shall not be long before you will have a convincing proof of the effect it has had upon the spirit of Sidimerus. This letter, madam, pursued Sir George, being wholly calculated to make me hope that I was not hated by the divine Sidimerus, and that she meditated something in my favor, I resigned myself up to the most delightful expectations. What, cried I, transported with the excess of my joy? Does the most admirable Sidimerus condescend to assure me that I have touched her heart, and does she promise me that I shall receive some convincing proof of her acknowledgement? Ah, too happy and too fortunate, Balmor, to what a glorious destiny has thou been reserved, and how oughtest thou to adore these fetters that have procured thee the esteem of the divine Sidimerus? Such, madam, were the apprehensions which the billet I had received inspired me with. I continually flattered myself with the most pleasing hopes, and during three weeks longer, in which I heard no more from Sidimerus, my imagination was wholly filled with those sweet thoughts which her letter had made me entertain. At length, on the evening of a day which I had wholly spent in reading over Sidimerus's letter, and interpreting the sense of it a thousand different ways, but all agreeable to my ardent wishes, I saw the sage Urinoe enter my prison, accompanied by Tuxares, whom I had not seen during my last confinement. Wholly transported at the sight of these two friends, and not doubting but they had brought me the most agreeable news, I ran towards them, and, throwing myself at Urinoe's feet, I begged her, in an ecstasy of joy, to acquaint me with Sidimerus's commands. Urinoe, in some confusion at this action, entreated me to rise. Tiz fit, cried I, in a transport I could not master, that in this posture I should receive the knowledge of that felicity Sidimerus has had the goodness to promise me. Urinoe sighed at these words, and, beholding me with the look of compassion and tenderness, would to God, said she, that all I have to say were as agreeable as the first news I have to tell you, which is that you are free and at liberty to leave the town this moment. Sidimerus, continued she, has bought your freedom at the expense of her own, and to deliver you from her brother's chains she has put on others, happily more cruel than those you have worn. In fine she has married a man whom she detested to procure your liberty, her brother having granted it to her upon that condition alone. Scarce had Urinoe finished these words when I fell without sense or motion at her feet. Toksare sent she, who had foreseen what might happen, having provided themselves with cordials necessary to restore me, brought me to myself with infinite trouble. Cruels, said I to them, with a tone and look which witnessed the excess of my despair. Why have you hindered me from dying at once to prevent the thousand deaths I shall suffer from my grief? Is this the confirmation of those glorious hopes Sidimerus had permitted me to entertain? Is this the proof of the acknowledgments I was to expect? And is it by throwing herself into the arms of my rival that she repays those obligations she thinks she owes me? Ah, inhuman Sidimerus! Was it to make my despair more poignant that thou flatterst me with such a prospect of happiness, and was it necessary to the grandeur of thy nuptials that my life should be the sacrifice? But how unjust am I? cried I, repenting in an instant of those injurious suspicions. How unjust am I to accuse the divine Sidimerus of inhumanity? Was it not to give me freedom that she bestowed herself upon a man she hates, and has she not made herself miserable forever to procure me a fancied happiness? Ah, if it be so, what a wretch am I? I, who have been the only cause of that misery to which she has doomed herself. Ah, liberty, pursued I, how I detest thee, since purchased by the misfortune of Sidimerus, and how far more sweet and glorious were those chains which I swore for her sake. My sighs and tears leaving me no longer the power of speech I sunk down on my bed, oppressed with a mortal grief. Urinoa and Toxares drew near to comfort me, and said all that sensible and discrete persons could think of to alleviate my despair. Though I have heard that Sidimerus is married, replied I, without dying immediately, yet do not imagine that I will suffer this odious life to continue long. If sorrow do not quickly dispatch me, I will seek death by other means, for since Sidimerus is lost I have no more business in this world. The charitable Urinoa and Toxares endeavored in vain to divert me from this sad resolution, when Urinoa, finding all their reasonings ineffectual, drew a letter out of her pocket and presenting it to me. I had orders, said she, not to let this letter be delivered to you, till you had left the town, but the despair to which I see you reduced does, I conceive, dispense with my rigorous observation of those directions. While Urinoa was speaking, I opened this letter trembling and found it as follows. End of Book 6, Chapter 6. Book 6, Chapter 7 of The Female Quixote, Volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Female Quixote, Volume 2 by Charlotte Lennox. Book 6, Chapter 7. Containing an incident full as probable as any in Scuderi's romances. Psydemeris to Belmore. If that proof of my gratitude which I promised to give you falls short of your expectations, blame not the defect of my will, but the rigor of my destiny. It was by this only way I could give you liberty, nor is it too dearly bought by the loss of all my happiness, if you receive it as you ought. Had I been allowed to follow my own inclinations, there is no man in the world I would have preferred to yourself. I owe this confession to the remembrance of your affection, of which you gave me so generous an instance, and the use I expect you will make of it is to console you under a misfortune which is common to us both, though I happily have most reason to complain, since I could not be just to you without being cruel at the same time, or confer a benefit without loading you with a misfortune. If the sacrifice I have made of myself for your sake gives me any claim to the continuance of your love, I command you by the power it gives me over you to live, and not add to the miseries of my condition the grief of being the cause of your death. Remember, I will look upon your disobedience as an act of the most cruel ingratitude, and your compliance with this request shall ever be esteemed, as the dearest mark you can give of that passion you have borne to the unfortunate Psydemeris. Ah, Psydemeris cried I, having read this letter, more cruel in your kindness than severity. After having deprived me of yourself, do you forbid me to die and expose me by so rigorous a command to ills infinitely more hard and painful than death? Yes, pursued I, after a little pause. Yes, Psydemeris, thou shalt be obeyed. We will not die, since thou hast commanded us to live, and not withstanding the tortures to which thou condemnnest us. We will obey this command, and give thee a glorious proof of our present submission, by enduring that life which the loss of thee has rendered truly wretched. Urinoe and Tuxare, somewhat reassured by the resolution I had taken, exhorted me by all the persuasions friendship could put in their mouths to persevere in it, and Urinoe bidding me farewell, I endeavored to prevail upon her to procure me a sight of Psydemeris once more, or at least to bear a letter from me to her. But she refused both these requests so obstinately, telling me Psydemeris would neither consent to the one nor the other, that I was obliged to be contented with the promise she had made to represent my affliction in a true light to her mistress, and to assure her that nothing but her absolute commands could have hindered me from dying. Then taking leave of me with much tenderness, she went out of the prison, leaving Tuxares with me, who assisted me to dress, and conducted me out of that miserable place where I had passed so many sad and also joyful hours. At a gate to which he brought me, I found a horse waiting, and having embraced this faithful confidant, with many expressions of gratitude, I bestowed a ring of some value upon him to remember me by, and mounting my horse with a breaking heart, I took the first road which presented itself to my eyes, and galloped away without knowing wither I went. I rode the whole night, so totally engrossed by my despair, that I did not perceive my horse was so tired it could hardly carry me a step further. At last the poor beast fell down under me, so that I was obliged to dismount, and, looking about me, perceived I was in a forest, without seeing the least appearance of any habitation. The wilderness and solitude of the place flattered my despair, and while my horse was feeding upon what grass he could find, I wandered about. The morning just breaking gave me light enough to direct my steps. Chance at last conducted me to a cave which seemed to have been the residence of some hermit or unfortunate lover like myself. It was dug at the side of a rock, the entrance to it thick set with bushes which hid it from my view. I descended by a few steps, cut roughly enough, and was convinced it had formerly served for a habitation of some religious or melancholy person, for there were seats of turf raised on each side of it, a kind of bed composed of dried leaves and rushes, and a hole made artificially at the top to admit the light. While I considered this place attentively, I all at once took up a resolution inspired by my despair, which was to continue there and indulge my melancholy in a retirement so fitted for my purpose. Giving my horse therefore liberty to go where he pleased, and hanging up my arms upon a tree near the cave, I took possession of this solitary mansion with a gloomy kind of satisfaction, and devoted all my hours to the contemplation of my misfortunes. I lived in this manner, madam, for ten months, without feeling the least desire to change my habitation, and during all that time no mortal approached my solitude so that I lived perfectly secure and undiscovered. So George, pausing here to take a breath, the old baronet said what will be found in the following chapter. Charlotte Lennox Book Six, Chapter Eight A single combat fought with prodigious valor and described with amazing accuracy. Give me leave, sir, said Sir Charles, to ask if you eat in all this time. Alas, sir, replied Sir George, sighs and tears were all my sustenance. So, Charles, Mr. Glanville and Miss, laughing at this answer, Arabella seemed greatly confused. It is not to be imagined, said she, that Sir George, or, to say better, Prince Viridmore, lived ten months without eating anything to support nature. But such trifling circumstances are always left out in the relations of histories, and truly an audience must be very dull and unapprehensive that cannot conceive without being told, that a man must necessarily eat in the space of ten months. But the food, Sir George lived on, replied the baronet, was very unsubstantial and would not afford him much nourishment. I suppose, resumed Arabella, he lived upon such provisions as the forest afforded him, such as wild fruits, herbs, bitter salads, and the like, which, considering the melancholy that possessed him, would appear a voluptuous repast, and which the unfortunate Orontes, when he was in the same situation, thought infinitely too good for him. Sir Charles, finding Arabella took no notice of the historian's hyperbole of living upon his size and tears, passed it over for fear of offending her, and Sir George, who had been in some anxiety how to bring himself off, when he perceived Arabella was reasonable enough to suppose he must have eat during his abode in the forest, went on with his relation in this manner. I lived, as I before observed to you, madam, in this cave for ten months, and truly I was so reconciled to that solitary way of life, and found so much sweetness in it that I believe I should have remained there to this day, but for the adventure which I am going to recount. It being my custom to walk out every evening in the forest, returning to my cave something later than usual, I heard the cries of a woman at some distance, who seemed to be in distress. I stopped to listen from what side those cries proceeded, and perceiving they seemed to approach nearer to me, I took down my armour from the tree where I had hung it, and hastily arming myself, shaped my course towards the place from whence those complaints seemed to come, resolving to assist that unknown person with all the strength that was left me. Having gone some paces, I spied through the branches of the trees a man on horseback with a lady, who struggled to get loose, and at times calling aloud for succour. This sight inflamed me with rage against that impious ravisher. I flew towards him, and when I came within hearing, hold, wretch, cried I, and ceased to offer violence to that lady, whom thou bearest away by force, or prepare to defend thyself against one who will die before he will suffer thee to prosecute thy unjust designs. The man, without answering me, clapped spurs to his horse, and it would have been impossible to have overtaken him, had not my own horse, which had never quitted the forest, appeared in my view. I quickly mounted him, and followed the track the ravisher had taken, with such speed that I came up with him in a moment. Catef, said I, release the lady, and defend thyself. These words which I accompanied with a thundering blow upon his headpiece, obliged him to set down the lady, who implored heaven with the utmost ardour to grant me victory, and recoiling back a few paces to take a view of me, I know not, said he, for what reason now set us thyself to oppose my designs, but I well know that thou shalt dearly repent of thy temerity. Saying this, he advanced furiously towards me, and aimed so heavy a blow at my head that, had I not received it on my shield, I might happily have no longer been in a condition to defend the distressed lady, but having, with the greatest dexterity imaginable, avoided this blow, I made at him with so much fierceness, and directed my aim so well, that in a few moments I wounded him in several places, and his arms were all dyed with his blood. This good success redoubled my vigor, and having, by a lucky stroke with my sword, cut the strings of his headpiece, it fell off, and his head being bare, I was going to let fall a dreadful blow upon it, which doubtless would have shivered it in a thousand pieces, when he cried out for quarter, and letting fall his sword by that action assured me my victory was entire. Live, wretch, cried I, since thou art base enough to value life after being vanquished, but swear upon my sword that thou wilt never more attempt the liberty of that lady. While I was speaking I perceived he was no longer able to sit his horse, but staggering a moment he fell off, and lay extended without motion upon the ground. Touched with compassion at this sight, I alighted, and supposing him to be in a swoon, was preparing to give him some assistance, but upon my nearer approach I found he was quite dead. Leaving therefore this mournful object, I turned about with an intention to go, and offered the distressed lady my further help, but I perceived her already at my feet. Valiant night said she, with a tone of voice so bewitching that all my faculties were suspended as by enchantment. So for me, on my knees, to thank you for the deliverance you have procured me from that baseman. Since to your admirable valor I owe not only the preservation of my life, but what is infinitely dearer to me, my honour. The astonishment wherewith I beheld the miraculous beauty that appeared before me kept me a moment in such an attentive gaze that I forgot she was at my feet. Recollecting myself, however, with some confusion it might neglect. Oh, rise, madam, cried I, helping her up with infinite respect, and debase not such perfection to a posture in which all the monarchs on the earth might glory to appear before it. That you may the better conceive the alteration which the sight of this fair unknown produced in my soul, I will endeavour to give you a description of her beauty, which was altogether miraculous. The new fallen snow, pursued Sir George, was tanned in comparison of the refined purity of that white which made up the ground of her complexion, and though fear had a little gathered the carnations of her cheeks, yet her joy at being delivered seemed to plant them there with such fresh advantages that my eyes might shrink at the brightness of that mingled luster, her mouth, as well for shape as colour, might shame the imitation of the best pencils and the liveliest tints, and though through some petty intervals of joy it wanted the smiles which grief and terror sequestered, yet she never opened it but liked the east at the birth of a beautiful day, and then discovered treasures whose excelling whiteness made the price inestimable. All the features of her face had so near kindred to proportion and symmetry as the several masters of appellate art might have called it his glory to have copied beauties from her as the best of models. The circumference of her visage showed the extremes of an imperfect circle and almost formed it to a perfect oval, and this abridgment of marvels was tapered by a pair of the brightest stars that ever were lighted up by the hand of nature, as their colour was the same with the heavens, there was a spherical harmony in their motion, and that mingled with a vivacity so penetrated as neither the firmest eye nor the strongest soul could arm themselves with the resistance of proof against those pointed glories. Her head was crowned with a prodigious quantity of fair long hair which colour as fitly suited the beauty of her eyes as imagination could make it. To these marvels of face were joined the rest of her neck, hands, and shape, and there seemed a contest between the form and whiteness of the two former, which had the largest commission from nature to work wonders. In fine her beauty was miraculous and could not fail of producing a sudden effect upon a heart like mine. Having passed in an instant from the extremist admiration to something yet more tender, I reiterated my offers of service to the fair unknown, who told me she feared her father had occasioned for some assistance, her ravisher having left his men to engage him, and keep off his pursuit while he rode off with his prize. Hereupon I begged her to direct me to the place where she left her father, assuring her I would gladly venture my life a second time to preserve his, and she desiring to go with me I placed her before me on my horse, and had the exquisite pleasure of supporting with my arms the fairest and most admirable creature in the world. In less than half an hour which had appeared to me but a moment, we got to the place where she had been torn from her father, whom we beheld with three of his servants, maintaining a fight against twice as many of their enemies. Having gently set down the beautyous unknown upon the grass, I flew to the relief of her father, and throwing myself furiously among his assailants, dispatched two of them with so many blows. The others, seeing so unexpected an assistance, gave back a little, and I took advantage of their consternation to redouble my blows, and brought two more of them at my feet. There remained now but four to overcome, and my arrival having given new vigor to those whose part I had taken, they seconded me so well that we soon had nothing more left to do, for the rest, seeing their comrades slain, sought their safety in flight. We were too generous to pursue them, the blood of such riches being unworthy to be shed by our swords. The fair unknown, seeing us conquerors, flew to embrace her father, who, holding her press between his arms, turned his eyes to upon me, then quitting her came towards me, and in the most obliging terms imaginable, returned me thanks for the assistance I had brought him, and being informed by his daughter of what I had done for her preservation, this old gentleman renewed his acknowledgments, calling me the preserver of his life, the valiant defender of his daughter's honor, his tutelary angel, and the guardian of his house. In fine he loaded me with so many thanks and praises that I could not choose but be in some confusion, and to put an end to them, I begged he would inform me by what means he came into that misfortune. He told me that residing in a castle at the extremity of this forest, the charms of his daughter had captivated a neighboring lord, whose character and person being disagreeable both to her and himself, he had absolutely refused to give her to him. Thereupon he had set upon them as they were going to visit a relation at some distance, and dragging Philonise out of the coach, put her before him on his horse, and carried her away, leaving eight of his men to engage him and his servants, who, being but four in number, must inevitably have perished had I not come to his relief, and by my miraculous valor vanquished all his enemies. Saying this, he desired me to go home with him to the castle, and having led his daughter to the coach insisted upon my placing myself next to her, and getting in myself ordered them to return home. This accident, having altered his design of making the visit which had been the occasion of his journey, the baron, for that I found was his title, entertained me all the way with repeated expressions of acknowledgments and tenderness, and the incomparable Philonise condescended also to assure me of her gratitude for the service I had done her. At our arrival at the castle I perceived it was very large and magnificent. The baron conducted me to one of the best apartments, and would stay in the room till my armor was taken off that he might be assured I had received no hurts. Having rendered him the like civility in his own chamber, and satisfied myself he was not wounded, we returned to the beautiful Philonise, and this second sight having finished my defeat, I remained so absolutely her slave that neither Dorothea nor Sidimerus were more passionately beloved. At the earnest entreaty of the baron I stayed some weeks in the castle, during which the daily sight of Philonise so augmented my flames that I was no longer in a condition to conceal them, but fearing to displease that divine beauty by a confession of my passion, I languished in secret, and the constraint I laid upon myself gave me such torments that I fell into a profound melancholy, and looked so pale and dejected that the baron was sensible of the alteration, and conjured me in the most pressing terms to acquaint him with the cause of my uneasiness. But though I continued obstinately silent with my tongue, yet my eyes spoke intelligibly enough, and the blushes which appeared in the fair cheeks of Philonise whenever she spoke to me on the subject of my grief, convinced me she was not ignorant of my passion. At length the agitation of my mind throwing me into a fever, the baron who has firmly persuaded that my illness proceeded from some concealed vexation, pressed me continually to declare myself, and finding all his entreaties ineffectual, he commanded his daughter to endeavour to find out the cause of that grief which had put me into such a condition. For that purpose therefore, having brought the fair Philonise into my chamber, he stayed a few minutes, and leaving the room under pretense of business, Philonise remained alone by my bedside, her woman out of respect staying at the other end of the chamber. This divine person, seeing herself alone with me and remembering her father's command, blushed and cast down her eyes in such apparent confusion that I could not help observing it, and interpreting it to the displeasure she took in being so near me, whatever joy I take in the honour your visit does me, madam, said I in a weak voice. Yet since nothing is so dear to me as your satisfaction I would rather dispense with this mark of your goodness to an unfortunate wretch than see you in the least constraint. And why, replied she, with a tone full of sweetness, do you suppose that I am here by constraint when it would be more just to believe that in visiting the valiant defender of my honour and the life of my father I only follow my own inclinations? Ah, madam, I said I, transported with joy at so favourable a speech. The little service I had the happiness to do you does not merit so infinite a favour, and though I had lost the best part of my blood in your defence, I should have been well rewarded with your safety. Since you do not repent of what you have done, replied she, I am willing to be obliged to you for another favour, and ask it with the greater hope of obtaining it, as I must acquaint you, it is by my father's command that I take that liberty who is much interested in my success. There is no occasion, madam, returned I, to make use of any interest but your own, to engage me to obey you, since that is, and will ever be, all powerful with me. Speak then, madam, and let me know what it is you desire of me that I may, once in my life, have the glory of obeying you. It is, said she, blushing still more than before, that you will acquaint us with the cause of that melancholy which has, as we imagine, occasioned your present illness. At these words I trembled, turned pale, and, not daring to discover the true cause of my affliction, I remained in a profound silence. I see, said the beautiful Filonese, that you have no inclination to obey me, and since my request has, as I perceive, given you some disturbance, I will prevail upon my father to press you no farther upon this subject. No, madam, said I, eagerly, the baron shall be satisfied, and you shall be obeyed, though, after the knowledge of my crime, you doom me to that death I so justly merit. Yes, madam, this unfortunate man who has had the glory to acquire your esteem by the little service he did you, has cancelled the merit of that service by daring to adore you. I love you, divine Filonese, and not being able either to repent or cease to be guilty of loving you, I am resolved to die and spare you the trouble of pronouncing my sentence. I beseech you therefore to believe that I would have died in silence but for your command to declare myself, and you should never have known the excess of my love and despair had not my obedience to or will oblige me to confess it. I finished these words with so much fear and confusion that I durst not lift my eyes up to the fair face of Filonese to observe how she received this discourse. I waited therefore trembling for her answer, but finding that in several minutes she spoke not a word, I ventured at last to cast a languishing glance upon the visage I adored, and saw so many marks of disorder upon it that I was almost dead with the apprehensions of having offended her beyond even the hope of procuring her pardon by my death. The Silence of Filonese, continued Sir George, pierced me to the heart, and when I saw her arise from her seat and prepare to go away without speaking, grief took such possession of my spirits that uttering a cry I fell into a swoon, which as I afterwards was informed greatly alarmed the beautiful Filonese, who, resuming her seat, had the goodness to assist her women in bringing me to myself, and when I opened my eyes I had the satisfaction to behold her still by me and all the signs of compassion in her face. This sight a little reassuring me, I ask your pardon, madam, said I, for the condition in which I have appeared before you, and also for that I am not yet dead, as is doubtless your wish, but I will make haste, pursuit I, sighing, to fulfill your desires, and you shall soon be freed from the sight of a miserable wretch who to his last moment will not cease to adore you. It is not your death that I desire, said the fair Filonese, and after having preserved both my father and me from death, it is not reasonable that we should suffer you to die if we can help it. Live therefore, Belmore, pursued she, blushing, and live, if possible, without continuing in that weakness I cannot choose but condemn, yet whatever are your thoughts for the future, remember that your death will be a fault I cannot resolve to pardon. Speaking these words, without giving me time to answer, she left my chamber, and I found something so sweet and favourable in them that I resolved to obey her, and forward my cure as much as I was able. However, the agitation of spirits increased my fever so much that my life was disbared of. The Baron hardly ever left my bedside. Filonese came every day to see me, and seemed extremely moved at the danger I was in. One day, when I was worse than usual, she came close to the bedside and opening the curtain. What, Belmore, said she, do you pay so little obedience to my commands that you resolve to die? Heaven is my witness, madam, said I faintly, that nothing is so dear and sacred to me as your commands, and since out of your superlative goodness you are pleased to have some care for my life, I would preserve it to obey you were it in my power, but alas! Madam, I strive in vain to repel the violence of my distemper. In a few days more I was reduced to the last extremity. It was then that the fair Filonese discovered that she did not hate me, for she made no scruple to eat before me, and those tears she so liberally shed had so powerful an effect upon my mind that the contentment I felt communicated itself to my body and gave such a turn to my distemper that my recovery was not only hoped, but expected. The Baron expressed his satisfaction at this alteration by the most affectionate expressions, and though the fair Filonese said very little, yet I perceived by the joy that appeared in her fair eyes that she was not less interested in my recovery than her father. The Physicians having declared me out of danger, the Baron, who had taken his resolutions long before, came one day into my chamber, and ordering those who attended me to leave us alone, Prince, said he, for in recounting my history to him I had disclosed my true quality. I am not ignorant of that affection you bear my daughter, and am sensible it has occasioned the extremity to which we have seen you reduced. Had you been pleased to acquaint me with your sentiments, you would have avoided those displeasures you have suffered. For though your birth were not so illustrious as it is, yet preferring virtue to all other advantages, I should have esteemed my daughter honored by your love, and have freely bestowed her on you. But since to those rare qualities wherewith heaven has so liberally endowed you, you add also that of a birth so noble. Doubt not, but I shall think myself highly favored by your alliance. If therefore your thoughts of my daughter be not changed, and you esteem her worthy to be your bride, I here solemnly promise you to bestow her upon you as soon as you are perfectly recovered. I leave you to guess, madam, the joy which I felt at this discourse. It was so great that it would not permit me to thank him as I should have done for the inestimable blessing he bestowed upon me. I saw Philonise a few minutes after, and being commanded by her father to give me her hand, she did so without any marks of reluctance, and having respectfully kissed it I vowed to be her slave for ever. Who would have imagined, continued Sir George with a profound sigh, that fortune while she thus seemed to flatter me was preparing to make me suffer the severest torments. I began now to leave my bed, and was able to walk about my chamber. The Baron was making great preparations for our nuptials, when one night I was alarmed by the cries of Philonise's women, and a few moments after the Baron came into my chamber with a distracted air. Oh, son, cried he, for so he always called me. Now Philonise is lost both to you and me. She is carried off by force, and I am preparing to follow and rescue her, if possible, but I fear my endeavours will be fruitless, since I know not which way her ravishers have taken. Oh, sir, cried I, transported both with grief and rage. You shall not go alone. Her rescue belongs to me, and I will affect it, or perish in the attempt. The Baron, having earnestly conjured me not to expose myself to the danger of a relapse by so imprudent a resolution, was obliged to quit me, word being brought him that his horse was ready, and as soon as he was gone out of the room, in spite of all that could be said to prevent me by my attendance, I made them put on my armour, and, mounting a horse I had caused to be ready, sallied furiously out of the castle, breathing out vows of vengeance against the wretch who had robbed me of Philonise. I rode the whole night without stopping. Day appeared when I found myself near a small village. I entered it, and made strict inquiry after the ravisher, Philonise, describing the fair creature, and offering vast rewards to any who could bring me the least intelligence of her. But all was in vain. I could make no discovery. After travelling several days to no purpose, I returned to the castle in order to know if the Baron had been more successful in his pursuit than myself. But I found him oppressed with grief. He had heard no tidings of his daughter, and had suffered no small apprehensions upon my account. Having assured him I found myself very able to travel, I took an affectionate leave of him, promising him never to give over my search till I had found the divine Philonise. But Heaven has not permitted me that happiness, and though I have spent several years in searching for her, I have never been able to discover where she is. Time has not cured me of my grief for her loss, and though by an effect of my destiny another object possesses my soul, yet I do not cease to deplore her misfortune, and to offer up vows for her happiness. And is this all you have to say? said Arabella, whom the latter part of his history had extremely surprised. Where are we to expect a continuance of your adventures? I have faithfully related all my adventures that are worthy your hearing, madam, returns her George, and I flatter myself. You will do me the justice to own that I have been rather unfortunate than faithless, and that Mr. Glanville had little reason to tax me within constancy. In my opinion, resumed Arabella, Mr. Glanville spoke too favourably of you when he called you only in constant, and if he had added the epithet of ungrateful and unjust he would have marked your character better. For in fine, sir, pursued she, you will never persuade any reasonable person that your being able to lose the remembrance of the fair and generous side-dimmeress in your new passion for Philonise was not an excess of levity, but your suffering so tamely the loss of this last beauty and allowing her to remain in the hands of her ravisher while you permit another affection to take possession of your soul is such an outrage to all truth and constancy that you deserve to be ranked among the falsest of mankind. Alas, madam, replied sir George, who had not foreseen the influence Arabella would draw from this last adventure, what would you have an unfortunate man whose hopes have been so often and so cruelly disappointed do? I have bewailed the loss of Philonise with the deluge of tears, I have taken infinite pains to find her but to no purpose, and when heaven-compassionating my sufferings presented to my eyes an object to whom the whole world ought to pay adoration, how could I resist that powerful impulse which forced me to love what appeared so worthy of my affection? Call not, interrupted Arabella, that an irresistible impulse which was only the effect of thy own changing humour. The same excuse might be pleaded for all the faults we see committed in the world, and men would no longer be answerable for their own crimes. Had you imitated the illustrious heroes of antiquity as well in the constancy of their affections, as it must be confessed you have done in their admirable valor, you would now be either sighing in your cave for the loss of the generous Sidimerus or wandering through the world in search of the beautiful Philonise. Had you persevered in your affection and continued your pursuit of that fair one, you would perhaps, ere this, have found her sleeping under the shade of a tree in some lone forest, as Philodaspus did his admirable Delia, or disguised in a slave's habit as Ariobarsanes saw his divine Olympia, or bound happily in a chariot, and have had the glory of freeing her, as Umbrio Mer did the beauteous Agione, or in a ship in the hands of pirates like the incomparable Eliza, or enough, dear niece, interrupted Sir Charles, you have quoted examples sufficient, if this inconstant man would have the grace to follow them. True, sir, replied Aribella, and I would recommend to his consideration the conduct of those illustrious persons I have named, to the end that, pursuing their steps, he may arrive at their glory and happiness, that is the reputation of being perfectly constant, and the possession of his mistress, and be assured, sir, pursued Aribella, looking at Sir George, that heaven will never restore you the crown of your ancestors, and place you upon the throne to which you pretend, while you make yourself unworthy of its protection by so shameful and inconstancy. I perhaps speak with too much freedom to a great Prince, whom though fortune has despoiled of his dominions, is entitled to a certain degree of respect, but I conceive it belongs to me in a particular manner to resent the baseness of that crime to which you are pleased to make me the excuse, and looking upon myself as dishonored by those often prostituted vows you have offered me. I am to tell you that I am highly disobliged, and forbid you to appear in my presence again till you have resumed those thoughts which are worthy of your noble extraction, and are capable of treating me with that respect that is my due. Saying this, she rose from her seat, and walked very majestically out of the room, leaving Sir George overwhelmed with shame and vexation at having conducted the latter part of his narration so ill, and drawn upon himself a sentence which deprived him of all his hopes. 6. Chapter 11 Containing only a few inferences drawn from the foregoing chapters. Mr. Glanville, excessively delighted with this event, could not help laughing at the unfortunate Baronette, who seemed by his silence and downcast looks to expect it. Who would have imagined, said he, that so renowned a hero would have tarnished the glory of his laurels, as my cousin says, by so base and in gratitude. Indeed, Prince, pursued he, laughing, you must resolve to recover your reputation, either by retiring again to your cave and living upon bitter herbs, for the generous Sidemerus, where else wander through the world in search of the divine Filonis. Don't triumph, dear Charles, replied Sir George, laughing in his turn. Have a little compassion upon me, and confess that nothing could be more unfortunate than that damned slip I made at the latter end of my history. But for that my reputation for courage and constancy had been as high as the great Orondates or Juba. Since you have so fertile an invention, said Charles, you may easily repair this mistake. Oddsheart, it is pity you are not poor enough to be an author. You would occupy a garret in Grubstreet with great fame to yourself and diversion to the public. Oh, sir, cried Sir George, I have stock enough by me to set up for an author tomorrow, if I please. I have no less than five tragedies, some quite, others almost finished, three or four essays on virtue, happiness, etc., three thousand lines of an epic poem, half a dozen epitaphs, a few acrostics, a long string of puns, that would serve to embellish a daily paper if I was disposed to write one. Nay then, interrupted Mr. Glanville, you are qualified for a critic at the Bedford Coffee House, where with the rest of your brothers, Demiwits, you may sit in judgment upon the productions of a young, uh, R, or a Johnson, rail with premeditated malice at the Rambler, and for the want of faults turn even its inimitable beauties into ridicule. The language, because it reaches to perfection, may be called stiff, labored, and pedantic. The criticisms, when they let in more light than your weak judgment can bear, superficial and ostentatious glitter, and because those papers contain the finest system of ethics yet extant, damn the queer fellow for over-propping virtue, an excellent new phrase, which those who can find no meaning in, may accommodate with one of their own, then give shrewd hints that some persons, though they do not publish their performances, may have more merit than those that do. Upon my soul, Charles, said Sir George, thou art such an ill-natured fellow that I am afraid thou wilt be sneering at me when I am gone, and wilt endeavor to persuade Lady Bella that not a syllable of my story is true. Speak, pursued he, wilt thou have the cruelty to deprive me of my lawful claim to the great kingdom of Kent, and rob me of the glory of fighting singly against five hundred men? I do not know, said Sir Charles, whether my niece be really imposed upon by the gravity with which you told your surprising history, but I protest I thought you were in earnest at first, and that you meant to make us believe it all to be fact. You are so fitly punished, said Mr. Glanville, for that ill-judged adventure you related last, by the bad opinion Lady Bella entertains of you, that I need not add to your misfortune, and therefore you shall be Prince Viridomer, if you please, since under that character you are obliged not to pretend to any lady but the incomparable Philonise. Sir George, who understood his meaning, went home to think of some means by which he might draw himself out of the embarrassment he was in, and Mr. Glanville, as he had promised, did not endeavor to undeceive Lady Bella with regard to the history he had feigned, being very well satisfied with his having put it out of his power to make his addresses to her, since she now looked upon him as the lover of Philonise. As for Sir Charles, he did not penetrate into the meaning of Sir George's story, and only imagined that by relating such a heap of adventures he had a design to entertain the company and give a proof of the felicity of his invention, and Mr. Glanville, who supposed he had been ridiculing her cousin's strange notions, was better pleased with him than ever. Erebella, however, was less satisfied than any of them. She could not endure to see so brave a knight, who drew his birth from a race of kings, tarnished the glory of his gallant actions by so base of perfidy. Alas! said she to herself, how much reason has the beautiful Philonise to accuse me for all the anguish she suffers, since I am the cause that the ungrateful prince, on whom she bestows her affections, suffers her to remain quietly in the hands of her ravisher, without endeavouring to rescue her. But, oh, too lovely an unfortunate fair one, said she, as if she had been present and listening to her, distinguish I beseech you between those faults which the will and those which necessity make us commit. I am the cause to his true of thy lover's infidelity, but I am the innocent cause, and would repair the evils my fatal beauty gives rise to, by any sacrifice in my power to make. While Erebella, by her romantic generosity, bewails the imaginary afflictions of the full as imaginary Philonise, Mr. Glanville, who thought the solitude she lived in confirmed her in her absurd and ridiculous notions, desired his father to press her to go to London. Sir Charles complied with his request, and earnestly entreated her to leave the castle, and spend a few months in the town. Her year of mourning being now expired she consented to go, but Sir Charles, who did not think his son's health absolutely confirmed, proposed to spend a few weeks at Bath, which was readily complied with by Erebella. End of book 6 chapter 11. End of book 6. The Female Quixote, volume 2, by Charlotte Lennox, book 7, chapter 1. For the shortness of which the length of the next shall make some amends. Sir George, to gratify Erebella's humor, had not presumed to come to the castle for several days, but hearing that they were preparing to leave the country, he wrote a short billet to her, and in the style of romance most humbly entreated her to grant him a moment's audience. Erebella, being informed by Lucy to whom Sir George's gentleman had addressed himself, that he had brought a letter from his master, she ordered her to bring him to her apartment, and as soon as he appeared, how comes it, said she, that the prince your master has had the presumption to importune me again, after my absolute commence to the contrary? The prince, my master, madam, said the man, excessively surprised. I said, Erebella, are you not Sir George's squire, and does he not trust you with his most secret thoughts? I belong to Sir George Belmore, madam, replied the man, who did not understand what she meant. I have not the honor to be a squire. No, interrupted Erebella. To strange, then, that he should have honored you with his commission, pray, what is it you come to request for him? My master, madam, said he, ordered me to get this letter delivered to your ladieship and to stay for your commands. You would persuade me, said she sternly, being provoked that he did not deliver the letter upon his knees, as was the custom in romances, that you are not acquainted with the purport of this audacious billet, since you express so little fear of my displeasure, but no presumptuous, that I am mortally offended with your master, for his daring to suppose I would read this proof at once of his insolence and infidelity. And was you worth my resentment, I would happily make you suffer for your want of respect to me? The poor man, surprised and confounded at her anger, and puzzled extremely to understand what she meant, was opening his mouth to say something, just probable in his own defense, when Erebella preventing him, I know what thou would say, said she. Thou wouldst abuse my patience by a false detail of thy master's size, tears, exclamations, and despair. Indeed, madam, I don't intend to say such a thing, replied the man. No, repeated Erebella, a little disappointed. Bear back his presumptuous billet, which I suppose contains the melancholy account, and tell him, he that could so soon forget the generous Cymeterus for Philonis, and could afterwards be false to that incomparable beauty is not a person worthy to adore Erebella. The man, who could not tell what to make of this message, and feared he should forget these two hard names, humbly entreated her to be pleased to acquaint his master by a line with her intentions. Erebella, supposing he meant to impertune her still more, made a sign with her hand very majestically for him to be gone. But he, not able to comprehend her meaning, stood still with an air of perplexity, not daring to beg her to explain herself, supposing she by that sign required something of him. Why, dost thou not obey my commands? said Erebella, finding he did not go. I will, to be sure, madam, replied he, wishing at the same time secretly she would let him know what they were. And yet, said she hastedly, thou art disobeying me this moment. Did I not bid you get out of my presence and to speak no more of your inconstant master, whose crimes have rendered him the detestation of all generous persons whatever? Sir George's messenger extremely surprised at so harsh a character of his master, and the rage with which the lady seemed to be actuated made haste to get out of her apartment. And, at his return, informed his master very exactly of the reception he had met with repeating all Lady Erebella's words, which, notwithstanding the blunders he made in the names of Cymeterus and Philonise, Sir George understood well enough, and found new occasion of wondering at the excess of Erebella's extravagance, who he never imagined would have explained herself in that manner to his servant. Without endeavouring, therefore, to see Erebella, he went to pay his compliments to Sir Charles, Mr. Glanville, and Miss Glanville, to the last of which he said some soft things that made her extremely regret his staying behind them in the country. End of Book 7, Chapter 1. Book 7, Chapter 2 of the Female Quixote, Volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Herndon Bell. The Female Quixote, Volume 2 by Charlotte Lennox. Book 7, Chapter 2. Not so long, as was first intended, but contains, however, a surprising adventure on the road. The day of their departure being come, they set out in a coach and six, attended by several servants on horseback. The first day's journey passed off without any accident worthy relating, but towards the close of the second they were alarmed by the appearance of three highwaymen, well-mounted at a small distance. One of the servants who had first spied them immediately rode up to the coach and, for fear of alarming the ladies, whispered Mr. Glanville in the ear. Sir Charles, who was sitting next to his son and had heard it, cried out with too little caution, How's this? Are we in any danger of being attacked, say you? Mr. Glanville, without replying, jumped out of the coach, at which Miss Glanville screamed out, and lest her father should follow, whipped into her brother's seat and held him fast by the coat. Arabella, being in a strange consternation at all this, put her head out of the coach to see what was the matter, and observing three or four men of a gentile appearance on horseback, who seemed to halt and gaze at them without offering to advance. Sir, said she to her uncle, Are they younger knights whom you suppose will attack us? Aye, aye, said Sir Charles, they are knights of the road indeed. Aye, suppose we shall have a bout with them, for it will be scandalous to deliver, since we have the odds of our side and are more than a match for them. Arabella, interpreting these words in her own way, looked out again. And seeing the robbers, who had by this time taken their resolution galloping towards them, her cousin and the servants, ranging themselves of each side of the coach as if to defend them, Hold, hold, valiant men, said she, as loud as she could speak, addressing herself to the highwaymen. Do not, by a mistaken generosity, hazard your lives in a combat to which the laws of honor do not oblige you. We are not violently carried away, as you falsely suppose. We go willingly along with these persons, who are our friends and relations. Aye, day, cried Sir Charles, staring at her with great surprise. What's the meaning of all this? Do you think these fellows will mind your fine speeches, niece? I hope they will, sir, said she. Then pulling her cousin, show yourself for heaven's sakes, miss, pursued she, and second, my assurances, that we are not forced away. These generous men come to fight for our deliverance. The highwaymen, who were near enough to hear Arabella's voice, though they could not distinguish her words, gazed at her with great surprise, and finding they would be very well received, thought fit to abandon their enterprise, and galloped away as fast as they were able. Some of the servants made a motion to pursue them, but Mr. Glanville forbade it, and, entering again into the coach, congratulated the ladies upon the escape they had. Since these men, said Arabella, did not come to deliver us out of a mistaken notion that we were carried away by force, it must necessarily follow they had some bad design. And I protest, I know not who to suspect is the author of this, unless the person you vanquished, said she to Mr. Glanville, the other day in a single combat, for the disguised Edward you assured me was dead. But perhaps continued she. It was some lover of Miss Glanville, who designed to make an attempt to carry her away. Me thinks he was too slenderly attended for such an hazardous undertaking. I assure you, Madam, said Miss Glanville, I have no lovers among highwaymen. Highwaymen, repeated Arabella. Why, I, to be sure, Madam, rejoined Sir Charles. What do you take them for? For persons of quality, sir, resumed Arabella. And though they came questionless, either upon a good or a bad design, yet it cannot be doubted but that their birth is illustrious. Otherwise they would never pretend either to fight in our defense or to carry us away. I vow, niece, said Sir Charles, I can't possibly understand you. My cousin, Sir, interrupted Mr. Glanville, has been mistaken in these persons, and has not yet, possibly, believed them to be highwaymen who came to rob us. There is no question, sir, said Arabella, smiling, that if they did not come to defend us, they came to rob you. But it is hard to guess which of us it was of whom they designed to deprive you. For it may very possibly be for my cousin's sake, as well as mine, that this enterprise was undertaken. Pardon me, Madam, said Mr. Glanville. It was willing to prevent his father from answering her absurdities. These men had no other design than to rob us of our money. How, said Arabella, were these cavaliers, who appeared to be in so handsome a garb, that I took them for persons of prime quality were they robbers? I have been strangely mistaken, it seems. However, I apprehend there is no certainty that your suspicions are true, and it may still be, as I say, that they either came to rescue or to carry us away. Mr. Glanville, to avoid a longer dispute, changed the discourse. Having observed with confusion that Sir Charles and his sister seemed to look upon his beloved cousin as one that was out of her senses. Recording by Mary Herndon Bell The Female Quixote, Volume II, by Charlotte Lennox, Book VII, Chapter III which concludes with an authentic piece of history. Arabella, during the rest of this journey, was so wholly taken up and contemplating upon the last adventure that she mixed but little in the conversation. Upon their drawing near Bath the situation of that city afforded her the means of making a comparison between the valley in which it was placed, with the amphitheatrical view of the hills around it, and the valley of Tempe. Twas in such a place as this, said she, pursuing her comparison, that the fair Andranis delivered the valiant Hortensius. And really, I could wish our entrance into that city might be preceded by an act of equal humanity with that of that fair princess. For the gratification of that wish, madam, said Mr. Glanville, it is necessary some person should meet with a misfortune, out of which you might be able to relieve him. But I suppose the benevolence of your disposition may be equally satisfied with not finding any occasion as of exercising it when it is found. Though it be not my fortune to meet with those occasions, replied Erebella, there is no reason to doubt what others do, who possibly have less inclination to afford their assistance than myself. And it is possible, if any other than the Princess of Messina had happened to pass by when Hortensius was in the hands of the Thessalians, he would not have been rescued from the ignominious death he was destined to merely for killing the stork. How, interrupted Sir Charles, put a man to death for killing a stork? Ridiculous! Pray, in what part of the world did that happen? Among the Indians of America, I suppose. No, sir, said Erebella, in Thessaly. The fairest part in all Macedonia, famous for the beautiful valley of Tempe, which excited the curiosity of all travelers whatever. No, not all, madam, returned Sir Charles, for I am acquainted with several travelers who never saw it, nor even mentioned it. And, if it is so famous as you say, I have surprised I never heard of it before. I don't know, said Erebella, what those travelers thought worthy of their notice, but I am certain that if any chance should conduct me into Macedonia, I would not leave it till I saw the valley of Tempe so celebrated by all the poets and historians. Dear cousin, cried Glanville, who could hardly forebear smiling, what chance in the name of wonder should take you into Macedonia at so great a distance from your own country? And so, said Sir Charles, this famous valley of Tempe is in Turkey, why, you must be very fond of traveling indeed, Lady Erebella, if you would go into the great mogul's country, where the people are all pagans, they say, and worship the devil. The country my cousin speaks of, said Mr. Glanville, is in the grand senor's dominions. The great mogul, you know, sir— Well, interrupted, Sir Charles, the great mogul or the grand senor, I know not what you call him, but I hope my niece does not propose to go thither. Not unless I am forcibly carried, hither, said Erebella, but I do determine, if that misfortune should ever happen to me, that I would, if possible, visit the Vale of Tempe, which is in that part of Greece they call Macedonia. Then I am persuaded, replied Sir Charles, you will never see that famous valley you talk of, for it is not very likely you should be forcibly carried away into Turkey. And why do you think it unlikely that I should be carried thither, interrupted Erebella? Do not the same things happen now that did formerly, and is anything more common than ladies being carried by their ravishers into countries far distant from their own? May not the same accidents happen to me that have happened to so many illustrious ladies before me, and may I not be carried into Macedonia by a similitude of destiny with that of a great many beautiful princesses, who though born in the most distant quarters of the world, chanced to meet at one time, in the city of Alexandria, and related their miraculous adventures to each other. And it was for that very purpose they met, madam, said Mr. Glanville, smiling. Why truly, said Erebella, it happened very luckily for each of them, that they were brought into a place where they found so many illustrious companions in misfortune, to whom they might freely communicate their adventures, which otherwise might happily have been concealed, or at least have been imperfectly delivered down to us. However, added she smiling, if I am carried into Macedonia, and by that means have an opportunity of visiting the famous Vale of Tempe, I shall take care not to draw the resentment of the Thessalians upon me by an indiscretion like that of Hortensius. For we pleased to know, sir, said she, addressing herself to her uncle, that his killing a stork, however inconsiderable a matter it may appear to us, was yet looked upon as a crime of a very atrocious nature among the Thessalians. For they have a law which forbids upon pain of death the killing of storks, that Thessaly, being subject to be infested with a prodigious multitude of serpents, which are a delightful food to these sorts of fowls, they look upon them as sacred birds, sent by the gods to deliver them from these serpents and vipers, and though Hortensius, being a stranger, was pardoned through the intercession of the princess Andranius, they made him promise to send another stork into Thessaly, to the end that he might be reputed innocent. End of Book 7, Chapter 3. Book 7, Chapter 4 of the Female Quixote, Volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary Herndon Bell. The Female Quixote, Volume 2, by Charlotte Lennox. Book 7, Chapter 4, in which one of our heroine's whims is justified by some others full as whimsical. This piece of history, with Sir Charles's remarks upon it, brought them into bath. Their lodgings being provided beforehand, the ladies retired to their different chambers, to repose themselves after the fatigue of their journey, and did not meet again till supper was on table. When Miss Glanville, who had eagerly inquired what company was then in the place, and heard there were a great many persons of fashion just arrived, pressed Arabella to go to the pump room the next morning, assuring her she would find a very agreeable amusement. Arabella, accordingly, consented to accompany her. And being told the ladies went in an undress of a morning, she accommodated herself to the custom, and went in a negligent dress. But instead of a capuchin, she wore something like a veil of black gauze, which covered almost all her face and part of her waist, and gave her a very singular appearance. Miss Glanville was too envious of her cousin's superiority in point of beauty to inform her of any oddity in her dress, which she thought might expose her to the ridicule of those that saw her. And Mr. Glanville was too little a critic in ladies' apparel be sensible that Arabella was not in the fashion, and since everything she wore became her extremely, he could not choose but think she dressed admirably well. He handed her, therefore, with a great deal of satisfaction into the pump room, which happened to be greatly crowded that morning. The attention of most part of the company was immediately engaged by the appearance Lady Bella made. Strangers are here most critically criticized, and every new object affords a delicious feast of railery and scandal. The ladies, alarmed by the singularity of her dress, crowded together in parties, and the words, Who can she be? Strange creature, ridiculous! And other exclamations of the same kind were whispered very intelligibly. The men were struck by her figure veiled as she was. Her fine stature, the beautiful turn of her person, the grace and elegance of her motion, attracted all their notice. The phenomena of the veil, however, gave them great disturbance. So lovely a person, seen to promise the owner had a face not unworthy of it, but that was totally hidden from their view for Arabella, at her entrance into the room, had pulled the gauze quite over her face, following therein the custom of the ladies of Cleilia and the grand Cyrus, who in mixed companies always hid their faces with great care. The wits and pretty fellows railed at the envious covering, and compared her to the sun obscured by a cloud, while the bow dimmed the horrid innovation, and expressed a fear lest it should grow into a fashion. Some of the wiser sort took her for a foreigner, others of still more sagacity, supposed for a scots-lady covered with her plaid, and a third sort, infinitely wiser than either, concluded she was a Spanish nun that had escaped from a convent, and had not yet quitted her veil. Arabella, ignorant of the diversity of opinions to which her appearance gave rise, was taken up in discoursing with Mr. Glanville upon the medicinal virtue of the springs, the economy of the baths, the nature of the diversions, and such other topics as the objects around them furnished her with. In the meantime, Ms. Glanville was got amidst a crowd of her acquaintance, who had hardly paid the civilities of a first meeting, before they eagerly inquired who that lady she brought with her was. Ms. Glanville informed them that she was her cousin, and daughter, to the deceased Marquess of Blank. Adding, with a sneer, that she had been brought up in the country, knew nothing of the world, and had some very peculiar notions, as you may see, said she, by that odd kind of covering she wears. Her name and quality were presently whispered all over the room. The men, hearing she was a great heiress, found greater beauties to admire in her person. The ladies, awed by the sanction of quality, dropped their ridicule on her dress, and began to quote examples of whims full as inexcusable. One remembered that Lady J. T. always wore her ruffles reversed, that the Countess of Blank went to court in a farthing gale, that the Duchess of Blank sat astride upon a horse. And a certain lady of great fortune, and nearly allied to quality, because she was not dignified with a title, invented a new one for herself, and directed her servants to say in speaking to her, your honoress, which afterwards became accustomed among all her acquaintance, who morally offended her, if they omitted that instance of respect. Chapter 5 Containing some historical anecdotes, the truth of which may possibly be doubted, as they are not to be found in any of the historians. After a short stay in the room, Arabella expressing a desire to return home, Mr. Glanville conducted her out. Two gentlemen of his acquaintance attending Miss Glanville, Sir Charles detained them to breakfast, by which means they had an opportunity of satisfying their curiosity, and beheld Arabella divested of that veil, which had, as they said, and to his probable they said no more than they thought, concealed one of the finest faces in the world. Miss Glanville had the mortification to see both the gentlemen so charmed with the sight of her cousin's face, that for a long time she sat wholly neglected, but the seriousness of her behavior, giving some little disgust to the youngest of them, who was what the ladies call a pretty fellow, a dear creature, and the most diverting man in the world, he applied himself wholly to Miss Glanville, and soon engaged her in a particular conversation. Mr. Selvin, so was the other gentleman called, was of a much graver cast. He affected to be thought deep red in history, and never failed to take all opportunities of displaying his knowledge of antiquity, which was indeed but very superficial, but having some few anecdotes by heart, which he would take occasion to introduce as often as he could, he passed among many persons for one who, by application and study, had acquired an universal knowledge of ancient history. Speaking of any particular circumstance, he would fix the time by computing the year with the number of Olympiads. It happened, he would say, in the 141st Olympiad. Such an amazing exactness had a suitable effect on his audience, and always procured him a great degree of attention. This gentleman hitherto had no opportunity of displaying his knowledge of history, the discourse having wholly turned upon news and other trifles, when Arabella, after some more inquiries concerning the place, remarked that there was a great difference between the medicinal waters at Bath and the fine springs at the foot of the mountain Thermopylae in Greece, as well in their qualities as manner of using them. And I am of opinion, added she, that Bath, famous as it is for restoring health, is less frequented by infirm persons than the famous springs of Thermopylae, whereby the beauties of Greece, to whom those waters have the reputation of giving new luster. Mr. Selvin, who with all his reading had never met with any account of these celebrated Grecian springs, was extremely disconcerted at not being able to continue a conversation, which the silence of the rest of the company made him imagine, was directed wholly to him. The shame he conceived at seeing himself posed by a girl, in a matter which so immediately belonged to him, made him resolve to draw himself out of this dilemma at any rate. And though he was far from being convinced that there were no such springs at Thermopylae, as Arabella mentioned, yet he resolutely maintained that she must be mistaken in their situation, for to his certain knowledge there were no medicinal waters at the foot of that mountain. Arabella, who could not endure to be contradicted in what she took to be so incontestable a fact, reddened with vexation at his unexpected denial. It should seem, said she, by your discourse, that you are unacquainted with many material passages that passed among very illustrious persons there, and if you knew anything of Pisistratus the Athenian, you would know that an adventure he had at those baths laid the foundation of all those great designs which he afterwards affected to the total subversion of the Athenian government. Mr. Selvin, surprised that this piece of history had likewise escaped his observation, resolved, however, not to give up his point. I think, madam, replied he, with great self-sufficiency, that I am pretty well acquainted with everything which relates to the affairs of the Athenian Commonwealth, and know by what steps Pisistratus advanced himself to the sovereignty. It was a great stroke of policy in him, said he, turning to Mr. Glanville, indeed, to wound himself in order to get a guard assigned him. You are mistaken, sir, said Arabella, if you believe there was any truth in the report of his having wounded himself. It was done either by his rival Lycurgus or Theocrates, who, believing him still to be in love with the phara-sarynthe, whom he courted, took that way to get rid of him. Neither is it true that ambition alone inspired Pisistratus with the design of enslaving his country. Those authors who say so must know little of the springs and motives of his conduct. It was neither ambition nor revenge that made him act as he did. It was the violent affection he conceived for the beautiful Quarante, whom he first saw at the famous Baths of Thermopylae, which put him upon those designs. For seeing that Lycurgus, who was not his rival in ambition but love, would certainly become the possessor of Quarante, unless he made himself tyrant of Athens. He had recourse to that violent method in order to preserve her for himself. I protest, madam, said Mr. Sullivan, casting down his eyes in great confusion at her superior knowledge in history. These particulars have all escaped my notice, and this is the first time I ever understood that Pisistratus was violently in love, and that it was not ambition which made him aspire to sovereignty. I do not remember any mention of this in Plutarch, continued he, rubbing his forehead, or any of the authors who have treated on the affairs of Greece. Very likely, sir, replied Erebella, but you will see the whole story of Pisistratus' love for Quarante with the effects it produced, related at large in Scuderi. Scuderi, madam, said the sage, Mr. Sullivan, I never read that historian. No, sir, replied Erebella, then your reading has been very confined. I know, madam, said he, that Herodotus, Thucydides, and Plutarch have indeed quoted him frequently. I am surprised, sir, said Mr. Glanville, who is excessively diverted at this discovery of his great ignorance and affectation, that you have not read that famous historian, especially as the writers you have mentioned, quote him so often. Why, to tell you the truth, sir, said he, though he was a Roman, yet it is objected to him that he wrote but in different Latin with no purity or elegance, and, you are quite mistaken, sir, interrupted Erebella, the great Scuderi was a Frenchman, and both his Clelia and Arteminis were written in French. A Frenchman was he, said Mr. Sullivan, with a lofty air. Oh, then it is not surprising that I have not read him. I read no authors but the ancients, madam, added he, with a look of self-applause. I cannot relish the moderns at all. I have no taste for their way of writing. But Scuderi must need to be more ancient than Thucydides, and the rest of those Greek historians you mentioned, said Mr. Glanville. How else could they quote him? Mr. Sullivan was here so utterly at a loss that he could not conceal his confusion. He held down his head and continued silent, while the beau, who had listened to the latter part of their discourse, exerted his supposed talent of railery against the unhappy admirer of the ancient authors, and increased his confusion by a thousand sarcasms, which gave more diversion to himself than anybody else. End of Book 7, Chapter 5. Book 7, Chapter 6 of the Female Quixote, Volume 2. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Female Quixote, Volume 2 by Charlotte Lennox, Book 7, Chapter 6, which contains some excellent rules for railery. Mr. Glanville, who had too much politeness and good nature to insist too long upon the ridicule of the character of his acquaintance, changed the discourse, and Arabella, who had observed with some concern the ill-judged railery of the young beau, took occasion to decry the species of wit, and gave it, as her opinion, that it was very dangerous and unpleasing. For truly, she said, it is almost impossible to use it without being hated or feared, and whoever gets a habit of it is in danger of wronging all the laws of friendship and humanity. Certainly, pursued she, looking at the beau, it is extremely unjust to railet one's friend's particular acquaintances. First, choose them well and be as nice as you please in the choice, but when you have chosen them, by no mean play upon them, to his cruel and malicious to divert oneself at the expense of one's friend. However, madam, said Mr. Glanville, who was charmed to hear her talk so rationally, you may give people leave to railet their enemies. Truly, resumed Arabella, I cannot allow that any more than upon friends, for railery is the poorest kind of revenge that can be taken. Methinks, it is mean to railet persons who have a small share of merits, since happily their defects were born with them and not of their own acquiring, and it is a great injustice to descant upon one slight fault in men of parts, to the prejudice of a thousand good qualities. For ought I see, madam, said the beau, you will not allow one to railet anybody. I am of the opinion, sir, said Arabella, that there are very few proper objects of railery, and still fewer who can railet well. The talent of railery ought to be born with a person, no art can infuse it, and those who endeavor to railet in spite of nature will be so far from diverting others that they will become the objects of ridicule themselves. Many other pleasing qualities of wit may be acquired by the pains in study, but railery must be the gifts of nature. It is not enough to have many lively and agreeable thoughts, but there must be such an expression as must convey their full force and meaning. The air in the aspect, the tone of the voice, every part in general, must contribute to its perfection. There ought also to be a great distance between railery and satire, so that one may never be mistaken for the other. Railery ought, indeed, to surprise, and sensibility touch, those to whom it is directed, but I would not have those wounds it makes either deep or lasting. Let those who feel it be hurt like persons who, gathering roses, are pricked by the thorns, and find the sweet smell to make amends. I would have railery raise the fancy and quicken the imagination, the fire of its wit should only enable us to trace its original, and shine as the stars do, but not burn. Yet, after all, I cannot greatly approve a railery, or cease to think it dangerous, and to pursue my comparison, said she, with an enchanting smile, persons who possess the true talent of railery, are like comments, they are seldom seen, and are at once admired and feared. I protest, Lady Bella, said Sir Charles, who had listened to her with many signs of admiration. You speak like an order. One would not imagine, interrupted Mr. Glanville, who saw Arabella's in some confusion at the course praise her uncle gave her, that my cousin could speak so accurately of her quality she never practices, and is easy to judge by what she has said that nobody can railen finer than herself, if she pleases. Mr. Selvin, though he bore her a grudge for knowing more history than he did, yet assured her that she had given the best rules imaginable for railing. Well, but the beau whom she had silenced by her reproof was extremely angry, and supposing it would mortify her to see him pay court to her cousin, he redoubled his astudities to Miss Glanville, who was highly delighted at seeing Arabella less taken notice of by this gay gentleman than herself. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The indifference of Mr. Tinsel convincing Miss Glanville that Arabella was less to be dreaded than she imagined, she had no reluctance at seeing her prepare for her public appearance the next ball night. Having consulted her fancy in a rich silver stuff she had bought for that purpose, a person was sent for to make it. An Arabella, who followed no fashion but her own taste, which was formed on the manners of the heroines, ordered the woman to make her a robe after the same model as Princess Julia's. The Manchuowmaker, who thought it might do her great prejudice with her new customer to acknowledge she knew nothing of the Princess Julia or the fashion of her gown, replied at random and with great pertness that that taste was quite out, and she would advise her ladyship to have her clothes made in the present mode, which was far more becoming. You can never persuade me, said Arabella, that any fashion can be more becoming than that of Princess Julia's, who was the most gallant princess upon earth, and knew better than any other how to set off her charms. It may indeed be a little obsolete now, pursued she, for the fashion could not but alter a little in the compass of near two thousand years. Two thousand years, madam, said the woman, in great surprise. Lord help us tradespeople if they did not alter a thousand times in as many days. I thought your ladyship was speaking of the last month's taste, which I said before is quite out now. Well, replied Arabella, let the present mode be what it will. I insist upon having my clothes made after the pattern of the beautiful daughter of Augustus, being convinced that none other can be half so becoming. What fashion was that, pray, madam, said the woman. I never saw it. How, replied Arabella, have you already forgotten the fashion of the Princess Julia's robe, which you said was wore but last month, or are you ignorant that the Princess Julia and the daughter of Augustus is the same person? I protest, madam, said the woman, extremely confused. I had forgot that till you called it to my mind. Well, said Arabella, make me a robe in the same taste. The manchua-maker was now wholly at a loss in what manner to behave. For being conscious that she knew nothing of the Princess Julia's fashion, she could not undertake to make it without directions, and she was afraid of discovering her ignorance by asking for any, so that her silence and embarrassment persuading Arabella she knew nothing of the matter, she dismissed her with a small present for the trouble she had given her, and had recourse to her usual expedient, which was to make one of her women, who understood a little of the manchua-making business, make a robe for her after her own directions. Ms. Glanville, who imagined she had sent for work women in order to have clothes made in the modern taste, was surprised at her entrance into her chamber to see her dressing for the ball in a habit singular to the last degree. She wore no hoop, and the blue and silver stuff of her robe was only kept by its own richness from hanging close about her. It was quite open around her breast, which was shaded with a rich border of lace, and clasping close to her waist by small knots of diamonds, descended in a sweeping train on the ground. The sleeves were short, wide, and slashed, fastened in different places with diamonds, and her arms were partly hid by half a dozen falls of ruffles. Her hair, which fell in very easy ringlets on her neck, was placed with great care and exactness round her lovely face, and the jewels and ribbons which were all her headdress disposed to the greatest advantage. Upon the whole nothing could be more singularly becoming than her dress, or set off with greater advantage the striking beauties of her person. Ms. Glanville, though she was not displeased to see her persist in her singularity of dress, yet could not behold her look so lovely in it without feeling a secret uneasiness. But consoling herself with the hopes of the ridicule she would occasion, she assumed a cheerful air, approved her taste in the choice of her colors, and went with her at the usual hour to the rooms, attended by Mr. Glanville, Mr. Selvin, and the young beau we have formally mentioned. The surprise Arabella's unusual appearance gave to the whole company was very visible to everyone but herself. The moment she entered the room, everyone whispered the person next to them, and for some moments nothing was heard but the words, The Princess Julia, which was echoed at every corner, and at last attracted her observation. Mr. Glanville and the rest of the company with her were in some confusion at the universal exclamation, which they imagined was occasioned by the singularity of her habit, though they could not conceive why they gave her that title. Had they known the adventure of the Manchuah maker, it would doubtless have easily occurred to them, for the woman had no sooner left Arabella than she related the conference she had with a lady newly arrived, who had required her to make a robe in the manner of the Princess Julia's, and dismissed her because she did not understand the fashions that prevailed 2,000 years ago. This story was quickly dispersed, and for its novelty afforded a great deal of diversion. Everyone longed to see a fashion of such antiquity, and expected the appearance of the Princess Julia with great impatience. It is not to be doubted, but much mirth was treasured up for her appearance, and the occasional humorist had already prepared his accustomed jest, when the sight of the devoted fair one repelled his vivacity, and the designed ridicule of the whole assembly. Scarce had the first tumultous whisper escape the lips of each individual, when they found themselves odd to respect by that irresistible charm in the person of Arabella, which commanded reverence and love from all who beheld her. Her noble air, the native dignity in her looks, the inexpressible grace which accompanied all her motions, and the consummate loveliness of her form, drew the admiration of the whole assembly. A respectful silence succeeded, and the astonishment her beauty occasioned left them no room to discount on the absurdity of her dress. Ms. Glando, who felt a malicious joy at the sneers she expected would be cast on her cousin, was greatly disappointed at the deference which seemed to be paid her, and to vent some part of her spleen, took occasion to mention her surprise at the behavior of the company on their entrance, wondering what they could mean by whispering the Princess Julia to one another. I assure you, said Arabella, smiling, I am not less surprised than you at it, than since they directed their looks at me at the same time. I fancy they either took me for some princess of the name of Julia, who is expected here tonight, or else flatter me with some resemblance to the beautiful daughter of Augustus. The comparison, madam, said Mr. Selvin, who took all occasions to show his reading, is too injurious for you, for I am of the opinion you as much excel that licentious lady in the beauties of your person as you do in the qualities of your mind. I never heard licentiousness imputed to the daughter of Augustus Caesar, said Arabella, and the most her enemies can say of her is that she loved admiration and would permit herself to be beloved and to be told so without showing any signs of displeasure. Bless me, madam, interrupted Mr. Selvin, how strangely do you mistake the character of Julia, though the daughter of an emperor she was, pardon the expression, the most abandoned prostitute in Rome. Many of her intrigues are recorded in history, but to mention only one was not her infamous commerce with Ovid, the cause of his banishment.