CHAP. I.

FIFTEEN years had just elapsed from the birth of the Marquis of Clerville, when he was deprived of [Page 12] his father. His mother had no sooner paid the last rites to her lord's memo­ry, than she removed from the family­seat at Clerville to Paris, taking with her the young Marquis; who, more from necessity than choice, plunged at once into all the dissipation of the capital. His mother's first care, on her arrival, was to procure for her son a commission in the guards, that he might have an opportunity of mix­ing with men of his own rank.—Here commenced his acquaintance with the Baron Fitzou. In him he found a true friend, who was willing to sacrifice even his life in his ser­vice; and who endeavoured, but [Page 13] in vain, to prevent the misfortunes which afterwards befel him. The Marquis continued in the guards till he was of age; when that good sense of which he was possessed, led him to see the folly of a life spent in a conti­nual round of dissipation and idle visits. He therefore determined to quit the service, and retire to Clerville, where he hoped to spend his time more to his own satisfaction than he had hi­therto done. He imparted his design to no one but his friend the Baron; who, however foolish he might think it, seeing his friend determined, gave his approbation. The Marquis, de­lighted to find his plan approved by [Page 14] Fitzou, resigned his commission; and without staying to hear the censures of his companions, set out for Cler­ville, having first requested his mo­ther to pass the summer with him: With which request she complied, in hopes to reclaim her son, whom she now considered as mad. On his ar­rival at Clerville, he found the house much out of order, and the grounds like a desart; but he was too much determined with respect to his plan, to have his resolution shaken by so slight an obstacle.

CHAP. II.

THE Marquis had scarcely reached Clerville, when he received let­ters from all his quondam companions, rallying him in the strongest manner, on a resolution which, they affirmed, was condemned by all Paris, and which had exposed him to the ridicule of all his friends and acquaintances. To these letters the Marquis returned no answer, but that he must submit [Page 16] with patience to their ridicule, as he was determined to persevere in a plan which to him appeared to be highly rational. In a few days the Marchio­ness appeared, laden with epistolary admonitions from his uncles; which, bating that they were treated with more apparent respect, met with no better fate than did those of his gay companions.

The Marchioness attempted to rally her son on his romantic plan; but finding he was not to be laughed out of it, she endeavoured to prevail by reasoning with him. Her arguments, however, produced no better effect [Page 17] than her railleries; and the Marquis remained fixed in his intention of set­tling at Clerville. The summer was spent in fruitless remonstrances on the part of the Marchioness, and unheed­ed replies on that of the Marquis. When the season drew near when the Marchioness was to return to the circle of her gay friends, she became more urgent than ever that her son should return with her to the honours of Versailles and the amusements of Pa­ris. But having made one great ef­fort, and that proving unsuccessful, she bid him adieu; hoping neverthe­less to reclaim him, after he should have spent a solitary winter in the [Page 18] rookery at Clerville. On her arrival at Paris, all his former companions flocked to her house, not doubting that they should there find the Mar­quis, cured of all his romantic ideas. But on hearing that he had withstood all his mother's intreaties, and their ridicule, they despaired of seeing him till next winter.

The Marquis, in the mean time, was pursuing his studies and his im­provements with vigour. He spent the morning in viewing his estate and improving his pleasure-grounds; while his afternoons were either devoted to study, or to visiting those of his neigh­bours, [Page 19] the narrowness of whose for­tunes prevented them from shining in the beau monde.

CHAP. III.

IN this manner had the whole win­ter elapsed, undistinguished by any remarkable event, when the Marquis received a visit from his old friend the Baron Fitzou, with whom he had kept up a constant correspondence; but who, till then, had been prevent­ed from visiting Clerville by his ab­sence from France. The Marquis re­ceived [Page 21] him with all those demonstra­tions of joy which are natural at the sight of one who is dear to us, and from whom we have been long sepa­rated. The Baron expressed the ut­most satisfaction at finding his friend pleased with the plan which he had chosen, and which he owned had not at first appeared to him so ra­tional as it now did.

A few days after the Baron's arri­val, as they were walking in the park, they observed at some distance a car­riage; which, on a closer inspection, proved to be that of the Marchioness. On the sight of her son, she alighted; [Page 22] was by him received with the utmost respect, and conducted to the castle; where dinner being served up, pre­vented those reflections on his mode of life, which he above all things dreaded.

The cloth was, however, no sooner removed, than she inquired, whe­ther he did not now see the folly of his conduct, in retiring from the world at a time when he was most qualified for enjoying it? To this inquiry the Marquis made answer, That had his manner of life been honoured with her approbation, he should have been completely happy, as nothing but her [Page 23] dislike of it could render it disagree­able. The Marchioness, by no means edified with an answer so diametrically opposite to what she wished, after ha­ving staid a few days at the castle, re­turned to Versailles, despairing of ever reclaiming her son.

The Baron soon after received a summons to attend the King; and the Marquis was left, by his depar­ture, in his usual solitude. A soli­tude, however, which was frequently and agreeably interrupted by the vi­sits of Monsieur Fenelon, the curé of the parish: a man of extensive learn­ing, gentle manners, true piety, and [Page 24] liberal sentiments.—With such a neighbour, it was impossible that the Marquis should ever feel ennui. By his assistance he had recovered his knowledge of the classics, and was be­come an excellent scholar.

CHAP. IV.

THE goddess of Content had hi­therto resided with her favour­ite votary at Clerville: but the melan­choly hour of her exile was at hand, and a less friendly deity was soon to fix his abode there. The Marquis had not as yet burnt incense at the altar of Cytherea; but the little god, jealous of his own and his mother's [Page 26] honour, aimed a gall-steeped arrow at his heart; and he who, till then, had never sacrificed, was doomed himself to fall an early victim at the shrine of love.

The Marquis, one day as he was riding, being overtaken by a storm of thunder and lightning, repaired for shelter to a neighbouring farm-house; the beauty of whose situation, as well as its vicinity, tempted him to visit it. On his entrance, he found the ma­ster, his wife, and only daughter, seated at a rustic board. He no soon­er appeared, than he was invited to partake of the rural repast; an invi­tation [Page 27] which he accepted without he­sitation. But the lustre of Maria's eyes so engaged his attention, that it was with difficulty he could comply with the pressing invitations of the old people to eat. The storm disappear­ing, he with reluctance quitted the cottage; where, at that instant, he would have been glad to spend his days, provided he might enjoy the company of Maria.

Maria's charms had made too deep an impression on the heart of the Mar­quis to permit of his not soon repeat­ing his visit. Accordingly, in a few days, on pretence of thanking them [Page 28] for their hospitality, he returned to the cottage (the inhabitants of which had now learnt the rank of their guest), that he might contemplate the charms of the fair rustic. As he ap­proached the house, he perceived Maria sitting under the shade of a large elm, with a book in her hand. He instantly alighted; and, advan­cing, addressed himself to her. But Maria, disconcerted at his appearance, and reflecting on the easy manner in which they had formerly treated him, fled to the house with the utmost pre­cipitation, dropping her book; which was eagerly seized by the Marquis. He then proceeded to the cottage.

[Page 29] The old people, distressed to the last degree at the sight of the Mar­quis, apologised, in an aukward manner, for the treatment he had ex­perienced at his former visit; decla­ring, that nothing but their ignorance of his rank could excuse their con­duct. The Marquis, who was ever amiable, was by no means inclined to be harsh to any thing connected with Maria. He received their ex­cuses with politeness; begged them to be composed; thanked them for their hospitality; and, notifying to them his intention of dining with them, restored to the cottage its usual tranquillity.—The old people, de­fighted [Page 30] with the Marquis, prepared for dinner, whilst the amusement of their noble guest was entrusted to Ma­ria.—A task pleasing in itself; but for which she was then but ill quali­fied, on account of her embarrassment and nescience of the world.

Dinner, however, soon released Maria from her tete-a-tete with the Marquis; and the whole family sat down to a neat but frugal board. Dinner being ended, the Marquis re­quested Maria's leave to visit the dairy. With this request she could not re­fuse to comply; and accordingly at­tended him to the scene of his hap­piest [Page 31] hours. During their conversa­tion, he was so struck with her mo­desty and good sense, that he asked permission to repeat his visit. Maria blushed consent; and the Marquis having taken leave of the old people, returned to Clerville, leaving Maria in a state of mind to which she had been a stranger previous to her ac­quaintance with him.

CHAP. V.

BUT before I proceed farther in my narrative, it will be neces­sary to give some description of Ma­ria's mental accomplishments; for as her personal charms beggared all de­scription, I shall pass them over in si­lence. Her father, though not a man of much learning himself, had (by advice of the Curé) spared no pains [Page 33] on her education. Music, painting, &c. were accomplishments for which she was indebted to the vicinage of a convent, where she was placed from twelve to fifteen. The Curé had early implanted in her breast those senti­ments of piety and virtue which, aid­ed by an uncommon sortitude, sup­ported her in those trying situations in which she was afterwards placed.

It is not to be wondered, that by a woman so accomplished, and so hand­some, a deep impression should be made on a sensible heart. The Mar­quis frequently repeated his visits; which at last alarming the old people, [Page 34] they now cautioned their daughter against him, as a man who, however amiable he might appear, would not, should opportunity offer, hesitate to ruin her. Maria, terrified by this admonition, received the Marquis at his next visit with a coldness that asto­nished him. He was not long at a loss to guess the cause of this altera­tion in her conduct, from whom he now dreaded an eternal separation. The mention of marriage was not to be thought of; and, from the check he had just received, he had no great hopes of success on any other ground.

[Page 35] In this dilemma, he applied for assistance to an aunt of Maria's; who rendered herself unworthy of such a niece, by concurring with the Mar­quis in his design upon her virtue. She undertook to deliver to Maria the Marquis's proposals; which were such as might be expected from a young man deeply enamoured, whom respect for the absurd maxims of the world prevented from matching him­self with one of inferior rank. They were received by Maria with deserved contempt; and she gave the Marquis to understand, that she never more would see a man who had been ca­pable [Page 36] of offering her such an in­sult.

CHAP. VI.

THE Marquis seeing all hopes of possessing Maria at an end, gave himself up to despair. The solitary life which he led, served only to in­crease his passion. Maria's image was ever present to his mind; and the day was spent cursing his unhappy fate, born to honours which were the only source of his misfortunes, [Page 38] and of which he wished it possible to di­vest himself; whilst the night was pas­sed in dreaming of his happier hours, which were now past recovery fled.

Maria in the mean time had at­tempted, but in vain, to efface from her mind the impression which the Marquis had made on it: for not­withstanding his ungenerous offer, she loved him still. Her friends re­marked with grief, that her former ferenity and cheerfulness were gone. She who was once the gayest on the green, now sat drooping at the side of a brook, that seemed to sympa­thise with her wo; whilst the hills, [Page 39] which once re-echoed her happy strains, heard nothing but sighs.—Thus did Maria spend each sad revol­ving day; doomed to love, yet for­bid to hope, and conscious that her birth was the only obstacle to her hap­piness.

Affairs were in this situation when the Marchioness made her appear­ance at the castle; for the news of the Marquis's amour had reached Paris, with this embellishment, that he was soon to be united to Maria. On her arrival, she found the Mar­quis plunged in the deepest melan­choly. She urged him with the ut­most [Page 40] vehemence to return to Paris. To this, however, he would by no means consent, but promised to visit England: a country for which he entertained a high respect; esteeming the English a free, a noble, and a generous people.—The Marchio­ness, on receiving her son's promise to leave Clerville in a few days, left the castle without mentioning Ma­ria, having learnt that there was no probability of his marrying her.

CHAP. VII.

NO sooner was the Marchioness gone, than the Marquis set out for Dunkirk, without venturing to bid adieu to Maria. A few days landed him at Dover; whence he pro­ceeded to Canterbury; where, tho' no bigot, he visited the shrine of the mitred martyr. This ceremony per­formed, he set out for the capital, [Page 42] where his rank introduced him to the best company; and in which, had he not been sunk in the deepest melan­choly, he would have shone with lustre: But he was so much altered by his misfortunes, that that wit which had rendered him the idol of Paris was banished, and he always appeared as if he was any where but where he was.

In compliance, however, with his mother's commands, the Marquis spent two years in England; during which time he visited Bath, Wind­sor, the environs of London, and South Wales; where he was much [Page 43] struck with the beautiful scenery which every where presented itself to his view. Scenes so romantic did not fail to inspire the Marquis with those ideas which he endeavoured to banish from his mind. During his residence in England, he constantly corresponded with the Baron; who had his positive orders to send an ac­count of Maria in every letter.

The time of his banishment being now expired, the Marquis set out on his return to France; and a few days landed him at Clerville.

CHAP. VIII.

AS he was riding one evening soon after his arrival, he obser­ved a female figure reclined by the side of a brook. He immediately jumped off his horse; and having fa­stened him to a tree, advanced gently to contemplate the fair unknown.—The trees that overshadowed the brook prevented her from seeing the [Page 45] Marquis; who, on a nearer approach, discovered it to be his loved Ma­ria.

At the sight of Maria, the Marquis thought himself completely happy; for as she had declared she would ne­ver receive another visit from him, he had lost all hopes of seeing her again. He threw himself at her feet; and eagerly seizing her hand, kissed it be­fore she was sufficiently recovered from her surprise to discover who he was. No sooner, however, was this discovery made, than Maria swooned. The Marquis slew in an agony to get some water from the brook. He [Page 46] all means to restore her; but in vain for some time. At last, however, she opened her eyes; and casting them on the Marquis, fainted once more. Shocked at her relapse, he stood mo­tionless with grief and despair, till he was rouzed by the arrival of one of his servants; who, happening to pass that way, and observing his master's horse, had entered the grove in search of him, dreading lest he had met with some accident. The ser­vant was no sooner perceived by the Marquis, than he was dispatched to the castle for salts, &c. but with or­ders to mention to no one the situa­tion in which he had found his ma­ster. [Page 47] The Marquis in the mean time endeavoured, by throwing cold wa­ter on her face, to recover Maria; and he was fortunate enough to suc­ceed: for when the servant returned, he found her seated on a bank, recli­ning on his master's arm, but very weak.

Maria had no sooner recovered from her second fainting-fit, than the Marquis intreated her to be compo­sed; assuring her that no violence should ever be offered her by him. A little comforted by these assuran­ces, she entered into conversation with him, desiring him to permit her [Page 48] to return home, and to promise ne­ver to disturb her retreat. For tho' she was not happy there, nor ever could be any where, yet she there en­joyed a sort of repose, which his pre­sence would infallibly destroy. She owned that she had a great regard for him; a regard which would pre­vent her from ever being any one's but his. But as she never could be his consistently with her honour, she was determined never to be his at all. Her happiness was a sacrifice she had not with-held; but her honour should ever remain sacred and inviolate.

The Marquis begged pardon for the [Page 49] offers he had made her through her aunt, and pleaded in excuse the ex­cess of his passion; observing, that the foolish maxims of the age in which they lived, had placed insupe­rable obstacles between them and hap­piness. He assured her, that it now gave him the highest pleasure, to think that she had treated his offers as they deserved; and concluded with promising never more to make at­tempts of a similar nature.

Maria was by this time sufficiently recovered to think of returning home: and accordingly, with the assistance of the Marquis, she reached the dairy; [Page 50] the scene of happy hours that were no more to return, and on which they reflected with pleasure mixed with regret. Here Maria bid adieu to the Marquis, strictly forbidding him to visit her on any pretence whatever, and returned to the cottage; where her presence occasioned as much joy as had her absence uneasiness.

CHAP. IX.

THE Marquis, in the mean time, returned to Clerville more en­amoured than ever; and determined, that, as he could not confer the title of Marchioness of Clerville on Maria, no other woman ever should enjoy it. As soon as he found himself at the castle, he retired to his dressing­room, that he might be at leisure to [Page 52] indulge those melancholy reflections that engrossed his mind. Here he sat meditating on his unhappy fate till midnight, when he was alarmed by the horn of an express who rode into the court-yard. He immediately flew down; and snatching the letter from the bearer, opened it with the utmost anxiety. He no sooner cast his eyes on the writing, than he knew it to be the Baron's, who requested his immediate presence at Paris on busi­ness of the utmost importance. With this request the Marquis hesitated not to comply; and three days after, he reached the capital.

[Page 53] On his arrival, the Baron informed him, that an uncle of his had died at Lisbon, and had left him a consider­able property; of which, however, he could not take possession but in per­son; and he requested the Marquis to accompany him thither. The Marquis wished not to comply: at the same time, he could not refuse any thing to the Baron; and so he at length determined to bid adieu to Clerville castle and to Maria for a few months.

Before he embarked, however, he wrote to Maria, regretting his being obliged to leave Clerville: For tho' [Page 54] he could not see her, as she had not yet consented to receive his visits, he had the pleasure of hearing of her every day. Of this pleasure, how­ever, he was now to be deprived; and in a few days the two friends em­barked for Portugal.

CHAP. X.

THEIR voyage was prosperous till they were within a few days fail of their destined port, when one morn­ing an Algerine corsair was discover­ed bearing down upon them. The appearance of this worthy follower of Mahomet excited very disagreeable sensations in the breasts of the crew, as their vessel was of force consider­ably [Page 56] inferior to that of the Corsair. He was now, however, too near to admit of their escaping; they there­fore determined to sell their lives or their liberties dearly. The Marquis, though a soldier, had never seen ser­vice. He embraced with ardour this opportunity of showing that he had not resigned his sword because he knew not how to use it. A few mi­nutes brought them close to each other, and a mutual discharge of broadsides took place. The action continued for twenty minutes, when the Marquis ordered out the grap­pling irons, and united the Corsair [Page 57] to them by ties of not a very ductile nature. His ardour increasing every minute, he at last determined to board them. In this bold attempt he succeeded, and found himself in an instant on the deck of the Corsair. Several of the crew attempted to fol­low the example of the Marquis, but perished in the attempt. Some few succeeded, but were soon sacrificed to the rage of the enemy; who find­ing themselves boarded, fought with the utmost fury. The Marquis, how­ever, had penetrated unhurt into the middle of the deck, where he was made prisoner; as the aim of the [Page 58] Algerine cruisers is always to take as many prisoners as possible.

At that instant the Corsair lost her main-mast and considerable part of her rigging. This being observed by the French, they quickly made off, notwithstanding the threats and in­treaties of the Baron, who was wound­ed in attempting to follow his friend, and now sat upon the deck in a chair, to see if any thing could be done to rescue him. But the French being satisfied with the reception they had already met with, did not choose to hazard the event of a second en­gagement; and a fresh gale spring­ing [Page 59] up, soon wasted them beyond the reach of their disabled ene­my.

CHAP. XI.

THE Baron still sat on the deck, beholding, with inexpressible anguish, the prison of his friend; a prison into which he had been led by his friendship for him. While he was indulging those melancholy reflec­tions, his wound had bled so much that he was quite faint: but, faint as he was, he ordered out the pinnace, [Page 61] and determined to go and share the fortune of his friend. But not one of the crew would undertake to man it, expecting that as soon as they should come within reach of the Cor­sair's guns they should all perish.—The Baron finding that neither threats nor intreaties would prevail on the crew to row him to the Corsair, gave himself up to despair. He was now so weakened by his wound, that this new agitation threw him into a faint­ing fit; during which his servant, as­sisted by some of the crew, carried him to the cabin; where the surgeon dressed his wound, and put him to bed. He slept for some hours; but [Page 62] no sooner awoke than it was evident he was delirious. He called on the Marquis; he offered to beggar him­self to procure his ransom; and asked pardon of Maria for having deprived her of her Clerville.

In this manner he continued ra­ving for some hours. At length he fell asleep; and having taken a com­posing draught, slept sound for some time. When he awoke he seemed much better, and was soon able to sit on the deck for the benefit of air. The winds had proved contrary ever since they had parted with the Cor­sair; but they were now favourable, [Page 63] and a few days landed the Baron in Lisbon; where his first employment was to prepare for a voyage to Al­giers, which he determined to under­take as soon as the state of his wound would permit him.

CHAP. XII.

THE wished-for hour at length came, and the Baron embarked for Algiers; where he arrived safe after a short passage. He thought, that if he was once landed he should have very little difficulty to procure the freedom of his friend, having brought an immense sum with him for that purpose. In this, however, [Page 65] he was disappointed: for on his ar­rival at Algiers, he found that the captain of the Corsair had sold his friend to he did not know whom. Distressed to the last degree at this melancholy piece of intelligence, he inquired how long he had been sold. They informed him, some weeks; and that he was gone far up into the coun­try, but to what place they did not know. In this dilemma he determi­ned to set out in search of his friend; having procured an order from the Dey that he should be delivered up to him, on paying the price which had been paid to the captain.

[Page 66] For a long while his searches were unsuccessful: but after having expe­rienced nothing but disappointment for seven months, he at last found the Marquis employed as a gardener in a retired part of the country. To attempt a description of the feelings of these two friends on this joyful meeting, would be superfluous; and to execute such a description, would be impracticable. I shall therefore ha­sten to inform the reader of what happened to the Marquis after he was taken prisoner.

His treatment on board was not so harsh as might have been expected; [Page 67] and the Corsair's being much dama­ged put an early period to his con­finement, as the captain made for Algiers with all possible speed. His first care, on his arrival, was to dis­pose of the Marquis, lest the Dey should put in his claim. The person who bought him resided in the most remote part of the country; and find­ing him a good gardener (that ha­ving been one of the Marquis's amuse­ments at Clerville), he committed to him the care of his garden. This trust the Marquis executed with so much fidelity and ability, that he soon became a great favourite with his new master.

[Page 68] The old Mahometan was walking in his garden when the Baron en­tered. The Marquis and he flew in­to one another's arms; in which si­tuation they remained for some mo­ments, to the astonishment of the mussulman. At last, however, ad­vancing towards them, he received from the Baron the Dey's order for the liberty of the Marquis. He read it over two or three times with at­tention, as it contained a short ac­count of the Marquis's misfortunes. He then returned it, assuring them by their interpreter that it was totally useless; for that from that time the Marquis was his own master; but on [Page 69] one condition only, that he did not offer to pay for his liberty.

The two friends looked at each other with astonishment. At length the Marquis broke silence; decla­ring, that if these were the only terms on which he could procure his freedom, he would end his days in slavery. An interesting contest en­sued between the Marquis and his master; in which the former at last proved victorious, and the generous Mahometan was constrained to ac­cept of a thousand pounds as an equivalent for the Marquis's free­dom, [Page 70] —a sum much greater than what he had given for him.

At the request of the Turk, they deferred their departure for some days; during which time they wrote to France, informing their friends of the joyful event that had taken place. The hour at length arrived when they were to bid adieu to the gene­rous Mahometan; who, whatever his religious principles were, would have done honour to any religion. He embraced them at parting; and earnestly recommending them to the protection of the prophet, bade them farewell. The Marquis could not [Page 71] refrain from tears, at leaving a man whose conduct towards him had been so noble and disinterested. He bid adieu to a state of servitude, with feelings not common on such an oc­casion; and could he have forgotten his loved Maria, he would have felt still more than he did at quitting the generous Mahometan.

CHAP. XIII.

THE two friends in a few days arrived at Algiers, whence the Marquis insisted on sailing to Lis­bon before they returned to France; declaring, that as the Baron had sa­crificed his own interests to his hap­piness, he must now accompany him to settle them. To this the Baron with reluctance consented; and the [Page 73] day for sailing was fixed, when one evening as the Marquis and he were at supper, a number of armed men suddenly entered, and seizing the Marquis, carried him off, notwith­standing all the resistance the Baron could make.

Both the one and the other know­ing the violences that are daily com­mitted under that government, de­spaired of ever meeting more. But Clerville was doomed to suffer un­numbered woes ere death should sign his release. He found himself con­veyed to a large house about three miles from the town, which had all [Page 74] the appearance of a palace. Here he passed the night; and it would be su­perfluous to add, a sleepless one. The morning having made its appearance, he looked out of his windows, and beheld himself situated in a delight­ful garden, which Nature seemed to have formed in some lavish hour. Nor had art been less liberal. It was all perfection; and appeared calcula­ted for the abode of love and peace, if ever they had chosen to reside to­gether.

Whilst the Marquis was reflecting on his own situation, he was inter­rupted by the appearance of a female [Page 75] slave, who accosting him in the lan­guage of the country, desired him to banish fear; for that he had been sei­zed only to be conducted to bliss: That a beautiful young widow had seen him as he passed the window the other day; and was so much struck with him, that she determined to con­fer on him, herself and all her im­mense riches: that as soon as he had dressed himself in the Turkish habit he was to repair to her, and that she would be his conductress.

The Marquis determined to obey immediately; and having dressed him­self in a dress which was brought him [Page 76] by the slave, he followed her into a large room, at the upper end of which he beheld, seated on a sofa, a fine female figure, most richly adorned. She advanced a few steps to meet him; and having saluted him in the manner of the country, she seated him by herself on the sofa, and thus addressed him.

‘Christian, my slave has already informed you where I first saw you, and how much I was struck with your appearance. If your mind be as beautiful as your person, I shall have no reason to repent the step I have taken. Should that prove the [Page 77] case, I will render your life com­pletely happy. If, on the other hand, I shall have reason to regret my con­duct towards you, expect to feel the effects of my vengeance. On the death of my husband, I determined to become a Christian, and to marry one of your faith; as with you the women are treated like women, and not like slaves; and one man is not, as I am told, allowed to have more than one wife. These reasons deter­mined me to marry a Christian; and as I am much pleased with your ap­pearance, I will confer upon you my riches and my person. I have learn­ed from your attendants that you are [Page 78] not married; I therefore doubt not of your accepting my offer. There remains then nothing for us to do, but to celebrate the marriage accord­ing to your rites; and then we will embark for your country with my treasure, which will enable you to live in splendor and magnificence.’

To this address the Marquis listen­ed with the utmost attention, but was perfectly at a loss how to reply. At last, however, after having paused for a considerable time, he answered in the following terms:

[Page 79] ‘I am sensible of the distinguished honour you intend me, when you se­lect me to be the partner of your riches and your bed. It is with re­luctance I deline an honour so flat­tering and so enviable: but vows which I have made,—vows of a most solemn nature,—vows that must for ever remain sacred and inviolate—render it impossible for me to accept that happiness which you so generously offer. I shall, however, remember with gratitude, and reflect with re­gret, on this day's adventure. I am sorry that my attachment to one who is now far distant, and who counts with anxiety the hours that inter­vene [Page 80] between this time and that of my expected return, precludes me from returning that affection you pro­fess for me. It is true we are not united by the rites of our faith; nay, we never may be so: but we have exchanged the most solemn vows, if we do not marry each other, never to marry at all. From these most sacred obligations, no power what­ever can release me. You must not therefore do me the injustice to at­tribute my refusal of your offer to in­sensibility of your uncommon charms, but to the violence of an unhappy passion, which will, I fear, one day prove my ruin.’

[Page 81] During the Marquis's discourse, Zara's eyes flashed fire; but when he had concluded it, she gave no bounds to her resentment. She felt herself injured, if not insulted, by this pre­ference given to another; and deter­mined from that instant to effect the ruin of the Marquis. He was by her slaves reconducted to his prison, where he waited with fortitude the event of a transaction from which he had every thing to dread: for the Marquis well knew, that nothing is so dangerous as a slighted female.

He had not, however, been long in his confinement, before the Baron en­tered [Page 82] his apartment, and once more restored him to freedom. For, ha­ving obtained an order from the Dey for that purpose, he easily discovered the prison of his friend; and in a few minutes conducted him to the har­bour, where they embarked for Lis­bon; well knowing they had every thing to fear from the resentment of Zara. After a good passage, they landed in Portugal; where the Mar­quis found letters from all his friends, congratulating him on the recovery of his liberty. But these letters pro­ved unsatisfactory. They contained not the name of Maria; for whom his attachment was as great as ever, [Page 83] and of whom it will now be proper to say something.

CHAP. XIV.

AFTER the Marquis's depart­ture, Maria relapsed into her former melancholy. She generally spent the whole day on that spot which had witnessed the affecting interview between her and her lover, and which has been already described. Heaven, however, commiserating her sorrows, sent to her relief one of the most [Page 85] amiable women that ever lived. A­delaide now made her appearance at the cottage. As her history is some­thing singular, and as she was the friend of Maria, the reader will, I hope, pardon my inserting a short ac­count of it.

Adelaide was the only daughter of the Baron and Baroness D'Aranda. Her father and mother lived in the greatest splendor and magnificence; and by the time Adelaide had reach­ed the age of sixteen, found them­selves necessitated to quit Paris, and retire to the family-feat at Cler­mont.

[Page 86] The Baron, to add to the many other bad qualities he possessed, was a gamester; and some unlucky hit had almost ruined his affairs. The man who retires from the world only be­cause he can no longer afford to live in it, after he has ruined himself by vice, does not generally make the most agreeable companion, because he is never happy in himself—It is to the good man only that retirement is pleasant. With such a companion as the Baron, however, was Adelaide doomed to spend her days when in the bloom of life; she was suddenly torn from the admiration of Paris, and the friends of her youth, to lin­ger [Page 87] in a gloomy solitude. But this she could have borne, had it been the only source of her unhappiness. But her father's temper, ever bad, was now so soured by his recent losses, that he vented his spleen on every one who came in his way.

The Baroness, his wife, was a mild amiable woman, who endeavoured to soften her own lot and that of her daughter, but to no purpose. The Baron was continually cursing that bad luck which had reduced him to his present unhappy state; and, in­stead of being cured of his passion for gaming, he was constantly expressing [Page 88] his ardent wishes that he might soon be in a condition to take the field once more.

As soon as they had arrived at Clermont, the Baroness and her daughter used every means to render the Baron's life as pleasant as pos­sible. They invented little amuse­ments for him; and tried, but in vain, to make him relish his new si­tuation. He grew more morose than ever; and they remained still un­happy.

Matters had continued in this state [Page 89] for near a year, when the Baroness was taken ill. She found that she was dying; and having sent for A­delaide, she gave her her will, in which she had left her all she had to dispose of, viz. three thousand livres a-year; appointing her cousin Mon­sieur de Vâtres her guardian. With tears in her eyes, she recommended it to her to live with her father as long as she could, and to do every thing in order to please him. At the same time she added, ‘If you find yourself obliged to leave him, which I fear will soon be the case, retire to Mr de Vârtes, who will protect you; [Page 90] and your own income will support you.’

She had scarce finished this dis­course, when the Baron entered the room. He was just returned from a card-table at the next town, to which he went as often as he had money, in hopes of repairing his fortunes by some lucky stroke. The servants had informed him of his wife's ill­ness; and he appeared, when he en­tered, in great agitation. The Ba­roness no sooner saw him, than she put forth her hand to take hold of his; and having had just strength [Page 91] enough to recommend her daughter to his protection, expired.

CHAP. XV.

ADELAIDE, upon the death of her mother, was so much af­flicted, that she was thrown into a vio­lent fever, and confined to her cham­ber for seven weeks. On her reco­very, she found her situation worse than ever. The Baron had been but little hurt by the death of his wife; and the impression which that event [Page 93] had made was now totally effaced from his mind. He informed his daughter of his intention to marry her to the Duc d'Albeville, an old worn-out rake; and required her consent. By this match he was de­termined to repair his ruined fortune; for as the Duc was immensely rich, and Adelaide was extremely hand­some, the Baron expected that the greatest advantages would accrue to him from the connection.

Adelaide, shocked at the brutality of her father, and the disgusting manners of her lover, determined to free herself from both. As her fa­ther [Page 94] had declared his resolution, she knew she could only escape by put­ting herself under the protection of her friend and guardian Mr de Vâtres; which she took the first op­portunity of doing. He received her with the greatest kindness; assured her of his friendship and support; and desired she would consider his house as her own. Adelaide thanked him for his goodness; but requested his leave to reside in the country rather than at Paris. She therefore desired him to choose some place of retire­ment, where she might pass her days in regretting the loss of an amiable mother.

[Page 95] With this request Mr de Vâtres complied, and placed her with Maria's father, who was a tenant of his. The old man gladly embraced the propo­sal, hoping that so agreeable a com­panion would be a great acquisition to Maria, who was now in a decli­ning state. The two ladies soon be­came attached to each other. Ade­laide had suffered; she therefore knew how to pity. She requested Maria to give her an account of her life and misfortunes: On hearing of which, she could not refrain from tears; and endeavoured, by every means, to comfort the fair mourn­er: but in vain; Maria gave herself [Page 96] up to despair, when she considered that her future prospects in life were clouded over, and not one friendly ray of hope appeared to dispel the surrounding gloom.

CHAP. XVI.

AFFAIRS were in this situation when the Marquis and his friend returned from Lisbon. Im­mediately on his landing, he flew to Clerville. He was no sooner there, than he repaired to the conscious grove. But—ah—there was no Ma­ria there! To the cottage he durst not go till he had obtained her leave: [Page 98] For that leave he applied; but it was obstinately refused. He petitioned for an interview; but to no purpose. Despairing of ever seeing her more, he returned to Clerville, where he was seized with a fever, which lasted thirty days; during which time the Baron never left his bed-side. When delirious, he called his Maria cruel; and begged her to visit him. Some­times he lamented her death, and sometimes prayed heaven to accele­rate his own. The physicians, how­ever, at last gave the Baron hopes of his friend's recovery; and a few days verified their prediction. The Mar­quis's fever gradually abating, he [Page 99] soon found himself able to walk in the park; but he was still so dejected, that the Baron feared, unless some step was taken for banishing his me­lancholy, he would soon fall a victim to it.

CHAP. XVII.

THE Baron had entertained pre­judices against the Marquis's marrying Maria: but he was asha­med to think of sacrificing his friend to his prejudices; and well knowing that desperate diseases require despe­rate remedies, he proposed himself, that the Marquis should apply for his mother's consent to the marriage. [Page 101] He undertook to convey the Mar­quis's request to the Marchioness; and to assure her, that nothing short of her consent could preserve the life of her son.

To this proposal the Marquis li­stened with ecstasy. He had often de­termined within himself to marry Ma­ria; but he feared that even the Ba­ron would not support him in so im­prudent a choice. No time, how­ever, was now to be lost; and the Baron set out for Paris, leaving to his friend the delightful office of in­forming Maria of the step taken in her favour.

[Page 102] This office the Marquis soon dis­charged. He flew to the cottage, rushed into her chamber, threw him­self at her feet, and vowed never to rise till she promised to bless him with her hand, provided he should obtain his mother's consent. The old peo­ple, who had followed him to the room, did not leave their daughter time to reply. They declared, that if the Marquis was in earnest, he was the best, the most generous of men. Maria stood speechless. Adelaide, who had never before seen the Mar­quis, was not at a loss to guess who he was, and expected with impa­tience the reply of her friend. Ma­ria, [Page 103] after recovering a little, assured the Marquis that he was going to take a step of which he would re­pent when it was too late; but that since he declared his happiness de­pended on her becoming his, she should defer accepting the honour he now offered her, only till he should receive the Marchioness's approba­tion.

Maria had no sooner given her consent than the Marquis arose; and, seating himself by her, reproached her for her cruelty in refusing to see him: but before she could justify herself, she fainted, quite overcome [Page 104] with the scene which had happened. Adelaide flew to the assistance of her friend; and in a short time Maria recovered.

The Marquis, who till then had not observed Adelaide, his attention having been wholly engrossed by Ma­ria, now turning to the former, ad­dressed her in the following man­ner:

‘Madam, as you are the intimate friend of Maria, and are well ac­quainted with her misfortunes as well as with mine; my conduct will leave you no room to doubt that I am the [Page 105] unfortunate Marquis of Clerville. Permit me to embrace this opportu­nity of thanking you for your good­ness to Maria; for which I shall be ever grateful. I have long wished to commence an acquaintance with you; but Maria's injunctions forbidding me to visit her, has prevented it till now. I trust you will not refuse me either your friendship or your pity.’ To this speech Adelaide could make no reply, she was so much confused; but after a little while she retired and left the two lovers alone. The Mar­quis intreated Maria to delay her hap­piness no longer than the return of the Baron, whom he expected in a [Page 106] few days. With this request she pro­mised to comply; and it being late, the Marquis, having bid adieu to Ma­ria, returned home to prepare the castle for her reception.

CHAP. XVIII.

AT length the wished-for hour arrived, when the Baron made his appearance at the castle. The Marquis flew to meet him, and read his fate in the Baron's countenance; who delivered to him a letter from the Marchioness, containing a posi­tive refusal of her consent, and a de­claration that she would sooner fol­low [Page 108] him to the grave than see him dis­grace himself by so degrading a con­nection as that he now wished to make.

This news had near proved fatal to the Marquis. After, however, ha­ving meditated for some time, he went to Maria; informed her of his mother's determination; but decla­red, that as soon as ever the marriage settlements could be drawn up, he would marry her, be the consequences what they would: That, as to the loss of his mother's estate, he should never feel it; for however small his own fortune might be, it was suffi­cient [Page 109] for them. He had too good an opinion of her understanding, to sup­pose that she was ambitious of mo­ving in a higher sphere; that for his own part, he should not hesitate a moment to sink into a lower one, provided he could but call her his.

Maria affected to be delighted with the thoughts of her approaching nup­tials. But no sooner was the Mar­quis gone, than she applied to her fa­ther for leave to go for two days to her uncle's, who lived at a few miles distance. This leave being obtained, she set out; but, instead of going to [Page 110] her uncle's, directed her steps to a convent; the safest retreat of the un­fortunate. It was seventy miles from Clerville. There she had a friend, through whose interest she was recei­ved by the Abbess, who approved of her intention of taking the veil, and promised she should be concealed there till it should be out of the power of man to take her thence. Being now safe from all pursuit, she wrote the following letter to the Marquis:

[Page 113] The same post brought a letter to her father, apologizing for her con­duct; and informing him of her in­tention of remaining in the convent till she should take the veil.

CHAP. XIX.

THE Marquis no sooner received her letter than he flew to the cottage. The first person he met was Adelaide, who was in tears for the loss of her friend. She endeavour­ed to comfort the Marquis, but to no purpose. He inquired for Maria's father; who no sooner appeared, than he taxed him with being privy to his [Page 115] daughter's elopement. The old man replied only by crying, and tearing his hair, and cursing his fate in ha­ving a daughter who rejected ho­nour, and wealth, and happiness, for the sake of burying herself in a con­vent.

The Marquis finding that none of her letters were dated, vowed to set out the next day in search of her. From this the Baron attempted to dissuade him: but finding him determined to go, he resolved at last to ac­company him on his journey; and the next day they set out. Almost every convent in France was search­ed, [Page 116] but to no purpose. The Mar­quis's health was declining very fast, owing to the constant fatigues he un­derwent, and to the agitation of his spirits. He continued his pursuit, however, for near a year; during which time he had not been able to procure any intelligence of Maria. She constantly corresponded with A­delaide, who alone knew where she was hid. This correspondence, in the end, proved the means of her re­sidence being discovered by the Mar­quis.

Maria, hearing from Adelaide that the Marquis still continued his pur­suit, [Page 117] wrote him the following let­ter.

CHAP. XX.

THE Marquis received this letter late at night. He perused it several times; and then retired to his room, where he continued walking up and down till morning in great agitation. As soon as the Baron was up, he desired him to set out and follow him, without informing him where they were going. After tra­velling [Page 120] a few miles, he stopped at a small inn, finding himself so weak that he could proceed no farther. Here they breakfasted; and just after breakfast stepped into the kitchen, where the post was delivering out the letters for that district. As he was thus employed, the Marquis obser­ved one directed by a well-known hand. He instantly seized it; and before the post could prevent him, he broke it open. It proved to be from Maria to Adelaide; informing her, that on that very day she was to take the veil, in a convent only six miles distant from where the Marquis then was. The Marquis threw down [Page 121] the letter; and running into the stable, seized his horse, and set out full speed for the convent. The Ba­ron, who had caught up the letter, and perceived the contents, imme­diately followed him; and they pro­ceeded together to the convent.

When they entered the chapel, the ceremony was begun. The Baron trembled at the sight; but the Mar­quis seemed to acquire new sortitude, and waited with heroic firmness the conclusion of the satal rite. But no sooner was it over, and Maria pre­paring to withdraw, than, exclaim­ing with agony, ‘Cruel Maria!’ he [Page 122] sunk motionless into the arms of the Baron, and expired.

The confusion that so melancholy an event occasioned in the chapel, attracted the eyes of every one. Ma­ria no sooner cast her eyes on the fa­tal spot where the Marquis lay, than she sunk speechless into the arms of those who stood next her. She was immediately conveyed into the con­vent; where she remained insensible for some time: But when she was re­covered, they found that she had lost her senses. She raved; and, addres­sing herself to the Marquis, promised to marry him immediately; then ask­ed [Page 123] his pardon for occasioning his death. In this state she remained till evening, when she was conveyed to bed, where she got little sleep, and that very disturbed.

The Baron, in the mean time, had conveyed the Marquis's body to a neighbouring house; where all at­tempts to restore him to life proved ineffectual. The Baron was almost distracted, and knew not what to do. Next day, however, he repaired to the convent (having, in the mean time, dispatched an express to A­delaide, desiring her immediate pre­sence), and endeavoured to see Ma­ria. [Page 124] But she was not in a condition to be seen by any one, for she was still delirious.

In this condition did the Baron remain till Adelaide's arrival. The meeting between them was such as one would expect between two peo­ple so circumstanced. After some conversation, the Baron and Adelaide repaired to the convent, where Ade­laide gained admission to her still de­lirious friend. Maria did not take the least notice of Adelaide, but con­tinued still to address her conversa­tion to the Marquis. This melan­choly spectacle proved too much for [Page 125] Adelaide. She was obliged to return to the inn, where she found the Ba­ron preparing to accompany the re­mains of the amiable and unfortunate Marquis of Clerville to his seat, where he was to be interred.

CHAP. XXI.

ON his arrival at Clerville, the Baron found the Marchioness walking in the Park, waiting the re­turn of her son, who she heard was expected at home that day. She no sooner beheld the mournful caval­cade, and learned the fate of her a­miable son, than she burst into tears. The Baron proceeded to the hall, [Page 127] where he lodged the remains of his friend. They were no sooner in the hall, than surrounded by all his weeping domestics, who declared that they never could meet with so kind a master. The Baron begged them to be comforted; assured them he would retain every one of them in his service as long as they pleased, and would endeavour to imitate the conduct of their late worthy master.

The Marchioness sent for the Ba­ron to her room, and inquired the particulars of her son's death. She said, that though she could not but lament his fate, she was happy he [Page 128] had not lived to disgrace his illustri­ous ancestors. The Baron left her, incensed to the last degree by so un­feeling a speech, and prepared to ful­fil a promise he had made to his friend; which was to send his heart inclosed in a silver urn to Maria. He accordingly set out for the convent.

CHAP. XXII.

ON his arrival he found Maria still delirious, but with lucid intervals. Adelaide, who during the Baron's absence had resided in the convent, gave him hopes of her recovery. But these hopes soon va­nished. For no sooner did Maria receive from the Baron the melan­choly legacy, than she became worse [Page 130] than ever; and snatching up the urn, ran to the soot of the altar, whence she would suffer none to remove her, but spent the whole night in weeping over that heart which was her's in every sense of the word.

In the morning she suffered Ade­laide to lead her to her apartment, whence she never stirred for some weeks. The Baron in the mean time returned to Clerville; where, af­ter having celebrated the funeral of his friend, he proceeded to execute his will; in which he had left the e­state of Clerville to the Baron, sub­ject to a pension of three thousand [Page 131] livres to Maria, and five hundred to each of her parents.

This affair being settled, he once more set out for the convent. On his arrival, Maria appeared at the grate with her friend, which till now she had not done since she had re­ceived the fatal present. The meet­ing was affecting in the highest de­gree. The Baron and Adelaide wept in silence. Maria continued still to rave, and address herself to the Mar­quis. The Baron could bear this in­terview no longer; but retired from the grate, leaving Adelaide to con­duct her friend back to her apart­ment. [Page 132] At two in the morning Ma­ria arose, and taking with her the urn, repaired to the chapel, where she continued weeping, till Adelaide wa­king, and missing her, went to the chapel in search of her, and with dif­ficulty prevailed on her to return.

Maria continued in this state for some time; but at length she chan­ged her manner, and never spoke at all, but remained in a deep and fixed melancholy. She was now so much emaciated by her constant grief, that the physicians despaired of her life: But, to the astonishment of every one, she continued in this situation [Page 133] for two years; during which time Adelaide never left the convent. At the end of this time she became so feeble, that Adelaide, seeing her dis­solution approaching, sent for the Baron. On his arrival Maria ap­peared at the grate, supported by A­delaide and two nuns. She was now so altered, that the Baron hardly knew her. He attempted to speak to her; but was so much affected, that he could not. She made signs for them to bring her a chair, on which she seated herself; and, resting her hand on the urn, asked him if that con­tained her Clerville's heart. To this the Baron answered in the affirma­tive; [Page 134] on which she exclaimed, Cler­ville is dead! and, sinking into the arms of Adelaide, ceased to sigh.

It is impossible to describe the feel­ings of the spectators. Adelaide threw herself on the corpse, and be­dewed it with her tears. The Ba­ron retired to the inn to give vent to his grief, whence he stirred not till next day. He then waited on the bishop of the diocese and the lady abbess of the convent, who both con­sented to his request, and permitted him to remove Maria's body to Cler­ville, where it was interred in the same grave with that of her unfortu­nate [Page 135] lover. On the tomb the Baron inscribed the following epitaph, writ­ten by himself, having previously in­shrined the heart of Maria in a silver urn, and placed it, together with that of the Marquis, on their tomb.