LOVE IN EXCESS

LOVE IN EXCESS;


OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY


Eliza Haywood


edited by David Oakleaf
second edition




broadview literary texts


 2000 David Oakleaf

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Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data


Haywood, Eliza, 1693?-J756

Love in excess, or, The fatal enquiry


(Broadview literary texts)
2nd ed.

ISBN 1-55111-367-8

I. Oakleaf, David, 1947- II. Title. III. Title: Fatal enquiry. IV. Series.

PR3506.H94L6 2000 823'.5 000-930086-4


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Contents


Introduction 7

A Note on the Text 25

Eliza Haywood: A Brief Chronology 28


Love in Excess; or, The Fatal Enquiry 33
Bookseller's Dedication 35
Part the First 37
Part the Second 81
The Third and Last Part 161


Appendix: Some Eighteenth-Century Responses to Eliza Haywood 267


1. Anonymous

Verses Wrote in the Blank Leaf of Mrs. Haywood's Novel (1722) 270

2. Richard Savage

a. To Mrs. Eliza Haywood, on Her Novel, called The

Rash Resolve (1724) 271

b. From The Authors of the Town; A Satire (1725) 272

3. Anonymous letter from The Ladies Journal (Dublin, 1727) 273

4. Jonathan Swift

Corinna (1728) 274

5. Alexander Pope

From The Dunciad, Variorum. With the Prolegomena of
Scriblerus (1729) 276

6. James Sterling

To Mrs. Eliza Haywood on Her Writings (1732) 277

7. William Rufus Chetwood

From A General History of the Stage; (More Particularly
the Irish Theatre) From its Origin in Greece down to the
Present Time. With the Memoirs of the Principal Performers,

that have appeared on the Dublin Stage in the Last Fifty Years (Dublin, 1749) 279

8. David Erskine Baker

From Biographica Dramatica; or, A Companion to the
Playhouse (1764) 280

9. Clara Reeve

From The Progress of Romance, through Times, Countries,
Manners; with Remarks on the Good and Bad Effects of It,
on Them Respectively; in a Course of Evening
Conversations, "EveningVII" (1785) 283


Select Bibliography 287


Introduction


Love in Excess is the spectacularly successful first novel of a
spectacularly successful novelist. Building on its success, Eliza
Haywood wrote a novel "on average every three months"
during the 1720s (Ballaster 159-60)1 and became the decade's
most popular and prolific novelist. Only five years later, she
included Love in Excess in the first of several substantial collections
of her works. She devoted the 1730s and early 1740s to an
eclectic array of other activities -- including acting, theatrical
and periodical writing, translation, and even publishing -- but
then returned to fiction in the late 1740s. As William
H. McBurney reminds us, she did not win her early renown by default: "In 1719 appeared the first parts of two novels
which in terms of book sales share with Gulliver's Travels the distinction of being the most popular English fiction of
the eighteenth century before Pamela. These were Love in
Excess; or, The Fatal Enquiry and The Life and Strange Surprizing
Adventures of Robinson Crusoe" (McBurney 250).

Haywood enjoyed this striking achievement in a highly
competitive literary marketplace. Although literacy rates were
increasing in the eighteenth century, relatively few people
could read and even fewer could afford to spend shillings on
books. New groups of readers alone (e.g., wage-earners or an
increasingly literate female population) could not provide a
viable market (see Ballaster 36-41, but cf. 170). When Love in
Excess entered the dynamic, experimental literary scene, it won its acclaim from the same sophisticated, demanding readers
who eagerly consumed the literary classics of the day. Daniel
Defoe's first novel is one of the most popular novels ever printed
in any language. Like Robinson Crusoe and John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress (a non-novelistic blockbuster two decades too
early for McBurney's list), Gulliver's Travels won enduring popularity
as well as critical esteem. Samuel Richardson's first
novel Pamela -- McBurney's standard of immediate success -- is


1 Parenthetical citations refer to works listed in the Selected Bibliography.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry


7itself partly in the tradition of Haywood. It was so popular that
Pamela, then an obscure literary name, became and has
remained a popular girls' name. Love in Excess earned its prominent
place in this remarkable fiction explosion of the eighteenth
century and regularly appeared with collections of
Haywood's works into the 1740s.

Though we now know little about the private woman
behind this conspicuous success, our ignorance is no proof of
her obscurity. A successful actress as well as a very important
writer in an impressive variety of forms, Haywood was solidly
enmeshed in the literary scene of her day. We still can catch
teasing glimpses of her in studies of writers now more famous,
including the notoriously evasive Defoe, Alexander Pope,
Henry Fielding, and the minor writer Richard Savage, who had
the good fortune to have his biography written by his friend
Samuel Johnson. Haywood wrote Love in Excess when she was
a member of the bustling literary circle surrounding playwright and theatre manager Aaron Hill. Her bookseller (i.e., publisher)
shrewdly dedicated her first novel to Anne Oldfield, a famous
and socially prominent actress with considerable potential as a
patron. Indeed, Oldfield helped support Savage, a member of
the Hill circle who supplied a commendatory poem for Love in
Excess.

Haywood may eventually have met Hill's friend Samuel
Richardson, the future novelist who printed Haywood's
comedy A Wife to be Lett in 1735 and who certainly read her work. (Margaret Doody's modern study of Richardson was
until recently one of the few sources of intelligent Haywood
criticism.) With another writer, traditionally thought to be Defoe although modern Defoe scholars are cautious about the
attribution, she was involved in a series of pamphlets about the
deaf-mute prophet Duncan Campbell. She worked with
another future novelist, Henry Fielding, when he managed the
Little Theatre in the Haymarket. The benefit night for Haywood, 24 May 1737, was Fielding's last production as theatre
manager before the Licensing Act imposed government control
on a highly political stage. Haywood herself played Mrs. Screen
in his Historical Register for the Year 1736 and the Muse in his
farce Eurydice Hiss'd.

8 INTRODUCTION


While there is evidence that she wanted her private life to remain private, Haywood was a very public figure. Her novels
won her fame as the "Great arbitress of passion!"(see Appendix
278). Even Fielding's satire of her as Mrs. Novel in The Author's
Farce (1730) acknowledges her fame as a novelist. When she
appears in the cast list of an adaptation of Arden of Fevershatn as
"Mrs. Eliza Haywood, the Author," this too may simply
demonstrate her fame as a novelist (see Rudolph's introduction
to her plays, ix-x). When she tried her hand at scandal novels -- political fiction in the tradition of Delarivier Manley's New
Atalantis -- she did so prominently enough to provoke Jonathan
Swift, who attacks her (probably) in his poem "Corinna," and
Alexander Pope, who savages her in the second book of The
Dunciad, his major satire of Grub-Street writing. Richard Savage,
with whom she quarrelled in 1724, satirized her in an
anonymous poem, The Authors of the Town, and named his
prose satire, An Author to be Let, from her comedy A Wife to be
Lett.

In the small, jealous, and intensely political literary scene of Haywood's day, appallingly cruel satire was almost the routine
tribute to success. Pope may assert that he speaks impartially
for cultural values, for example, but his cover story is the sure
sign of the partisan. And if print confers the power to wound,
Haywood wielded it too. She tells her own, restrained account
of Savage in Memoirs of a Certain Island Adjacent to the Kingdom
of Utopia, one of the scandal novels Pope attacks. If she resented
Fielding's satire, she reserved her feeling for an incidental swipe
at "F--g's scandal shop" in her 1751 novel, The History of Miss
Betsy Thoughtless (ch. 8). After all, she worked with Fielding in
that scandal shop as an actress and perhaps -- the benefit night
may suggest this -- as a collaborator in the troupe's anonymous
plays. Hurt feelings did not interfere with professional opportunities.

Haywood's professionalism makes it unlikely that, as some
critics have assumed, Pope's satire or anyone else's drove her
from fiction in the decade after The Dunciad appeared. That
decade was the period of her greatest theatrical involvement.
In addition to acting steadily and possibly adapting or collaborating
in plays for her troupe, Haywood wrote two plays. Fred


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 9


erick, Duke of Brunswick-Lunenburgh was performed and published
in 1729 ("an indifferent success"). But it was in collaboration
with actor and playwright William Hatchett, her lover,
that she achieved her greatest theatrical success with The Opera
of Operas. This musical adaptation of Fielding's Tragedy of
Tragedies, a version of the Tom Thumb story, in turn received
the compliment of a one-act adaptation by Theophilus Gibber
with music by the famous composer Thomas Arne. In addition,
she drew on her theatrical knowledge to write a major
work only recently ascribed to her (Blouch 541 confirms the
attribution by Marcia Heinemann). The Dramatic Historiographer;
or, The British Theatre Delineated (1735) was a valuable
and popular survey of the British theatre later retitled The Companion
to the Theatre; Blouch counts seven editions between
1735 and 1756 alone! Almost incidentally in this busy period,
she also produced The Adventures of Eovaai (1736), her Oriental
tale satirizing the government of Sir Robert Walpole.

Haywood's writing is as impressive for its variety as for its
striking quantity. With at least some success, she wrote different
kinds of drama. Between Love in Excess (1719-20) and The History
of Jemmy and Jenny Jessamy (1752) she produced several
kinds of fiction, much of it especially directed to the woman
reader. Like many other writers, she parodied Pamela. She
translated French fiction and drew on French sources to write a
life of Mary, Queen of Scots, wrote theatre history and criticism,
and ventured briefly into publishing. Between April 1744
and May 1746, she wrote monthly issues of The Female Spectator, the first English periodical written by a woman for women.
She was writing another weekly periodical for women, The
Young Lady, when she died on 25 February 1756.

It is to be hoped that current research leads to fuller knowledge,
perhaps even a full biography, of Eliza Haywood. We
could learn a lot from her life about the crucial transformation of writing from a gentlemanly accomplishment into a profession open to women as well as men. Even so, the professional
writer earned too little to escape the next urgent deadline.
Haywood herself long wrote from the surest of spurs to professional
industry: she had to support herself and two children.
When she apologizes in the last issue of The Young Lady that


10 INTRODUCTION


she is too ill to continue writing, she reveals starkly the
unremitting; demand to produce that shaped the professional
writer. But she also suggests the courage and the vitality she
needed to maintain for so long a high place in this literary world. What the gentlemanly critic deplores as opportunism and hack writing, the rest of us can profitably admire as ener getic professionalism finely attuned to the precariouis commercial m arketplace that was displacing aristocratic literary patronage. Naturally enough given its circumstances of production,
her writing is sometimes pedestrian. But it is more
commonly lively, and it is necessarily deeply engaged with the
changing demands of an emergent readership.

An equally keen engagement with Haywood's fiction is the
best antidote to a patrician disdain. Some of the reasons for
Haywood's success are obvious. Eighteenth-century readers
looked for variety, and Love in Excess is exuberantly various. It
also celebrates sexual desire, a topic its competition fastidiously avoids. Bunyan's Christian fixes his eye resolutely on the next
world. Swift's Gulliver solemnly denies a rumour that he had
an affair with a woman five inches tall, asserts his rationality by
spurning an eager female Yahoo, and distances himself from his
long-suffering wife. Stranger still, Defoe's Crusoe domesticates
the desert island he is marooned on and then reflects that, apart
from a few conveniences like a tobacco pipe, "I had no room
for Desire" (129). But Haywood never forgets that desire does
not usually content itself with goats, grain, and grapes. Writing
in the tradition of passionate but more overtly political predecessors l ike Aphra Behn and Delarivier Manley, she celaborates
her basic narrative situation, the love triangle, to present an impressive variety of female roles and fates.

Of course Love in Excess does, like Robinson Crusoe, inscribe a significant eighteenth-century cultural pattern. Defoe's novel articulates the definitive paradigm of self-activating bourgeois identity, for its hero disciplines himself in order to discipline his environment. Lave m Excess works within this paradigm while
it articulates the related cultural shift toward a companionate mod el of marriage. It begins with ambition, which is public and culturally male, but it ends with "conjugal affection" (266),

love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 11

which is private and culturally female. In between, Haywoad confronts directly the social conventions which, by making female sexual desire unspeakable, silence her protagonists.
Indeed, Haywood won praise precisely for finding a language through which to express passion. As the congratulatory poems
in the second volume show, she was praised for both strength of feeling and force of language. She strikingly crafts a public sp ace of subjectivity, especially for the desiring female subjects.

Although Love in Excess is memorable for its women, its narrative
follows Count D'elmont. A male version of the cruel
mistress whose mere sight inspires hopeless passion, D'elmont
routinely attracts sexual propositions from women to whom he
is indifferent. Haywood traces his progress from total insensitivity through suffering passion to happy marriage. Inset narratives
tell the amorous stories of his brother Brillian and his
future brother-in-law Frankville, but D'elmont himself is active
in most of the love triangles. This causes confusion, but Haywood's narrator helps the reader's memory (and signals her
controlling design) through alliterative doublings. The first volume
places D'ehnont between Amena and Alovisa, whom he
marries for money at the end of the volume. The second volume
retains Alovisa while placing D'elmont between the flirt
Melantha and "the matchless Melliora," whom he loves. Doubling
D'elmont with Melliora's brother Frankville, the third
volume surrounds them with Ciamara (a lecherous aristocratic
widow), Frankville's love Camilla, Frankville's friend Cittolini,
and Violetta (a woman whose break with the alliterative pattern
marks her as the odd one out in other ways too). Ingeniously
elaborating a basic pattern, these complications allow Haywood to explore varieties of female subjectivity.

In Love in Excess, Haywood situates that subjectivity in an aristocratic society that demands the public display of status and wealth. Such a society inevitably subordinates love to ambition.
While one of her most important modern critics feels that her hero's "military and social status is part of the automatic embroidery his character needs" (Richetti 184), D'elmont's
rank and valour express the class imperative that dictates his


12 INTRODUCTION


marriage to Alovisa: "Ambition was certainly the reigning passion
in his soul, and Alovisa's quality and vast possessions,
promising a full gratification of that, he ne'er so much as
wished to know a farther happiness in marriage" (76). Her
poverty and modest rank, not her personal deficiencies, explain
D'elmont's "disgust" at the thought of marrying Amena (51):
such a marriage "would in no way agree with his ambition"
(59). An inherited title and estate define D'elmont's social
identity, and he calculatingly supports his family honour by
marrying to replenish the family coffers.

When he is evidently no longer infatuated with her, Alovisa
complains that D'elmont's "well nigh wasted stream of wealth had dried, but for [her] kind of supply" (128). But she is no less
aristocratic and no less ambitious than her husband. When he
responds to her first anonymous love letter by mistakenly courting Amena, she sternly exhorts him in a second letter to
aim higher: "If ambition be a fault, 'tis only in those who have
not a sufficient stock of merit to support it" (45). D'elmont, of
course, has already displayed his merit in the manner that traditionally
justifies aristocratic privilege: he has served his king in
battle. Alovisa feels attracted because he has thereby won
"more than ordinary reputation" and been "received by the
King and Court, after a manner that might gratify the ambition
of the proudest" (37). In short, D'elmont has earned his ambitious
marriage to the "co-heiress (with her sister,) of a vast estate" (38), "one of the greatest fortunes in all France" (75).

In Love in Excess, this aristocratic pride is a persistent threat
to the private world of desire. A doting father's ambition pjaces
Amena in the dangerous situation that fascinates most early
novelists; it places her, that is, where she will attract jsexual
attentions that cannot lead to a socially sanctioned marriage.
D'elmont's careless dalliance with her is echoed by the Baron
D'esparnay, who assaults Alovisa, and by the proud Italian
widow Ciamara, who assaults D'elmont himself. D'elmont's
ambitious marriage is echoed by Ciamara and her brother Cittolini,
aristocrats impoverished -- paternal lapses are a persistent
theme -- "by the too great liberality of [their] father" (188).
Attracting a rich but old suitor, Ciamara "married and buried
him in a month's time." Left "mistress of all he had in the


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 13


world," she plots the marriage of his daughter, now her stepdaughter,
to her ugly and older brother, Cittolini. Naturally
enough in this context, Cittolini glibly promises his own
daughter to Frankville in marriage without consulting her
(189). And though Alovisa admittedly opposes rather than
arranging her sister Ansellina's marriage to D'elmont's brother,
she too subordinates other people's desires to her aristocratic
pride.

fcayc, in abort, dots not follow tmhirifin Alovisa quickly
marries the man she chooses, but she is not courted: "she took
care that if he should be wanting in his kind expressions after
marriage, he should not have it in his power to pretend
(as some husbands have done) that his stock was exhausted in a
tedious courtship" (77). Not surprisingly, a month -- the newlyweds'
traditional "honey" moon -- completes D'elmont's love
(141). Amena on the other hand is courted but not married.
She flees to a convent, the definitive literary refuge for
thwarted feeling at least since the late seventeenth-century
vogue for The Portuguese Letters, a popular collection of five
letters allegedly written by a nun to the cavalier who seduced
and abandoned her. Only Alovisa's accidental death by his
own hand and his passion for Melliora finally chasten
D'elmont's ambition: "Ambition, once his darling passion,
was now wholly extinguished in him by these misfortunes, and
he no longer thought of making a figure in the world; but his love, nothing could abate ..." (163-64). Apparently "wholly
dead to gaiety," the count forsakes society and the retinue
appropriate to his social importance, preferring a setting appropriate
to love -- "a solitary walk, a lonely shade, or the bank of
some purling stream" (165-66).


To the extent that they too must create a space for subjectivity
within this public, aristocratic society, Haywood's characters
share their situation with the novelist. Alovisa speaks for her
author when she laments that women cannot, like men, express
their desire directly: "whilst those of [D'elmont's] own [sex]
strove which should gain the largest share in his friendship; the
other vented fruitless wishes, and in secret, cursed that custom
which forbids women to make a declaration of their thoughts"


14 INTRODUCTION


(37). Even though Amena retains, barely, her virginity, she is
ruined socially because her retreat to the Tuileries with
D'elmont makes her love public. To her father, her great crime is to have expressed her passion: '"But is it possible,' cried he,
quite confounded at these words, 'that she should stoop so low
to offer love?'" (64). The novelist commits the fallen maiden's
crime: she breaches thejiiscursive decorum that forbids women
to express their desire.

Not surprisingly, this constraint is a prominent theme of
eighteenth-century women's writing. Custom required a
woman to attract and marry an eligible man, but the same custom
forbade her to show her interest in a man until he had formally
declared his love for her. Amena's obvious delight in
D'elmont's addresses (46) makes her vulnerable to seduction.
Violetta regards as a "shameful declaration" (265) her deathbed
confession of her chaste and Jiitherto concealed love for
D'elmont. These women share the frustration of silence with
the narrator of Jane Barker's 1713 novel, Love Intrigues, who
remains baffled that her virtuous decorum should have thwarted
her desire for Bosvil. They also share their frustration with
Jane Bennett in Jane Austen's 1813 novel, Pride and Prejudice, another woman whose clecqrous serenity almost costs her the
man she passionately loves.

Eighteenth-century discourse subjected even books to the
social decorum that would apply to the author's speech. Defoe
crafted his prefaces to confront the respectable reader's unease
at the low representation of low lives. Much later than Love in
Excess, Owen Ruffhead looked back to Thomas Hobbes in
order to accuse Laurence Sterne's Tristram Shandy of violating
in discourse the grid that maps social distinctions onto space: it
associated a clergyman's public dignity with a bawdy text, he
charged, and it brought into the salon the private thoughts
appropriate only to the private chamber. Even Fielding's Tom
Jones, which is intermittently sexual even though, as Henry
James observed, it is strikingly free of the rhetoric of private
experience, risked censure. It mixed the socially high with the
socially low, an activity always open to polite disapproval.
Fielding solves his problem by presenting Tom Jones as a stage


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 15


coach journey with stops at various inns. He thus assimilated
his text to a familiar social situation that permitted such potentially
transgressive social mixtures. Writers had to adapt their language to potentially hostile social scrutiny.

Social decorum weighed especially heavily on the woman
novelist of sexual desire. As contemporary praise for Haywood
acknowledges, social decorum had no place that authorized i.e.,
conferred social authority on -- private desire. Certainly the
notion that desire should on its own legitimate an jiction is
alien to a society based onjanded inheritance. Such a society
validates stability and stigmatizes change as instability. Even
Robinson Crusoe's definitively bourgeois father rebukes his
son's desire to wander, preaching contentment with the
achieved middle station of life. The amusement that colours
John J. Richetti's influential discussion of Love in Excess shows
how readily even a sympathetic reader can shift from Haywood's subjective discourse of the body to its opposite, a socially-grounded
bawdiness that scrutinizes intimacy fromjwithput:
"We wonder just what sort of picture Mrs. Haywood's readers
drew for themselves when they were told that Melantha interrupted
the lovers again just as D'Elmont 'was preparing to take
from the resistless Melliora the last, and only remaining proof
that she was all his own'" (Richetti 201).

Haywood's narrative challenge, therefore, as to situate her readers where she or he will forget such social judgment and instead accept the authority of desire. Haywood faces that challenge
explicitly when she identifies herself with her erring
lovers in defiance of their critics:


Wretches! We know all this as well as they; we know too,
that we both do, and leave undone many other things,
which we ought not; but perfection is not to be expected
on this side the grave. And since 'tis impossible for
humanity to avoid frailties of some kind or other, those are certainly least blameable which spring only from a too
great affluence of the nobler spirits. Covetousness, envy, -- pride, revenge, are the effects of an earthy, base, and sordid
nature, ambition and love of an exalted one; and if they are
failings, they are such as plead their own excuse, and can


16 INTRODUCTION


never want forgiveness from a generous heart, provided
no indirect courses are taken to procure the ends of the former, nor inconstancy, or ingratitude, stain the beauty of
the latter. (186)


To the generous heart -- and who admits to any other? -- elevation
of feeling authorizes even a moral fall. Low is an exalted
private desire equivalent to ambition, the exalted publk desire
for di&tmetion cherished by an atistocratk society. A "vast and
elegant passion" (101) defies expression in something as public
as language, but it partakes of an aristocratic elegance. Low
desires characterize lower-class characters like Anaret, Amena's
mercenary servant, or aristocrats corrupted by pride of rank,
like Ciamara, whose lust is mean-spirited and hence unworthy.
Haywoad's narrator validates private experience by ennobling
it, creating a privileged community of desiring subjects: "we" lovers, "we" redders.
Of course, a new community requires a new decorum.
Much as Fielding exploits the trope of the stage coach journey
to express his anidety about social mixture, Haywaod exploits
images of liaainal situations to address unease at the pubiid
expression of psivate feeling. Of course she can charge any
action or space with emotion. Alovisa's death by a careless
thrust of her errant mate's sword is, surely deliberately, a grim
bit of comic symbolism. Amena's house so smoulders with passion
that when Alovisa's servant raises the cry of fire to alarm
her father, Haywood's most comprehensive modern reader,
true to Haywood's subjective focus, recalls the image as a narrative
fact: "the lovers return to find their absence noted, Amena's
house smouldering, and their return to her garden blocked"
(Schofield, Eliza Haywood 19). But Haywood's most suggestive symbolic space is a liminal "plot" inherited from romance. In Love in Excess, she situates desire in the walled garden that has
been an image of the female body at least since the Song of
Songs.

Specifically, she situates her lovers in the gjirden betweenjhe house's private chambers and the public world beyond. Striking
for her "beauty and sweetness" (41) and courted in such a
garden, Amena may even take her name from the seductive loca


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 17


amoena ("attractive places") of pastoral romance: she meets her
disgrace not here but in th Tuileries, the fashionable palace
garden beyond the walls of her father's house. D'elmont courts
Melliora too in enclosed gardens, and when Frankville courts
Camilla in Ciamara's garden, their sexual union brings not disgrace but eagerness to marry and publish their mutual desire.
Ciamara, by contrast, stages her lust not in a locus amoenus but in
a version of the House of Busirane, the castle of unlawful love
in Edmund Spenser's Faerie Queene (see especially F.Q. III.xi.29ff.). Ciamara's "splendidly luxurious" (206) room
jlepicting the transgressive loves of immortals for mortals
reveals that she is a calculating aristocrat devoted to art rather
than nature. Melliora's bedroom, by contrast,jsjij:hamber of
the mind. There D'elmont naturally discovers subjective truth

-- Melliora loves him -- through the artless (and guiltless) medium
of her dreams.

As her lovers slide gradually into increased intimacy, Haywood creates for them a vast new terrain where society decrees only the sharp divide between ''wife" and "whore," the alliterative opposites that defined women's sexual choices. (A wife
who lost her husband entered an alliterative third category -- "widow"; since a widow was an unmarried but sexual woman
with an anomalous degree of social power, society reaffirmed
its boundaries by representing her as a sinister lecher or a randy
figure of fun.) Haywood's garden between the private chamber
amd the public world burs these distinctions, substituting a rich su bjective space with its own imperatives. Here lovers shase subjectivity as well as sexual intimacy and Camilla remains a
desirable as well as a desiring subject. Here Frankville must reject suspicious appearances for love. Though Ciamara may
tempt D'elmont in Camilla's name, and though prudence may
dictate marriage, Camilla also retains her freedom to reject a
lover too ready to reject subjectivity and scrutinize her critically.
Here D'elmont must learn to despise D'espernay's cynical
counsel of acquaintance rape and attend instead to shared feel ing.
All lovers, and only lovers, are subjects.

That is why Haywood's narrator promiscuously confers her
narrative favours on all of them. Her women may plot against
women, but Amena's despair, Violetta's adoring denial of self,


l8 INTRODUCTION


and Ciamara's lust all receive their due. Alovisa's jealousy
receives as much attention as Meljiora's rutjlejtruggle against
her passion. The narrator rewards even Melantha's mischievous
sexual encounter with D'elmont. After mocking D'espernay's
sexual double standard -- "Few men, how amorous soever
themselves, care that the female part of their family should be
so" (144) -- she grants Melantha the marriage that ends the second
volume conventionally but ironically: "not of a humour to
take any thing to heart, [she] was married in a short time, and
had the good fortune not to be suspected by her husband,
though she brought him a child in seven months after her wedding"
(159). Her child by D'elmont may, if he is male, inherit
her childless brother's estate as well as her husband's, but the
narrator indulges no patrilineal anxieties. Provocatively refusing
to gender Melantha's chim, she maintains her jnarrative
focus on a lover's good fortune.
Such transgressive subjectivity finds its natural expression in
what we could call liminal relationships -- sexual relationships
that transform socially sanctioned ties. Challenging ties of
obligation or friendship, transgressive love acquires the intensity
of friendship. D'espernay is D'elmont's unsuspected sexual rival
as well as confidant, as Melliora is Alovisa's. Most transgressive
of all is D'elmont's passion for Melliora. Legally empowered as
her guardian, D'elmont initially abuses his power to harass the
powerless Melliqra -- as she recognizes: she had "not even an
acquaintance at Paris, or friend, but him who but newly was
become so, and whom she found it dangerous to make use of"
(88). But his transgressive role also defines the intensity of his
passion: '"Friendship! did I say?' rejoyned he softning his voice,
'that term is too mean to express a zeal like mine, the care, the
tenderness, the faith, the fond affection of parents, -- brothers, husbands, -- lovers, all comprized in one! one great unutterable!
comprehensive meaning, is mine! is mine for Melliora!'" (89).
The subjectivity of Haywood's novels infuses into sexual relationships the potent feelings appropriate to the authoritative relationships of patriarchal society.

Appropriately enough, then.jliejgrdenjn which Hayjwood
jitages so much passion is just inside the realm of public scrutiny.
Even if it is only Melantha who stumbles upon the lovers or


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 19


Alovisa who glances out a window at them, their private intimacy
will become public knowledge. As April London argues
of the gardens common to pious and amatory novels, "the garden
retains its material status as property, with the attendant
issues of ownership, consumption, productivity, and improvement"
(102). Haywood writes within and aboat, the society in wh ich the male landowner/getleman posssesses and controls the garden/female body; hence the passivity typical of the woman seduced in the li terary garden. A landowner -- a father -- may oversee rather than overlooking the lovers' passion.

That may be why female agency is far more equivocal than
female subjectivity. Haywood offers not so much a new social
structure as a new way of inhabiting an existing patrilineal
structure. Indeed, social anxiety was so strong that, on the question
of choice, eighteenth-century fiction finally contented
itself with an uneasily shared balance of power: a child should
marry only with parental consent, but a parent should arrange a
marriage only with the child's consent. In Love in Excess, however,
Haywood presentswomen free to choose. Amena chooses,
unhappily, against a careless father's preference. Melantha
chooses, rebelliously, to act as her brother acts rather than as he
would advise. Though Alovisa chooses unhappily, she and
Ansellina are heiresses free to choose for themselves. Camilla
chooses love but feels free to reconsider her choice when her
lover seems unworthy. Denying sexuality rather than indulging
it, Violetta too chooses love, contributing to her unworthy
father's death. Andjthqugh the novel ends with submission to p aternal authority, Melliora is the Prospero who engineers a
return to social order entirely in accord with her desires.

Articulating the desire of the woman whose body it represents,
a landowner assumes control of his garden. Transformed
by feeling, D'elmont will no longer abuse his social power. The
powerless captive of a transgressive lover, Melliora asserts her
will by relinquishing it -- '"since heaven has restored them ['my
brother and Count D'Elmont'] to me, all power of disposing of
my self must cease..."' -- and deferring to patriarchal approval:
'"I am still ready to perform my promise, whenever these
gentlemen shall command me. -- The one my brother, the


20 INTRODUCTION


other my guardian, obtain but their consent, and --"' (261). The
guardian who acts for her father and her brother is also the
lover who can speak her desire as well as his own. Even public honour is appeased:


when they came to Paris, they were joyfully received by
the Chevalier Brillian and Ansellina, and those who in
the Count's absence had taken a liberty of censuring and
condemning his actions, awed by his presence, and in
time won by his virtues, now swell his praises with an
equal vehemence. Both he and Frankville, are still living, blest with a numerous and hopeful issue, and continue,
with their fair wives, great and lovely examples of conjugal
affection. (266)


Exemplary lovers win even the praise that gratifies ambition.


Haywood won such praise as a novelist. Of course poems of
praise may be no more sincere than other paid commercials, but even a puff has to use a credible language of praise. Richard
Savage praises Haywood for both her devotion to love and her
mastery of language: "For such descriptions thus at once can
prove / The force of language, and the sweets of love." She
deserves a crown of both myrtle leaves, sacred to Venus, and
laurel leaves (bays), sacred to poetry: "The myrtle's leaves with
those of fame entwine, / And all the glories of that wreath are
thine!" Writing the fires of love, she provokes from Savage
complex comparisons with heat, the eagle that can proverbially
gaze directly at the sun, the sun god Phoebus (Apollo) who is
also the god of poetry and learning, and the immortal light of
the skies.
Some of the praise explores Haywood's destabilization of
gender categories with striking ambivalence. Especially revealing
is the poem "By an Unknown Hand, To the most Ingenious
Mrs. Haywood, on her Novel Entitled, Love in Excess!' A
woman could have written this anonymous poem, of course,
but since Unknown Hand finds a reflection in D'elmont and
praises Haywood in the language of gallantry, I will call her


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 21


"he" and "him." He claims that he was an unbeliever in
women's strength of soul (their power as writers) until Haywood converted him. Like D'elmont, he was also an atheist to
Love's powej. Drawing on the cliches of anti-Moslem writing,
he presents Haywood as at once a beautiful woman, a writer,
and a Christian champion like St George. As Christian champion,
she conquers the "Unbeliever," the "atheist" (the infidel
ignorant of love, especially the Moslem unbeliever in Christianity
who denies that women have souls). As writer, she is

blessed by the poetry god Phoebus, who enables Hand to
develope the appropriate conceits even more elaborately than
Savage. In Hand's version of Phoebus' roles, the conquered
Moslem infidels are comprehensively Oriental. They are at
once suntanned ("tawny Sons of a luxuriant Coast," that is, the

eastern Mediterranean), amorous ("luxury" suggests the lechery
as well as the wealth of a hotter clime -- the orient of harems),
and poetic (they boast the origin of poetry, for Phoebus, the
sun, rises in the East of the Song of Songs).
Before his conversion by Haywood (whose first play would
be the 1721 harem drama, The Fair Captive), Unknown Hand
was, by contrast, typically English; that is, he was pale, cool to
love, and (hence) unpoetic. But now he is playing with fire. By
his account, Haywood is anomalously both Eastern/Moslem
and English/Christian, both female and male. She may be a St.
George, but as "Champion for the Sex" she warms his English
coolness with foreign heat. The blazing source of welcome
heat brings to Hand's "blest" western isle what it most lacks,
"more than Eastern heat." As a writer, she is also Phoebus himself --
the sorce of light and warmth. As an amorous woman,
she is the source of love's fires: "Love's shafts new pointed fly,"
he tells her, "Winged with your Flame, and blazing in your
Eye." She has brought England a literature of passion and, perhaps
consequently, the lechery that characterizes the East of the
English imagination. It would be hard for a poem of praise to
register Haywood's transgression of cultural boundaries jnore
directly.

"Amatory fiction," our received term for the fiction of Haywood and her predecessors, betrays z similar ambivalence. But no other term will do. "Romance" is dignified but misleading


22 INTRODUCTION


-- an aristocratic narrative form to the critic but a love story to
readers less professionalised. "Love stories," on the other hand
are infra dig. -- likely "girlish," Tower class, or (horrors!) both:
"love stories" are stories to read, not texts to study -- by no
means "mature" or "sophisticated" fiction. "Erotic fction," by
contrast, suggests Fanny Hill rather than Love in Excess. Since it
describes the gentlemanly or merely male pbjectificatipn of
female sexuality, including pornography, it is the opposite of
Haywood's "subjectification" of sexuality. So the gentle critic
refers to "amatory" fiction, hoping that the safely donnish term
will steer the reader with some dignity between extremes.
"Amatory" does suggest sexual love, but so Latinate a term also
gestures reassuringly toward the late-Classical romance and
hence toward a genealogy appropriate to the novel's cautious
rise to literary respectability.

"Amatory novel" will therefore do for Haywood's narrative
of desire. In part, Love in Excess is a sophisticated development
of the Ovidian verse epistle from a woman to her absent lover, a form that shaped fiction directly and through prose variants
like The Portuguese Letters and Behn's Love-Letters between a
Nobleman and His Sister. Partly set in Italy like a Jacobean
tragedy, however, it also tells tales of transgressive sexual desire
on the theme of "women beware women." Partly centred on women united by common feeling if not by alliances, it is a
covertly feminist critique of the subordination of women. Partly
centred on a hero, it is a Bildungsroman representing its narrowly
ambitious hero's education in the ways of the heart.
Partly centred on a beleaguered heroine, it is a young virgin's
erotic fantasy about her surrogate father. More bluntly, it is a
bodice ripper. It is also an emotionally charged soap opera of
brutal ambition, adulterous passion, and abuses of power.
Again, it is a cautionary young-adult novel tracing the lovelives of impressionable young women in a violent, male-dorninated
world.

And so on. Any novelist would kill to write a novel with
such broad appeal. Certainly her publisher would kill to publish
it! For Haywood appealed to very different readers, as she
had to, and some of her conventions have proved remarkably
durable. She did educate the newly affective male reader, the


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 23


reader who comfortably inhabited the language of gallantry but
whpjvas nevertheless also curiously turning Haywood's pages.
But at the same time and more urgently, she was constructing
the modern female reader of women s romances (see Ballaster
lff.) Now that jiarrow literary canons and still narrower
gender roles are commanding scrutiny, the versatile writer who
contributed so much to an emerging genre and an emerging
profession deserves renewed attention. And there is no better
place to begin or renew an acquaintance with Haywood than Love in Excess; or, The Fatal Enquiry: A Novel, the book with
which an aspiring actress and playwright first caught the attention
of her contemporaries.


24 INTRODUCTION


A Note on the Text


This text is based on the first edition, published in three separately
paginated volumes in 1719-20. Obvious printers' errors
are silently corrected, but most changes involve modernization.
Published before the mid-century simplification of typographical
conventions, Love in Excess brisdes with initial capitals, routinely
marshals italics or large and small capitals to dignify
proper nouns like Paris or melliora, and regularly marks with
italics quoted letters and a few other brief quotations. Flocks of
apostrophes silence letters we never pronounce, like the "I " in "should" or the "e" in "ed" endings. Direct speech merges
unmarked into the surrounding prose, signalled only by tag
phrases like "interrupted she" -- phrases that are sometimes but
not always placed in parentheses that sometimes but not always
coincide with the phrase's actual syntactical boundaries.

Since these conventions can daunt modern readers, lending
an air of remoteness to even this most accessible of novelists,
this edition modernizes routine printers' conventions. Most
capitals and italics vanish. Shou'd gives way to should, sigh'd,
rely'd, and beg'd to sighed, relied, and begged. The use of italics for
quoted letters and postscripts, Roman for their beginning and
ending formulas, is regularized. Quotation marks are added to
direct speech, and the accompanying punctuation is nudged in
the direction of modern practice. Where it seemed a reader
might get lost, other punctuation is lightly modernized to
highlight the units of Haywood's prose. But other conventions
of the day work remarkably well, notably the shifts from one
character's speech to another's within a single sentence, shifts
that suit Haywood's intersubjectivity and deliberate blurring of
boundaries.

Unless they seem likely to mislead a modern reader, local
variations are preserved. Then and than, then interchangeable,
are not normalized except where a contrast of now with than might cause brief confusion (155). TTto'and 'em remain, the latter
possibly capturing a feature of Haywood's speech, as do
some colloquial grammatical lapses; e.g., there was no hopes (59)


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 25


or a kind of pleased expectations (230). Variant spellings of characters'
names also remain: Alovisa also appears as Alovysa and even Aloisa; D'elmont (or D'Elmont) meets the Marquess (or Marquese)
De (or D') Saguittier (or Sanguillier). Past tenses like vyed remain
unaltered, as do irregular possessives (e.g., baronesses or ladies for baroness's or lady's) and unusual apostrophes (e.g., her's or seei).
The reader will find would'st and couldst in the same sentence, beleive, recieved, and perceiveing as well as the modern spellings of
the same words. Editorial changes consider but do not invariably
follow the 1722 edition ("The fourth edition corrected"),
which shows no signs of authorial revision but corrects some
obvious slips. Textual cruxes and striking substantive changes
(e.g., "she" for "he") receive comment in footnotes that sometimes
cite the 1722 edition as "4th ed."

Local variation was part of the adventure for Haywood as
well as her reader, for bookseller and printer would have a say
in the book's appearance. (Haywood's bookseller dedicates her
novel to an actress whom he praises for freely altering the texts
of plays!) Capitalization, typefaces, and punctuation were seasonings
stirred liberally into the prose by the printer just before
serving hot to an eager public, and even the different volumes of Love in Excess follow distinct recipes. The third volume, for
example, prefers D'Elmont to D'elmont and accents rhetorical
contrasts by changing typefaces: "Her real perfidy" Frankville
says of Camilla, "shall be repaid with seeming inconstancy ..."
(215). Such variations may reveal early readers trying to capture
the rise and fall of Haywood's voice, and even where they suggest
only quick commercial publication, they remind us of
Haywood's engagement with a demanding marketplace. Excessive
modernization would spoil the flavour.

Footnotes to the text gloss allusions and unfamiliar vocabulary
as well as occasional textual problems; "Johnson" in parentheses
after a quoted phrase indicates a definition from Samuel
Johnson, A Dictionary of the English Language (1755), also cited
for flavour.

I gratefully thank those who aided and abetted my efforts.
As ever, Anne McWhir mixed practical help with encouragement
to persist in my folly. Suzanne Gibson, April London,


26 A NOTE ON THE TEXT


Lome Macdonald, Jay Macpherson, Murray McGillivray.J.E.
Svilpis, and Earla A. Wilputte all offered aid or encouragement.
Dominique Berthiaume, Chris Frey, Katie Harse, Susanne
Heinz, and Rene Lang confirmed my hunch that Eliza Haywood has something to offer bright contemporary students.

My thanks to the staffs of the Newberry Library, the British
Library, Special Collections at the McKimmie Library of the
University of Calgary, and the inter-library loans department of
Pennsylvania State University (where Shane and his colleagues
handled an urgent telephone request with impressive promptness
and courtesy). Thanks too to Don LePan and Barbara
Conolly of Broadview Press for allowing me, during reprinting,
to augment the text with an appendix.


The second edition makes a few corrections, updates the
selected bibliography, and substantially expands the Appendix. I
owe special thanks to Christine Blouch and Broadview's Risa
Kawchuk for calling my attention to The Ladies Journal and to
Howard Weinbrot for speeding a copy my way. Further experience
has deepened my gratitude to the staff of the McKinnie
Library and to Don LePan, Barbara Conolly, and the staff at
Broadview Press.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 27


Eliza Haywood: A Brief Chronology


[We know little about Haywood despite her importance and
her connection with writers we know well. A chronology
reveals the pattern of her literary career, but treat assertions and
dates, including publication dates, with caution. Christine
Blouch's article -- see Selected Bibliography -- is at present the
best source of biographical and other information; Mary Anne
Schofield s Eliza Haywood offers the fullest survey and discussion
of Haywood s varied career; and George Frisbie Whicher's
book is still the only full biography.]


?1693 [1689 has also been suggested] born Eliza Fowler,
traditionally to a merchant family in London but
just possibly as sister to Sir Richard Fowler of Harnage
Grange, Shropshire, with whom EH claims in
a letter to be "nearly related"

1715 in Dublin as Eliza Haywood: EH acts part of Chloe
in Thomas Shadwell's Shakespeare adaptation, Timon of Athens; or, The Man-Hater. Her husband's
identity is not known (Blouch disproves Whicher's
conjecture that EH was the eloped wife of Reverend
Valentine Haywood); in a later letter, EH
gives "an unfortunate marriage" as the reason she
writes to support herself and her two children

1719-20 Love in Excess published to great acclaim in three
parts; Letters front a Lady of Quality to a Chevalier (trans.). EH is part of the literary group surrounding
Aaron Hill, playwright and manager of the Little
Theatre in the Haymarket (1720-33); meets
Richard Savage, who supplies a prefatory poem for
the second part of Love in Excess

1720-25 as well as acting and writing plays and novels, EH
involved in pamphlets featuring the deaf-mute
prophet Duncan Campbell; these include The Life of
Duncan Campbell (allegedly by Defoe), A Spy Upon
the Conjuror (1724), The Dumb Projector (1725), and


28 eliza haywood: a brief chronology


The Friendly Daemon (1725; rpt. 1732 as Secret Memoirs
of the Late Mr. Duncan Campbell)

1721 The Fair Captive, tragedy, acted

1722 The British Recluse; The Injured Husband

1723 A Wife to be Lett, comedy, acted; Idalia; Lasselia; The
Rash Resolve (with a prefatory poem by Savage); The Works of Mrs. Eliza Hay wood, consisting of Novels,
Letters, Poems, and Plays, 4 vols. ( vol. 4, Poems on
Several Occasions, 1724)

1724 quarrel with Savage (& Martha Fowke Sansom),
who later satirizes her; EH's account of Savage
appears in Memoirs of a Certain Island adjacent to the
Kingdom of Utopia (vol. 2,1725; 2nd ed. 1726), a
scandal romance in the tradition of Delarivier
Manley's New Atalantis

The Masqueraders (pt. 2,1725); The Fatal Secret; The
Surprise; The Arragonian Queen; La Belle Assemble (trans.; vol 2,1726); Bath-Intrigues; Fantomina; The
Force of Nature; Memoirs of the Baron de Brosse 1724-25 Secret Histories, Novels and Poems, (4 vols., eds. in
1732,1742)

1725 The Lady's Philosopher's Stone (trans.); The Unequal
Conflict; The Tea Table (pt. 2,1726); Fatal Fondness;
Mary Stuart (life of Mary Queen of Scots)

1726 The Distressed Orphan; The Mercenary Lover, Reflections
on the Various Effects of Love; The City Jilt; The
Double Marriage; The Court of Carimania, a second
scandal romance; Letters from the Palace of Fame;
Cleomelia
1727 The Fruitless Enquiry; The Life of Madam de

Villesache; Love in Its Variety (trans.); Philidore and
Placentia; The Perplex'd Dutchess

1728 The Padlock; or, No Guard without Virtue (with 3rd.
ed. Mercenary Lover); The Agreeable Caledonian (pt. 2,
1729; reissued as Clementina in 1768); Irish Artifice (in The Female Dunciad); Persecuted Virtue; Some
Memoirs of the Amours and Intrigues of a Certain Irish
Dean; The Disguised Prince (trans., pt. 2 1729)


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 29


1729 Frederick, Duke of Brunswick-Lunenburgh acted ("an
indifferent success"); The Fair Hebrew

173 os active in theatre, both acting (often with William
Hatchett, apparently also her lover) and writing
plays

1730 Love-Letters on All Occasions

1733 Opera of Operas, by EH and William Hatchett, with
music by John Frederick Lampe, runs for eleven
performances (a hit!) and is then published

1734 L'Entretien des Beaux-Esprits (trans.)

1735 The Dramatic Historiographer; or, The British Theatre
Delineated (later redded The Companion to the Theatre); 7 eds. by 1756

1736 The Adventures ofEovaai (rpt. 1740 as The Unfortunate
Princess)

1737 adaptation of Love in Excess acted (Stanton 346)

23 May: benefit night for EH at Little Haymarket
1741-42 publishes (& probably wrote) Anti-Pamela; or, Feign'd
Innocence Detected; publishes (and trans.) The Busybody;
or, Successful Spy; The Virtuous Villager (trans.)

1743 A Present for a Servant Maid

1744 The Fortunate Foundlings; The Female Spectator

(monthly periodical, April 1744-May 1746): the
first English periodical written by and for women

1746 The Parrot (weekly, 2 August to 4 October)

1747 Memoirs of a Man of Honour (trans.)

1748 Life's Progress through the Passions; or, The Adventures
ofNatura

1749 Dalinda; or, The Double Marriage; Epistles for the
Ladies

1750 A Letter from H-- G--g, Esq. (a pamphlet-letter
supposedly by the Gendeman of the Bedchamber
to the Young Pretender [i.e., Bonnie Prince Charlie]):
arrested by a nervous government, EH spends
some weeks in custody; The History of Cornelia

1751 The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless

1752 The History of Jemmy and Jenny Jessamy

1753 Modem Characters


30 eliza haywood: a brief chronology


1754 The Invisible Spy ("by Exploribus")

1755 The Wife

1756 The Husband; The Young Lady (apologizes in 7th &
last installment of this weekly periodical, 17 February,
that she is too ill to continue). Dies on 25 February,
a resident of New Peter (now Chadwick)
Street, Westminster, and is buried at St. Margaret's
Church, Westminster

1788 The History of Leonora Meadowson ("By the Author
of Betsy Thoughtless")


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 31


LOVE IN EXCESS;

OR
THE FATAL ENQUIRY:


A NOVEL


------ In vain from Fate we fly,
For first or last, as all must die,
So 'tis as much decreed above,
That first or last, we all must love.

------Lansdown.1


1 George Granville, Baron Lansdown (1667-1735), poet and playwright as well as
courtier, statesman, and patron.


Frontispiece to the 1722 edition of Love in Excess (engraved by
Elisha Kirkall).

TO
MRS. OLDFIELD1


Madam,

There is not any thing can excuse this presumption, but my intention
in doing it. If you please to call to mind your late goodness to me,
you'll find it requires my utmost acknowledgment.

But good actions from you are like ill ones from others, no sooner
done, than forgot. I might expatiate on the many beauties of your mind
and person, but it would be like telling the world 'twere broad day at
noon.

The author of the following lines is a young lady, whose greatest
pride is in the patroness I have chose her; but she's fearful in not pleasing
one who I am well assured is a real critick without their ill nature.2

I shan't here mention the many authors that have been obliged to
you by the amendments3 in your inimitable performances. I would only
advise 'em for the future to give you but the plan of what they would
have said, and leave the rest to you.

I shall think my self very happy if I could have it to say the reading
these following lines had filled up the casma4 of one of your vacant
hours. But I must not offend, in endeavouring to excuse my self; I only
beg you'll accept this,from your


Most Faithful, Obedient

Humble Servant,

W. Chetwood5


1 London's most popular and successful actress from the first decade of the eighteenth
century until her death, Anne Oldfield (c. 1683-1730) moved in aristocratic circles
as mistress of Brigadier General Charles Churchill (natural son of the Duke of
Marlborough's brother); a potentially valuable patron she helped support Richard
Savage.

2 Increasingly professionalised, critics were often satirised for their rudeness.

3 Plays were usually altered for performance, and Oldfield improves the original; that
is, she is qualified to be a good writer as well as a good-natured critic.

4 Chasm, vacancy; only in a moment of ladylike boredom, the compliment suggests,
would so august a figure seek amusement in so humble a work.

5 Haywood's bookseller (i.e., publisher).


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 35


LOVE IN EXCESS;

OR,
THE FATAL ENQUIRY. Part the First.


in the late war between the French and the confederate
armies,1 there were two brothers, who had acquired a more
than ordinary reputation under the command of the great
and intrepid Luxembourgh. But the conclusion of the peace
taking away any further occasions of shewing their valour, the
eldest of 'em, whose name was Count D'elmont, returned to
Paris, from whence he had been absent two years, leaving his
brother at St. Omer's, 'till the cure of some slight wounds were
perfected.

The fame of the Count's brave actions arrived before him,
and he had the satisfaction of being received by the King and
Court, after a manner that might gratifie the ambition of the
proudest. The beauty of his person, the gaity of his air, and the
unequalled charms of his conversation, made him the admiration
of both sexes; and whilst those of his own strove which
should gain the largest share of his friendship; the other, vented
fruitless wishes, and in secret, cursed that custom which forbids
women to make a declaration of their thoughts.2 Amongst the
number of these, was Alovisa,3 a lady descended (by the father's
side) from the noble family of D'La Tours formerly Lord of


1 The War of the Spanish Succession, which lasted from 1701 until the Treaty of
Utrecht in 1713; France, with Bavaria and Spain, opposed a confederation of
Britain, Austria, Prussia, Denmark, the Netherlands, and Savoy.

2 Though society expected a woman to attract and marry an eligible man, it forbade
her to show interest in a man before he formally declared his wish to marry her;
this constraint is an important theme in eighteenth-century novels by women.

3 A version of Eloisa or Eloise, English forms of Hlose, the name of the medieval
woman famous for her tragic love for and separation from her teacher Abelard; the
poet Alexander Pope had recently explored her story in a verse epistle, "Eloisa to Abelard" (1717).


love in excess; oh, the fatal enquiry 37


Beujey, and (by her mother's) from the equally illustrious house
of Montmorency. The late death of her parents had left her coheires (with her sister,) of a vast estate.1

Aloisa, if her passion was not greater than the rest, her pride,
and the good opinion she had of her self, made her the less able
to support it; she sighed, she burned, she raged, when she perceived
the charming D'elmont behaved himself toward her
with no mark of a distinguishing affection. "What," said she,
"have I beheld without concern a thousand lovers at my feet,
and shall the only man I ever endeavoured or wished to charm,
regard me with indifference? Wherefore has the agreeing world
joyned with my deceitful glass to flatter me into a vain belief I
had invincible attractions? D'elmont sees 'em not, D'elmont is
insensible." Then would she fall into ravings, sometimes cursing
her own want of power, sometimes the coldness of D'elmont.
Many days she passed in these inquietudes, and every time she
saw him (which was very frequently either at Court, at church,
or publick meetings,) she found fresh matter for her troubled
thoughts to work upon. When on any occasion he happened
to speak to her, it was with that softness 'in his eyes, and that
engaging tenderness in his voice, as would half persuade her
that, that god had touched his heart, which so powerfully had
influenced hers;2 but if a glimmering of such a hope gave her a
pleasure inconceivable, how great were the ensuing torments,
when she observed, those looks and accents were but the effects
of his natural complaisance,3 and that to whom soever he
addressed, he carried an equality in his behaviour, which sufficiently
evinced his hour was not yet come to feel those pains
he gave; and if the afflicted fair ones found any consolation, it
was in the reflection that no triumphant rival could boast a
conquest, each now despaired of gaining. But the impatient
Alovisa disdaining to be ranked with those, whom her vanity


1 Women were usually under the authority of a father, guardian, or husband; Alovisa
and her sister Ansellina combine their wealth and high rank with an atypical freedom
to choose for themselves.

2 That the god of love had touched his heart too; in novelists of this period, as in earlier romance, Cupid is a tyrant who enjoys subduing those who resist his power

3 Not complacency but "civility, desire of pleasing" (Johnson)


38 ELIZA HAYWOOD


made her consider as infinitely her inferiors, suffered her self to
be agitated almost to madness between the two extreams of
love and indignation; a thousand chimeras1 came into her head,
and sometimes prompted her to discover the sentiments she
had in his favour. But these resolutions were rejected, almost as
soon as formed, and she could not fix on any for a long time;
'till at last, love (ingenious in invention,) inspired her with one,
which probably might let her into the secrets of his heart, without
the shame of revealing her own.

The celebration of Madam the Dutchess of Burgundy's
birth-day being to be solemnized with great magnificence, she
writ this billet to him on the night before.


To Count D'elmont.


Resistless as you are in war, you are much more so in love. Here
you conquer without making an attack, and we surrender before
you summons;2 the law of arms obliges you to show mercy to an
yielding enemy, and sure the Court cannot inspire less generous
sentiments than the field. The little god lays down his arrows at
your feet, confesses your superior power, and begs a friendly treatment;
he will appear to you to morrow night at the ball, in the
eyes of the most passionate of all his voteresses; search therefore
for him in her, in whom (amongst that bright assembly) you
would most desire to find him; I am confident you have too
much penetration to miss of him, if not byassed by a former inclination,
and in that hope, I shall (as patiently as my expectations
will let me) support till then, the tedious hours.

Farewell.


This she sent by a trusty servant, and so disguised, that it was
impossible for him to be known, with a strict charge to deliver
it to the Count's own hands, and come away before he had read
it; the fellow performed her orders exactly, and when the


1 Mythological monsters with a lion's head, a goat's body, and a dragon's tail; commonly
used (as here) for wild fancies

2 "To summons" is to summon, Alovisa employs the formal language of legal and
military command


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 39


Count who was not a little surprized at the first opening it,
asked for the messenger, and commanded he should be stayed;
his gentleman1 (who then was waiting in his chamber,) told
him he ran down stairs with all the speed imaginable, immediately
on his lordship's receiving it. D'elmont having never experienced the force of love, could not presently comprehend
the truth of this adventure; at first he imagined some of his
companions had caused this letter to be writ, either to sound
his inclinations, or upbraid his little disposition to gallantry; but
these cogitations soon gave place to others; and tho' he was not
very vain, yet he found it no difficulty to persuade himself to an
opinion that it was possible for a lady to distinguish him from
other men. Nor did he find any thing so displeasing in that
thought as might make him endeavour to repell it; the more he
considered his own perfections, the more he was confirmed in
his belief, but who to fix it on, he was at a loss as much as ever;
he then began to reflect on all the discourses and little railleries
that had passed between him and the ladies whom he had conversed
with since his arrival, but could find nothing in any of
'em of consequence enough to make him guess at the person.
He spent great part of the night in thoughts very different from
those he was accustomed to, the joy which naturally rises from
the knowledge 'tis in ones power to give it, gave him notions
which till then he was a stranger to; he began to consider a mistress
as an agreeable, as well as fashionable amusement, and
resolved not to be cruel.

In the mean time poor Alovisa was in all the anxiety imaginable,
she counted every hour, and thought 'em ages, and at the
first dawn of day she rose, and calling up her women,2 who
were amazed to find her so uneasie, she employed 'em in placing
her jewels on her cloaths to the best advantage, while she
consulted her glass after what manner she should dress, her
eyes, the gay, the languishing, the sedate, the commanding, the
beseeching air were put on, a thousand times, and, as often
rejected; and she had scarce determined which to make use of,


1 "The servant who waits about the person of a man of rank" (Johnson).

2 Her personal attendants.


40 ELIZA HAYWOOD


when her page brought her word, some ladies who were going
to Court desired her to accompany them; she was too impatient
not to be willing to be one of the first, so went immediately,
armed with all her lightnings,1 but full of unsettled
reflections. She had not been long in the drawing room, before
it grew very full of company, but D'elmont not being amongst
'em, she had her eyes fixed toward the door, expecting every
moment to see him enter; but how impossible is it to represent
her confusion, when he appeared, leading the young Amena2,
daughter to Monsieur Sanseverin, a gentleman, who tho' he
had a very small estate, and many children, had by a partial
indulgence, too common among parents, neglecting the rest,
maintained this darling of his heart in all the pomp of quality3 -- The beauty and sweetness of this lady was present death to
Alovisa's hopes; she saw, or fancied she saw an unusual joy in
her eyes, and dying love in his; disdain, despair, and jealousie at
once crowded into her heart, and swelled her almost to bursting;
and 'twas no wonder that the violence of such terrible
emotions kept her from regarding the discourses of those stood
by her, or the devoirs that D'elmont made as he passed by, and
at length threw her into a swoon; the ladies ran to her assistance,
and her charming rival, being one of her particular
acquaintance, shewed an extraordinary assiduity in applying
means for her relief; they made what hast they could to get her
into another room, and unfasten her robe,4 but were a great
while before they could bring her to her self; and when they
did, the shame of having been so disordered in such an assembly,
and the fears of their suspecting the occasion, added to her
former agonies, and racked her with most terrible revulsions,
every one now despairing of her being able to assist at5 that


1 Her charms, compared in the language of gallantry to the lightning of the mythological
sky god, Jove.

2 Amoena is Latin for "pleasant" or "charming"; the lushly described amoena (loca
amoena, singular focus amoenus -- "delightful place") of pastoral romance are idealized
places of amorous dalliance.

3 The ceremony and display appropriate to high rank.

4 Loosen the ties and stays of her clothing so that she can breathe more freely.

5 To be present at, to attend (French assister a).


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 41


night's entertainment, she was put into her chair,1 in order to
be carried home; Amena who little thought how unwelcome
she was grown, would needs have one called, and accompanyd
her thither, in spight of the intreaties of D'elmont, who had
before engaged her for his partner in dancing; not that he was
in love with, her, or at that time believed he could be touched
with a passion which he esteemed a trifle in it self, and below
the dignity of a man of sense; but Fortune (to whom this lady,
no less enamoured than Alovisa, had made a thousand invocations)
seemed to have allotted her the glory of his first addresses;
she was getting out of her chariot just as he alighted from
his, and offering her his hand, he perceived hers trembled,
which engaging him to look upon her more earnestly than he
was wont, he immediately fancied he saw something of that
languishment in her eyes, which the obliging mandate2 had
described. Amena was too lovely to make that belief disagreeable,
and he resolved on the beginnings of an amour, without
giving himself the trouble of considering the consequences; the evening being extreamly pleasant, he asked if she would not
favour him so far as to take a turn or two with him in the
palace-garden. She who desired nothing more than such a particular
conversation, was not at all backward of complying; he
talked to her there for some time in a manner as could leave
her no room to doubt he was intirely charmed, and 'twas the
air -- such an entertainment had left on both their faces, as produced
those sad effects in the jealous Alovisa. She was no sooner
led to her apartment, but she desired to be put to bed, and
the good natured Amena, who really had a very great kindness
for her, offered to quit the diversions of the ball, and stay with
her all night; but unfortunate Alovisa was not in a condition to
endure the presence of any, especially her, so put her off as
civilly as her anxiety would give her leave, chusing rather to
suffer her return to the ball, than retain so hateful an object (as
she was now become) in her sight; and 'tis likely the other was


1 Her sedan chair, an enclosed chair carried through the streets on poles by two
chairmen.

2 The love letter that obliges D'elmont to seek out his admirer.


42 ELIZA HAYWOOD


not much troubled at her refusal. But how, (when left alone,
and abandoned to the whirlwinds of her passion,) the desperate
Alovisa behaved, none but those, who like her, have burned in
hopeless fires can guess, the most lively description would
come far short of what she felt; she raved, she tore her hair and
face, and in the extremity of her anguish was ready to lay violent
hands on her own life. In this tempest of mind, she continued
for some time, 'till at length rage beginning to dissipate it
self in tears, made way for cooler considerations; and her natural
vanity resuming its empire in her soul, was of no little service
to her on this occasion. "Why am I thus disturbed? mean
spirited as I am!" said she, "D'elmont is ignorant of the sentiments
I am possessed with in his favour; and perhaps 'tis only
want of incouragement that has so long deprived me of my
lover; my letter bore no certain mark by which he might distinguish
me, and who knows what arts that creature might
make use of to allure him. I will therefore," pursued she, with a
more cheerful countenance, "direct his erring search." As she
was in this thought, (happily1 for her, who else might have
relapsed,) her women who were waiting in the next room,
came in to know if she wanted any thing; "yes," answered she,
with a voice and eyes wholly changed; "I'll rise, one of you
help me on with my cloaths, and let the other send Charlo to
me, I have instant business with him." 'Twas in vain for 'em to
represent to her the prejudice it might be to her health to get
out of her bed at so unseasonable an hour, it being then just
midnight. They knew her too absolute2 a mistress not to be
obeyed, and executed her commands, without disputing the
reason. She was no sooner ready, than Charlo was introduced,
who being the same person that carried the letter to D'elmont,
guessed what affair he was to be concerned in, and shut the
door after him. "I commend your caution," said his lady, "for
what I now am going to trust you with is of more concernment
than my life." The fellow bowed, and made a thousand
protestations of an eternal fidelity. "I doubt it not," resumed


1 Fortunately, luckily.

2 Tyrannical, like an absolute monarch who tolerates no hesitation or opposition.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 43


she, "go then immediately to the Court, 'tis not impossible but
in this hurry you may get into the drawing room; but if not,
make some pretence to stay as near it as you can 'till the ball be
over; listen carefully to all discourses where you hear Count
D'elmont1 mentioned, enquire who he dances with, and above
all watch what company he comes out with, and bring me an
exact account. Go," continued she hastily, "these are all the
orders I have for you to night, but to morrow I shall employ
you farther." Then turning to her escritore,2 she sat down, and
began to prepare a second letter, which she hoped would be
more lucky than the former. She was not long writing, love,
and wit, suggested a world of passionate and agreeable expressions
to her in a moment; but when she had finished this so full
a discovery3 of her heart, and was about to sign her name to it,
not all that passion which had inspired her with a resolution to
scruple nothing that might advance the compassing her wishes,
nor the vanity which assured her of success, were forcible
enough to withstand the shock it gave her pride; "No, let me
rather die!" said she, starting up, and frighted at her own
designs, "then be guilty of a meanness which would render me
unworthy of life; Oh! heavens, to offer love, and poorly sue for
pity! 'tis insupportable! What bewitched me to harbour such a
thought as even the vilest of my sex would blush at? To pieces
then," added she tearing the paper, "to pieces, with this shameful
witness of my folly, my furious desires may be the destruction
of my peace, but never of my honour, that shall still attend
my name when love and life are fled." She continued in this
temper (without being able to compose her self to rest,) till day
began to appear, and Charlo returned with news which confirmed
her most dreaded suspicions. He told her that he had
gained admittance to the drawing room several times, under
pretence of delivering messages to some of the ladies; that the
whole talk among 'em was, that D'elmont was no longer insensible
of beauty; that he observed that gentleman in very partic


1 4th d.; 1st ed. reads "D'elmont's".

2 Escritoire, a writing desk or table.

3 Revelation. "Discover" usually means "uncover"; discovering a secret is not learning
it but revealing it to a third party.


44 ELIZA HAYWOOD


ular conference with Amena, and that he waited on her home
in his chariot, her own not being in the way. "I know it," said
Alovisa (walking about in a disordered motion) "I did not
doubt but that I was undone, and to my other miseries, have
that of being aiding to my rival's happiness. Whatever his
desires were, he carefully concealed 'em, 'till my cursed letter
prompted a discovery; tenacious as I was, and too, too confident
of this little beauty!" Here she stopped, and wiping away some
tears which in spight of her ran down her cheeks, gave Charlo
leave to ask if she had any more commands for him. "Yes,"
answered she, "I will write once more to this undiscerning
man, and let him know, 'tis not Amena that is worthy of him;
that I may do without prejudicing my fame, and 'twill be at
least some easement to my mind to undeceive the opinion he
may have conceived of her wit, for I am almost confident she
passes for the authoress of those lines which have been so fatal
to me"; in speaking this, without any further thought, she once
more took her pen and wrote these words.


To Count D'elmont.


If ambition1 be a fault, 'tis only in those who have not a sufficent
stock of merit2 to support it; too much humility is a greater in
you, whose person and qualities are too admirable; not to render
any attempt you shall make justifiable, as well as successful.
Heaven when it distinguished you in so particular a manner
from the rest of mankind, designed you not for vulgar conquests,
and you cannot without a manifest contradiction to its will, and
an irreparable injury to your self, make a present of that heart to
Amena, when one, of at least an equal beauty, and far superior
in every other consideration, would sacrifice all to purchase the
glorious trophy. Continue then no longer in a willful ignorance,


1 The desire for social distinction can dictate marriage to someone of superior rank
and fortune; hence the Count's loveless marriage to Alovisa. In Frances Burney's Evelina (1778), the heroine's guardian interprets as ambition her desire to visit London
(and so to be seen in public places)

2 The individual quality that deserves reward by a social superior -- "excellence
deserving honour or reward" (Johnson).


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 45


aim at a more exalted flight, and you will find it no difficulty to
discover who she is that languishes, and almost dies for an opportunity
of confessing (without too great a breach of modesty) that
her soul, and all the faculties of it, are, and must be

Eternally Yours,


This she gave to Charlo, to deliver with the same caution as
the former; but he was scarce got out of the house before a new
fear assaulted her, and she repented her uncircumspection.
"What have I done!" cried she, "who knows but D'elmont may
shew these letters to Amena, she is perfectly acquainted with
my hand, and I shall be the most exposed and wretched
woman, in the world." Thus industrious was she in forming
notions to torment her self; nor indeed was there any thing of
improbability in this conjecture. There are too many ungenerous
enough to boast such an adventure; but D'elmont tho' he
would have given good part of his estate to satisfie his curiosity,
yet chose rather to remain in a perpetual ignorance, than make
use of any means that might be disadvantageous to the ladies
reputation. He now perceived his mistake, and that it was not
Amena who had taken that method to engage him, and possibly
was not disgusted to find she had a rival of such merit, as
the letter intimated. However he had said too many fine things
to her to be lost, and thought it as inconsistent with his honours
inclination to desist a pursuit in which he had all the reason
in the world to assure himself of victory; for the young
Amena (little versed in the art of dissimulation, so necessary to
her sex,) could not conceal the pleasure she took in his addresses
and without even a seeming reluctancy had given him a
promise of meeting him the next day in the Tuilleries;1 nor
could all his unknown mistress had writ, perswade him to miss
this assignation, nor let that be succeeded with another, and
that by a third, and so on, 'till by making a shew of tenderness
he began to fancy himself really touched with a passion he only
designed to represent.2 'Tis certain this way of fooling raised


1 The Tuileries, a fashionable royal garden in Paris

2 To imitate


46 ELIZA HAYWOOD


desires in him little diffrent from what is commonly called
love; and made him redouble his attacks in such a manner, as
Amena stood in need of all her vertue to resist; but as much as
she thought her self obliged to resent such attempts, yet he
knew so well how to excuse himself, and lay the blame on the
violence of his passion, that he was still too charming, and too
dear to her not to be forgiven. Thus was Amena (by her too
generous and open temper) brought to the very brink of ruin,
and D'elmont was possibly contriving means to compleat it,
when her page brought him this letter.


To Count D'elmont.


Some malicious persons have endeavoured to make the little conversation
I have had with you, appear as criminal; therefore to
put a stop to all such aspersions, I must for the future deny my
self the honour of your visits, unless commanded to receive 'em
by my father, who only has the power of disposing of

Amena.1


The consternation he was in at the reading of these lines, so
very different from her former behaviour, is more easily imagined
than expressed, 'till casting his eyes on the ground, he saw
a small note, which in the opening of this, had fallen out of it,
which he hastily took up, and found it contained these words.


I guess the surprize my lovely friend is in, but have not time
now to unriddle the mystery; I beg you will be at your lodgings
towards the evening, and I will invent a way to send to you.


'Twas now that D'elmont began to find there were embarrasments2 in an intriegue of this nature, which he had not foreseen,
and stayed at home all day, impatiently expecting the
clearing of an affair which at present seemed so ambiguous.


1 Only Amena's father can give her away in marriage; to prevent seduction (and disgrace),
M Sanseverm tries to force D'elmont to declare an honorable intention to
marry his daughter before he sees her again.

2 "Perplexities], entanglements]" (Johnson)


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 47


When it grew a little duskish, his gentleman brought in a
young woman, whom he immediately knew to be Anaret, an
attendant on Amena; and when he had made her sit down, told
her he hoped she was come to make an edairdsment,1 which
would be very obliging to him, and therefore desired she would
not defer it.

"My lord," said she, "'tis with an unspeakable trouble I discharge
that trust my lady has reposed in me, in giving you a
'relation of her misfortunes; but not to keep you longer in a suspence, which I perceive is very uneasie to you; I shall acquaint
you, that soon after you were gone, my lady came up into her
chamber, where as I was preparing to undress her, we heard
Monsieur Sanseverin in an angry tone ask where his daughter
was? and being told she was above, we immediately saw him
enter, with a countenance so enflamed, as put us both in a mortal
apprehension. 'An ill use,' said he to her, 'have you made of
my indulgence, and the liberty I have allowed you! Could neither
the considerations of the honour of your family, your own
reputation, nor my eternal repose, deter you from such imprudent
actions, as you cannot be ignorant must be the inevitable
ruin of 'em all.' My poor lady was too much surprized at these
cruel words, to be able to make any answer to 'em, and stood
trembling, and almost fainting, while he went on with his discourse.
'Was it consistent with the niceties2 of your sex,' said he,
'or with the duty you owe me, to receive the addresses of a person
whose pretensions I was a stranger to? If the Count D'elmont has any that are honourable, wherefore are they
concealed?' 'The Count D'elmont!' cried my lady, more frighted
than before, 'never made any declarations to me worthy of
your knowledge, nor did I ever entertain him otherwise, than
might become your daughter.' "Tis false,' interrupted he furiously,
'I am but too well informed of the contrary; nor has the
most private of your shameful meetings escaped my ears!'
Judge, sir, in what a confusion my lady was in at this discourse;
'twas in vain, she mustered all her courage to perswade him


1 Clarification, explanation (French claircissement).

2 Fastidious delicacy.


48 ELIZA HAYWOOD


from giving credit to an intelligence so injurious to her, he
grew the more enraged, and after a thousand reproaches, flung
out of the room with all the marks of a most violent indignation.
But though your lordship is too well acquainted with the
mildness of Amena's disposition, not1 to believe she could bear
the displeasure of a father2 (who had always most tenderly
loved her,) with indifference; yet 'tis impossible for you to
imagine in what an excess of sorrow she was plunged, she
found every passage of her ill conduct (as she was pleased to
call it) was betrayed, and did not doubt but whoever had done
her that ill office to her father, would take care the discovery
should not be confined to him alone. Grief, fear, remorse, and
shame by turns assaulted her, and made her incapable of consolation;
even the soft pleas of love were silenced by their tumultuous
clamours, and for a time she considered your lordship in
no other view than that of her undoer." "How!" cried D'elmont (interrupting her) "could my Amena, who I thought all
sweetness judge so harshly of me." "Oh! my lord," resumed
Anaret, "you must forgive those first emotions, which as violent
as they were, wanted but your presence to dissipate in a
moment; and if your idea3 had not presently that power, it lost
no honour by having foes to struggle with, since at last it put
'em all to flight, and gained so entire a victory, that before
morning, of all her troubles, scarce any but the fears of losing
you remained. And I must take the liberty to assure your lordship,
my endeavours were not wanting to establish a resolution
in her to despise every thing for love and you. But to be as
brief as I can in my relation; the night was no sooner gone, than
Monsieur her father came into the chamber, with a countenance,
tho' more composed than that with which he left us, yet
with such an air of austerity, as made my timerous lady lose


1 Amena cannot easily bear such displeasure, so the sense seems to require deleting
this "not" or adding a second one after "could"; a few complex negative constructions go astray in Love in Excess.

2 No matter how tyrannical their fathers, eighteenth-century heroines (and heroes)
risk their displeasure reluctantly if at all. Since paternal authority is central to the
ideology of a royalist society based on the transmission of land from fathers to eldest
sons, defiance of a father's wishes is a shocking transgression.

3 Mental image.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 49


most of the spirit she had assumed for this encounter. 'I come
not now Amena,' said he, 'to upbraid or punish your disobedience,
if you are not wholly abandoned by your reason, your
own reflections will be sufficiently your tormentors. But to put
you in a way (if not to clear your fame, yet to take away all
occasion of future calumny,) you must write to Count D'elmont.
'"I will have no denials,' continued he (seeing her about to
speak,) and leading her to her escritore, constrained her to
write what he dictated, and you received; just as she was going
to seal it, a servant brought word that a gentleman desired to
speak with Monsieur Sansevarin, he was obliged to step into
another room, and that absence gave her an opportunity of
writing a note, which she dextrously slipped into the letter,
unperceived by her father at his return, who little suspecting
what she had done, sent it away immediately. 'Now,' said he, 'we
shall be able to judge of the sincerity of the Count's affections,
but till then I shall take care to prove my self a person not disinterested
in the honour of my family.' As he spoke these words,
he took her by the hand, and conducting her thro' his own into
a little chamber (which he had ordered to be made ready for
that purpose) shut her into it: I followed to the door, and seconded
my lady in her desires, that I might be permitted to
attend her there; but all in vain, he told me, he doubted not but
that I had been her confident in this affair, and ordered me to quit his house in a few days. As soon as he was gone out, I went
into the garden, and sauntered up and down a good while, hoping
to get an opportunity of speaking to my lady thro' the window,
for I knew there was one that looked into it; but not
seeing her, I bethought me of getting a little stick, with which I
knocked gently against the glass, and engaged her to open it. As
soon as she perceived me, a beam of joy brightened in her eyes,
and glistened thro' her tears. 'Dear Anaret,' said she, 'how kindly
do I take this proof of thy affection, 'tis only in thy power to alleviate my misfortunes, and thou I know art come to offer thy
assistance.' Then after I had assured her of my willingness to
serve her in any command, she desired me to wait on you with
an account of all had happened, and to give you her vows of an


50 ELIZA HAYWOOD


eternal love. 'My eyes,' said she weeping, 'perhaps may ne'er
behold him more, but imagination shall supply that want, and
from my heart he never shall be absent.'" "Oh! do not talk
thus," cried the Count, extreamly touched at this discourse, "I
must, I will see her, nothing shall hold her from me." "You
may," answered Anaret, "but then it must be with the approbation
of Monsieur Sansevarin, he will be proud to receive you in
quality of a suitor to his daughter, and 'tis only to oblige you to
a publick declaration that he takes these measures." D'elmont
was not perfectly pleased with these words; he was too quick
sighted not to perceive immediately what Monsieur Sanseverin
drove at, but as well as he liked Amena, found no inclination in
himself to marry her, and therefore was not desirous of an
explanation of what he resolved not to seem to understand. He walked two or three turns about the room, endeavouring to
conceal his disgust,1 and when he had so well overcome the
shock, as to banish all visible tokens of it, "I would willingly,"
said he coldly, "come into any proper method for the obtaining
the person2 of Amena, as well as her heart; but there are certain
reasons for which I cannot make a discovery of my designs to
her father, 'till I have first spoken with her." "My lord," replied
the subtle Anaret (easily guessing at his meaning) "I wish to
heaven there were a possibility of your meeting; there is nothing
I would not risque to forward it, and if your lordship can
think of any way in which I may be serviceable to you, in this
short time I am allowed to stay in the family, I beg you would
command me." She spoke this with an air as made the Count
believe she really had it in her power to serve him in this occasion,
and presently hit on the surest means to bind her to his
interest. "You are very obliging," said he, "and I doubt not but
your ingenuity is equal to your good nature, therefore will
leave the contrivance of my happiness entirely to you; and that
you may not think your care bestowed on an ungrateful per-

1 "Aversion of the palate from anything" (Johnson) Amena is poor and D'elmont,
Alovisa says later, wants to restore his family's depleted fortunes by marrying an
heiress

2 Frequently, as here, the body, "Human Being, considered with respect to mere corporal existence" (Johnson)


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 51


son, be pleased," continued he, giving her a purse of Lewisdor's,1 "to accept this small earnest of my future friendship."
Anaret like most of her function,2 was too mercinary to resist
such a temptation, tho' it had been given her to betray the honour
of her whole sex; and after a little pause, replied, "Your
lordship is too generous to be refused, tho' in a matter of the
greatest difficulty, as indeed this is; for in the strict confinement
my lady is, I know no way but one, and that extreamly hazardous
to her; however, I do not fear but my perswasions,
joyned with her own desires, will influence her to attempt it.
Your lordship knows we have a little door at the farther end
of the garden, that opens into the Tuillerys." "I do," cried
D'elmont interrupting her, "I have several times parted from
my charmer there, when my entreaties have prevailed with her
to stay longer with me than she would have the family to take
notice of." "I hope to order the matter so," resumed Anaret,
"that it shall be the scene this night of a most happy meeting.
My lady unknown to her father has the key of it, she can throw
it to me from her window, and I can open it to you, who must
be walking near it, about twelve or one a clock, for by that time
every body will be in bed." "But what will that avail," cried
D'elmont hastily; "since she lies within her father's chamber,
where 'tis impossible to pass without alarming him." "You
lovers are so impatient," rejoyned Anaret smiling, "I never
designed you should have entrance there, tho' the window is so
low, that a person of your lordship's stature and agility might
mount it with a galliard step, but I suppose it will turn to as
good an account if your mistress by my assistance gets out of
it." "But can she," interrupted he, "will she, dost thou think?"
"Fear it not, my lord," replied she, "be but punctual to the hour,
Amena shall be yours, if love, wit and opportunity have power
to make her so." D'elmont was transported with this promise,
and the thoughts of what he expected to possess by her means,


1 Louis d'ors, French gold coins; as gold rather than the more common copper or silver,
they represent a considerable sum.

2 Like most servants. By romance convention and aristocratic prejudice, servants are
mercenary beings incapable of the "nobler" or "gender" feelings typical of the
upper classses -- nobles, gentlemen and gentlewomen.


52 ELIZA HAYWOOD


raised his imagination to so high a pitch, as he could not forbear kissing and embracing her with such raptures as might not
have been very pleasing to Amena, had she been witness of
'em. But Anaret who had other things in her head than gallantry,
disengaged her self from him as soon as she could, taking
more satisfaction in forwarding an affair in which she proposed
so much advantage, than in the caresses of the most accomplished
gentleman in the world.

When she came home she found every thing as she could
wish, Monsieur abroad, and his daughter at the window, impatiently
watching her return; she told her as much of the discourse
she had with the Count as she thought proper, extolling
his love and constancy, and carefully concealing all she thought
might give an umbrage to her vertue. But in spight of all the
artifice she made use of, she found it no easie matter to perswade her to get out of the window; the fears she had of being
discovered, and more exposed to her father's indignation, and
the censure of the world, damped her inclinations, and made
her deaf to the eager solicitations of this unfaithful woman. As
they were disputing, some of the servants hap'ning to come
into the garden, obliged 'em to break off, and Anaret retired
not totally despairing of compassing her designs, when the
appointed hour should arrive, and Amena should know the
darling object of her wishes was so near. Nor did her hopes
deceive her, the resolutions of a lover, when made against the
interest of the person beloved, are but of a short duration; and
this unhappy fair was no sooner left alone, and had leisure to
contemplate on the graces of the charming D'elmont, but love
plaid his part with such success, as made her repent she had
chid Anaret for her proposal, and wished for nothing more
than an opportunity to tell her so. She passed several hours in
disquietudes she had never known before, till at last she heard
her father come into the next room to go to bed, and soon
after somebody knocked softly at the window, she immediately
opened it, and perceived by the light of the moon which then
shone very bright, that it was Anaret, she had not patience to
listen to the long speech the other had prepared to perswade
her, but putting her head as far as she could to prevent being


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 53


heard by her father, "Well Anaret," said she, "where is this
adventrous lover, what is it he requires of me?" "Oh! madam,"
replied she, overjoyed at the compliable humour she found her
in, "he is now at the garden door, there's nothing wanting but
your key to give him entrance; what farther he requests himself
shall tell you," "Oh heavens!" cried Amena searching her pockets,
and finding she had it not; "I am undone, I have left it in my
cabinet in the chamber where I used to lie." These words made
Anaret at her wits end, she knew there was no possibility of
fetching it, there being so many rooms to go thro'; she ran to
the door, and endeavoured to push back the lock, but had not
strength; she then knew not what to do, she was sure D'elmont
was on the other side, and feared he would resent this usage to
the disappointment of all her mercenary hopes, and durst not
call to acquaint him with this misfortune for fear of being heard. As for Amena, she now was more sensible than ever of
the violence of her inclinations, by the extream vexation this
disappointment gave her. Never did people pass a night in
greater uneasiness, than these three; the Count who was naturally
impatient could not bear a balk of this nature without the
utmost chagrin.1 Amena languished, and Anaret fretted to
death, tho' she resolved to leave no stone unturned to set all
right again. Early in the morning she went to his lodgings, and
found him in a very ill humour, but she easily pacified him, by
representing with a great deal of real grief, the accident that
retarded his happiness, and assuring him there was nothing
could hinder the fulfilling it the next night.2 When she had
gained this point, she came home, and got the key into her possession,
but could not get an opportunity all day of speaking to
her lady, Monsieur Sanseverin did not stir out of doors, and
spent most of it with his daughter; in his discourse to her, he set
the passion the Count had for her in so true a light, that it
made a very great alteration in her sentiments, and she began to
reflect on the condescensions she had given a man who had


1 "Ill humour; vexation; fretfulness, peevishness" (Johnson); also spelled chagreen and
pronounced to rhyme with machine.

2 4th d., 1st ed reads", fulfilling it. The next night, when ..."


54 ELIZA HAYWOOD


never so much as mentioned marriage to her with so much
shame, as almost overwhelmed her love, and she was now
determined never to see him, till he should declare himself to
her father in such a manner as would be for her honour.

In the mean time Anaret waited with a great deal of impatience
for the family going to bed; and as soon as all was hush,
ran to give the Count admittance; and leaving him in an alley
on the farther side of the garden, made the accustomed sign at
the window. Amena presently opened it, but instead of staying
to hear what she would say, threw a letter out, "Carry that," said
she, "to Count D'elmont, let him know the contents of it are
wholly the result of my own reason. And as for your part, I
charge you trouble me no further on this subject"; then shutting
the casement hastily, left Anaret in a strange consternation
at this suddain change of her humour; however she made no
delay, but running to the place where the Count waited her
return, delivered him the letter, but advised him (who was
ready enough of himself) not to obey any commands might be
given him to the hindrance of his designs. The moon was then
at the full, and gave so clear a light, that he easily found it contained
these words.


To Count D'elmont.


Too many proofs have I given you of my weakness, not to make
you think me incapable of forming or keeping any resolution to
the prejudice of that passion you have inspired me with. But
know, thou undoer of my quiet, tho' I have loved and still do
love you with a tenderness, which I fear will be unvanauishable;
yet I will rather suffer my life, than my virtue to become its prey.
Press me then no more I conjure you to such dangerous interviews,
in which I dare neither trust my self nor you; if you
believe me worthy your real regard, the way thro' honour is open
to receive you; religion, reason, modesty, and obedience forbid the
rest.

Farewel.


D'elmont knew the power he had over her too well, to be


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 55


much discouraged at what he read, and after a little consultation
with Anaret, they concluded he should go to speak to her,
as being the best solliciter in his own cause. As he came down
the walk Amena saw him thro' the glass, and the sight of that
beloved object, bringing a thousand past endearments to her
memory, made her incapable of retiring from the window, and
she remained in a languishing and immoveable posture, leaning
her head against the shutter, 'till he drew near enough to discern
she saw him. He took this for no ill omen, and instead of
falling on his knees at an humble distance, as some romantick
lovers would have done, redoubled his pace, and love and fortune
which on this occasion were resolved to befriend him,
presented to his view a large rolling-stone1 which the gard'ner
had accidentally left there; the iron-work that held it was very
high, and strong enough to bear a much greater weight than
his, so he made no more to do, but getting on the top of it, was
almost to the waste above the bottom of the casement. This
was a strange trial, for had she been less in love, good manners
would have obliged her to open it; however she retained so
much of her former resolution as to conjure him to be gone,
and not expose her to such hazards; that if her father should
come to know she held any clandestine correspondence with
him, after the commands he had given her, she were utterly
undone, and that he never must expect any condescensions2 from her, without being first allowed by him. D'elmont, tho' he
was a little startled to find her so much more mistress of her
temper than he believed she could be, yet resolved to make all
possible use of this opportunity, which probably might be the
last he should ever have, looked on her as she spoke, with eyes
so piercing, so sparkling with desire accompanied with so
bewitching softness, as might have thawed the most frozen
reservedness, and on the melting soul stamped love's impression.
'Tis certain they were too irresistible to be long with-

1 A garden roller, a "heavy stone used to level walks" (Johnson,"roller").

2 In Haywood's rank-conscious society, condescension was often attractive, a superior's
willingness to dispense with the forms due to her or his rank. But Amena has
only the superiority of the courted mistress, not D'elmont s real social power, and
her freedom encourages a dangerous intimacy.


56 ELIZA HAYWOOD


stood, and putting an end to Amena s grave remonstrances, gave
him leave to reply to 'em in this manner. "Why my life, my
angel," said he, "my everlasting treasure of my soul, should these
objections now be raised? how can you say you have given me
your heart; nay, own you think me worthy that inestimable
jewel, yet dare not trust your person with me a few hours.
What have you to fear from your adoring slave, I want but to
convince you how much I am so, by a thousand yet uninvented
vows." "They may be spared," cried Amena, hastily interrupting
him, "one declaration to my father, is all the proof that he
or I demands of your sincerity." "Oh! thou inhuman and tyrannick charmer," answered he (seizing her hand, and eagerly kissing
it) "I doubt not but your faithful Anaret has told you, that I
could not without the highest imprudence presently discover
the passion I have for you to the world." "I have, my lord," said
that cunning wench who stood near him, "and that 'twas only
to acquaint her with the reasons why for some time you would
have it a secret, that you so much desired to speak with her."
"Besides," rejoyned the Count, "consider my angel how much
more hazardous it is for you to hold discourse with me here,
than at a farther distance from your father; your denying to go
with me is the only way to make your fears prove true; his jealousie
of you may possibly make him more wakeful than ordinary,
and we are not sure but that this minute he may tear you
from my arms; whereas if you suffer me to bear you hence, if
he should happen to come even to your door, and hear no
noise, he will believe you sleeping, and return to his bed well
satisfied." With these and the like arguments she was at last
overcome, and with the assistance of Anaret, he easily lifted her
down. But this rash action, so contrary to the resolution she
thought her self a few moments before1 so fixed in, made such
a confusion in her mind, as rendered her insensible for some
time of all he said to her. They made what hast they could into
the Tuilleries; and D'elmont having placed her on one of the
most pleasant seats, was resolved to loose no time, and having
given her some reasons for his not addressing to her father;


I 4th d.; 1st d. reads "before a few moments before."


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 57


which tho' weak in themselves, were easily believed by a heart
so willing to be deceived as hers, he began to press for a greater
confirmation of her affection than words; and 'twas now this
inconsiderate1 lady found her self in the greatest strait she had
ever yet been in; all nature seemed to favour his design, the
pleasantness of the place, the silence of the night, the sweetness
of the air, perfumed with a thousand various odours wafted by
gentle breezes from adjacent gardens compleated the most
delightful scene that ever was, to offer up a sacrifice to love; not
a breath but flew winged with desire, and sent soft thrilling
wishes to the soul; Cynthia2 her self, cold as she is reported,
assisted in the inspiration, and sometimes shone with all her
brightness, as it were to feast their ravished eyes with gazing on
each others beauty; then veiled her beams in clouds, to give the
lover boldness, and hide the virgins blushes. What now could
poor Amena do, surrounded with so many powers, attacked by
such a charming force without, betrayed by tenderness within?
Vertue and pride, the guardians of her honour fled from her
breast, and left her to her foe, only a. modest bashfulness
remained, which for a time made some defence, but with such
weakness as a lover less impatient than D'elmont would have
little regarded. The heat of the weather, and her confinement
having hindred her from dressing that day she had only a thin
silk night gown on, which flying open as he caught her in his
arms, he found her panting heart beat measures of consent, her
heaving breast swell to be pressed by his, and every pulse confess
a wish to yield; her spirits all dissolved sunk in a lethargy of
love, her snowy arms unknowing grasped his neck, her lips met
his halfway, and trembled at the touch; in fine, there was but a
moment betwixt her and ruine; when the tread of some body
coming hasttfy down the walk, obliged the half-blessed pair to
put a stop to farther endearments. It was Anaret who having
been left centinel in the garden, in order to open the door
when her lady should return, had seen lights in every room in


1 "Careless; thoughtless; negligent; inattentive; inadvertent" (Johnson).

2 The moon, from a classical name for the moon goddess; "cold" because the moon
goddess 'was traditionally a virgin.


58 ELIZA HAYWOOD


the house, and heard great confusion, so ran immediately to
give 'em notice of this misfortune. These dreadful tidings soon
roused Amena from her dream of happiness, she accused the
influence of her amorous stars, upbraided Anaret, and blamed
the Count in terms little differing from distraction, and 'twas as
much as both of 'em could do to perswade her to be calm.
However, 'twas concluded that Anaret should go back to the
house, and return to 'em again, as soon as she had learned what
accident had occasioned this disturbance. The lovers had now a
second opportunity, if either of 'em had been inclined to make
use of it, but their sentiments were entirely changed with this
alarm; Amena's thoughts were wholly taken up with her
approaching shame, and vowed she would rather die than ever
come into her father's presence, if it were true that she was
missed; the Count who wanted not good nature, seriously reflecting
on the misfortunes he was likely to bring on a young
lady who tenderly loved him, gave him a great deal of real
remorse, and the consideration that he should be necessitated,
either to own an injurious design, or come into measures for
the clearing of it, (which would in no way agree with his ambition,
made him extreamly pensive, and wish Amena again in
her chamber, more earnestly than ever he had done to get her
out of it, they both remained in a profound silence, impatiently
waiting the approach of Anaret; but she not coming as they
expected, and the night wearing away apace, very much
encreased the trouble they were in; at length the Count after
revolving a thousand inventions in his mind advised to walk
toward the garden and see whether the door was yet open.
'"Tis beter for you, madam," said he, "whatsoever has happened,
to be found in your own garden, than in any place with
me." Amena complied, and suffered her self to be led thither,
trembling and ready to sink with fear and grief at every step;
but when they found all fast, and that there was no hopes of
getting entrance, she fell quite senseless, and without any signs
of life at her lover's feet; he was strangely at a loss what to do
with her, and made a thousand vows, if he got clear of this
adventure, never to embark in another of this nature; he was little
skilled in proper means to recover her, and 'twas more to


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 59


her youth and the goodness of her constitution that she owed
the return of her1 senses, than his aukward endeavours; when
she revived, the piteous lamentations she made, and the perplexity
he was in how to dispose of her, was very near reducing
him to as bad a condition as she had been in; his never 'till now
having had occasion for a confident, rendered him so unhappy2 as not to know any one person at whose house he could with
any convenience trust her and to carry her to that where he
had lodgings was the way to be made the talk of all Paris. He
asked her several times if she would not command him to wait
on her to some place where she might remain free from censure
till she heard from her father, but could get no answer but
upbraidings from her. So making a virtue of necessity, he was
obliged to take her in his arms, with a design to bring her (tho'
much against his inclinations) to his own apartment. As he was
going thro' a very fair street which led to that in which he
lived, Amena cried out with a sort of joy, "loose me my lord, I
see a light in yonder house, the lady of it is my dearest friend,
she has power with my father, and if I beg her protection, I
doubt not but she will afford it me, and perhaps find some way, to mitigate my misfortunes"; the Count was overjoyed to be
eased of his fair burthen, and setting her down at the gate was
preparing to take his leave with an indifference, which was but
too visible to the afflicted lady. "I see, my lord" said she, "the
pleasure you take in getting rid of me, exceeds the trouble for
the ruine you have brought upon me; but go, I hope I shall
resent this usage as I ought, and that I may be the better
enabled to do so, I desire you to return the letter I writ this fatal
night; the resolution it contained will serve me to remind me
of my shameful breach of it."

"Madam," answered he coldly, but with great complaisance,
"you have said enough to make a lover less obedient refuse; but
because I am sensible of the accidents that happen to letters,
and to shew that I can never be repugnant even to the most
rigorous of your commands, I shall make no scruple in fulfilling


1 4th d.; 1st ed. reads "his."

2 Unfortunate.


60 ELIZA HAYWOOD


this, and trust to your goodness for the re-settling me in your
esteem, when next you make me so happy as to see you." The
formality of this compliment touched her to the quick, and the
thought of what she was like to suffer on his account, filled her
with so just an anger, that as soon as she got the letter, she
knocked hastily at the gate, which being immediately opened,
broke off any farther discourse, she went in, and he departed to
his lodging, ruminating on every circumstance of this affair, and
consulting with himself how he should proceed. Alovisa (for it
was her house which Amena by a whimsical effect of chance
had made choice of for her sanctuary) was no sooner told her
rival was come to speak with her, but she fell into all the raptures
that successful malice could inspire, she was already
informed of part of this night's adventur for the cunning Charlo who by her orders had been a diligent spy on Count D'elmont's actions, and as constant an attendant on him as his
shadow, had watched him to Monsieur Sanseverin's garden,
seen him enter, and afterwards come with Amena into the
Tuillerys, where perceiving 'em seated, ran home and brought
his lady an account; rage, jealousie and envy working their
usual effects in her, at this news, made her promise the fellow
infinite rewards if he would invent some stratagem to seperate
'em, which he undertaking to do, occasioned her being up so
late, impatiently waiting his return; she went down to receive
her with great civility, mixed with a feigned surprize to see her
at such an hour, and in such a dishabilee,1 which the other
answering ingeniously, and freely letting her into the whole
secret, not only of her amour, but the coldness she observed in
D'elmont's behaviour at parting, filled this cruel woman with
so exquisite a joy as she was hardly capable of dissembling;
therefore to get liberty to indulge it, and to learn the rest of the
particulars of Charlo, who she heard was come in, she told
Amena she would have her go to bed, and endeavour to compose
her self, and that she would send for Monsieur Sanseverin
in the morning, and endeavour to reconcile him to her. "I will
also," added she with a deceitful smile, "see the Count D'el-

1 Dishabille (French dshabill), "Undress; loose dress" (Johnson).


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 61


mont, and talk to him in a manner as shall make him truly sensible
of his happiness; nay, so far my friendship shall extend, that
if there be any real cause for making your amour a secret, he
shall see you at my house, and pass for a visitor of mine; I have
no body to whom I need to be accountable for my actions, and
am above the censures of the world." Amena thanked her in
terms full of gratitude, and went with the maid, whom Alovisa
had ordered to conduct her to a chamber prepared for her; as
soon as she had got rid of her, she called for Charlo, impatient
to hear by what contrivance this lucky chance had befallen her.
"Madam," said he, "tho' I formed a thousand inventions, I
found not any so plausible, as to alarm Monsieur Sanseverin's
family, with an outcry of fire. Therefore I rang the bell at the
fore-gate of the house, and bellowed in the most terrible accent
I could possible turn my voice to, 'Fire, fire, rise or you will all
be burnt in your beds.' I had not repeated this many times,
before I found the effect I wished; the noises I heard, and the
lights I saw in the rooms, assured me there were no sleepers left;
then I ran to the Tuilliers, designing to observe the lover's proceedings,
but I found they were apprized of the danger they
were in of being discovered, and were coming to endeavour an
entrance into the garden." "I know the rest," interrupted Alovisa,
"the event has answered even beyond my wishes, and thy reward for this good service shall be greater than thy expectations."
As she said these words she retired to her chamber, more satisfied than she had been for many months. Quite different
did poor Amena pass the night, for besides the grief of having
disobliged her father, banished her self his house, and exposed
her reputation to the unavoidable censures of the unpitying
world; for an ungrateful, or at best an indifferent lover. She
received a vast addition of afflictions, when taking out the letter
which D'elmont had given her at parting, possible to weep
over it; and accuse her self for so inconsiderately breaking the
noble resolution it contained. She found it was Alovisa's hand,
for the Count by mistake had given her the second he received
from that lady, instead of that she desired him to return. Never
was surprize, confusion, and dispair, at such a height, as in
Amena's soul at this discovery; she was now assured by what she


62 ELIZA HAYWOOD


read, that she had fled for protection to the very person she
ought most to have avoided; that she had made a confident of
her greatest enemy, a rival dangerous to her hopes in every circumstance.
She considered the high birth and vast possessions
that Alovisa was mistress of, in opposition to her father's scanted
power of making her a fortune. Her wit and subtilty against
her innocence and simplicity; her pride, and the respect her
grandeur commanded from the world, against her own
deplored and wretched state, and looked upon her self as wholly
lost. The violence of her sorrow is more easily imagined
than expressed; but of all her melancholy reflections, none
racked her equal to the belief she had that D'elmont was not
unsensible by this time whom the letter came from, and had
only made a court to her to amuse himself a while, and then
suffer her to fall a sacrifice to his ambition, and feed the vanity
of her rival; a just indignation now opened the eyes of her
understanding, and considering all the passages of the Count's
behaviour, she saw a thousand things which told her, his
designs on her were far unworthy of the name of love. None
that were ever touched with the least of those passions which
agitated the soul of Amena, can believe they would permit
sleep to enter her eyes. But if grief and distraction kept her
from repose; Alovisa had too much business on her hands to
enjoy much more. She had promised Amena to send for her
father, and the Count, and found there were not too many
moments before morning, to contrive so many different forms
of behaviour, as should deceive 'em all three, compleat the ruin
of her rival, and engage the addresses of her lover, as soon as she
thought it a proper hour, she dispatched a messenger to Count
D'elmont, and another to Monsieur Sanseverin, who full of
sorrow as he was, immediately obeyed her summons. She
received him in her dressing-room, and with a great deal of
feigned trouble in her countenance, accosted him in this manner.
"How hard is it," said she, "to dissemble grief, and in spite
of all the care which I doubt not you have taken to conceal it,
in consideration of your own and daughter's honour. I too
plainly perceive it in your face to imagine that my own is hid."
"How, madam," cried the impatient father, (then giving a loose


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 63


to his tears) "are you acquainted then with my misfortune?"
"Alas," answered she, "I fear by the consequences you have
been the last to whom it has been revealed. I hoped that my
advice, and the daily proofs the Count gave your daughter of
the little regard he had for her, might have fired her to a generous
disdain, and have a thousand pardons to ask of you for
breach of friendship, in concealing an affair so requisite you
should have known." "Oh! madam," resumed he, interrupting
her, "I conjure you make no apologies for what is past, I know
too well the greatness of your goodness, and the favour you
have always been pleased to honour her with, not to be assured
she was happy1 in your esteem, and only beg I may no longer
be kept in ignorance of the fatal secret." "You shall be informed
of all," said she, "but then you must promise me to act by my
advice"; which he having promised, she told him after what
manner Amena came to her house, the coldness the Count
expressed to her, and the violence of her passion for him.
"Now," said she, "if you should suffer your rage to break out in
any publick manner against the Count, it will only serve to
make your daughters dishonour the table-talk of all Paris. He is
too great at Court, and has too many friends to be compelled
to any terms for your satisfaction; besides, the least noise might
make him discover by what means he first became acquainted with her, and her excessive, I will not say troublesom fondness
of him, since which should he do, the shame would be wholly
her's, for few would condemn him for accepting the offered
caresses of a lady so young and beautiful as Amena." "But is it
possible," cried he (quite confounded at these words) "that she
should stoop so low to offer love. Oh heavens! is this the effect
of all my prayers, my care, and my indulgence." "Doubt not,"
resumed Alovisa, "of the truth of what I say, I have it from her
self, and to convince you it is so, I shall inform you of something
I had forgot before." Then she told him of the note she
had slipped into the letter he had forced her to write, and of
sending Anaret to his lodgings, which she heightned with all
the aggravating circumstances her wit and malice could sug


1 "Lucky; successful; fortunate" (Johnson).


64 ELIZA HAYWOOD


gest; till the old man believing all she said as an oracle, was
almost senseless between grief and anger; but the latter growing
rather the most predominant, he vowed to punish her in such a
manner as should deter all children from disobedience. "Now,"
said Alovisa, "it is, that I expect the performance of your
promise; these threats avail but little to the retrieving your
daughter's reputation,1 or your quiet; be therefore perswaded to make no words of it, compose your countenance as much as
possible to serenity, and think if you have no friend in any
monastry where you could send her till this discourse, and her
own foolish folly be blown over. If you have not, I can recommend
you to one at St. Dennis where the abbess is my near
relation, and on my letter will use her with all imaginable tenderness."
Monsieur was extreamly pleased at this proposal, and
gave her those thanks the seeming kindness of her offer
deserved. "I would not," resumed she, "have you take her
home, or see her before she goes; or if you do, not till all things
are ready for her departure, for I know she will be prodigal of
her promises of amendment, 'till she has prevailed with your
fatherly indulgence to permit her stay at Paris, and know as
well she will not have the power to keep 'em in the same town
with the Count. She shall if you please, remain concealed in
my house, 'till you have provided for her journey, and it will be
a great means to put a stop to any farther reflections the malicious
may make on her; if you give out she is already gone to
some relations in the country." As she was speaking, Charlo
came to acquaint her, one was come to visit her. She made no
doubt but 'twas D'elmont, therefore hastned away Monsieur
Sanseverin, after having fixed him in a resolution to do every
thing as she advised. It was indeed Count D'elmont that was
come, which as soon as she was assured of, she threw off her
dejected and mournful air, and assumed one all gaity and good
humour, dimpled her mouth with smiles, and called the laughing
cupids to her eyes.

"My lord," said she, "you do well by this early visit to


1 Amena has compromised her public character or reputation by meeting a man privately
and openly professing her love.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 65


retrieve your sexes drooping fame of constancy, and prove the
nicety of Amenas discernment in conferring favours on a person,
who to his other excellent qualifications, has that of
assiduity to deserve them"; as he was about to reply, the rush of
somebody coming hastily down the stairs which faced the
room they were in, obliged 'em to turn that way. It was the
unfortunate Amena, who not being able to endure the
thoughts of staying in her rivals house, distracted with her
griefs, and not regarding what should become of her, as soon as
she heard the doors were open, was preparing to fly from that
detested place. Alovisa was vexed to the heart at sight of her,
hoping to have had some discourse with the Count before they
met; but she dissembled it, and catching hold of her as she was
endeavouring to pass, asked where she was going, and what
occasioned the disorder she observed in her. "I go," answered
Amena, "from a false lover, and a falser friend, but why should I
upbraid you," continued she looking wildly sometimes on the
Count, and sometimes on Alovisa, "Treacherous pair, you know
too well each others baseness, and my wrongs, no longer then,
detain a wretch whose presence, had you the least sense of honour,
gratitude, or even common humanity, would fill your consciences
with remorse and shame; and who has now no other
wish, than that of shunning you for ever." As she spoke this, she
strugled to get loose from Alovisa's arms, who, in spite of the
amazement she was in, still held her. D'elmont was no less confounded,
and intirely ignorant of the meaning of what he
heard, was at a loss how to reply, 'till she resumed her reproaches
in this manner. "Why ye monsters of barbarity," said she, "do
you delight in beholding the ruins you have made? Is not the
knowledge of my miseries, my everlasting miseries sufficient to
content you? And must I be debarred that only remedy for
woes like mine? Death! Oh cruel return for all my love, my
friendship! and the confidence I reposed in you. Oh! to what
am I reduced by my too soft and easie nature, hard fate of tenderness,
which healing others, only wounds it's self. -- Just heavens! -- " here such stopped the violence of her resentment
endeavouring to vent it self in sighs, rose in her breast with
such an impetuosity as choaked the passage of her words, and


66 ELIZA HAYWOOD


she fell in a swoon, tho' the Count, and Alovisa were both in
the greatest consternation imaginable, yet neither of 'em were
negligent in trying to recover her; as they were busied about
her, that fatal letter which had been the cause of this disturbance,
fell out of her bosom, and both being eager to take it up
(believing it might make some discovery) had their hands on it
at the same time; it was but slightly folded, and immediately
shewed 'em from what sourse Amena's dispair proceeded. Her
upbraidings of Alovisa, and the blushes and confusion which he
observed in that ladies face, as soon as ever she saw it opened,
put an end to the mistery, and one less quick of apprehension
then D'elmont, would have made no difficulty in finding his
unknown admirer in the person of Alovisa. She to conceal the
dissorder she was in at this adventure, as much as possible, called
her women, and ordered 'em to convey Amena into an other
chamber where there was more air; as she was preparing to follow
turning a little towards the Count, but still extreamly confused,
"you'l pardon, me, my lord," said she, "if my concern for
my friend obliges me to leave you." "Ah madam," replied he,
"forbear to make any apologies to me, rather summon all your
goodness to forgive a wretch so blind to happiness as I have
been." She either could not, or would not make any answer to
these words, but seeming as tho' she heard 'em not went hastily
into the room where Amena was, leaving the Count full of various,
and confused reflections; the sweetness of his disposition
made him regret his being the author of Amena's misfortunes,
but how miserable is that womans condition, who by her mismanagement
is reduced to so poor a comfort as the pity of her
lover; that sex is generally too gay, to continue long uneasie,
and there was little likelihood he could be capable of lamenting
ills which his small acquaintance with the passion from which
they sprang, made him not comprehend. The pleasure the discovery
gave him of a secret, he had so long desired to find out,
kept him from being too much concerned at the adventure
that occasioned it, but he could not forbear accusing himself of
intollerable stupidity, when he considered the passages of Alovisa's behaviour, her swooning at the ball, her constant glances,
her frequent blushes when he talked to her, and all his cogita


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 67


tions whether on Alovisa or Amena, were mingled with a wonder
that love should have such power. The diversity of his
thoughts would have entertained him much longer, if they had
not been interrupted by his page, who came in a great hurry, to
acquaint him, that his brother the young Chevalier Brillian was
just come to town, and waited with impatience for his coming
home; as much a stranger as D'elmont was to the affairs of love,
he was none to those of friendship, and making no doubt but
that the former ought to yield to the latter in every respect,
contented himself with telling one of Alovisa's servants, as he went out, that he would wait on her in the evening, and made
what hast he could to give his beloved brother the welcome he
expected after so long an absence, and indeed the manner of
their meeting expressed a most intire and sincere affection on
both sides; the Chevalier was but a year younger than the
Count, they had been bred together from their infancy, and
there was such a simpathy in their souls, and so great a resemblance
in their persons, as very much contributed to endear
'em to each other -- with a tenderness far beyond that which is
ordinarily found among relations. After the first testimonies of
it were over, D'elmont began to question him how he had past
his time since their separation, and to give him some little
reproaches for not writing so often as he might have expected.
"Alas! my dearest brother," replied the Chevalier, "such various
adventures have hap'ned to me since we parted, as when I
relate 'em will I hope excuse my seeming negligence"; these
words were accompanied with sighs, and a melancholly air
immediately overspreading his face, and taking away great part
of the vivacity, which lately sparkled in his eyes, raised an impatient
desire in the Count to know the reason of it, which, when
he had exprest, the other, (after having engaged him that whatever
causes he might find to ridicule his folly, he would suspend
all appearance of it, 'till the end of his narration) began to
satisfie in this manner.


68 ELIZA HAYWOOD


The Story of the Chevalier Brillian.


"At St. Omers where you left me, I hapned to make an
acquaintance with one Monsieur Bellpine a gentleman, who
was there on some business; we being both pretty much
strangers in the place occasioned an intimacy between us,
which the disparity of our tempers, would have prevented our
commencing at Paris, but you know I was never a lover of solitude,
and for want of company more agreeable, was willing to
encourage his. He was indeed so obliging as to stay longer at
St. Omers then his affairs required, purposely to engage me to
make Amiens in my way to Paris. He was very vain, and fancying
himself happy in the esteem of the fair sex, was desirous I
should be witness to the favours they bestowed on him.
Among the number of those he used to talk of, was Madamoiselle
Ansellina De La Tour, a Parisian lady, and heiress of a great
estate, but had been some time at Amiens, with Madam the
Baroness de Beronville her god-mother. The wonders he told
me of this young ladies wit, and beauty, inclined me to a desire
of seeing her, and as soon as I was in a condition to travel, we
took our way towards Amiens; he used me with all the friendship
he was capable of expressing, and soon after we arrived,
carried me to the Baronesses. But oh heavens! how great was
my astonishment when I found Ansellina as far beyond his faint
description, as the sun beams the imitation of art; besides the
regularity of her features, the delicacy of her complexion, and
the just simmetry of her whole composition, she has an undiscribable
sweetness that plays about her eyes, and mouth, and
softens all her air. But all her charms dazling as they are would
have lost their captivating force on me if I had believed her
capable of that weakness for Bellpine that his vanity would
have made me think. She is very young and gay, and I easily
perceived she suffered his addresses more out of diversion then
any real regard she had for him; he held a constant correspondence
at Paris, and was continually furnished with every thing
that was novel, and by that means introduced himself into many
companies who else would not have endured him; but when at
any time I was so happy as to entertain the lovely Ansellina


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 69


alone, and we had opportunity for serious discourse, (which
was impossible in his company) I found that she was mistress of
a wit, poynant enough to be satyrical, yet it was accompanied
with a discretion as very much heightened her charms, and
compleated the conquest that her eyes begun. I will confess to
you brother that I became so devoted to my passion that I had
no leisure for any other sentiments. Fears, hopes, anxieties, jealous
pains, uneasie pleasures, all the artillery of love, were garrisoned
in my heart, and a thousand various half formed
resolutions filled my head. Ansellina's insensibility among a
crowd of admirers, and the disparity of our fortunes would
have given me just causes of dispair, if the generosity of her
temper had not disipated the one, and her youth, and the hope
her hour was not yet come, the other. I was often about letting
her know the power she had over me, but something of an awe
which none but those who truly love can guess at, still prevented
my being able to utter it, and I believe should have languished
'till this moment in an unavailing silence, if an accident
had not hap'ned to embolden me. I went one day to visit my
adorable, and being told she was in the garden, went thither in
hopes to see her, but being deceived in my expectation,
believed the servant who gave me that information was mistaken,
and fancying she might be retired to her closet1 as she very
often did in the afternoon, and the pleasantness of the place
inducing me to stay there till she was willing to admit me, I sat
down at the foot of a Diana,2 curiously carved in marble, and
full of melancholly reflections without knowing what I did,
took a black lead pen3 out of my pocket, and writ on the
pedestal these two lines.


Hopeless, and silent, I must still adore,

Her heart's more hard than stone whom I'd implore.


1 "A small room of privacy and retirement" (Johnson).

2 A statue of Diana, the virgin moon goddess of classical mythology in her most
familiar -- and formidable -- guise as a wilderness hunter

3 A pencil, a slip of graphite, it would be wrapped or carried in a "port-craion," a
four- or five-inch wooden case with a spring and button for holding and moving
the graphite. (In Haywood's day, the word "pencil" described a fine brush.)


70 ELIZA HAYWOOD


"I had scarce finished 'em, when I perceived Ansellina at a
good distance from me, coming out of a little close arbor; the
respect I had for her, made me fear she should know I was the
author of 'em, and guess what I found I had not gained
courage enough to tell her. I went out of the alley as I imagined
unseen, and designed to come up another, and meet her,
before she could get into the house. But tho' I walked prety
fast, she had left the place before I could attain it; and in her
stead, (casting my eyes toward the statue with an intention to
rub out what I had writ) I found this addition to it.


You wrong your love, while you conceal your pain,

Stones wil dissolve with constant drops of rain.


"But, my dear brother, if you are yet insensible of the wonderful
effects of love, you will not be able to imagine what I felt
at this view; I was satisfied it could be writ by no body but
Anselina, there being no other person in the garden, and knew
as well she could not design that encouragement for any other
man, because on many occasions she had seen my hand; and
the day before had written a song for her, which she desired to
learn, with that very pen I now had made use of; and going
hastily away at the sight of her, had forgot to take with me. I
gazed upon the dear obliging characters, and kissed the marble
which contained 'em a thousand times before I could find in
my heart to efface 'em; as I was in this agreeable amazement, I
heard Belpine's voice calling to me as he came up the walk,
which obliged me to put an end to it, and the object which
occasioned it. He had been told as well as I, that Ansellina was
in the garden, and expressing some wonder to see me alone,
asked where she was. I answered him with a great deal of real
truth, that I knew not, and that I had been there for some time,
but had not been so happy as to entertain her. He seemed not
to give credit to what I said, and began to use me after a fashion
as would have much more astonished me from any other
person. 'I would not have you,' said he, 'be concerned at what I
am about to say, because you are one of those for whom I am
willing to preserve a friendship; and to convince you of my sin


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 71


cerity, give you leave to address after what manner you please to
any of the ladies with whom I have brought you acquainted,
excepting Ansellina. But I take this opportunity to let you
know I have already made choice of her, with a design of marriage,
and from this time forward, shall look on any visits you
shall make to her, as injurious to my pretensions.' Tho' I was no
stranger to the vanity and insolence of Bellpine's humour, yet
not being accustomed to such arbitrary kind of treatment, had
certainly resented it, (if we had been in any other place) in a
very different manner than I did, but1 the consideration that to
make a noise there, would be a reflection rather than a vindication
on Ansellina's fame; I contented my self with telling him,
he might be perfectly easie, that whatever qualifications the
lady might have that should encourage his addresses, I should
never give her any reason to boast a conquest over me. These
words might have born two interpretations, if the disdainful air
with which I spoke 'em, and which I could not dissemble, and
my going immediately away, had not made him take 'em as
they were really designed, to affront him. He was full of indignation
and jealousie, (if it is possible for a person to be touched
with that passion, who is not capable of the other, which generally
occasions it) but however having taken it into his head to
imagine I was better received by Ansellina than he desired,
envy, and a sort of womanish spleen, transported him so far as
to go to Ansellina's apartment, and rail at me most profusely (as
I have since been told) and threaten how much he'd be
revenged, if he heard I ever should have the assurance to visit
there again. Ansellina at first laughed at his folly, but finding he
persisted, and began to assume more liberty than she ever
meant to afford him; instead of listning to his entreaties, to forbid
me the privilege I had enjoyed of her conversation, she
passed that very sentence on him, and when next I waited of
her, received me with more respect than ever; and when at last
I took the boldness to acquaint her with my passion, I had the


1 Brillian's concern for Ansellina is clearer than his syntax:"had ... resented it ... but
[for] the consideration that...;" or "but [upon] the consideration that..., I contented
my self...."


72 ELIZA HAYWOOD


satisfaction to observe from the frankness of her disposition
that I was not indifferent to her; nor indeed did she, even in
publick affect any reservedness more than the decencies of her
sex and quality required; for after my pretensions to her were
commonly talked of, and those who were intimate with her,
would railly her about me, she passed it off with a spirit of gaity
and good humour peculiar to her self, and 'bated nothing of
her usual freedom to me; she permitted me to read to her, to
walk and dance with her, and I had all the opportunities of
endeavouring an encrease of her esteem that I could wish,
which so incensed Bellpine, that he made no scruple of reviling
both her and me in all companies wherever he came; saying I
was a little worthless fellow, who had nothing but my sword to
depend upon;1 and that Ansellina having no hopes of marrying
him, was glad to take up with the first that asked her. These
scandalous reports on my first hearing of 'em had assuredly
been fatal to one of us, if Ansellina had not commanded me by
all the passion I professed, and by the friendship she freely
acknowledged to have for me, not to take any notice of 'em. I
set too high a value on the favours she allowed me, to be capable of disobedience; and she was too nice2 a judge of the punctillio's
of our sexes honour, not to take this sacrifice of so just a
resentment, as a very great proof how much I submitted to her
will, and suffered not a day to pass without giving me some
new mark how nearly she was touched with it. I was the most
contented and happy person in the world, still hoping that in a
little time, she having no relations that had power to contradict
her inclinations, I should be able to obtain every thing from her
that an honourable passion could require; 'till one evening
coming home pretty late from her, my servant gave me a letter
which he told me was left for me by one of Bellpine s servants;
I presently suspected the contents, and found I was not mistaken;
it was really a challenge to meet him the next morning, and
must confess, tho' I longed for an opportunity to chastize his


1 The sword was a sign of gentle birth; Bellpine suggests that Brillian is a penniless
fortune hunter using his appearance of gentlemanliness to attract a rich bride.

2 Scrupulous, fastidious.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 73


insolence, was a little troubled how to excuse my self to
Anselline, but there was no possibility of evading it, without
rendring my self unworthy of her, and hoped that circumstance
would be sufficient to clear me to her. I will not trouble you
brother with the particulars of our duel, since there was nothing
material, but that at the third pass (I know not whether I
may call it the effect of my good or evil fortune) he received
my sword a good depth in his body, and fell with all the symptoms
of a dying-man. I made all possible hast to send a surgeon
to him. In my way I met two gentlemen, who it seems he had
made acquainted with his design (probably with an intention to
be prevented). They asked me what success, and when I had
informed 'em, advised me to be gone from Amiens before the
news should reach the ears of Bellpine's relations, who were not
inconsiderable in that place. I made 'em those retributions their
civilities deserved; but how eminent soever the danger
appeared that threatned me, could not think of leaving Amiens,
without having first seen Anselline. I went to the Baronesses,
and found my charmer at her toylet, and either it was my fancy,
or else she really did look more amiable in that undress than
ever I had seen her, tho' adorned with the utmost illustrations.
She seemed surprized at seeing me so early, and with her wonted
good humor asking me the reason of it, put me into a mortal
agony how to answer her, for I must assure you brother, that
the fears of her displeasure were a thousand times more dreadful
to me, than any other apprehensions; she repeated the question
three or four times before I had courage to reply, and I
believe she was pretty near guessing the truth by my silence,
and the disorder in my countenance before I spoke; and when I
did, she received the account of the whole adventure with a
vast deal of trouble, but no anger; she knew too well what I
owed to my reputation, and the post his majesty had honoured
me with,1 to believe I could, or ought to dispence with submit


1 As both a man of honour and an army officer, Brillian feels that he must preserve
the reputation for courage that he would lose if he declined a challenge to a duel
Though duelling was practiced, it was increasingly subject to fashionable critique,
notably in a series of periodical essays by Sir Richard Steele in The Tatler It was
illegal and could lead to a trial for murder


74 ELIZA HAYWOOD


ting to the reflections which must have fallen on me, had I
acted otherwise than I did. Her concern and tears, which she
had not power to contain at the thoughts of my departure,
joyned with her earnest conjurations to me to be gone, let me
more than ever into the secrets of her heart, and gave me a
pleasure as inconceivable as the necessity of parting did the
contrary. Nothing could be more moving than our taking
leave, and when she tore her self half willing and half unwilling
from my arms, had sent me away inconsolable, if her promises
of coming to Paris as soon as she could without being taken
notice of, and frequent writing to me in the mean time, had
not given me a hope, tho' a distant one of happiness. Thus
brother, have I given you, in as few words as I could, a recital of
every thing that has hapned to me of consequence since our
separation, in which I dare believe you will find more to pity
than condemn." The afflicted Chevalier could not conclude
without letting fall some tears; which the Count perceiveing,
ran to him, and tenderly embracing him, said all that could be
expected from a most affectionate friend to mitigate his sorrows,
nor suffered him to remove from his arms 'till he had
accomplished his design; and then believing the hearing of the
adventures of another, (especially one he was so deeply interested
in) would be the surest means to give a truce to the more
melancholy reflections on his own, related every thing that had
befallen him since his coming to Paris. The letters he received
from a lady incognito, his little gallantries with Amena, and the
accident that presented to his view, the unknown lady in the
person of one of the greatest fortunes in all France. Nothing
could be a greater cordial to the Chevalier, than to find his
brother was beloved by the sister of Ansellina, he did not doubt
but that by this means there might be a possibility of seeing her
sooner than else he could have hoped, and the two brothers
began to enter into a serious consultation of this affair, which
ended with a resolution to fix their fortunes there. The Count
had never yet seen a beauty formidable enough to give him an
hours uneasiness (purely for the sake of love) and would often
say, Cupid's quiver never held an arrow of force to reach his
heart; those little delicacies, those trembling aking transports,


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 75


which every sight of the beloved object occasions, and so visibly
distinguishes a real passion from a counterfeit, he looked on
as the chimera's of an idle brain, formed to inspire notions of an
imaginary bliss, and make fools lose themselves in seeking; or if
they had a being, it was only in weak souls, a kind of a disease
with which he assured himself he should never be infected.
Ambition was certainly the reigning passion in his soul, and
Alovisa's quality and vast possessions, promising a full gratification
of that, he ne'er so much as wished to know, a farther happiness
in marriage.

But while the Count and Chevalier were thus employed, the
rival ladies past the hours in a very different entertainment, the
dispair and bitter lamentations that the unfortunate Amena
made, when she came out of her swooning, were such as
moved even Alovisa to compassion, and if any thing but resigning
D'elmont could have given her consolation, she would
willingly have applied it. There was now no need of further
dissimulation, and she confessed to Amena, that she had loved
the charming Count with a kind of madness from the first
moment she beheld him; that to favour her designs on him, she
had made use of every stratagem she could invent; that by her
means, the amour was first discovered to Monsieur Sanseverin,
and his family alarmed the night before; and lastly, that by her
persuasions, he had resolved to send her to a monastry, to
which she must prepare her self to go in a few days without
taking any leave even of her father; "have you," cried Amena
hastily interrupting her, "have you prevailed with my father to
send me from this hated place, without the punishment of
hearing his upbraidings?" Which the other answering in the
affirmative, "I thank you," resumed Amena, "that favour has
cancelled all your score of cruelty, for after the follies I have
been guilty of, nothing is so dreadful as the sight of him, and
who would, oh heavens!" continued she bursting into a flood
of tears, "wish to stay in a world so full of falshood." She was
able to utter no more for some moments, but at last, raising her
self on the bed where she was laid, and endeavouring to seem a
little more composed, "I have two favours, madam, yet to ask of
you," rejoined she, "neither of 'em will I believe seem difficult


76 ELIZA HAYWOOD


to you to grant: that you will make use of the power you have
with my father, to let my departure be as sudden as possible,
and that while I am here, I may never see Count D'elmont." It
was not likely that Alovisa should deny requests so suitable to
her own inclinations, and believing with a great deal of reason that her presence was not very grateful, left her to the care of
her women, whom she ordered to attend her with the same
diligence, as her self. It was evening before the Count came,
and Alovisa spent the remainder of the day in very uneasie
reflections, she knew not as yet, whether she had cause to
rejoice in, or blame her fortune in so unexpectedly discovering
her passion, and an incessant vicissitude of hope and fears,
racked her with most intolerable inquietude, 'till the darling
object of her wishes appeared, and tho' the first sight of him,
added to her other passions, that of shame, yet he managed his
address so well, and so modestly and artfully hinted the knowledge
of his happiness, that every sentiment gave place to a new admiration of the wonders of his wit, and if before she loved,
she now adored, and began to think it a kind of merit in her
self to be sensible of his. He soon put it in her power to oblige
him, by giving her the history of his brothers passion for her
sister, and she was not at all backward in assuring him how
much she approved of it, and that she would write to Ansellina by the first post, to engage her coming to Paris with all imaginable
speed. In fine, there was nothing he1 could ask refused, and
indeed it would have been rediculous for her to have affected
coiness, after the testimonies she had long since given him of
one of the most violent passions that ever was; this foreknowledge
saved abundance of dissimulation on both sides, and she
took care that if he should be wanting in his kind expressions
after marriage, he should not have it in his power to pretend (as some husbands have done) that his stock was exhausted in a
tedious courtship. Every thing was presently agreed upon, and
the wedding-day appointed, which was to be as soon as every
thing could be got ready to make it magnificent; tho' the
Counts good nature made him desirous to learn something of


1 4th ed, 1st ed reads "she"


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 77


Amena, yet he durst not enquire for fear of giving an umbrage
to his intended bride, but she, imagining the reason of his
silence, very frankly told him, how she was to be disposed of;
this knowledge made no small addition to his contentment, for
had she stayed in Paris, he could expect nothing but continual
jealousies from Alovisa, besides as he really wished her happy,
tho' he could not make her so, he thought absence might banish
a hopeless passion from her heart, and time and other
objects efface an idea, which could not but be destructive to her
peace. He stayed at Alovisa's house 'till it was pretty late, and
perhaps they had not parted in some hours longer, if his impatience
to inform his brother, his success, had not carried him
away. The young Chevalier was infinitely more transported at
the bare hopes of being something nearer the aim of all his
wishes then D'elmont was at the assurance of loseing his,1 and
could not forbear rallying him for placing the ultimate of his
wishes on such a toy, as he argued woman was, which the
Chavalier endeavouring to confute, there began a very warm
dispute, in which neither of 'em being able to convince the
other, sleep at last, interposed as moderator. The next day they
went together to visit Alovisa, and from that time were seldom
asunder, but in compassion to Amena, they took what care they
could to conceal the design they had in hand, and that unhappy
lady was in a few days according to her rivals contrivance hurried
away without seeing any of her friends. When she was
gone, and there was no further need of keeping it a secret, the
news of this great wedding was immediately spread over the
whole town, and every one talked of it, as their particular interests
or affections dictated. All D'elmonts friends were full of
joy, and he met no inconsiderable augmentation of it himself,
when his brother recieved a letter from Ansellina, with an
account that Bellpine's wound was found not dangerous, and


1 Apparently contrasting the loving Chevalier's hope of gaming the aim of his desire
with the ambitious Count's relief at losing Amena, the now inconvenient aim of his
desire But 4th ed. solves the problem differently "The young Chevalier was
infinitely more transported at the bare hopes of being something nearer the aim of
all his hopes, than D'elmont was at the assurance of losing his in possession,"
(emphasis added)


78 ELIZA HAYWOOD


that he was in a very fair way of recovery. And it was concluded
that as soon as the wedding was over, the young Chevalier
should go in person to Amiens to fetch his beloved Ansellina,
in order for a second, and as desired nuptial. There was no
gloom now left to cloud the gaity of the happy day, nothing
could be more grand then the celebration of it; and Alovisa
now thought her self at the end of her cares, but the sequel of
this glorious beginning, and what effect the dispair and imprecations
of Amena (when she heard of it) produced, shall with
the continuance of the Chevalier Brillian's adventures be faithfully
related in the next part.


Finis.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 79


LOVE IN EXCESS;

OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY:


A NOVEL. Part the Second.


Each day we break the bond of humane laws

For love, and vindicate the common cause.

Laws for defence of civil rights are placed,

Love throws the fences down, and makes a gen'ral waste.

Maids, widows, wives, without distinction fall,

The sweeping deluge love comes on and covers all.1

By Mrs. Haywood


I "Palamon and Arcite, or, The Knight's Tale, from Chaucer" I 331-36; Dryden's
translation of Chaucer's ironic tale of chivalry appeared in Fables, Ancient and Modern (1700)


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 81


To

Mrs. Eliz. Haywood,
on Her Novel Called
Love in Excess, &C.1


Fain would I here my vast ideas raise,

To paint the wonders of Eliza's praise;

But like young artists where their stroaks decay,

I shade those glories which I can't display.

Thy prose in sweeter harmony refines,

Than numbers flowing thro' the Muse's lines;

What beauty ne'er could melt, thy touches fire,

And raise a musick that can love inspire;

Soul-thrilling accents all our senses wound,

And strike with softness, whilst they charm with sound!

When thy Count pleads, what fair his suit can fiye?

Or when thy nymph laments, what eyes are dry?

Ev'n Nature's self in sympathy appears,

Yields sigh for sigh, and melts in equal tears;

For such descriptions thus at once can prove

The force of language, and the sweets of love.

The myrtle's leaves2 with those of fame3 entwine,

And all the glories of that wreath are thine!
As eagles can undazzled view the force

Of scorching Phaebus in his noon-day course,4

Thy genius to the god its lustre plays,

Meets his fierce beams, and darts him rays for rays!

Oh glorious strength! Let each succeeding page


1 Prefatory poems and letters of praise -- called puffs because they puffed up the fame
of the book -- were a standard feature of eighteenth-century publishing Later editions of Love in Excess gathered all three parts together, moving these poems to the
front and adding others

2 Sacred to Venus, goddess of love

3 Laurel leaves (bays) conventionally crown the successful poet

4 The sun, for Phoebus Apollo, the god of poetry and music, was a sun god Eagles
were conventionally keen-sighted birds that could look unblinking into the sun


82 ELIZA HAYWOOD


Still boast those charms and luminate the age;

So shall thy beamful fires with light divine

Rise to the spheres, and there triumphant shine.1

Richard Savage.2


By an Unknown Hand,
To the most Ingenious Mrs. Haywood,
on her Novel, Entitled, Love in Excess.


A stranger muse, an unbeliever too,

That womens souls such strength of vigour knew!

Nor less an atheist to love's pow'r declared,

Till you a champion for the sex appeared!

A convert now, to both, I feel that fire

your words alone can paint! your looks inspire!

Resistless now, loves shafts, new pointed fly

Winged with your flame, and blazing in your eye

With sweet, but pow'rful force the charm-shot heart

Receives th' impression of the conquering dart,

And ev'ry art'ry huggs the joy-tipt smart!

No more of Phbus rising vainly boast.

Ye tawny sons of a luxuriant coast!

While our blest isle is with such rays replete,

Britain shall glow with more than Eastern heat!


1Immortalized by fame, Haywood will shine among the stars in heaven (which
according to Ptolemaic cosmology rest on earth-centred spheres)

2 An aspiring poet and playwright in Haywood's circle, and for a time her lover,
Richard Savage (c 1697-1743) also wrote a prefatory poem for Haywood's The
Rash Resolve (1723, the year before they quarrelled)


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 83


LOVE IN EXCESS;

OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY.


Part the Second.


The contentment that appeared in the faces of the new married
pair, added so much to the impatience of the Chevalier
Brillian to see his beloved Ansellina, that in a few days after the
wedding, he took leave of them, and departed for Amiens. But
as human happiness is seldom of long continuance, and Alovisa
placing the ultimate of her's in the possession of her charming
husband, secure of that, despised all future events, 'twas time for
Fortune, who long enough had smiled, now to turn her wheel,
and punish the presumption that defied her power.

As they were one day at dinner, a messenger came to
acquaint Count D'elmont that Monsieur Frankville was taken
suddenly so violently ill, that his physicians dispaired of his life,
and that he begged to speak with him immediately. This gentleman
had been guardian to the Count during his minority,1 and the care and faithfulness with which that trust had been
discharged made him with reason regret the danger of losing so
good a friend. He delayed the visit not a moment, and found
him as the servant had told him, in a condition as could cherish
no hopes of recovery; as soon as he perceived the Count come
into the chamber, he desired to be left alone with him, which
order being presently obeyed, "My dear charge," said he taking
him by the hand and pressing it to his trembling bosom, "you
see me at the point of death, but the knowledge of your many
virtues, and the confidence I have that you will not deny me
the request I am about to ask, makes me support the thoughts
of it with moderation." The other assuring him of his readiness
to serve him in any command, encouraged the old gentleman
to prosecute his discourse in this manner: "You are not ignorant


1 A guardian was legally responsible for, and controlled the estate of, a minor
between the father's death and the minor's coming of age or marriage


84 ELIZA HAYWOOD


my lord," rejoined he, "that my son (the only one I have) is on
his travels, gone by my approbation, and his own desires to
make the tour of Europe;1 but I have a daughter, whose protection
I would entreat you to undertake; her education in a
monastery has hitherto kept her intirely unacquainted with the
gayeties of a court, or the conversation of the beau monde,2 and I have sent for her to Paris purposely to introduce her into
company, proper for a young lady, who I never designed for a recluse; I know not whether she will be here time enough to
close my eyes, but if you will promise to receive her into your
house, and not suffer her artless and unexperienced youth to
fall into those snares which are daily laid for innocence, and
take so far a care, that neither she, not the fortune I leave her,
be thrown away upon a man unworthy of her, I shall dye well
satisfied." D'elmont answered this request, with repeated assurances
of fulfilling it, and frankly offered, if he had no other
person in whom he rather would confide, to take the management
of the whole estate he left behind him, 'till young
Frankville should return -- The anxious father was transported
at this favour, and thanked him in terms full of gratitude and
affection; they spent some hours in settling this affair, and perhaps
had not ended it so soon, if word had not been brought
that the young lady his daughter was allighted at the gate; 'tis
impossible to express the joy which filled the old gentleman's
heart at this news, and he began afresh to put the Count in
mind of what he had promised concerning her. As they were
in this endearing, tho' mournful entertainment, the matchless
Melliora3 entered, the surprize and grief for her father's indisposition
(having heard of it but since she came into the house)
hindred her from regarding any thing but him, and throwing
herself on her knees by the bed-side, washed the hand which
he stretched out to raise her with, in a flood of tears, accompanied
with expressions, which unstudied, and incoherent as they
were, had a delicacy in 'em, that showed her wit not inferior to


1 A tour of European cities (the grand tour) completed the education of noblemen
and gentlemen

2 Fashionable society

3 Meltor is Latin for "better"


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 85


her tenderness, and that no circumstance could render her otherwise
than the most lovely person in the world; when the first
transports of her sorrow were over, and that with much ado she
was persuaded to rise from the posture she was in, "The affliction
I see thee in my dear child," said her father, "would be a
vast addition to the agonies I feel, were I not so happy as to be
provided with means for a mitigation of it; think not in losing
me thou wilt be left wholly an orphan, this worthy lord will
dry thy tears. Therefore, my last commands to thee shall be to
oblige thee to endeavour to deserve the favours he is pleased to
do us in accepting thee for --" He would have proceeded, but
his physicians (who had been in consultation in the next room)
coming in prevented him, and Count D'elmont taking the
charming Melliora by the hand, led her to the window, and
beginning to speak some words of consolation to her, the softness
of his voice, and graceful manner with which he delivered
himself (always the inseparable companions of his discourse, but
now more particularly so) made her cast her eyes upon him;
but alass, he was not an object to be safely gazed at, and in
spight of the grief she was in, she found something in his form
which dissipated it; a kind of painful pleasure, a mixture of surprize,
and joy, and doubt ran thro' her in an instant; her fathers
words suggested to her imagination, that she was in a possibility of calling the charming person that stood before her, by a name more tender than that of guardian, all the actions, looks,
and address of D'elmont served but to confirm her in that
belief. For now it was that this insensible began to feel the
power of beauty, and that heart which had so long been
impregnable surrendered in a moment, the first sight of Melliora
gave him a discomposure he had never felt before, he sympathized
in all her sorrows, and was ready to joyn his tears with
hers, but when her eyes met his, the god of love seemed there
to have united all his lightnings for one effectual blaze; their
admiration of each others perfections was mutual, and tho' he
had got the start in love, as being touched with that almighty
dart, before her affliction had given her leave to regard him, yet
the softness of her soul, made up for that little loss of time, and
it was hard to say whose passion was the strongest; she listned to


86 ELIZA HAYWOOD


his Gondolements, and assurances of everlasting friendship with
a pleasure which was but too visible in her countenance, and
more enflamed the Count. As they were exchanging glances, as
if each vyed with the other who should dart the fiercest rays,
they heard a sort of ominous whispering about the bed, and
presently one of those who stood near it beckoned them to
come thither; the physicians had found Monsieur Frankville in
a much worse condition than they left him in, and soon after
perceived evident symptoms in him of approaching death, and
indeed there were but a very few moments between him and
that other unfathomable world; the use of speech had left him,
and he could take no other leave of his dear daughter than with
his eyes; which sometimes were cast tenderly on her, sometimes
on the Count, with a beseeching look as it were to conjure
him to be careful to his charge, then up to Heaven, as witness
of the trust he reposed in him. There could not be a scene
more melancholly than this dumb farewell, and Melliora,
whose soft disposition had never before been shocked, had not
courage to support so dreadful a one as this, but fell upon the
bed just as her father breathed his last, as motionless as he. It is
impossible to represent the agony's which filled the heart of
D'elmont at this view, he took her in his arms, and assisted
those who were endeavouring to recover her, with a wildness
in his countenance, a trembling horror shaking all his fabrick in
such a manner, as might have easily discovered to the spectators
(if they had not been too busily employed to take notice of it) that he was actuated by a motive far more powerful than that of compassion. As soon as she came to herself, they forced her
from the dead body of her father (to which she clung) and
carryed her into another room, and it being judged convenient
that she should be removed from that house, where every thing
would serve but to remind her of her loss; the Count desired
the servants of Monsieur Frankville should be called, and then
in the presence of 'em all, declared their master's last request,
and ordered an account of all affairs should be brought to his
house, where he would immediately conduct their young lady
as he had promised her father. If Melliora had been without
any other cause of grief, this eclaircissment had been sufficient


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 87


to have made her miserable. She had already entertained a most
tender affection for the Count, and had not so little discernment
as not to be sensible she had made the like impression on
him; but now she waked as from a dream of promised joys, to
certain woes, and the same hour which gave birth to her passion, commenced an adequate dispair, and killed her hopes just
budding.

Indeed there never was any condition so truly deplorable as
that of this unfortunate lady; she had just lost a dear and tender
father, whose care was ever watchful for her, her brother was far
off, and she had no other relation in the world to apply her self
to for comfort, or advice; not even an acquaintance at Paris, or friend, but him who but newly was become so, and whom she found it dangerous to make use of, whom she knew it was a crime to love, yet could not help loving; the more she thought, the more she grew distracted, and the less able to resolve on any
thing; a thousand times she called on death to give her ease, but
that pale tyrant flys from the pursuer, she had not been yet long
enough acquainted with the ills of life, and must endure (how
unwilling soever) her part of sufferings in common with the
rest of human kind.

As soon as D'elmont had given some necessary directions to
the servants, he came to the couch, where she was sitting in a fixed and silent sorrow (tho' inwardly tossed with various and
violent agitations) and offering her his hand entreated her to
permit him to wait on her from that house of woe. "Alass!" said
she, "to what purpose should I remove, who bear my miseries
about me? Wretch that I am!" -- a flood of tears, here interposed,
and hindred her from proceeding, which falling from
such lovely eyes, had a magnetick influence to draw the same
from every beholder; but D'elmont who knew that was not the way to comfort her, dried his as soon as possible, and one more
begged she would depart; "suffer my return then," answered
she, "to the monastery, for what have I to do in Paris since I
have lost my father?" "By no means madam," resumed the
Count hastily, "that were to disappoint your fathers designs, and
contradict his last desires; believe, most lovely Melliora," continued
he taking her by the hand and letting fall some tears which


88 ELIZA HAYWOOD


he could not restrain, upon it, "that I bear at least an equal share
in your affliction, and lament for you, and for my self. Such a
regard my grateful soul paid Monsieur Frankville for all his
wondrous care and goodness to me, that in his death methinks
I am twice an orphan. But tears are fruitless to reinspire his
now cold clay, therefore must transmit the love and duty I
owed him living, to his memory dead, and an exact performance
of his will; and since he thought me worthy of so vast a
trust as Melliora, I hope she will be guided by her fathers sentiments,
and believe that D'elmont (tho' a stranger to her) has a
soul not uncapable of friendship. Friendship! did I say?"
rejoyned he softning his voice, "that term is too mean to
express a zeal like mine, the care, the tenderness, the faith, the
fond affection of parents, -- brothers, -- husbands, -- lovers, all
comprized in one! one great unutterable! comprehensive
meaning, is mine! is mine for Melliora!" She returned no
answer but sighs, to all he said to her; but he renewing his
entreaties, and urging her father's commands, she was at last
prevailed upon to go into his chariot, which had waited at the
door all the time of his being there.

As they went, he left nothing unsaid that he believed might
tend to her consolation, but she had griefs which at present he was a stranger to, and his conversation, in which she found a
thousand charms, rather encreased, than diminished the trouble
she was in. Every word, every look of his, was a fresh dagger to
her heart, and in spight of the love she bore her father, and the
unfeigned concern his sudden death had given her, she was
now convinced that Count D'elmont's perfections were her
severest wounds.

When they came to his house, he presented her to Alovysa,
and giving her a brief account of what had happened, engaged
that lady to receive her with all inimaginable demonstrations of
civility and kindness.

He soon left the two ladies together, pretending business, but
indeed to satisfie his impatience, which longed for an opportunity
to meditate on this adventure. But his reflections were
now grown far less pleasing than they used to be; real sighs flew
from his breast uncalled. And Melliora's image in dazling


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 89


brightness! in terrible array of killing charms! fired him with
(impossible to be attained) desires; he found by sad experience
what it was to love, and to dispair. He admired! adored! and
wished, even to madness! yet had too much honour, too much
gratitude for the memory of Monsieur Franckville, and too sincere
an awe for the lovely cause of his uneasiness, than to form
a thought that could encourage his new passion. What would
he not have given to have been unmarried? How often did he
curse the hour in which Alovysa's fondness was discovered? and
how much more, his own ambition which prompted him to
take advantage of it? and hurried him precipitatly to a hymen,1 where love (the noblest guest) was wanting. It was in these
racks of thought, that the unfortunate Amena was remembered,
and he could not forbear acknowledging the justice of that
doom, which inflicted on him, these very torments he had
given her. A severe repentance seized on his soul, and Alovysa
for whom he never had any thing more than an indifferency,
now began to seem distastful to his fancy, he looked on her, as
indeed she was, the chief author of Amena's misfortunes, and
abhorred her for that infidelity. But when he considered her, as
the bar 'twixt him and Melliora she appeared like his ill genius
to him, and he could not support the thoughts of being obliged
to love her (or at least to seem as if he did) with moderation. In
the midst of these reflections, his servant came in and delivered
this letter to him which had been just left by the post. The
Count immediately knew the hand to be Amena's, and was
covered with the utmost confusion and remorse when he read
these lines.


To the too charming and perfidious D'elmont


Now hopes, and fears, and jealousies are over! doubt is no more!
you are for ever lost! and my unfaithful, happy rival! triumphs in
your arms, and my undoing! -- I need not wish you joy, the hast
you made to enter into Hymen's bonds, and the more than ordinary
pomp with which that ceremony was celebrated, assures me


1 The classical god of marriage, whose name was a synonym for "wedding" or "marriage";
Haywood also spells it Himen.


90 ELIZA HAYWOOD


you are highly satisifed with your condition; and that any future
testimonies of the friendship of so wretched a creature as Amena,
would be received by you, with the same disregard, as those she
has given you of a more tender passion. -- Shameful remembrance!
Oh that I could blot it out! -- Eracefrom the book of
time those fond deluded hours! Forget I ever saw the lovely false
D'elmont! Ever listned to his soft persuasive accents! And
thought his love a mighty price for ruin! -- My father writes that
you are married, commands my return to Paris, and assume an
air as gay, and chearful as that with which I used to appear. --
Alass! how little does he know his daughters heart? And how
impossible is it, for me to obey him, can I look on you as the
husband of Alovysa, without remembring you were once the
lover of Amena? Can love like mine so fierce, so passionately
tender, e're sink to a calm, cold indifference? Can I behold the
fond endearments of your bridal joys (which you'd not be able to restrain, even before me) and not burst with envy? No, the sight
would turn me quite distracted, and I should commit some desperate
violence that would undoe us all. -- Therefore, I hide my
self for ever from it, bid an everlasting adieu to all the gay
delights and pleasures of my youth. -- To all the pomp and
splendour of the Court. -- To all that the mistaken world calls
happiness. -- To father, friends, relations, all that's dear.-- But
your idea, and that, not even these consecrated walls, nor iron
gates keep out, sleeping, or waking you are ever with me, you
mingle with my most solemn devotions; and while I pray to
Heaven that I may think on you no more, a guilty pleasure rises
in my soul, and contradicts my vows! All my confessions are so
many sins, and the same breath which tells my ghostly father I
abjure your memory, speaks your dear name with transport. Yes -- cruel! ungrateful! -- faithless as you are, I still do love you -- love you to that infinite degree, that now, methinks fired with thy
charms (repenting all I've said) I could wish even to renew those
moments of my ruin! -- Pity me D'elmont, if thou hast humanity. -- Judge what the rackings of my soul must be, when I
resolve, with all this love, this languishment about me; never to
see you more.
Every thing is preparing for my reception into holy orders, (how
unfit I am Heaven knows) and in a few days I shall put on the vail


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 91

which excludes me from the world for ever; therefore, if these distracted
lines are worth an answer, it must be speedy, or it will not come to
my hands. Perhaps not find me living. -- I can no more -- Farewel
(thou dear distroyer of my soul.)

Eternally Farewel, Amena.


P.S. I do not urge you to write, Alovysa (I wish I could not say
your wife) will perhaps think it too great a condescention, and not
suffer you so long from her embraces. -- Yet if you can get loose. -- But you know best what's proper to be done -- Forgive the restlessness
of a dispairing wretch, who cannot cease to love, tho' from this
moment she must cease to tell you so. --

Once more, and for ever. Adieu.


Had this letter come a day sooner, 'tis probable it would have
had but little effect on the soul of D'elmont, but his sentiments of love were now so wholly changed, that what before he
would but have laughed at, and perhaps dispised, now filled him
with remorse and serious anguish. He read it over several times,
and found so many proofs in it of a sincere and constant affection,
that he began to pity her, with a tenderness like that of a
relation, but no more. The charming Melliora had engrossed all
his fonder wishes; else it is not impossible but that Alovysa
might have had more reason to fear her rivalship after marriage
than before. That lady having been without the presence of her
dear husband some hours, had not patience to remain any
longer without seeing him, and making an excuse to Melliora
for leaving her alone, came running to the closet where he was;
how unwelcome she was grown, the reader may imagine; he
received her, not as he was wont; the gaity which used to
sparkle in his eyes, (at once declaring and creating amorous
desires) now gave place to a sullen gloominess, he looked not
on her, or if by chance he did, 'twas more with anger than with
love; in spite of his endeavours to conceal it, she was too quick
sighted (as all are that truly love) not to be sensible of1 this
alteration. However she took no notice of it, but kissing and


I To perceive through the senses.


92 ELIZA HAYWOOD


embracing him (according to her custom whenever they were
alone) begged him to leave his solitary amusement, and help
her to comfort the afflicted lady he brought there. Her endearments
served but to encrease his peevishness and heighten her
surprize at his behaviour; and indeed, the moment that she
entered the closet was the last of her tranquility.
When with much perswasions she had prevailed with him
to go with her into the room where Melliora was, he appeared
so disordred at the second sight of that charmer, as would certainly
have let Alovysa into the secret of his passion, had she
not been retired to a window to recover her self from the confusion,
her husbands coldness had thrown her in, and by that
fortunate disregard of his looks at that critical instant, given
him (who never wanted presence of mind) leave to form both
his countenance and manner of address, so as to give no suspicion
of the truth.

This little company was far from being entertaining to one
another; every one had their particular cogitations, and were
not displeased not to be interrupted in them. It growing late,
Alovysa conducted Melliora to a chamber which she had
ordered to be prepared for her, and then retired to her own,
hoping that when the Count should come to bed, she might be
able to make some discovery of the cause of his uneasiness. But
she was deceived, he spoke not to her, and when by a thousand
little inventions she urged him to reply to what she said, it was
in such a fashion as only let her see, that he was extreamly troubled
at something, but could not guess at what. As soon as day
broke, he rose, and shutting himself into his closet, left her in
the greatest consternation inimaginable; she could not think it
possible that the death of Monsieur Frankville should work this
transformation, and knew of no other misfortune that had happened.
At last she rememb'red she had heard one of the servants
say, a letter was brought to their master by the post, and
began to reflect on every thing (in the power of fortune to
determine) that could threaten a disturbance, yet was still as
ignorant as ever. She lay not long in bed, but putting on her
cloths with more expedition than usual, went to the closet,
resolving to speak to him in a manner as should oblige him to


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 93


put an end to the uncertainty she was in, but finding the door
locked, her curiosity made her look thro' the key-hole, and she
saw him sometimes very intentively1 reading a letter, and sometimes
writing, as tho' it were an answer to it. A sudden thought
came into her head, and she immediately went softly from the
place where she was, without knocking at the door, and stayed
in a little chamber adjacent to it, where none could pass either
to, or from the closet, without being perceived by her; she had
not waited long, before she heard the Count ring, and presently
saw a servant enter, and soon after return with a letter in his
hand; she would not speak to him then, for fear of being over
heard by her husband, but followed him down stairs, and when
he came towards the bottom, called to him in a low voice to
tarry 'till she came to him; the fellow durst not but obey, and
there being no body near 'em, commanded him to deliver her
the letter. But he either afraid or unwilling to betray his trust,
excused himself from it as well as he could, but she was resolved
to have it; and when threats would not avail, condiscended to
entreaties, to which she added bribes, which last article joined
to the promise she made of never revealing it, won him to her
purpose. She had scarce patience to forbear opening it before
she got to her chamber. The superscription (which she saw was
for Amena) fired her with disdain and jealousie, and it is hardly
possible to immagine, much less to discribe the torrent of her
indignation, when she found that it contained these words.


To the lovely Amena.


You accuse me of cruelty, when at the same time you kill me with
yours. How vile! How despicable, must I be grown in your opinion,
when you believe I can be happy, when you are miserable. Can
I enjoy the pleasures of a court, while you are shut within a
cloyster? -- Shall I suffer the world to be deprived of such a treasure
as Amena? for the crime of worthless D'elmont -- No, no
fair, injured softness, return, and bless the eyes of every beholder!
Shine out again in your native lustre, uneclipsed by grief. The


1 Intentive means "busily attentive" (Johnson).


94 ELIZA HAYWOOD


star of beauty and the guide of love. -- And, if my unlucky presence
will be a damp to the brightness of your fires, I will for ever
quit the place. -- Tho' I could wish you'd give me leave sometimes
to gaze upon you, and draw some hoped presages of future
fortune from the benignity of your influence. -- Yes Amena, I
would sigh out my repentance at your feet, and try at least to
obtain a pardon for my infidelity. -- For, 'tis true, what you have
heard, -- I am married -- But oh Amena! Happiness is not
always an attendant on Himen. -- However, I yet may call you
friend -- I yet may love you, tho' in a different way from what I
once pretended to; and believe me, that the love of souls, as it is
the most uncommon, especially in our sex, so 'tis the most refined
and noble of all passions, and such a love shall be for ever yours.
Even Alovysa (who has robbed you of the rest) cannot justly
resent my giving you that part, -- You'll wonder at this alteration
in my temper, but 'tis sincere, I am no more the gay, the roving
D'elmont, and when you come to Paris, perhaps you will find
me in a condition more lyable to your pity than indignation.
What shall I say Amena? My crime is my punishment, I have
offended against love, and against thee, and am, if possible, as
miserable, as guilty. Torn with remorse, and tortured with -- I
cannot -- I must not name it -- but 'tis something which can be
termed no other than the utmost severity of my fate. -- Hast then
to pity me, to comfort, to advise me, if (as you say) you yet retain
any remains of your former tenderness for this ungrateful man.


D'elmont.


"Ungratefol indeed!" cried Alovysa, transported with excess
of rage and jealousie, " Oh the villain! -- What miseries? What
misfortunes are these thou talk'st of? What unhappiness has
waited on thy himen? 'Tis I alone am wretched! base deceiver!"

Then, as if she wanted to discover something farther to
heighten the indignation she was in, she began to read it over
again, and indeed the more she considered the meaning of
what she read, the more her passions swelled, 'till they got at
last the entire dominion of her reason. She tore the letter in a


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 95


thousand pieces, and was not much less unmerciful to her hair
and garmentsVTis possible that in the violence of her fury, she
might have forgot her promise to the servant, to vent some part
of it on her husband, if her woman coming into the room to
know if she was ready to dress had not prevented her, by telling
her the Count was gone abroad, and had left word, that he
should not return 'till the evening. Alovysa had thrown herself
on the bed, and the curtains being drawn discovered not the
disorder she was in, and which her pride made her willing
should be still a secret, therefore dismist her with saying, she
would call her when she wanted any thing; tho' Alovysa was
too apt to give a loose to her passions on every occasion, to the
destruction of her own peace; yet she knew well enough how
to disguise 'em, when ever she found the concealing of them
would be an advantage to her designs. And when the transports
of her rage was so far over, as to give her liberty of reflection,
and she began to examine the state of her affection to the
Count, she soon perceived it had so much the better of all
other considerations, that in spite of the injustice she thought him guilty of to her, she could not perswade her self to do any
thing that might give him a pretence to quarrel with her. She
thought she had done enough in intercepting this letter, and
did not doubt but that Amena would take his not writing to
her so much to heart, as to prevent her ever returning to Paris,
and resolved to omit nothing of her former endearments, or
make a shew of being in the least disobliged; this sort of carriage
she immagined would not only lay him more open and
unguarded to the diligent watch she designed to make on all
his words and actions, but likewise awaken him to a just sense
of her goodness, and his own ingratitude. -- She rightly judged
that when people are married, jealousie was not the proper
method to revive a decayed passion, and that after possession it
must be only tenderness, and constant assiduity to please, that
can keep up desire, fresh and gay. Man is too arbitrary a creature
to bear the least contradiction, where he pretends an absolute
authority, and that wife who thinks by ill humour and perpetual
taunts, to make him weary of what she would reclaim him
from, only renders her self more hateful, and makes that justifi


96 ELIZA HAYWOOD


able which before was blameable in him. These, and the like
considerations made Alovysa put on a countenance of serenity,
and she so well acted the part of an unsuspecting wife, that
D'elmont was far from immagining what she had done. However
he still behaved with the same caution as before to Melliora; and certainly never did people disguise the sentiments of
their souls more artfully than did these three -- Melliora vailed
her secret languishments, under the covert of her grief for her
father, the Count his burning anguish, in a gloomy melancholy for the loss of his friend; but Alovysa's task was much the hardest, who had no pretence for grief (raging, and bleeding with
neglected love, and stifled pride) to frame her temper to a
seeming tranquility -- All made it their whole study to deceive
each other, yet none but Alovysa was intirely in the dark; for
the Count and Melliora had but too true a guess at one anothers
meaning, every look of his, for he had eyes that need no
interpreter, gave her intelligence of his heart, and the confusion
which the understanding those looks gave her, sufficiently told
him how sensible she was of 'em. -- Several days they lived in
this manner, in which time Monsieur Frankville was interred.
Which solemnity, the Count took care should be performed
with a magnificence suitable to the friendship he publickly
profest to have born him, and the secret adoration his soul paid
to his remains.1

Nothing hapned of moment, 'till a day or two after the
funeral, a gentleman newly arrived at Paris, came to visit the
Count, and gave him an account of Amena's having taken the
habit; "How," said D'elmont interrupting him, "is it possible? Has
she then profest?" "Yes," answered the gentleman, "having a
sister whom I always tenderly loved at the monastery at St.
Dennis, my affection obliged me to make it in my way to visit
her. Amena was with her at the grate, when she received me; I
know not how among other discourses we hapned to talk of
the fine gentlemen of Paris, which it was impossible to do,
without mentioning Count D'elmont"; the Count answered
not this complement as he would have done at another time,


1 Since both are public figures, the occasion calls for a public display of affection.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 97


but only bowing with an humble air, gave him liberty to prosecute
his discourse; "the moment," resumed he, "that Amena
heard your name, the tears run from her fair eyes, in such abundance,
and she seemed opprest with so violent a grief, that she
was not able to stay any longer with us. When she was gone,
my sister whom she had made her confident, gave me the history
of her misfortunes, and withal, told me, that the next day
she was to be initiated into holy orders. My curiosity engaged
me to stay at St. Dennis, to see the ceremony performed, which
was solemn; but not with that magnificence which I expected;
it seems it was Amena's desire that it should be as private as
possible, and for that reason, none of her relations were there,
and several of the formalities of entrance omitted. After it was
over, my sister beckoned me to come to the grate, where I saw
her before, and conjured me in the name of her new sister, to
give this to your hands; in speaking these words, he took a letter
out of his pocket, which the Count immediately opening to his
great surprize found it contained as follows.


To the Inhuman D'elmont.


To be pitied by you, and that you should tell me so, was all the
recompence I asked for loss of father, friends, reputation, and eternal
peace; but now, too late, I find that the fond maid who scorns
the world for love, is sure to meet for her reward the scorn of him
she loves -- Ungrateful man! Could you not spare one moment
from that long date of happiness, to give a lastfarewel to her you
have undone? What would not his barbarous contempt have
drawn upon you, were I ofAlovysa's temper? Sure I am, all that
disdain, and rage, could inspire malice with, had been inflicted on
you, but you well know my soul is of another stamp. -- Fool that
I was, and little versed in the base arts of man, believed I might
by tenderness, and faithful friendship gain esteem; tho' wit and
beauty the two great provocatives to create love were wanting. But
do not think that I am yet so mean as to desire to hear from you;
no, I have put all future correspondence with you out of my
power, and hope to drive it even from my wish. Whether your
disdain, or the holy banner I am lifted under, has wrought this


98 ELIZA HAYWOOD


effect, I know not, but methinks I breath another air, think on
you with more tranquility and bid you without dying,

Eternally Adieu Amena.


P.S. Let Alovysa know I am no more her rival, Heaven has my
soul, and I forgive you both.


D'elmont was strangely fired at the reading these lines
which left him no room to doubt that his letter had miscarried,
he could not presently immagine by what means, but was
resolved if possible to find it out. However, he dissembled his
thoughts 'till the gentleman had taken his leave; then calling for
the servant, whom he had entrusted with the carrying it, he
took him by the throat and holding his drawn sword directly to
his breast, swore that moment should be his last, if he did not
immediately confess the truth; the poor fellow frighted almost
to death, trembling, and falling on his knees, implored forgiveness,
and discovered all. Alovysa who was in the next chamber,
hearing her husband call for that servant, with a tone somewhat
more imperious than what he was accustomed to, and a
great noise soon after, immagined some accident had hapned to
betray her, and ran in to know the certainty, just as the Count
had discharged the servant at once from his service and his
presence. "You have done well madam," said D'elmont looking
on her with eyes sparkling with indignation, "you have done
well, by your impertinent curiosity and imprudence, to rouze
me from my dream of happiness, and remind me that I am that
wretched thing a husband!" '"Tis well indeed," answered
Alovysa, who saw now that there was no need of farther dissimulation,
"that any thing can make you remember both what
you are, and what I am." "You," resumed he, hastily interrupting
her, "have taken an effectual method to prove your self a wife! -- a very wife! -- insolent -- jealous -- and censorious! -- But
madam," continued he frowning, "since you are pleased to
assert your priveledge, be assured, I too shall take my turn, and
will exert the -- husband!" In saying this, he flung out of the
room in spite of her endeavours to hinder him, and going
hastily through a gallery which had a large window that looked


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 99


into the garden, he perceived Melliora lying on a green bank, in
a melancholy but a charming posture, directly opposite to the
place where he was; her beauties appeared if possible more to
advantage than ever he had seen them, or at least he had more
opportunity thus unseen by her, to gaze upon 'em; he in a
moment lost all the rage of temper he had been in, and his
whole soul was taken up with softness; he stood for some
moments fixed in silent admiration, but love has small dominion
in a heart, that can content it self with a distant prospect,
and there being a pair of back stairs at the farther end of the
gallery, which led to the garden, he either forgot or not regarded
what construction Alovysa might make on this private
interview, if by chance from any of the windows she should be
witness of it.

Melliora was so intent on a book she had in her hand, that
she saw not the Count 'till he was close enough to her to discern
what was the subject of her entertainment, and finding it
the works of Monsieur L'fontenelle,1 "Phylosophy madam at
your age," said he to her with an air which exprest surprize, "is
as wondrous as your other excellencies, but I am confident, had
this author ever seen Melliora, his sentiments had been otherwise
than now they seem to be, and he would have been able to
write of nothing else but love and her." Melliora blushed
exremely at his unexpected presence, and the complement he
made her; but recollecting her self as soon as she could, "I have
a better opinion of Monsieur L'fontenelle," answered she, "but
if I were really mistress of as many charms as you would make
me believe, I should think my self little beholding to nature, for
bestowing them on me, if by their means I were deprived of so
choice an improvement as this book has given me." "Thank
Heaven then madam," resumed he, "that you were born in an
age successive to that which has produced so many fine treatises
of this kind for your entertainment; since (I am very confident)
this, and a long space of future time will have no other


1 The French writer, Bernard le Bovier, Sieur de Fontenelle (1657-1757). Melliora
seeks solace for her emotional distress in the cosmic scale of his popular Discourse
concerning the Plurality of Worlds (1686), which presented modern astronomy in a
series of dialogues with a noblewoman.


100 ELIZA HAYWOOD


theme, but that which at present you seem so much averse to."
Melliora found so much difficulty in endeavouring to conceal
the disorder she was in at this discourse, that it rendred her
unable to reply; and he, (who possibly guest the occasion of her
silence) taking one of her hands and tenderly pressing it
between his, looked so full in her eyes, as heightened her confusion,
and discovered to his ravished view, what most he
wished to find. Ambition, envy, hate, fear, or anger, every other
passion that finds entrance in the soul, art and discretion may
disguise, but love, tho' it may be feigned, can never be concealed;
not only the eyes (those true and most perfect intelligencers
of the heart) but every feature, every faculty betrays it!
It fills the whole air of the person possest with it; it wanders
round the mouth! plays in the voice! trembles in the accent!
and shows it self a thousand different, nameless ways! Even
Melliora's care to hide it, made it more aparent, and the transported
D'elmont not considering where he was, or who might
be a witness of his rapture, could not forbear catching her in his
arms, and grasping her with an extasie, which plainly told her
what his thoughts were, tho' at the time he had not power to
put 'em into words; and indeed there is not greater proof of a
vast and elegant passion, than the being uncapable of expressing
it. -- He had perhaps held her in this strict embrace, 'till some
accident had discovered and separated him from her; if the
alarm this manner of proceeding gave her modesty, had not
made her force her self from him. -- They both stood in a silent
consternation, nor was he much less disordered at the temerity,
the violence of his ungovernable passion had made him guilty
of, than she was at the liberty he had taken; he knew not how
to excuse, nor she, to reproach; respect (the constant attendant
on a sincere affection) had tyed his tongue, and shame mixed
with the uncertainty after what manner she should resent it,
hers. At last, the natural confidence of his sex encouraged him
to break this mute entertainment. -- "There are times madam,"
said he, "in which the wisest have not power over their own
actions -- If therefore I have offended, impute not the crime to
me, but that unavoidable impulse which for a moment hurried
me from my self; for be assured while D'elmont can command


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 101


his thoughts they shall be most obedient to your wishes." -- As
Melliora was about to reply, she saw a servant coming hastily to
speak to the Count, and was not a little glad of so favourable an
opportunity to retire without being obliged to continue a discourse
in which she must either lay a severe punishment on her
inclinations by making a quarrel with him, or by forgiving him
too easily trespass against the strict precepts of virtue she had
always professed. She made what haste she could into her
chamber, and carried with her a world of troubled meditations;
she now no longer doubted the Count's passion, and trembled
with the apprehension of what he might in time be prompted
to; but when she reflected how dear that person she had so
much cause to fear, was to her, she thought her self, at once the
most unfortunate and most guilty of her sex.

The servant who gave 'em this seasonable interruption
delivered a letter to his master, which he opening hastily, knowing
that it came from his brother by the seal, found the contents
as follows.


I hoped (my dearest friend, and brother) by this day to have
embraced you, but Fortune takes delight to disappoint our wishes,
when highest raised and nearest to their aim. -- The letter I
carried from her, whom I think it my happiness to call sister
joyned with my own faith, love, and assiduity; at length truimphed
over all the little niceties and objections my charmer made
against our journey, and she condescended to order every thing
requisite for our departure from Amiens should be got ready. -- But how shall I express the grief, the honour, the distraction of
my soul, when the very evening before the day we should have
set out, as I was sitting with her, a sudden, but terrible illness, like
the hand of death seized on her, she fell (oh! my brother) cold,
and speechless in my arms -- Guess, what I endured at that
afflicting moment, all that I had of man, or reason left me; and
sure had not the care of the Baroness and some other ladies
(whom my cries drew in to her assistance) in a little time recovered
her, I had not now survived to give you this account. Again,
I saw the beauties of her eyes, again I heard her voice, but her disorder
was yet so great that it was thought convenient she should


102 ELIZA HAYWOOD


be put to bed; the Barroness seeing my dispair, desired me not to
quit her house, and by that means I had news every hour, how
her feavor encreased, or abated, for the physicians being desired to
deal freely, assured us, that was her distemper. For several days
she continued in a condition that could give us no hopes of her
recovery; in which time as you may imagine, I was little capable
of writing. -- The wildness of my unruly grief, made me not be
permitted to come into her chamber; but they could not without
they had made use of force, hinder me from lying at her door. I
counted all her groans, heard every sigh the violence of her pain
drew from her, and watched the countenance of every person who
came out of her chamber, as men who would form a judgment of

future consequences, do the signs in Heaven. -- But I trouble you
with this tedious recital, she is now, if there is any dpendance on
the doctors skill, past danger, tho' not fit to travel at least this
month, which gives no small alleviation to the greatness of my

joys (which otherwise would be unbounded) for her recovery, since
it occasions so long a separation from the best of brothers, and of

friends. Farewel, may all your wishes meet success, and an eternal
round of happiness attend you; to add to mine, I beg you'll write
by the first post, which next to seeing you, is the greatest I can
taste. I am my lord with all imaginable tenderness and respect
your most affectionate brother and humble servant.

Brillian.


The Count judged it proper that Alovysa should see this letter,
because it so much concerned her sister, and was ordering
the servant to carry it to her, (not being willing himself to
speak to her) just as she was coming towards him. She had
received a letter from the Barroness De Beronvill, at the same
time that the Chevalier Brillian's was brought and was glad to
take the opportunity of communicating the contents of it, in
hopes by this conversation to be reconciled to her husband.
But the gloomy sullenness of the humour he had left her with,
returned at sight of her, and after some little discourse of family
affairs, which he could not avoid answering, walked carelessly
away. She followed him at a distance 'till he was got up to
the gallery, and perceiving he went toward his closet, mended


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 103


her pace and was close to him when he was going in. "My lord," said she, with a voice but half assured and which would
not have given her leave to utter more, if he had not interrupted
her, by telling her he would be alone, and shutting the door
hastily upon her; but she prevented his locking of it by pushing
against it with all her force, and he, not exerting his, for fear of
hurting her, suffered her entrance but looked on her with a
countenance so forbidding, as in spite of the natural haughtiness
of her temper, and the resolution she had made to speak to
him, rendered her unable for some moments to bring forth a
word; but the silent grief, which appeared in her face, pleaded
more with the good nature of the Count, than any thing she
could have said. He began to pity the unhappiness of her too violent affection, and to wish himself in a capacity of returning it; however, he (like most husbands) thought it best to keep up
his resentments, and take this opportunity of quelling all the
woman in her soul, and humbling all the little remains of pride
that love had left her. "Madam," resumed he, with an accent,
which tho' something more softened, was still imperious
enough, "if you have anything of consequence to impart to me,
I desire you will be as brief as you can, for I would be left to the
freedom of my thoughts." -- Alovysa could not yet answer, but
letting fall a shower of tears, and throwing her self on the
ground, embraced his knees with so passionate a tenderness, as
sufficiently exprest her repentance for having been guilty of any
thing to disoblige him. D'elmont was most sensibly1 touched at
this behaviour, so vastly different from what he could have
expected from the greatness2 of her spirit, and raising her with
an obliging air, "I am sorry," said he, "that any thing should happen
to occasion this submission, but since what's past, is out of
either of our powers to recal, I shall endeavour to think of it no
more, provided you'l promise me, never for the future to be
guilty of any thing which may give me an uneasiness by the
sight of yours." -- 'Tis impossible to represent the transport of
Alovysa at this kind expression, she hung upon his neck, kissed
the dear mouth which had pronounced her pardon with


1 Noticeably, "perceptibly to the senses" (Johnson).

2 4th d.; 1st d. reads "greatest."


104 ELIZA HAYWOOD


raptures of unspeakable delight, she sighed with pleasure, as
before she had done "with pain, she wept, she even died with
joy! -- "No, no my lord, my life, my angel," cried she, assoon as
she had power to speak, "I never will offend you more, no
more be jealous; no more be doubtful of my happiness! You
are, and will be only mine, I know you will -- your kind forgiveness
of my folly, assures me that you are mine, not more by
duty, than by love! a tye far more valuable than that of marriage."
The Count conscious of her mistake had much ado to
conceal his disorder at these words, and being unwilling she
should proceed, as soon as he could (without seeming unkind
or rude) disingage himself from her arms, took a pen in his
hand, which he told her he was about to employ in answering
Chevalier Brillian's letter. Alovysa who now resolved an entire
obedience to his will, and remembring he had desired to be
alone, withdrew, full of the idea, of an immagined felicity -- Her
heart was now at ease, she believed, that if her husband had any
remains of passion for Amena, the impossibility of ever seeing
her again, would soon extinguish them, and since she was so
happily reconciled, was far from repenting her intercepting of
his letter. But poor lady, she did not long enjoy this peace of
mind, and this intervall of tranquility served but to heighten
her ensuing miseries.

The Count's secret passion for Melliora grew stronger by his
endeavouring to suppress it, and perceiving that she carefully
avoided all opportunities of being alone with him one
moment, since his behaviour to her in the garden, he grew
almost distracted, with the continual restraint he was forced to
put on all his words and actions. He durst not sigh, nor send an
amorous glance for fear of offending her, and alarming his
wives jealousie, so lately lulled to sleep. He had no person in
whom he had confidence enough to trust with his misfortune,
and had certainly sunk under the pressure of it, if Alovysa who
observing an alteration in his countenance and humour, and
fearing he was really indisposed (which was the excuse he
made for his melancholy) had not perswaded him to go into
the country, hoping that change of air might do him good. He
had a very fine seat near Anjerville in the province of Le


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 105


Beausse, which he had not been at in some years, and he was
very willing to comply with Alovysa's desires of passing the
remainder of the summer in a solitude, which was now become
agreeable to him; the greatest difficulty was in perswading
Melliora to accompany them thither; he guessed by her
reserved behaviour, that she only waited an opportunity to
leave the place where he was, and was not mistaken in his conjecture.
One day as they were talking of it, she told them that
she was resolved to return to the monastery where she had
been educated, that the world was too noisy a place for one of
her taste, who had no relish for any of the diversions of it.
Every word she spoke, was like a dagger to D'elmont's heart;
yet he so artfully managed his endeavours, between the authority
of a guardian, and the entreaties of a friend, that she was at
last overcome. 'Tis hard for the severest virtue to deny themselves
the sight of the person beloved, and whatever resolutions
we make, there are but few, who like Melliora might not by
such a lover, be prevailed upon to break them.

As soon as their coming into the country was spread abroad,
they were visited by all the neighbouring people of quality, but
there was none so welcome to D'elmont as the Baron D'espernay; they had before the Count's going into the army been very
intimate acquaintance, and were equally glad of this opportunity
to renew a friendship, which time and absence had not entirely eraced. The Baron had a sister young, and very agreeable,
but gay even to coquetry; they lived together, being both
single, and he brought her with him, hearing the Count was
married, to visit his lady. There were several other young noble
men, and ladies there at the same time, and the conversation
grew so delightfully entertaining that it was impossible for persons
less preposest than the Count and Melliora to retain their chagrin, but, tho' there were scarce any in the company that
might not have list'ned with a pleased attention, to what those
two admirable persons were capable of saying, yet their secret
sorrows kept them both in silence, 'till Melantha, for that was
the name of the Barons sister took upon her, to divert the company
with some verses on love; which she took out of her
pocket-book and read to 'em. Every body extolled the softness


106 ELIZA HAYWOOD


of the stile, and the subject they were upon. But Melliora who
was willing to take all opportunities of condemning that passion,
as well to conceal it in her self, as to check what ever
hopes the Count might have, now discovered the force of her
reason, the delicacy of her wit, and the penetration of her judgment,
in a manner so sweetly surprizing to all that were
strangers to her, that they presently found, that it was not want
of noble, and truly agreeable thoughts or words to express 'em,
that had so long deprived them of the pleasure of hearing her;
she urged the arguments she brought against giving way to
love, and the danger of all softning amusements, with such a
becoming fierceness, as made every body of the opinion that
she was born only to create desire, not be susceptible of it her
self. The Count as he was most concerned, took the most particular
notice of all she said, and was not a little alarmed to see
her appear so much in earnest, but durst not answer, or endeavour
to confute her, because of Alovysa's presence. But it was
not long before he had an opportunity; a few days after he met
with one, as full as he could wish. Returning one evening from
the Baron D'espernay's whom he had now made the confident
of his passion, and who had encouraged him in it, he was told
that Alovysa was gone out to take the air, and hearing no mention
of Melliora's being with her, he stayed not to enquire, but
running directly to her chamber, made his eyes his best informers.
He found her lying on a couch in a most charming
dissabillee; she had but newly come from bathing, and her hair
unbraided, hung down upon her shoulders with a negligence
more beautiful than all the aids of art could form in the most
exact decorum of dress, part of it fell upon her neck and breast,
and with it's lovely shadyness, being of a delicate dark brown,
set off to vast advantage, the matchless whiteness of her skin.
Her gown and the rest of her garments were white, and all
ungirt, and loosely flowing, discovered a thousand beauties,
which modish1 formalities conceal. A book lay open by her on
which she had reclined her head, as if been tired with reading;
she blushed at sight of the Count, and rose from off the couch


1 Fashionable.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 107


with a confusion which gave new lustre to her charms, but he
not permitting her to stir from the place she was in, sat down
by her, and casting his eyes on the book which lay there, found
it to be Ovid's Epistles.1 "How madam," cried he, not a little
pleased with the discovery, "dare you, who the other day so
warmly inveighed against writings of this nature, trust your self
with so dangerous an amusement? How happens it, that you are
so suddenly come over to our party?" "Indeed my lord,"
answered she, growing more disordered, "it was chance rather
than choice, that directed this book to my hands, I am yet far
from approving subjects of this kind, and believe I shall be ever
so. Not that I can perceive any danger in it, as to my self; the
retirement I have always lived in, and the little propensity I find
to entertain a thought of that uneasie passion, has hitherto
secured me from any prepossession, without which, Ovid's art
is vain." "Nay, madam," replied the Count, "now you contradict
your former argument, which was that these sort of books
were, as it were, preparatives to love, and by their softning influence
melted the soul, and made it fit for amorous impressions,
and so far, you certainly were in the right, for when once the
fancy is fixed on a real object, there will be no need of auxiliary
forces, the dear idea will spread it self thro' every faculty of the
soul, and in a moment inform us better, than all the writings of
the most experienced poets, could do in an age." "Well, my
lord," said she endeavouring to compose her self, "I am utterly
unambitious of any learning this way, and shall endeavour to
retain in memory, more of the misfortunes that attended the
passion of Sappho,2 than the tender, tho' never so elegant
expressions it produced. And if all readers of romances took
this method, the votaries of Cupid would be fewer, and the
dominion of reason more extensive." "You speak," answered
D'elmont, "as tho' love and reason were incompatible"; "there


1 Also called Heroides, they contained verse letters from legendary heroines to their
absent husbands or lovers. The most popular work in this period by the Latin poet
Ovid, they were translated in 1680 by a group that included John Dryden.

2 The most famous woman poet of classical antiquity, the Greek love poet Sappho
figures in Ovid's Epistles, which Melliora has been reading, through the legend that
she loved and was spurned by Phaon.


108 ELIZA HAYWOOD


is no rule," said she, "my lord, without exception, they are
indeed sometimes united; but how often they are at variance,
where may we not find proofs? History is full of them, and
daily examples of the many hair-brained matches, and slips
much less excusable, sufficiently evince how little reason has to
do in the affairs of love; I mean," continued she, with a very
serious air, "that sort of love, for there are two, which hurries
people on to an immediate gratification of their desires, tho'
never so prejudicial to themselves, or the person they pretend
to love." "Pray madam," said the Count a little netled at this discourse,
"what love is that which seems at least to merit the
approbation of a lady so extremely nice?" "It has many branches,"
replied she; "in the first place that which we owe to heaven;
in the next to our king, our country, parents, kindred, friends;
and lastly, that which fancy inclines, and reason guides us to, in
a partner for life; but here every circumstance must agree, parity
of age, of quality, of fortune, and of humour, consent of
friends, and equal affection in each other, for if any one of these
particulars fail, it renders all the rest of no effect." "Ah, madam,"
cried the Count not able to suffer her to proceed, "What share
of pity then can you afford to a man who loves where almost
all these circumstances are wanting, and what advice would you
give a wretch so curst?" "I would have him think," said she
more gravely then before. "How madam," resumed he, "'think'
did you say? Alas! 'Tis thought that has undone him"; "that's
very possible," answered she, "but yet 'tis want of thinking justly,
for in a lovers mind illusions seem realities, and what at an
other time would be looked on as impossible, appears easie
then. They indulge, and feed their new-born folly with a
prospect of hope, tho' ne're so distant a one, and in the vain
pursuit of it, fly consideration, 'till dispair starts up in the midway,
and bar's their promised view; whereas if they gave way to
due reflection, the vanity of the attempt would presently be
shown, and the same cause that bid 'em cease to hope, would
bid 'em cease to wish." "Ah madam," said he, "how little do you
know of that passion, and how easily could I disprove you by
the example of my friend; dispair and love are of an equal age
in him, and from the first moment he beheld his adorable


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 109


charmer, he has languished without the least mixture of a flattering
hope. I grant the flames with which our modern gallants
are ordinarily animated, cannot long subsist without fewel, but
where love is kindled in a generous heart by a just admiration
of the real merits of the object beloved, reason goes hand in
hand with it, and makes it lasting as our life." "In my mind,"
answered Melliora coldly, "an esteem so grounded may more
properly be ascribed to friendship"; "then be it so madam,"
rejoyned the Count briskly, "friendship and love, where either
are sincere, vary but little in their meaning; there may indeed be
some distinctions in their ceremonies, but their essentials are
still the same. And if the gentleman I speak of were so happy as
to hope his friendship would be acceptable, I dare promise that
he never would complain his love were not so." "You have a
strange way," said she, "to confound idea's, which in my opinion
are so vastly different, that I should make no difficulty in granting
my friendship to as many of my acquaintance, as had merit
to deserve it; but if I were to love in that general manner,
'twould be a crime would justly render me contemptible to
mankind." "Madam," replyed the Count, "when I spoke of the
congruity of love and friendship, I did not mean that sort,
which to me, seems unworthy of the name of either, but that
exalted one, which made Orestes and Pilades, Theseus and
Perithous1 so famous; that, which has no reserve, no separate
interest, or divided thoughts, that which fills all, -- gives all the
soul, and esteems even life a trifle, to prove it self sincere What
can love do more then yeild every thing to the object
beloved? And friendship must do so too, or is not friendship!
Therefore take heed fair angel," continued he taking her hand,
and kissing it, "how you promise freindship, where you ne're
mean to love." And observing she was silent, "Your hand," said
he, "your lip, your neck, your breast, your all -- all this whole
heaven of beauty must be no longer in your own disposal -- All
is the prize of friendship!" As much confused as Melliora was,
at these words which gave her sufficient reason to fear he
would now declare himself more fully than she desired, she had


1 Pairs of classical male heroes famous for their devoted friendship.


110 ELIZA HAYWOOD


spirit and resolution enough to withdraw her hand from his,
and "with a look, that spoke her meaning but too plainly for the
repose of the enamoured D'elmont, "I shall take care my lord."
said she, "how I commence a friendship with any person who shall make use of it to my prejudice."

The Count was now sensible of his error in going so far, and
fearing he had undone himself in her esteem by his rash proceeding,
thought it was best at once to throw off a disguise
which in spite of his endeavours would fall off, of it's self, and
by making a bold and free confession of his real sentiments,
oblige her to a discovery of hers. -- "I do not doubt your caution
madam," answered he, "in this point. Your reserved behaviour,
even to me, convinces me, but too fully, how little you are
disposed to give, or receive any proofs of friendship. But perhaps,"
continued he with a deep sigh, "my too presuming eyes
have rendred me a suspected person, and while you find in me
the wretch I have discribed, you find nothing in me worthy of
a happier fortune." "You are worthy of every thing my lord,"
said Melliora quite beside her self at these words, "nor are you
less happy than you deserve to be; and I would rather that these
eyes should lose their sight than view you otherwise than now
I see you, blest in every circumstance, the darling of the world,
the idol of the Court, and favourite of heaven!" "Oh stop!"
cried D'elmont hastily interrupting her, "forbear to curse me
farther, rather command my death, than wish the continuance
of my present miseries. Cruel Melliora, too well, alass, you
know what I have endured from the first fatal moment I
beheld you and only feign an ignorance to distract me more. A
thousand times you have read my rising wishes, sparkling in my
eyes, and glowing on my cheeks, as often seen my virtue
strugling in silent tremblings, and life-wasting anguish to suppress
desire. Nay, madam," said he catching fast hold of both
her hands, seeing her about to rise, "by all my sleepless nights,
and restless days, by all my countless burning agonies; by all the
torments of my galled, bleeding heart, swear, that you shall hear
me." "I have heard too much," cried Melliora not able to contain
her self, "and tho' I am unwilling to believe you have any
farther aim in this discourse than your diversion, yet I must tell


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 111


your lordship there are themes more proper for it, than the
daughter of your friend, who was entrusted to your care with a
far different opinion of your behaviour to her." "What have I
done," resumed the almost distracted Count, falling at her feet,
and grasping her knees, "what have I done, inhumane Melliora!
to deserve this rigour? My honour has hitherto prevailed above
desire, fierce, and raging as it is, nor had I any other hopes by
making this declaration than to meet that pity my misfortunes
merit, and you cannot without ingratitude deny. Pity, even to
criminals is allowed, and sure, where the offence is unvoluntary,
like mine, 'tis due. Tis impossible to guess the conflict in Melliora's breast at this instant; she had heard a most passionate declaration
of love from a married man, and by consequence,
whatever his pretences were, could look on his designs no
otherwise than aimed at the destruction of her honour, and was
fired with a virtuous indignation. But then she saw in this married
man, the only person in the world, who was capable of
inspiring her with a tender thought; she saw him reduced to
the last extremity of dispair for her sake. She heard his sighs, she
felt his tremblings as he held her, and could not refrain shedding
some tears, both for him and for her self, who indeed
suffered little less; but the Count was not so happy as to be witness
of this testimony of her compassion. He had reclined his
head on her lap, possibly to hide those that forced their way
thro' his eyes, at the same time; and Alovisa's voice which they
heard below, giving them both an alarm, they had no further
opportunity for speech, and the Count was but just gone out of
the room, and Melliora laid on the couch in the same careless
posture which he had found her in, when Alovysa entered the
chamber, and after having a little pleasantly reproached her for
being so lazy as not to accompany her in the walk she had been
takeing, asked her if she had not seen the Count who she had
been told was come home. Poor Melliora had much ado to
conceal the disorder she was in at this question, but recovering
her self as well as she could, answered in the affirmative; but
that he had not stayed there longer than to enquire where she
was gone, and that she knew not but he might be gone in
search of her. This was enough to make Alovysa take her leave,


112 ELIZA HAYWOOD


impatient for the sight of her dear lord, a happiness she had not
enjoyed since morning, but she was disappointed of her hope.
The Count as late as it was in the evening, went into his chaise,
which had not been set up, since he came from the Baron
D'espernay's, and drove thither again with all the speed he
could.

The Baron was extremely surprized at his sudden return,
and with so much confusion and melancholy in his countenance.
But much more so, when he had given him an account
of what had passed between him and Melliora, and could not
forbear rallying him excessively on the occasion. "What," said
he, "a man of wit, and pleasure like Count D'elmont, a man
who knows the sex so well, could he let slip so favourable an
opportunity with the finest woman in the world; one for
whose enjoyment he would die, -- Could a frown, or a little
angry coiness (which ten to one was but affected) have power
to freeze such fierce desires." The Count was not at present in a
humour to relish this merriment, he was too seriously in love
to bear that any thing relating to it should be turned into
ridicule, and was far from repenting he had done no more,
since what he had done, had occasioned her displeasure. But
the Baron, who had designs in his head, which he knew could
not by any means be brought to succeed, but by keeping the
Count's passion warm, made use of all the artifice he was master
of, to embolden this respective1 lover, to the gratification of
his wishes. And growing more grave than he had been, "my
lord," said he, "you do not only injure the dignity of our sex in
general, but your own merits in particular, and perhaps even
Melliora's secret inclinations, by this unavailing distant carriage,
and causeless dispair. -- Have you not confest that she has2 looked on you with a tenderness, like that of love, that she has
blushed at your sight, and trembled at your touch? -- What
would you more that she should do, or what indeed can she do
more, in modesty to prove her heart is yours? A little resolution
on your side would make her all yours -- Women are taught by
custom to deny what most they covet, and to seem angry when


1 Not respectful but "accurate; nice; careful; cautious" (Johnson).

2 4th d.; 1st d. reads "has she."


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 113


they are best pleased; believe me, D'elmont that the most rigid
virtue of 'em all, never yet hated a man for those faults which
love occasions." "All this," answered the Count, "is what I readily
agree to, -- but O her father's memory! My obligations to
him! Her youth and innocence are daggers to my cool reflections
-- Would it not be pity Espernay," continued he with a
deep sigh, "even if she should consent, to ruin so much sweetness?"
The Baron could not forbear laughing at these words,
and the Count who had started these objections, only with the
hope of having them removed, easily suffered himself to be perswaded to follow his inclinations; and it was soon concluded
betwixt them, that on the first opportunity, Melliora should fall
a sacrifice to love.

The Count came not home until the next morning, and
brought the Baron with him, for they were now become inseparable
friends. At his return, he found Alovysa in a very ill
humour for his being abroad all night, and in spite of the resolution
she had made of shewing a perfect resignation to her
husbands will, could not forbear giving him some hints, how
unkindly she took it, which he but little regarded; all his
thoughts were now bent on the gaining Melliora. But that lady
alarmed at his late behaviour, and with reason doubting her
own power of resenting it as she ought, or indeed resisting any
future attempts he might make, feigned the necessity of performing
some private rules of devotion enjoyned her as a pennance, and kept her chamber that she might not see him.

The disquietudes of D'elmont for being forced to live but
for three or four days without the happiness of beholding her,
convinced him how impossible it was for him to overcome his
passion, tho' he should never so vigorously endeavour it, and
that whatever method he should make use of to satisfie it,
might be excused by the necessity.

What is it that a lover cannot accomplish when resolution is
on his side? D'elmont after having formed a thousand fruitless
inventions, at last pitched on one, which promised him, an
assurance of success. In Melliora's chamber there was a little
door that opened to a pair of back stairs, for the convenience of
the servants coming to clean the room, and at the bottom of
that discent, a gate into the garden. The Count set his wits to


114 ELIZA HAYWOOD

work to get the keys of those two doors, that of the garden
stood always in it, nor could he keep it, without it's being mist
at night, when they should come to fasten the gate, therefore,
he carefully took the impression in wax, and had one made
exactly like it. The other he could by no means compass without
making some excuse to go to Melliora's chamber, and she
had desired that none might visit her. But he overcome this bar
to his design at last; there was a cabinet in it, where he told
Alovysa he had put some papers of great concern which he
now wanted to look over, and desired she would make an apology
for his coming in, to fetch them. Melliora imagined this
was only a pretence to see her, but his wife being with him, and
he saying nothing to her, or taking any farther notice, than
what common civility required, was not much troubled at it.
While Alovysa was paying a complement, to the recluse, he was
dextrous enough to slip the key out of the door, unperceived
by either of them.

As soon as he had got the passport to his expected joys in his
possession, he ordered a couple of saddle horses to be made
ready, and only attended by one servant, rid out, as if to take the
air; but when they were got about two or three miles from his
house, commanded him to return, and tell his lady, that he
should lye that night at the Baron D'espernay's; the fellow
obeyed, and clapping spurs to his horse, was immediately lost in
a cloud of dust.

D'elmont had sent this message to prevent any of the family
sitting up expecting him, and instead of going to the Baron's,
turned short, and went to Angerville, where meeting with
some gentlemen of his acquaintance, he passed the hours 'till
between twelve and one, as pleasantly as his impatience to be
with Melliora, would give him leave. He had not much above a
furlong to ride, and his desires made him not spare his horse,
which he tyed by the bridle, hot and foaming as he was, to a
huge oak which grew pretty near his garden; it was incompassed only with a hedge, and that so low, that he got over it
without any difficulty. He looked carefully about him, and
found no tell-tale lights in any of the rooms, and concluding all
was as hushed as he could wish, opened the first door, but the
encreasing transports of his soul, as he came up stairs, to be so


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 115


near the end of all his wishes, are more easily imagined than
exprest, but as violent as they were, they presently received a
vast addition, when he came into the happy chamber, and by a
most delightful gloom, a friend to lovers, for it was neither dark
nor light, he beheld the lovely Melliora in her bed, and fast
asleep; her head was reclined on one of her arms, a pillow softer
and whiter far than that it leaned on; the other was stretched
out, and with it's extention had thrust down the bed-cloths so
far, that all the beauties of her neck and breast appeared to view.
He took an inexpressible pleasure, in gazing on her as she lay,
and in this silent contemplation of her thousand charms, his
mind was agitated with various emotions, and the resistless posture
he beheld her in, rouzed all that was honourable in him; he
thought it pity even to wake her, but more to wrong such
innocence, and he was sometimes prompted to return and leave
her as he found her.

But whatever dominion, honour and virtue may have over
our waking thoughts, 'tis certain that they fly from the closed
eyes; our passions then exert their forceful power, and that
which is most predominant in the soul, agitates the fancy, and
brings even things impossible to pass. Desire, with watchful
diligence repelled, returns with greater violence in unguarded
sleep, and overthrows the vain efforts of day. Melliora in spite of
her self, was often happy in idea, and possest a blessing, which
shame and guilt, deterred her from in reality. Imagination at
this time was active, and brought the charming Count much
nearer than indeed he was, and he, stooping to the bed, and
gently laying his face close to her's, (possibly designing no more
than to steal a kiss from her, unperceived) that action, concurring
at that instant, with her dream, made her throw her arm
(still slumbering) about his neck, and in a soft and languishing
voice, cry out, "Oh D'elmont, cease, cease to charm, to such a
height -- Life cannot bear these raptures. -- And then again,
embracing him yet closer, -- O! too, too lovely Count -- extatick
ruiner!"

Where was now the resolution he was forming some
moments before? If he had now left her, some might have
applauded an honour so uncommon; but more would have


116 ELIZA HAYWOOD


condemned his stupidity, for I believe there are very few men,
how stoical soever they pretend to be, that in such a tempting
circumstance would not have lost all thoughts, but those, which
the present opportunity inspired. That he did, is most certain,
for he tore open his wastcoat, and joyned his panting breast to
hers, with such a tumultuous eagerness! seized her with such a
rapidity of transported hope-crowned passion, as immediately
waked her from an imaginary felicity, to the approaches of a
solid one. "Where have I been?" said she, just opening her eyes,
"where am I?" -- And then coming more perfectly to her self,
"Heaven! What is this?" -- "I am D'elmont," cried the orejoyed
Count, "the happy D'elmont! Melliora's, the charming Melliora's
D'elmont.""Oh, all ye saints," resumed the surprized, trembling
fair, "ye ministring angels! whose business 'tis to guard the
innocent! protect, and shield my virtue! O! say, how came you
here, my lord?" "Love," said he, "love that does all, that wonderworking
power has sent me here, to charm thee, sweet rsister,
into yielding." "O! hold," cried she, finding he was proceeding
to liberties, which her modesty could not allow of, "forbear, I
do conjure you, even by that love you plead, before my honour,
I'll resign my life! Therefore, unless you wish to see me dead, a
victim to your cruel, fatal passion, I beg you to desist, and leave
me." -- "I cannot -- must not," answered he, growing still more
bold, ""what, when I have thee thus! thus, naked in my arms,
trembling, defenceless, yeilding, panting with equal wishes, thy
love confest, and every thought, desire! What could'st thou
think if I should leave thee? How justly would'st thou scorn my
easie tameness; my dulness, unworthy of the name of lover, or
even of man! -- Come, come no more reluctance," continued
he, gathering kisses from her soft snowy breast at every word,
"damp not the fires thou hast raised with seeming coiness! I
know thou art mine! All mine! And thus I --" "Yet think," said
she interrupting him, and strugling in his arms, "think what 'tis
that you would do, nor for a moments joy, hazard your peace
for ever." "By Heaven," cried he, "I will this night be master of
my wishes, no matter what to morrow may bring forth." As
soon as he had spoke these words, he put it out of her power
either to deny, or to reproach him, by stopping her mouth with


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 117


kisses, and was just on the point of making good what he had
vowed, when a loud knocking at the chamber door, put a stop
to his beginning exstacy, and changed the sweet confusion
Melliora had been in, to all the horrors of a shame and guilt
distracted apprehension. They made no doubt but that it was
Alovysa, and that they were betrayed; the Count's greatest concern
was for Melliora, and the knocking still continuing and
growing louder, all he could do in this exigence, was to make
his escape, the way he came; there was no time for taking leave,
and he could only say, perceiving she was ready to faint with
her fears, "Be comforted, my angel, and resolute in your denials,
to whatever questions the natural insolence of a jealous wife,
may provoke mine to ask you; and we shall meet again (if D'elmont survives this disappointment without danger of so quick,
so curst a separation)." Melliora was in too much distraction to
make any answer to what he said, and he had left the room
some moments before she could get spirit enough to ask who
was at the door; but when she did, was as much surprized to
find it was Melantha, who desired to be let in, as before she was
frighted at the belief it was Alovysa; however, she immediately
slipt on her night-gown, and slippers, and opened the door.

"You are a sound sleeper indeed," cried Melantha laughing,
"that all the noise I have made could not wake you." "I have
not been all this time asleep," answered Melliora, "but not
knowing you were in the house, could not imagine who it was
that gave me this disturbance." "I heartily ask your pardon," said
Melantha, "and I know, my dear, you are too good natured to
refuse it me, especially when you know the occasion, which is
so very whimsical, that, as grave as you are, you cannot help being diverted with it -- But come," continued she, "get on
your cloths, for you must go along with me." "Where?" said
Melliora, "Nay, nay, ask no questions," resumed Melantha, "but
make hast, every minute that we idle away here, loses us the
diversion of an age." As she spoke these words, she fell into such
an excessive laughter, that Melliora thought her mad, but being
far from sympathizing in her gayety, "it has always," said she,
"been hitherto my custom to have some reason for what I do,
tho' in never so trifling an affair, and you must excuse me, if I
do not break it now." "Pish," cried Melantha, "you are of the


118 ELIZA HAYWOOD


oddest temper, -- but I will give you your way for once, -- provided
you'll get your self ready in the mean time." "I shall certainly
put on my cloaths," said Melliora, "lest I should take cold,
for I expect you'll not permit me to sleep any more this night."
"You may be sure of it," rejoyned Melantha. "But to the purpose, -- you must know, having an hour or two on my hands, I
came this evening to visit Alovysa, and found her in the
strangest humour! Good God! What unaccountable creatures
these married women are! -- Her husband it seems had sent her
word that he would lye at my brothers, and the poor loving
soul could not bear to live a night without him. I stayed to
condole with her, (tho' on my life, I could scarce forbear laughing
in her face) 'till it was too late to go home. -- About twelve
a clock she yawned, stretched, and grew most horridly out of
temper; railed at mankind prodigiously, and cursed matrimony
as heartily as one of fourscore could do, that had been twice a
widow, and was left a maid! -- With much ado, I made her
women thrust her into bed, and retired to a chamber which
they showed me, but I had no inclination to sleep, I remembered
my self of five or six billetdoux1 I had to answer, -- A
lover, that growing foolishly troublesome, I have some thoughts
of discharging to morrow -- Another that I design to countenance,
to pique a third -- A new suit of cloaths, and trimmings
for the next ball -- Half a hundred new songs -- and -- a
thousand other affairs of the utmost consequence to a young
lady, came into my head in a moment; and the night being
extreamly pleasant, I set the candle in the chimney, opened the
window, and fell to considering -- But I had not been able to
come to a conclusion what I should do in any one thing I was thinking of, before I was interrupted in my cogitations with a
noise of something rushing hastily thro' the mirtles under my
window, and presently after, saw it was a man going hastily
along toward the great alley of the garden. -- At first I was
going to cry out and alarm the family, taking it for a thief; but,
dear Melliora, how glad am I that I did not! -- For who do you
think when I looked more heedfully, I perceived it was?"
"Nay, how should I know?" cried Melliora peevishly, fearing


1 Love letters; such fashionable French phrases (see beaumonde below) place Melantha
in the artificial world of gallantry and flirtation.

love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 119

the Count's inadvertency had exposed himself and her to this
foolish woman's curiosity. "It was Count D'elmont," resumed
Melantha, "I'll lay my life, that he has been on some intreague
to night. And met with a disappointment in it, by his quick
return. -- But prithee make hast, for I long to rally him about
it." "What would you do madam?" said Melliora, "you would
not sure go to him?" "Yes," answered Melantha, "I will go down
into the garden, and so shall you. -- I know you have a back way
from your chamber -- therefore lay aside this unbecoming
demureness, and let us go, and talk him to death." "You may do
as you please," said Melliora, "but for my part, I am for no such
frolicks." "Was there every any thing so young, so formal as you
are!" rejoyned Melantha, "but I am resolved to teaze you out of a humour so directly opposite to the beaumonde, and, if you
will not consent to go down with me, I will fetch him up to
your chamber." -- "Hold! Hold," cried Mellora perceiving she
was going, "what do you mean, for Heavens sake stay, what will
Alovysa think?" -- "I care not," replied the other, "I have set my
heart on an hours diversion with him, and will not be baulked,
if the repose of the world, much less that of a jealous, silly wife,
depended on it."

Melliora saw into the temper of this capricious young lady
too well not to believe she would do, as she had said, and perhaps,
was not over willing to venture her with the Count alone,
at that time of night, and in the humour she knew he was;
therefore putting on an air more chearful than that she was
accustomed to wear, "well," said she, "I will accompany you
into the garden, since it will so much oblige you; but if the
Count be wise, he will, by quitting the place, as soon as he see's us, disappoint you worse than I should have done, if I had kept
you here." With these words she took her by the hand, and they
went down the stairs, where the Count was but just past before
them.

He had not power to go away, without knowing who it was,
that had given him that interruption, and had stood all this
time, on the upper step behind the inner door. His vexation,
and disdain when he heard it was Melantha gave him as much
pain, as his concern while he believed it Alovysa, and he could


120 ELIZA HAYWOOD


not forbear muttering a thousand curses on her impertinence.
He always dispised, but now abhorred her. She had behaved
her self to him in a fashion, as made him sufficiently sensible
she was desirous of engaging him, and he resolved to mortifie
by the bitterest slights, both her pride, and love, if 'tis proper to
call that sort of liking which agitates the soul of coquet,1 by that
name.

The ladies walked in the garden for some time, and Melantha searched every bush, before she found the Count, who
stood concealed in the porch, which being covered with jes and
fillaree,2 was dark enough to hide him from their
view, tho' they had passed close to him as they came out. He
had certainly remained there 'till morning, and disappointed
Melantha's search in part of the revenge he owed her, if his
desires to be with Melliora, on any terms, had not prevailed,
even above his anger to the other. But he could not see that
charmer of his soul, and imagine there might be yet an opportunity
that night of stealing a kiss from her (now he believed
resistless) lips, of touching her hand! her breast! And repeating
some farther freedoms which his late advantage over her had
given him, without being filled with wishes too fiery and too
impatient to be restrained. He watched their turning, and
when he saw they were near an alley which had another that
led to it, he went round and met them.

Melantha was overjoyed at sight of him, and Melliora tho'
equally pleased, was covered with such a confusion, at the
remembrance of what had passed, that it was happy for her that
her companions volubility gave her no room for speech. There
is nothing more certain than that love, tho' it fills the mind
with a thousand charming ideas, which those untouched by
that passion, are not capable of conceiving, yet it entirely takes
away the power of utterance, and the deeper impression it had3 made on the soul, the less we are able to express it, when will-

1 Coquette -- "a gay, airy girl; a girl who endeavours to attract notice" (Johnson).
Note the widespread cultural assumption that girls should not seek notice; i.e.
express ambition.

2 Jasmine, a climbing shrub, and (apparently) Phillyrea, a family of evergreen shrubs.

3 Sic, though the sense requires "has."


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 121


ing to indulge and give a loose to thought; what language can
furnish us with words sufficient, all are too poor, all wanting
both in sublimity, and softness, and only fancy! a lovers fancy!
can reach the exalted soaring of a lovers meaning! But, if so
impossible to be described, if of so vast, so wonderful a nature
as nothing but it's self can comprehend, how much more
impossible must it be entirely to conceal it! What strength of
boasted reason? What force of resolution? What modest fears,
or cunning artifice can correct the fierceness of it's fiery flashes
in the eyes, keep down the strugling sighs, command the pulse,
and bid the trembling, cease? Honour, and virtue may distance
bodies, but there is no power in either of those names, to stop
the spring that with a rapid whirl transports us from our selves,
and darts our souls into the bosom of the darling object. This
may seem strange to many, even of those who call, and perhaps
believe that they are lovers, but the few who have delicacy
enough to feel what I but imperfectly attempt to speak, will
acknowledge it for truth, and pity the distress of Melliora.

As they were passing thro' a walk with trees on each side,
whose intermingling boughs made a friendly darkness, and
every thing undistinguishable, the amorous D'elmont throwing
his eager arms round the wast of his (no less transported) Melliora,
and printing burning kisses on her neck, reaped painful
pleasure, and created in her, a racking kind of extasie, which
might perhaps, had they been now alone, proved her desires
were little different from his.

After Melantha had vented part of the raillery, she was so big
with, on the Count, which he but little regarded, being wholly
taken up with other thoughts, she proposed, going into the
wilderness,1 which was at the farther end of the garden, and
they readily agreeing to it, "Come my lord," said she to the
Count, "you are melancholy, I have thought of a way which
will either indulge the humour you are in, or divert it, as you
shall chuse. There are several little paths in this wilderness, let
us take each a separate one, and when we meet, which shall be


1 Part of a garden cultivated to be less formal and regular than the rest, it has obvious
symbolic value for a novelist presenting sexual pursuit in a formal society. The
wilderness at Sotherton serves a similar purpose in Jane Austen's Mansfield Park (1814).


122 ELIZA HAYWOOD


here, where we part, agree to tell an entertaining story, which
whoever fails in, shall be doomed to the punishment of being
left here all night." The Count at these words, forgot all his animosity,
and was ready to hug her for this proposal. Melliora did
a little oppose it; but the others were too powerful, and she was
forced to submit. "Thou art the dullest creature, I lay my life
my lord," cried Melantha, taking hold of the Count in a gay
manner, "that it falls to her lot to stay in the wilderness." "Oh
madam," replied the Count, "you are too severe, we ought
always to suspend our judgment 'till after the tryal, which I
confess my self so pleased with, that I am impatient for it's
coming on." "Well then," said she laughing, "farewel for half an
hour." "Agreed," cried the Count, and walked away. Melantha
saw which way he went and took another path, leaving Melliora
to go forward in that, in which they were, but I believe the
reader will easily imagine that she was not long to enjoy the
priviledge of her meditations.

After the Count had gone some few paces, he planted himself
behind a thicket, which while it hid him, gave him the
opportunity of observing them, and when he found the coast
clear, rushed out, and with unhurting gripe, seized once more
on the unguarded prey. "Blest turn of Fortune," said he in a
rapture, "happy, happy moment!" -- "Lost, lost Melliora," said
she, "most unhappy maid! -- Oh why, why my lord, this quick
return?" "This is no place to answer thee," resumed he taking
her in his arms, and bearing her behind that thicket, where
himself had stood; 'twas in vain for her to resist, if she had had
the power over her inclinations, 'till he setting her softly down,
and beginning to caress her, in the manner he had done, when
she was in bed, she assumed strength enough to raise her self a
little, and catching hold of his transgressing hands, laid her face
on 'em, and bathed 'em in a shower of tears. "O! D'elmont,"
said she, "cruel D'elmont! Will you then take advantage of my
weakness? I confess I feel for you, a passion far beyond all, that
yet, ever bore the name of love, that I no longer can withstand
the too powerful magick of your eyes, nor deny any thing that
charming tongue can ask, but now's the time to prove your self
the heroe, subdue your self, as you have conquered me, be
satisfied with vanquishing my soul, fix there your throne, but


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 123


leave my honour free!" "Life of my life," cried he, "wound me
no more by such untimely sorrows. I cannot bear thy tears, by
Heaven they sink in to my soul, and quite unman me, but tell
me," continued he tenderly kissing her, "could'st thou, will all
this love, this charming -- something more then softness --
could'st thou I say, consent to see me pale and dead, stretched at
thy feet, consumed with inward burnings, rather than blest,
than raised by love, and thee, to all a deity in thy embraces. For
O! Believe me when I swear, that 'tis impossible to live without
thee." "No more, no more," said she letting her head fall gently
on his breast, "too easily I guess thy sufferings by my own. But
yet, D'elmont, 'tis better to die in innocence, than to live in
guilt." "O! why," resumed he, sighing as if his heart would burst,
"should what we can't avoid, be called a crime? Be witness for
me Heaven! How much I have strugled with this rising passion,
even to madness struggled! -- But in vain, the mounting flame
blazes the more, the more I would suppress it -- My very soul's
on fire -- I cannot bear it -- Oh Melliora! Didst thou but know
the thousandth part, of what this moment I endure, the strong
convulsions of my warring thoughts, thy heart steeled as it is,
and frosted round with virtue, would burst it's icy shield and
melt in tears of blood to pity me." "Unkind and cruel!"
answered she, "do I not pertake them then? -- Do I not bear, at
least, an equal share in all your agonies? -- Hast thou no charms

-- Or have not I a heart? -- A most susceptible, and tender heart?

-- Yes, you may feel it throb, it beats against my breast, like an
imprisoned bird, and fain would burst it's cage! To fly to you,
the aim of all it's wishes! -- Oh D'elmont --" With these words
she sunk wholly into his arms unable to speak more. Nor was
he less disolved in rapture, both their souls seemed to take wing
together, and left their bodies motionless, as unworthy to bear a
part in their more elevated bliss.

But D'elmont at his returning sense, repenting the effects of
the violent transport he had been in, now was preparing to take
from the resistless Melliora, the last, and only remaining proof
that she was all his own,1 when Melantha (who had contrived


1 Logic might prefer "[not] all his own," but D'elmont may see Melliora's virginity as
a trophy or waver between her virginity (proof she's not his) and the imminent
consummation (proof she is).


124 ELIZA HAYWOOD


this separation only with a design to be alone with the Count,
and had carefully observed which way he took) was coming
towards them. The rustling of her cloths among the bushes,
gave the disappointed couple leave to rise from the posture
they were in, and Melliora to abscond behind a tree, before she
could come near enough to discern who was there.

Melantha, as soon as she saw the Count, put on an air of surprize,
as if it were but by chance, that she was come into his
walk, and laughing with a visible affection;1 "bless me! You
here, my lord!" said she, "I vow this has the look of assignation,
but I hope you will not be so vain as to believe I came on purpose
to seek you." "No madam," answered he coldly, "I have
not the least thought of being so happy." "Lord! You are
strangely grave," rejoyned she, "but suppose I really had come
with a design to meet you, what kind of a reception might I
have expected?" "I know no reason madam," said he, "that can
oblige me to entertain a supposition so unlikely." "Well then,"
resumed she, "I'll put it past a supposition, and tell you plainly,
that I did walk this way on purpose to divert your spleen." "I
am sorry," replied he, tired to death with her impertinence,
"that you are disappointed; for I am not in a humour at present,
of receiving any diversion." "Fie," said she, "is this an
answer for the gay, gallant, engaging Count D'elmont, to give a
lady who makes a declaration of admiring him -- who thinks it
not too much to make the first advances, and who would
believe her self fully recompenced for breaking thro' the nice
decorums2 of her sex, if he received it kindly." -- "Madam," said
he, not a little amazed at her imprudence, "I know of no such
person, or if I did, I must confess, should be very much puzled
how to behave in an adventure so uncommon." "Pish,"
answered she, growing vext at his coldness, "I know that such
adventures are not uncommon with you. I'm not to learn the
story of Alovysa, and if you had not been first addressed perhaps
might have been 'till now unmarried." "Well madam," said
he, more out of humour, "put the case that what you say were


1 The sense seems to require "affectation," the reading of the 4th ed.

2 This flirtatious reference to the precise conventions of female modesty again types
Melantha as a coquet; Lady Wishfort, the carnal widow in William Congreve's
comedy, The Way of the World, also affects nervousness about decorums.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 125


true, I am married"; "and therefore," interrupted she, "you
ought to be better acquainted with the temper of our sex, and
know that a woman, where she says she loves, expects a thousand
fine things in return." "But there is more than a possibility,"
answered he, "of her being disappointed, and methinks
madam, a lady of your gaity should be conversant enough with
poetry, to remember these too lines of a famous English poet.


All naturally fly, what does pursue

'Tisfit men should be coy, when women woe."1


Melantha was fretted to the heart to find him so insensible,
but not being one of those who are apt to repent any thing
they have done, she only pretended to fall into a violent fit of
laughter, and when she came out of it, "I confess," said she, "that
I have lost my aim, which was, to make you believe I was dying
for love of you, raise you to the highest degree of expectation,
and then have the pleasure of baulking you at once, by letting
you know the jest. -- But your lordship is too hard for me, even
at my own weapon, ridicule!""! am mightily obliged to you
madam," answered he, more briskly than before, "for your
intention; however, but 'tis probable, if I could have been drawn
into a belief that you were in earnest, I might at such a time,
and such a place as this, have taken some measures which
would have sufficiently revenged me on you -- But come
madam," continued he, "the morning begins to break, if you
please we will find out Melliora, and go into the house." As he
spoke these words, they perceived her coming towards them,
who had only taken a little round to meet 'em, and they all
three made what hast they could in; Count D'elmont asked a
formal leave of Melliora to go thro' her chamber, none of the
servants being yet stirring, to let him into the house any other
way; which being granted, he could not help sighing as he
passed by the bed, where he had been lately so cruelly disappointed,
but had no opportunity to speak his thoughts at that
time to Melliora.


1 Not identified; "too lines," of course is two lines, "woe" is woo (to rhyme with "pursue").


126 ELIZA HAYWOOD


The Count rung for his gentleman to rise to undress him,
and ordered him to send somebody to take care of his horse,
and went to bed; Alovysa was very much surprized at his
return from the Baron's at so unseasonable an hour, but much
more so, when in the morning, Melantha came laughing into
the chamber, and told her, all that she knew of the adventure of
the night before; her old fit of jealousie now resumed it's
dominion in her soul, she could not forbear thinking, that there
was something more in it, than Melantha had discovered, and
presently imagined that her husband stayed not at the Baron's,
because she was abroad, but she was more confirmed in this
opinion, when Melantha calling for her coach to go home, the
Count told her that he would accompany her thither, having
urgent business with her brother. 'Tis almost impossible to
guess the rage Alovysa was in, but she dissembled it 'till they
were gone, then going to Melliora's chamber, she vented part
of it there, and began to question her about their behaviour in
the wilderness. Tho' Melliora was glad to find, since she was
jealous, that she was jealous of any body rather than her self, yet
she said all that she could, to perswade her, that she had no reason
to be uneasie.

But Alovysa was always of too fiery a nature to listen
patiently to any thing could be offered, to alter the opinion she
had taken up, tho' it were with never so little an appearance of
reason, but much more now, when she thought her self, in a
manner confirmed. "Forbear," said she, "dear Melliora to take
the part of perfidy. I know he hates me, I read it in his eyes, and
feel it on his lips; all day he shuns my converse, and at night,
colder than ice he receives my warm embraces, and when (oh
that I could tear the tender folly from my heart) with words as
soft as love can form, I urge him to disclose the cause of his disquiet,
he answers but in sighs, and turns away." "Perhaps,"
replied Melliora, "his temper naturally is gloomy, and love it
self, has scarce the power to alter nature." "Oh no," interrupted
Alovysa, "far from it. Had I ne'er known him otherwise, I
could forgive what now I know, but he was once as kind as
tender mothers to their new born babes, and fond as the first
wishes of desiring youth. Oh! With what eagerness has he


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 127


approached me, when absent but an hour -- Hadst thou e're
seen him in those days of joy, even thou, cold, colystered maid,
must have adored him! What majesty, then sat upon his brow! What
matchless glories shone around him! -- Miriads of
Cupids, shot resistless darts in every glance, -- his voice when
softned in amorous accents, boasted more musick than the
poets Orpheus!1 When e're he spoke, methought the air
seemed charmed, the winds forgot to blow, all nature listned,
and like Alovysa melted into transport -- But he is changed in all -- the heroe, and the lover are extinct, and all that's left, of the
once gay D'elmont, is a dull, senceless picture." Melliora was
too sensibly touched with this discourse, to be able presently to
make any answer to it, and she could not forbear accompanying
her in tears, while Alovysa renewed her complaints in this manner,
"His heart," said she, "his heart is lost, for ever ravished from
me, that bosom, where I had treasured all my joys, my hopes,
my wishes, now burns and pants, with longings for a rival,
curst, curst Melantha; by heaven they are even impudent in
guilt, they toy, they kiss, and make assignations before my face,
and this tyrant husband braves me with his falsehood, and
thinks to awe me into calmness. But, if I endure it -- No," continued
she stamping, and walking about the room in a dissordered
motion, "I'll be no longer the tame easie wretch I have
been -- All France shall eccho with my wrongs -- The ungrateful
monster! -- Villain, whose well nigh wasted stream of wealth
had dried, but for my kind of supply, shall he enslave me -- Oh
Melliora shun the marriage bed, as thou would'st a serpent's
den; more ruinous, more poysonous far, is man."

'Twas in vain that Melliora endeavoured to pacifie her, she
continued in this humour all day, and in the evening received a
considerable addition to her former disquiet. The Count sent a
servant of the Barons (having not taken any of his own with
him) to acquaint her, that he should not be at home that night. '"Tis well," said she ready to burst with rage, "let the Count
know that I can change as well as he, and shall excuse his
absence tho' it lasts to all eternity. Go," continued she, seeing


1 The mythical poet whose music charmed even wild animals.


128 ELIZA HAYWOOD


him surprized, "deliver this message, and withal, assure him,
that what I say, I mean." She had scarce made an end of these
words, when she flung out of the room, unable to utter more,
and locked her self into her chamber, leaving Melliora no less
distracted, tho' for different reasons, to retire to hers.

She had not 'till now, had a moments time for reflection,
since her adventure in the wilderness, and the remembrance of
it, joyned with the dispair, and grief of Alovysa, which she
knew her self the sole occasion of, threw her into most terrible
agonies. She was ready to die with shame, when she considered
how much the secret of her soul was laid open to him, who of
all the world she ought most to have concealed it from, and
with remorse, for the miseries her fatal beauty was like to bring
on a family for whom she had the greatest friendship.

But these thoughts soon gave way to another, equally as
shocking; she was present when the servant brought word the
Count would lie abroad, and had all the reason imaginable to
believe that message was only a feint, that he might have an
opportunity to come unobserved to her chamber, as he had
done the night before. She could not presently guess by what
means he had got in, and therefore was at a loss how to prevent
him, 'till recollecting all the circumstances of that tender interview,
she remembred that when Melantha had surprized them,
he made his escape by the back stairs into the garden, and that
when they went down, the door was locked; therefore concluded
it must be by a key, that he had gained admittance, and
began to set her invention to work, how to keep this dangerous
enemy to her honour, from coming in, a second time. She had
no keys that were large enough to fill the wards,1 and if she had
put one in, on the inside, it would have fallen out immediately
on the least touch, but at last, after trying several ways, she tore
her hankerchief into small pieces, and thrust it into the hole
with her busk,2 so hard that it was impossible for any key to
enter.


1 "The part of a lock which, corresponding to the proper key, hinders any other form
opening it" (Johnson); Melliora is blocking the key--hole of an old--fashioned lock
that can be opened from either side.

2 "A piece of steel or whalebone, worn by women to strengthen their stays" (Johnson);
women's clothes (here the bodice) were reinforced by whalebone.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 129


Melliora thought she had done a very heroick action, and sat
her self down on the bed--side in a pleased contemplation of
the conquest, she believed her virtue had gained over her passion.
But alas! How little did she know the true state of her
own heart? She no sooner heard a little noise at the door, as
presently after she did, but she thought it was the Count, and
began to tremble, not with fear, but desire.

It was indeed Count D'elmont who had borrowed horses
and a servant of the Baron, and got into the garden as before,
but with a much greater assurance now of making himself
entirely happy in the gratification of his utmost wishes. But 'tis
impossible to represent the greatness of his vexation and surprize,
when all his efforts to open the door, were in vain. He
found something had been done to the lock but could not discover
what, nor by any means remove the obstacle which Melliora
had put there. She, on the other hand was in all the
confusion imaginable. Sometimes prompted by the violence of
her passion, she would run to the door, resolving to open it,
and then, frighted with apprehension of what would be the
consequence, as hastily fly from it. If he had stayed much
longer, 'tis possible love would have got the better of all other
considerations, but a light appearing on the other side of the
garden, obliged the thrice disappointed1 lover to quit his post.
He had sent away the horses by the servant who came with
him, and had no opportunity of going to the Barons that night,
so came to his own fore--gate, and thundered with a force, suitable
to the fury that he was possest with; it was presently
opened, most of the family being up. Alovysa had raved her self
into fits, and her disorder created full employment for the servants,
who busily running about the house with candles fetching
things for her occasioned that reflection which he had seen.

The Count was told of his ladies indisposition, but he
thought he had sufficient pretence not to come where she was,
after the message she had sent him by the Baron's servant, and
ordered a bed to be made ready for him in another chamber.

Alovysa soon heard he was come in, and it was with much
ado, that her women prevailed on her not to rise and go to him


1 4th d.; 1st d. reads "thrice disappointment."

130 ELIZA HAYWOOD


that moment, so little did she remember what she had said. She
passed the night in most terrible inquietudes, and early in the
morning went to his chamber, but finding it shut, she was
obliged to wait, tho' with a world of impatience, 'till she heard
he was stirring, which not being 'till towards noon, she spent all
that time in considering how she should accost him.

As soon as the servant who she had ordered to watch,
brought her word that his lord was dressing, she went into the
room; there was no body with him but his gentleman, and he
withdrawing out of respect, imagining by both their countenances
there might something be said, not proper for him to
hear, "I see," said she, "my presence is unwished, but I have
learned from you to scorn constraint, and as you openly avow
your falshood, I shall my indignation, and my just disdain!"
"Madam," answered he, sullenly, "if you have any thing to
reproach me with, you could not have chose a more unlucky
time for it, than this, nor was I ever less disposed to give you
satisfaction." "No, barbarous cold insulter," resumed she, "I had
not the least hope you would, I find that I am grown so low in
your esteem, I am not worth pains of an invention. -- By Heaven,
this damned indifference is worse than the most vile abuse! -- 'Tis plain contempt! -- O that I could resent it as I ought -- then sword, or poison should revenge me -- Why, why am I so
curst to love you still? -- O that those fiends," continued she,
bursting into tears, "that have deformed thy soul, would change
thy person too, turn every charm to horrid blackness, grim as
thy cruelty, and foul as thy ingratitude, to free that heart, thy
perjury has ruined.""! thought madam," said he, with an accent
maliciously ironical, "that you had thrown off, even the appearances
of love for me, by the message you sent me yesterday." --
"O thou tormentor," interrupted she, "hast thou not wronged
me in the tenderest point, driven me to the last degree of misery!
To madness! -- to dispair? And dost thou -- can'st thou
reproach me for complaining? -- Your coldness, your unkindness
stung me to the soul, and then I said, I know not what But
I remember well, that I would have seemed careless, and
indifferent like you." "You need not," replied he, "give your self
the trouble of an apology, I have no design to make a quarrel of
it, and wish, for both our peace, you could as easily moderate


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 131


your passions, as I can mine, and that you may the better do so,
I leave you to reflect on what I have said, and the little reason I
have ever given you, for such intemperance." He left the chamber
with these words, which instead of quelling, more enflamed
Alovysa's rage. She threw her self down into an elbow chair1 that stood there, and gave a loose to the tempest of her soul.
Sometimes she curst, and vowed the bitterest revenge. Sometimes
she wept, and at others, was resolved to fly to death, the
only remedy for neglected love. In the midst of these confused
meditations, casting her eye on a table by her, she saw paper and
something written on it, which hastily taking up, found it the
Count's character, and read (to her inexpressible torment) these
lines.


The Dispairing D'elmont to his Repenting Charmer.


What cruel star last night, had influence over my inhumane
dear? Say, to what cause must I ascribe, my fatal disappointment?
For I would fain believe I owe it not to thee! -- Such an
action, after what thou hast confest, I could expect from nothing
but a creature of Melantha's temper-- No 'tis too much of the
vain coquet, and indeed, too much of the jilt, for my adorable to
be guilty of-- And yet -- Oh how shall I excuse thee? -- When
every thing was hushed, darkness my friend, and all my wishes
raised, when every nerve trembled with fierce desires, and my
pulse beat a call to love, or death, -- (for if I not enjoy thee, that
will soon arrive) then, then what, but thy self, forgetting all thy
vows, thy tender vows of the most ardent passion, could have
destroyed my hopes? -- Oh where was then that love which lately
flattered my fond doating soul, when sinking, dying in my
arms, my charmer lay! And suffered me to reap each prologue
favour to the greatest bliss. -- But they are past, and rigid honour
stands to guard those joys which --


There was no more written, but there needed no more to
make Alovysa, before half distracted, now quite so. She was


1 "A chair with arms to support the elbows" (Johnson).


132 ELIZA HAYWOOD


now convinced that she had a much more dangerous rival than
Melantha, and her curiosity who it might be, was not much less
troublesome to her than her other passions.

She was going to seek her husband with this testimony of
his infidelity in her hand, when he, remembring he had left it
there, was coming hastily back to fetch it. The excess of fury
which she met him with, is hardly to be imagined, she upbraided
him in such a fashion as might be called reviling, and had so
little regard to good manners, or even decency in what she
said, that it dissipated all the confusion he was in at first, to see
so plain a proof against him in her hands, and rouzed him to a
rage not much inferior to her's. She endeavoured (tho' she
took a wrong method) to bring him to a confession, he had
done amiss, and he, to lay the tempest of her tongue by storming
louder; but neither succeeded in their wish. And he, stung
with the bitterness of her reproaches, and tired with clamour, at
last flung from her with a solemn vow never to eat, or sleep
with her more.

A wife if equally haughty and jealous, if less fond than
Alovysa will scarce be able to comprehend the greatness of her
sufferings. And it is not to be wondered at, that she, so violent
in all her passions, and agitated by so many, at once, committed
a thousand extravagancies, which those who know the force
but of one, by the aid of reason may avoid. She tore down the
Count's picture which hung in the room, and stamped on it,
then the letter, her own cloths, and hair, and whoever had seen
her in that posture would have thought she appeared more like
what the Furies1 are represented to be, than a woman.

The Count when he took leave the night before of the
Baron D'espernay, had promised to return to him in the morning,
and give him an account of his adventure with Melliora,
but the vexation of his disappointment, and quarrel with his wife, having hindred him all this time, the Baron came to his
house, impatient to know the success of an affair on which
his own hopes depended. He was told by the servants that
their lord was above, and running hastily up without ceremony,


1 The classical female deities of revenge, usually three in number, who were often
represented with snaky hair.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 133


the first person he saw was Alovysa, in the condition I have
discribed.

The Baron had passionately loved this lady from the first
moment he had seen her, but it was with that sort of love,
which considers more it's own gratification than the interest, or
quiet of the object beloved. He imagined by the wildness of
Alovysa's countenance and behaviour that the Count had given
her some extraordinary occasion of distast, and was so far from
being troubled at the sorrow he beheld her in, that he rejoyced
in it, as the advancement of his designs. But he wanted not
cunning to disguise his sentiments, and approaching her with a
tender, and submissive air, entreated her to tell him the cause of
her disorder. Alovysa had always considered him as a person of
worth, and one who was entitled to her esteem by the vast
respect he always paid her, and the admiration, which on every
opportunity, he exprest for her wit and beauty. She was not
perhaps far from guessing the extent of his desires, by some
looks, and private glances he had given her, and notwithstanding
her passion for the Count, was too vain to be offended at it.
On the contrary, it pleased her pride, and confirmed her in the
good opinion she had of her self, to think a man of his sense
should be compelled by the force of her irresistable attractions
to adore, and to dispair, and therefore made no difficulty of disburthening
all the anguish of her soul, in the bosom of this, as
she believed, so faithful friend.

The Baron seemed to receive this declaration of her wrongs,
with all imaginable concern, and accused the Count of stupidity
in so little knowing the value of a jewel he was master of,
and gave her some hints, that he was not unsensible who the
lady was, that had been the cause of it, which Alovysa presently
taking hold on, "O speak her name," said she; "quick, let me
know her, or own thy friendship was but feigned to undo me,
and that thou hat'st the wretched Alovysa." "O far," resumed he,
"far be such thought, first let me die, to prove my zeal -- my
faith, sincere to you, who only next to Heaven, are worthy adoration -- But forgive me if I say, in this, you must not be obeyed."
"O why?" said she; "perhaps," answered he, "I am a trusted person -- a confident, and if I should reveal the secret of my friend,


134 ELIZA HAYWOOD


I know, tho' you approved the treachery, you would detest the
traytor." "O! never," rejoyned she impatiently, "'twould be a service,
more than the whole study of my life can pay. -- Am I not
racked, -- stabbed -- and mangled in idea? by some dark hand
shaded with night and ignorance, and should I not be grateful
for a friendly clue to guide me from this labyrinth of doubt, to
a full day of certainty, where all the feind may stand exposed
before me, and I have scope to execute my vengeance.
Besides," continued she, finding he was silent and seemingly
extreamly moved at what she said, "'tis joyning in the cause of
guilt to hide her from me -- Come, you must tell me -- Your
honour suffers else -- Both that, and pity, plead the injured's
cause." "Alas," said he, "honour can ne'er consent to a discovery
of what, with solemn vows I have promised to conceal, but Oh -- there is something in my soul, more powerful, which says,
that Alovysa must not be denied." "Why then," cried she, "do
you delay? Why keep me on the rack, when one short word
would ease me of my torment?""! have considered," answered
he after a pause; "madam, you shall be satisfied, depend on it
you shall, tho' not this moment, you shall have greater proofs
than words can give you -- occular demonstration1 shall strike
denial dumb." "What mean you?" interrupted she; "you shall
behold," said he, "the guilty pair, linked in each others arms."
"Oh Espernay," rejoyned she, "coud'st thou do that?" -- "'Tis
easie," answered he, "as I can order matters -- But longer con--
ferrence may render me suspected -- I'll go seek the Count, for
he must be my engine to betray himself-- In a day or two, at
farthest you shall enjoy all the revenge detection can bestow."

Alovysa would fain have perswaded him to have told her the
name of her rival, in part of that full conviction he had
promised her, but in vain, and she was obliged to leave the issue
of this affair entirely to his management.

The Baron was extreamly pleased with the progress he had


1 Visible proof. Shakespeare's Othello jealously demands "ocular proof" of his wife's
alleged infidelity (Othello III.iii.36o). An actress, Haywood may also recall "ocular
Proof" and "demonstrative Proof" from The Double Dealer (Complete Plays of
William Congreve, ed. Herbert Davis [Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1967], 182), a comedy
that features a sexually interested false friend and a jealous woman.


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 135


made, and did not doubt but for the purchase of this secret he
should obtain every thing he desired of Alovysa. He found
Count D'elmont full of troubled and perplexed thoughts, and
when he had heard the history of his disappointment, "I am
sorry to hear," said he, "that the foolish girl does not know her
own mind -- But come, my lord," continued he, after a little
pause, "do not suffer your self to sink beneath a caprice, which
all those who converse much with that sex must frequently
meet with -- I have a contrivance in my head, that cannot fail to
render all her peevish virtue frustrate and make her happy in
her own dispite." "Oh Espernay!" replied the Count, "thou
talkest as friendship prompts thee, I know thou wishest my success,
but alas! so many, and such unforseen accidents have happened
hitherto to prevent me, that I begin to think the hand of
fate has set me down for lost." "For shame my lord," interrupted
the Baron, "be not so poor in spirit -- Once more I tell you
that she shall be yours -- A day or two shall make her so -- And
because I know you lovers are unbelieving, and impatient -- I
will communicate the means. A ball, and entertainment shall be
provided at my house, to which all the neighbouring people of
condition shall be envited, amongst the number your self, your
lady, and Melliora; it will be late before 'tis done, and I must
perswade your family, and some others who live farthest off (to
countenance the design)1 to stay all night; all that you have to
do, is to keep up your resentment to Alovysa that you may have
a pretence to sleep from her. I shall take care to have Melliora
placed where no impediment may bar your entrance." "Impossible
suggestion!" cried D'elmont shaking his head, "Alovysa is
in too much rage of temper to listen to such an invitation, and
without her, we must not hope for Melliora." "How industrious
are you," resumed the Baron, "to create difficulties where there
is none, tho' I confess this may have, to you, a reasonable
appearance of one. But know, my friendship builds it's hopes to
serve you on a sure foundation -- this jealous, furious wife,
makes me the confident of her imagined injuries, conjures me
to use all my interest with you for a reconcilement, and believes


1 To give a face (a plausible appearance) to the scheme.


136 ELIZA HAYWOOD


I am now pleading for her -- I must for a while rail at your
ingratitude, and condemn your want of taste, to keep my credit
with her, and now and then sweeten her with a doubtful hope
that it may be possible at last to bring you to acknowledge that
you have been in an error; this, at once confirms her, that I am
wholly on her side, and engages her to follow my advice."

Tho' nothing palls desire so much as too easie an assurance
of means to gratifie it, yet a little hope is absolutely necessary to
preserve it. The fiery wishes of D'elmont's soul, before chilled
by dispair, and half supprest with clouding griefs, blazed now, as
fierce, and vigorous as ever, and he found so much probability
in what the Baron said, that he was ready to adore him for the
contrivance.

Thus all parties but Melliora remained in a sort of pleased
expectation. The Count doubted not of being happy, nor
Alovysa of having her curiosity satisfied by the Baron's assistance,
nor himself of the reward he designed to demand of her
for that good service, and each longed impatiently for the day,
or rather night, which was to bring this great affair to a period.
Poor Melliora was the only person, who had no interval of
comfort. Restrained by honour, and enflamed by love, her very
soul was torn. And when she found that Count D'elmont
made no attempt to get into her chamber again, as she imagined
he would, she fell into a dispair more terrible than all her
former inquietudes, she presently fancied that the disappointment
he had met with the night before, had driven the hopeless
passion from his heart, and the thoughts of being no longer
beloved by him were unsuppportable. She saw him not all that
day, nor the next, the quarrel between him and Alovysa having
caused separate tables, she was obliged in decency, to eat at that
where she was, and have the mortification of hearing her self
cursed every hour, by the enraged wife, in the name of her
unknown rival, without daring to speak a word in her own
vindication.

In the mean time the Baron diligent to make good the
promises he had given the Count and Alovysa, for his own
ends, got every thing ready, and came himself to D'elmont's
house, to entreat their company at his. "Now madam," said he


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 137


to Alovysa, "the time is come to prove your servants faith. This
night shall put an end to your uncertainty." They had no
opportunity for further speech; Melliora came that moment
into the room, who being asked to go to the ball, and seeming
a little unwilling to appear at any publick diversion by reason of
the late death of her father, put the Baron in a mortal apprehension
for the success of his undertaking. But Alovysa joyning
in his entreaties she was at last prevailed upon. The Count went
along with the Baron in his chariot. And the lady soon followed
in an other.

There was a vast deal of company there, and the Count
danced with several of the ladies, and was extreamly gay
amongst them. Alovysa watched his behaviour, and regarded
every one of them, in their turn, with jealousie, but was far
from having the least suspicion of her whom only she had
cause.

Tho' Melliora's greatest motive to go was, because she might
have the happiness of seeing her admired Count, a blessing, she
had not enjoyed these two days, yet she took but little satisfaction
in that view, without an opportunity of being spoke to by
him. But that uneasiness was removed, when the serious dances
being over, and they all joyning in a grand ballet, he every now
and then got means to say a thousand tender things to her, and
would sometimes when at distance from Alovysa pretend to be
out, on purpose to stand still and talk to her. This kind of
behaviour banished part of her sufferings, for tho' she could
consider both his, and her own passion in no other view, than
that of a very great misfortune to them both, yet there are so many pleasures even in the pains of love. Such tender thrillings,
such soul--ravishing amusements attend some happy moments
of contemplation, that those who most endeavour, can wish but
faintly to be freed from.

When it grew pretty late, the Baron made a sign to the
Count to follow him into a little room joyning to that where
they were, and when he had, "Now my lord," said he, "I doubt
not but this night will make you entirely possessor of your
wishes. I have prolonged the entertainment on purpose to
detain those who 'tis necessary for our design, and have ordered


138 ELIZA HAYWOOD


a chamber for Melliora which has no impediment to bar your
entrance." "O! Thou best of friends," answered D'elmont, "how
shall I requite thy goodness?" "In making," resumed the Baron,
"a right use of the opportunity I give you, for if you do not,
you render fruitless all the labours of my brain, and make me
wretched while my friend is so." "Oh! fear me not," cried D'el--
mont in a rapture,"! will not be denied, each faculty of my soul
is bent upon enjoyment, tho' death in all it's various horrors
glared upon me, I'd scorn 'em all in Melliora's arms -- O! the
very name transports me -- new fires my blood, and tingles in
my vains -- Imagination points out all her charms -- Methinks I
see her lie in sweet confusion -- fearing -- wishing -- melting her
glowing cheeks -- her closing dying eyes -- her every kindling -- Oh 'tis too vast for thought! Even fancy flags, and cannot
reach her wonders!" As he was speaking, Melantha who
had taken notice of his going out of the room, and had followed
him with a design of talking to him, came time enough
to hear the latter part of what he said, but seeing her brother
with him withdrew with as much hast as she came, and
infinitely more uneasiness of mind; she was now but too well
assured that she had a greater difficulty than the Count's matrimonial
engagement to get over, before she could reach his
heart, and was ready to burst with vexation to think she was
supplanted. Full of a thousand tormenting reflections she
returned to the ball room, and was so out of humour all the
night that she could hardly be commonly civil to any body that
spoke to her.

At last the hour so much desired by the Count, the Baron, and Alovysa (tho' for various reasons) was arrived. The company
broke up, those who lived near, which were the greatest part
went home, the others, being entreated by the Baron stayed.
When they were to be conducted to their chambers, he called
Melantha and desired she would take care of the ladies as he
should direct, but above all charged to place Alovysa and Melliora
in two chambers which he showed her.

Melantha was now let into the secret she so much desired to
know, the name of her rival, which she had not come time
enough to hear, when she did the Count's rapturous descrip--


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 139


tion of her. She had before found out, that her brother was in
love with Alovysa, and did not doubt but that there was a double
intrigue to be carried on that night, and was the more confirmed
in that opinion, when she remembred that the Baron
had ordered the lock that day to be taken off the door of that
chamber where Melliora was to be lodged. It presently came
into her head, to betray all she knew to Alovysa, but she soon
rejected that resolution for another, which she thought would
give her a more pleasing revenge. She conducted all the ladies
to such chambers as she thought fit, and Alovysa to that her
brother had desired, having no design of disappointing him, but
Melliora she led to one where she always lay her self, resolving
to supply her place in the other, where the Count was to come.
"Yes," said she to her self, "I will receive his vows in Melliora's
room, and when I find him raised to the highest pitch of
expectation, declare who I am, and awe him into lameness;
'twill be a charming piece of vengeance, besides if he be not the most ungrateful man on earth, he must adore my generosity in
not exposing him to his wife, when I have him in my power,
after the coldness, he has used me with. She found something
so pleasing in this contrivance, that no considerations whatever
could have power to deter her from pursuing it.

When the Baron found every thing was silent, and ready for
his purpose, he went softly to Count D'elmont's chamber,
where he was impatiently expected; and taking him by the
hand, led him to that, where he had ordered Melliora to be
lodged; when they were at the door, "You see my lord," said he,
"I have kept my promise. There lies the idol of your soul, go in,
be bold, and all the happiness you wish attend you." The Count
was in too great a hurry of disordered thoughts to make him
any other answer than a passionate embrace, and gently pushing
open the door, which had no fastning to it, left the Baron to
prosecute the remaining part of his treacherous design.

Alovysa had all the time of her being at the Baron's, endured
most grievous racks of mind; her husband appeared to her, that
night, more gay, and more lovely if possible than ever, but that
contentment which sat upon his face, and added to his graces,
stung her to the soul, when she reflected how little simpathy


140 ELIZA HAYWOOD


their was between them; "scarce a month," said she to her self,
"was I blessed1 with those looks of joy, a pensive sullenness has
dwelt upon his brow e're since, 'till now, 'tis from my ruin that
his pleasure flows, he hates me, and rejoyces in a pretence, tho'
ne'er so poor a one, to be absent from me." She was inwardly
tossed with a multitude of these, and the like perturbations,
tho' the assurance the Baron had given her of revenge, made
her conceal them tollerably well, while she was in company, but
when she was left alone in the chamber, and perceived the
Baron did not come so soon as she expected, her rage broke
out in all the violence imaginable. She gave a loose to every
furious passion, and when she saw him enter, "Cruel Espernay,"
said she, "where have you been! -- Is this the friendship which
you vowed? To leave me here distracted with my griefs, while
my perfidious husband, and the cursed she, that robs me of
him, are perhaps, as happy, as their guilty love can make them?"
"Madam," answered he, "'tis but a moment since they are met";
"a moment!" interrupted she, "a moment is too much; the
smallest particle of undivided time, may make my rival blest,
and vastly recompence for all that my revenge can do." "Ah
madam," resumed the Baron, "how dearly, do you still love, that
most ungrateful man. I had hopes that the full knowledge of
his falshood might have made you scorn the scorner"; "I shall
be able by to morrow," replied the cunning Alovysa who knew
his drift well enough, "to give you a better account of my sentiments
than now I can. -- But why do we delay," continued she
impatiently, "are they not together?" -- The Baron saw this was
no time to press her farther, and therefore taking a wax--candle
which stood on the table, in one hand, and offering the other
to lead her, "I am ready madam," said he, "to make good my
promise, and shall esteem no other hours of my life happy but
those which may be serviceable to you." They had only a small
part of a gallery to go thro', and Alovysa had no time to answer
to these last words, if she had been composed enough to have
done it, before they were at the door, which as soon as the
Baron had brought her to, he withdrew will all possible speed.


1 4th d.; 1st d. reads "bless."


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 141


Tho' the Count had been but a very little time in the arms
of his supposed Melliora, yet he had made so good use of it, and
had taken so much advantage of her complying humour, that
all his fears were at an end, he now thought himself the most
fortunate of all mankind; and Melantha was far from repenting
the breach of the resolution she had made of discovering her
self to him. His behaviour to her was all rapture, all killing
extacy, and she flattered herself with a belief, that when he
should come to know to whom he owed that bliss he had possessed,
he would not be ungrateful for it.

What a confused consternation must this pair be in, when
Alovysa rushed into the room; -- 'tis hard to say, which was the
greatest, the Count's concern for his imagined Melliora's honour,
or Melantha's for her own; but if one may form a judgment
from the levity of the one's temper, and the generosity of
the other's, one may believe that his had the preheminence. But
neither of them were so lost in thought, as not to take what
measures the place and time would permit, to baffle the fury of
this incensed wife. Melantha slunk under the cloaths, and the
Count started up in the bed at the first appearance of the light,
which Alovysa had in her hand, and in the most angry accent
he could turn his voice to, asked her the reason of her coming
there; rage, at this sight (prepared and armed for it as she was)
took away all power of utterance from her; but she flew to the
bed, and began to tear the cloaths (which Melantha held fast
over her head) in so violent a manner that the Count found the
only way to tame her, was to meet force with force; so jumping
out, he seized on her, and throwing her into a chair, and holding
her down in it, "Madam, madam," said he, "you are mad,
and I as such shall use you, unless you promise to return quietly
and leave me." She could yet bring forth no other words, than
"villain," -- "monster!" and such like names, which her passion,
and injury suggested, which he but little regarding but for the
noise she made, "for shame," resumed he, "expose not thus your
self and me; if you cannot command your temper, at least
confine your clamours" -- "I will not stir," said she, raving and
struggling to get loose, 'till I have seen the face that has undone
me, I'll tear out her bewitching eyes -- the curst adultress! and


142 ELIZA HAYWOOD


leave her mistress of fewer charms than thou canst find in me."
She spoke this with so elevated a voice, that the Count endeavoured
to stop her mouth, that she might not alarm the company
that were in the house, but he could not do it time enough
to prevent her from schrikeing1 out, "Murder. -- Help! or the
barbarous man will kill me!" At these words the Baron came
running in immediately, full of surprize and rage at something
he had met with in the mean time. "How came this woman
here," cried the Count to him. "Ask me not my lord," said he,
"for I can answer nothing, but every thing this cursed night, I
think, has happened by enchantment"; he was going to say
something more, but several of his guests hearing a noise, and
cry of murder, and directed by the lights they saw in that room,
came in, and presently after a great many of the servants, that
the chamber was as full as it could hold. The Count let go his
wife on the sight of the first stranger that entered; and indeed,
there was no need of his confining her in that place (tho' he
knew not so much) for the violence of so many contrary passions
warring in her breast at once, had thrown her into a
swoon, and she fell back when he let go his hold of her,
motionless, and in all appearance dead. The Count said little,
but began to put on his cloaths, ashamed of the posture he had
been seen in; but the Baron endeavoured to perswade the company,
that it was only a family quarrel of no consequence, told
them he was sorry for the disturbance it had given them, and
desired them to return to their rest, and when the room was
pretty clear, ordered two or three of the maids to carry Alovysa
to her chamber, and apply things proper for her recovery; as
they were bearing her out, Melliora who had been frighted as
well as the rest with the noise she heard, was running along the
gallery to see what had happened, and met them; her trouble to
find Alovysa in that condition was unfeigned, and she assisted
those that were employed about her, and accompanied them
where they carried her.

The Count was going to the bed--side to comfort the concealed
fair, that lay still under the cloaths, when he saw Mel--


1 "Shrieking" in an odd but expressive spelling; 4th ed. reads "schrieking."


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 143


liora at the door. What surprize was ever equal to his, at this
view -- He stood like one transfixed with thunder, he knew not
what to think, or rather could not think at all, confounded with
a seeming impossibility. He beheld the person, whom he
thought had lain in his arms, whom he had enjoyed, whose
bulk and proportion he still saw in the bed, whom he was just
going to address to, and for whom he had been in all the
agonies of soul imaginable, come from a distant chamber, and
unconcerned, ask cooly how Alovysa came to be taken ill. He
looked confusedly about, sometimes on Melliora, sometimes
toward the bed and sometimes on the Baron; "am I awake," said
he, "or is every thing I see and hear illusion?" The Baron could
not presently resolve after what manner he should answer, tho'
he perfectly knew the truth of this adventure, and who was in
the bed; for, when he had conducted Alovysa to that room, in
order to make the discovery he had promised, he went to his
sister's chamber, designing to abscond there, in case the Count
should fly out on his wife's entrance, and seeing him there,
imagine who it was that betrayed him; and finding the door
shut, knocked and called to have it opened; Melliora, who
began to think she should lye in quiet no where, asked who
was there, and what he would have; "I would speak with my
sister," replied he, as much astonished then, to hear who it was
that answered him, as the Count was now to see her, and Melliora
having assured him that she was not with her, left him no
room to doubt, by what means the exchange had been made.
Few men, how amorous soever themselves, care that the female
part of their family should be so, and he was most sencibly
mortified with it, but reflecting that it could not be kept a
secret, at least from the Count, "My lord," said he, pointing to
the bed, "there lyes the cause of your amazement, that wicked
woman has betrayed the trust I reposed in her, and deceived
both you and me; rise," continued he, throwing open the curtains,
"thou shame of thy sex, and everlasting blot and scandal of
the noble house thou art descended from, rise, I say, or I will
stabb thee here in this scene of guilt"; in speaking these words,
he drew out his sword, and appeared in such a real fury, that the
Count tho' more and more amazed with every thing he saw


144 ELIZA HAYWOOD


and heard, made no doubt but he would do as he said, and run
to hold his arm.

As no woman that is mistress of a great share of wit will be a
coquet, so no woman that has not a little can be one. Melantha,
tho' frighted to death with these unexpected occurrences,
feigned a courage, which she had not in reality, and thrusting
her head a little above the cloaths, "Bless me brother," said she,
"I vow I do not know what you mean by all this bustle, neither
am I guilty of any crime. I was vext indeed to be made a property
of, and changed beds with Melliora for a little innocent
revenge; for I always designed to discover my self to the Count
time enough to prevent mischief." The Baron was not so silly
as to believe what she said, tho' the Count as much as he hated
her, had too much generosity to contradict her, and keeping
still hold of the Baron, "Come Espernay," said he, "I believe
your sister's stars and mine have from our birth been at variance,
for this is the third disappointment she has given me;
once in Melliora's chamber, then in the wilderness, and now
here; but I forgive her, therefore let us retire and leave her to
her repose. The Baron was sensible that all the rage in the
world could not recal what had been done, and only giving her
a furious look, went with the Count out of the room, without
saying any thing more to her at that time.

The Baron with much entreating, at last prevailed on Count
D'elmont to go into his bed, where he accompanied him; but
they were both of them too full of troubled meditations to
sleep. His sister's indiscretion vext the Baron to the heart, and
took away great part of the joy, for the fresh occasion the
Count had given Alovysa to withdraw her affection from him.
But with what words can the various passions that agitated the
soul of D'elmont be described? The transports he had enjoyed
in an imaginary felicity, were now turned to so many real horrors;
he saw himself exposed to all the world, for it would have
been vanity to the last degree, to believe this adventure would
be kept a secret; but what gave him the most bitter reflection
was, that Melliora, when she should know it, as he could not
doubt but she immediately would be told it by Alovysa, would
judge of it by the appearance, and believe him, at once, the


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 145


most vicious, and most false of men. As for his wife he thought
not of her, with any compassion for his1 sufferings, but with
rage and hate, for that jealous curiosity, which he supposed had
led her to watch his actions that night, (for he had not the least
suspicion of the Baron). Melantha he always dispised, but now
detested, for the trick she had put upon him, yet thought it
would be not only unmanly, but barbarous to let her know he
did so. It was in vain for him to endeavour to come to a determination
after what manner he should behave himself to any of
them, and when the night was past in forming a thousand
several resolutions, the morning found him as much to seek as
before. He took his leave early of the Baron, not being willing
to see any of the company after what had happened, 'till he was
more composed.

He was not deceived in his conjectures concerning Melliora,
for Alovysa was no sooner recovered from her swoon, than she
with bitter exclamations told her what had been the occasion,
and put that astonished fair one into such a visible disorder, as
had she not been too full of misery to take notice of it, had
made her easily perceive that she was deeply interested in the
story. But whatever she said against the Count, as she could not
forbear something, calling him ungrateful, perjured, deceitful,
and inconstant, Alovysa took only, as a proof of friendship to
her self, and the effects of that just indignation all women
ought to feel for him, that takes a pride in injuring any one of
them.

When the Count was gone, the Baron sent to Alovysa to
enquire of her health, and if he might have leave to visit her in
her chamber, and being told she desired he should, resolved
now to make his demand. Melliora had but just parted from
her, in order to get herself ready to go home, and she was alone
when he came in. As soon as the first civilities were over, she
began afresh to conjure him to let her know the name of her
rival, which he artfully evading, tho' not absolutely denying,
made her almost distracted; the Baron carefully observed her
every look and motion, and when he found her impatience was


1 Sic, though the sense seems to require "her."


146 ELIZA HAYWOOD


raised to the highest degree; "Madam," said he, taking her by
the hand and looking tenderly on her, "you cannot blame a
wretch, who had lavished all he had away to one poor jewel, to
make the most he can of that, to supply his future wants. I have
already forfeited all pretence to honour, and even common
hospitality, by betraying the trust that was reposed in me, and
exposing under my own roof, the man who takes me for his
dearest friend, and what else I have suffered from that unavoidable
impulse which compelled me to do all this, your self may
judge, who too well know the pangs, and tortures of neglected
love -- Therefore" continued he with a deep sigh, "since the last
reserve is all my hopes dpendance, do not, oh charming
Alovysa think me mercinary, if I presume to set a price upon it,
which I confess too high, yet nothing less can purchase." "No
price," replied Alovysa, who thought a little condescention was
necessary to win him to her purpose, "can be too dear to buy
my peace, nor recompence too great for such a service."
"What, not your love?" said the Baron eagerly kissing her hand.
"No," resumed she, forcing herself to look kindly on him, "not
even that, when such a proof of your's engages it; but do not
keep me longer on the rack, give me the name and then" -- She
spoke these last words with such an air of languishment, that
the Baron thought his work was done, and growing bolder,
from her hand he proceeded to her lips, and answered her only
in kisses, which distastful as they were to her, she suffered him
to take without resistance, but that was not all he wanted, and
believing this the critical minute, he threw his arms round her
waste, and began to draw her by little and little toward the bed;
which she affected to permit with a kind of an unwilling willingness,
saying, "well if you would have me be able to deny you
nothing you can ask, tell me the name I so much wish to
know." But the Baron was as cunning as she, and seeing thro'
her artifice, was resolved to make sure of his reward first; "yes,
yes, my adorable Alovysa," answered he, having brought her
now very near the bed, "you shall immediately know all; thy
charms will force the secret from my breast, close as its lodged
within my utmost soul. -- Dying with rapture, I will tell thee
all. -- If that a thought of this injurious husband can interpose


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 147


amidst extatick joys." What will not some women venture to
satisfy a jealous curiosity? Alovysa had feigned to consent to his desires (in hopes to engage him to a discovery) so far, and had
given him so many liberties, that now, it was as much as she
could do to save herself, from the utmost violence, and perceiving
she had been outwitted, and that nothing but the really
yielding up her honour could oblige him to reveal what she
desired. "Villain," said she, struggling to get loose from his
embrace, "dare thy base soul believe so vilely of me? Release
me from thy detested hold, or my cries shall force thee to it,
and proclaim thee for what thou art, a monster!" The Baron
was not enough deluded by her pretence of kindness to be
much surprized at this sudden turn of her behaviour, and only
cooly answered, "Madam, I have no design of using violence,
but perceive if I had depended on your gratitude, I had been
miserably deceived." "Yes," said she looking contemptibly on
him, "I own thou woud'st; for whatsoever I might say, or thou
coud st hope, I love my husband still, with an unbated fondness
doat upon him! Faithless and cruel as he is, he still is lovely! His
eyes loose nothing of their brightness, nor his tongue its softness!
His very frowns have more attraction in them, than any
others smiles! And canst thou think? thou, so different in all
from him, that thou seem'st not the same species of humanity,
nor ought'st to stile thy self a man, since he is no more. Canst
thou, I say, believe a woman, blest as Alovysa has been, can e're
blot out the dear remembrance and quit her hopes of regained
paradise in his embrace, for certain hell in thine?" She spoke
these words with so much scorn, that the Baron skilled as he
was in every art to tempt, could not conceal the spite he conceived
at them, and letting go her hand (which perforce he had
held), "I leave you, madam," said he, "to the pleasure of enjoying
your own humour; neither that, nor your circumstances are
to by envied, but I would have you to remember that you are
your own tormentor, while you refuse the only means can
bring you ease." "I will have ease another way," said she,
incensed at the indignity she imagined he treated her with,
"and if you still persist in refusing to discover to me the person
who has injured me, I shall make no difficulty of letting the


148 ELIZA HAYWOOD


Count know how much of his secrets you have imparted, and
for what reason you conceal the other." "You may do so,"
answered he, "and I doubt not but you will -- Mischief is the
darling favourite of woman! Blood, is the satisfaction perhaps,
that you require, and if I fall by him, or he by me, your revenge
will have its aim, either on the unloving, or the unloved; for
me, I set my life at nought, without your love, 'tis Hell; but do
not think that even dying, to purchase absolution I'd reveal one
letter of that name, you so much wish to hear; the secret shall
be buryed with me. -- Yes, madam," continued he with a malicious
air, "that happy fair unknown, whose charms have made
you wretched, shall undiscovered, and unguessed at, triumph in
those joys, you think none but your Count can give." Alovysa
had not an oppportunity to make any answer to what he said;
Melliora came that moment into the room, and asked if she
was ready to go, and Alovysa saying that she was, they both
departed from the Baron's house, without much ceremony on
either side.

Alovysa had not been long home before a messenger came
to acquaint her, that her sister having mist of her at Paris, was
now on her journey to Le Beausse, and would be with her in a
few hours. She rejoyced as much at this news, as it was possible
for one so full of disquiet to do, and ordered her chariot and six
to be made ready again, and went to meet her.

D'elmont heard of Ansellina's coming almost as soon as
Alovysa, and his complaisance for ladies, joyned with the
extream desire he had of seeing his brother, whom he believed
was with her, would certainly have given him wings to have
flown to them with all imaginable speed, had not the late quarrel
between him and his wife, made him think it was improper,
to join company with her on any account whatever. He was
sitting in his dressing--room window in a melancholly and disturbed
meditation, ruminating on every circumstance of his last
nights adventure, when he perceived a couple of horsemen
come galloping over the plain, and make directly toward his
house. The dust they made, kept him from distinguishing who
they were, and they were very near the gate before he discovered
them to be the Chevalier Brillian, and his servant. The


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 149


surprize he was in to see him without Ansellina was very great,
but much more so, when running down, as soon as he saw he
was alighted, and opening his arms eagerly to embrace him; the
other drawing back, "No, my lord," said he, "since you are
pleased to forget I am your brother, I pretend no other way to
merit your embraces. Nor can think it any happyness to hold
him in my arms, who keeps me distant from his heart." "What
mean you," cried D'elmont, extreamly astonished at his behaviour;
"you know so little," resumed the Chevalier, "of the power
of love, your self, that perhaps, you think I ought not to resent
what you have done to ruin me in mine. But, however sir,
ambition is a passion which you are not a stranger to, and having
settled your own fortune according to your wish, methinks
you should not wonder that I take it ill, when you endeavour to
prevent my doing so too." The Count was perfectly confounded
at these words, and looking earnestly on him; "Brother," said
he, "you seem to lay a heavy accusation on me, but if you still
retain so much of that former affection which was between us,
as to desire I should be cleared in your esteem, you must be
more plain in your charge, for tho' I easily perceive that I am
wronged, I cannot see by what means I am so." "My lord, you
are not wronged," cried the Chevalier hastily, "you know you
are not. If my tongue were silent, the dispair that sits upon my
brow, my altered looks, and grief--sunk eyes, would proclaim
your barbarous -- most unnatural usage of me." "Ungrateful
Brillian," said the Count, at once inflamed with tenderness and
anger, "is this the consolation I expected from your presence? I
know not for what cause I am upbraided, being innocent of
any, nor what your troubles are, but I am sure my own are such,
as needed not this weight to overwhelm me." He spoke this so
feelingly, and concluded with so deep a sigh as most sencibly
touched the heart of Brillian. "If I could believe that you had
any," replied he, "it were enough to sink me quite, and rid me
of a life which Ansellina's loss has made me hate." "What said
you," interrupted the Count, "Ansellina's loss? If that be true, I
pardon all the wildness of your unjust reproaches, for well I
know, dispair has small regard to reason, but quickly speak the
cause of your misfortune. -- I was about to enquire the reason


150 ELIZA HAYWOOD


that I saw you not together, when your unkind behaviour
drove it from my thoughts." "That question," answered the
Chevalier, "asked by you, some moments since, would have put
me past all the remains of patience, but I begin to hope I am
not so unhappy as I thought, but still am blest in friendship,
tho' undone in love -- But I'll not keep you longer in suspence,
my tale of grief is short in the repeating, tho' everlasting in its
consequence." In saying this, he sat down, and the Count doing
the like, and assuring him of attention, he began his relation in
this manner.

"Your lordship may remember that I gave you an account by
letter of Ansellina's indisposition, and the fears I was in for her;
but by the time I received your answer, I thought my self the
happyest of mankind. She was perfectly recovered, and every
day I received new proofs of her affection. We began to talk
now of coming to Paris, and she seemed no less impatient for
that journey than my self; and one evening, the last I ever had
the honour of her conversation, she told me that in spite of the
physicians caution she would leave Amiens in three or four
days. You may be sure I did not disswade her from that resolution;
but, how great was my astonishment, when going the next
morning to the Baronesses, to give the ladies the bon your, as I
constantly did every morning, I perceived an unusual coldness
in the face of every one in the family; the Baroness herself
spoke not to me, but to tell me that Ansellina would see no
company. 'How, madam,' said I, 'am I not excepted from those
general orders, what can this sudden alteration in my fortune
mean?' 'I suppose,' replied she, 'that Ansellina has her reasons for
what she does.' I said all that dispair could suggest to oblige her
to give me some light into this mistery, but all was in vain, she
either made me no answers, or such as were not satisfactory,
and growing weary with being importuned, she abruptly went
out of the room, and left me in a confusion not to be
expressed. I renewed my visit the next day, and was then
denied admittance by the porter. The same the following one,
and as servants commonly form their behaviour, according to
that of those they serve, it was easy for me to observe I was far
from being a welcome guest. I writ to Ansellina, but had my


love in excess; oh, the fatal enquiry 151


letter returned unopened. And that scorn so unjustly thrown
upon me, tho' it did not absolutely cure my passion, yet it
stirred up so much just resentment in me, that it abated very
much of its tenderness. About a fortnight I remained in this
perplexity, and at the end of it was plunged into a greater, when
I received a little billet from Ansellina, which as I remember
contained these words.


"Ansellina to the Chevalier Brillian.


"I sent your letter back without perusing, believing it might contain
something of a subject which I am resolved to encourage no
farther. I do not think it proper at present to acquaint you with
my reasons for it; but if I see you at Paris, you shall know them.
I set out for thence to morrow, but desire you not to pretend to
accompany me thither, if you would preserve the esteem of,


Ansellina.


"I cannot but say, I thought this manner of proceeding very
odd, and vastly different from that openness of nature, I always
admired in her, but as I had been always a most obsequious
lover, I resolved not to forfeit that character, and give a proof of
an implicite obedience to her will, tho' with what anxiety of
mind you may imagine. I stood at a distance, and saw her take
coach, and as soon as her attendants were out of sight, I got on
horseback, and followed; I several times lay at the same inn
where she did, but took care not to appear before her. Never
was any sight more pleasing to me, than that of Paris, because I
there hoped to have my destiny unravelled; but your being out
of town, preventing her making any stay, I was reduced to
another tryal of patience; about some seven furlongs from
hence, hapning to bait1 at the same cabaret2 with her, I saw her
woman, who had been always perfectly obliging to me, walking
alone in the garden; I took the liberty to show my self to her,
and ask her some questions concerning my future fate, to


1 "To give meat [food] to one's self, or horses, on the road" (Johnson).

2 "A tavern" (Johnson).


152 ELIZA HAYWOOD


which she answered with all the freedom I could desire, and
observing the melancholly which was but too apparent in my
countenance, 'Sir,' said she, 'tho' I think nothing can be more
blame--worthy then to betray the secrets of our superiors, yet I
hope I shall stand excused for declaring so much of my lady's,
as the condition you are in, seems to require; I would not
therefore have you believe that in this separation, you are the
only sufferer, I can assure you, my lady bears her part of sorrow
to.' -- 'How can that be possible,' cried I, 'when my misfortune is
brought upon me, only by the change in her inclination?' 'Far
from it,' answered she, 'you have a brother -- he only is to blame,
she has received letters from Madam D'elmont which have --'
As she was speaking, she was called hastily away, without being
able to finish what she was about to say, and I was so impatient
to hear. Her naming you in such a manner, planted ten thousand
daggers in my soul! -- What could I imagine by those words, 'You have a brother, he only is to blame,' and her mentioning
letters from that brother's wife, but that it was thro' you
I was made wretched; I repeated several times over to my self,
what she had said, but could wrest no other meaning from it,
than that you being already possessed of the elder sister's fortune,
were willing to engross the other's too, by preventing her
from marrying. Pardon me, my lord, if I have injured you, since
I protest, the thoughts of your designing my undoing, was, if
possible more dreadful to me than the ill it self."

"You will," replied the Count, "be soon convinced, how little
hand I had in those letters, whatever they contained, when
you have been here a few days." He then told him of the disagreement
between himself and Alovysa, her perpetual jealousy,
her pride, her rage, and the little probability there was of
their being ever reconciled, so as to live together as they ought,
omitting nothing of the story, but his love for Melliora, and the
cause he had given to create this uneasiness. They both concluded,
that Ansellina's alteration of behaviour was entirely
owing to something her sister had written, and that she would
use her utmost endeavour to break off the match wholly, in
revenge to her husband. As they were discoursing on means to
prevent it, the ladies came to the gate; they saw them thro' the


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 153


window, and ran to receive them immediately. The Count
handed Ansellina out of the coach, with great complaisance,
while the Chevalier would have done the same by Alovysa, but
she would not permit him, which the Count observing, when
he had paid those complements to her sister, which he thought
civility required, "Madam," said he, turning to her frowning, "is
it not enough, you make me wretched by your continual clamours,
and upbraidings, but that your ill nature must extend to
all, whom you believe I love?" She answered him only with a
disdainful look, and haughty toss, which spoke the pleasure she
took in having it in her power to give him pain, and went out
of the room with Ansellina.

D'elmont's family was now become a most distracted one,
every body was in confusion, and it was hard for a disinterested
person, to know how to behave among them. The Count was
ready to dye with vexation, when he reflected on the adventure
at the Baron's with Melantha, and how hard it would be to
clear his conduct in that point with Melliora. She, on the other
hand, was as much tormented at his not attempting it. The
Chevalier was in the height of dispair, when he found that
Ansellina continued her humour, and still avoided letting him
know the occasion of it. And Alovysa tho' she contented herself
for some hours with relating to her sister, all the passages of
her husband's unkind usage of her, yet when that was over, her
curiosity returned, and she grew so madly zealous to find out,
who her rival was, that she repented her behaviour to the
Baron, and sent him the next day privately, a billet, wherein she
assured him, that she had acquainted the Count with nothing
that had passed between them, and that she desired to speak
with him. 'Tis easy to believe he needed not a second invitation;
he came immediately, and Alovysa renewed her entreaties
in the most pressing manner she was capable of, but in vain, he
told her plainly, that if he could not have her heart, nothing but
the full possession of her person1 should extort the secret from
him. 'Twould swell this discourse beyond what I design, to
recount her various starts of passions, and different turns of


1 The conventional contrast between having her love and merely possessing her body sexually.


154 ELIZA HAYWOOD


behaviour, sometimes louder than the winds she raved! commanded!
threatened! then, still as April showers, or summer
dews she wept, and only whispered her complaints now dissembling
kindness, then declaring unfeigned hate; 'till at last,
finding it impossible to prevail by any other means, she
promised to admit him at midnight into her chamber. But as it
was only the force of her too passionate affection for her husband,
which had worked her to this pitch of raging jealousie, so
she had no sooner made the assignation, and the Baron had left
her (to seek the Count to prevent any suspicion of their long
conversation) but all D'elmont's charms came fresh into her
mind, and made the thoughts of what she had promised odious
and insupportable; she opened her mouth more than once to
call back the Baron, and recant all that she had said; but her ill
genius, or that devil curiosity, which too much haunts the
minds of women, still prevented her. "What will become of
me," said she to her self, "what is it I am about to do? Shall I
forgoe my honour -- quit my virtue, -- sully my yet unspotted
name with endless infamy -- and yield my soul to sin, to shame,
and horror, only to know what I can ne'er redress? If D'elmont
hates me now, will he not do so still? -- What will this cursed
discovery bring me but added tortures, and fresh weight of
woe." Happy had it been for her if these considerations could
have lasted, but when she had been a minute or two in this
temper, she would relapse and cry, "What must I tamely bear it
then? -- Endure the flouts of the malicious world, and the contempt
of every saucy girl, who while she pitys, scorns my want
of charms -- Shall I neglected tell my tale of wrongs, (O, Hell is
in that thought) 'till my dispair shall reach my rival's ears, and
crown her adulterous joys with double pleasure. -- Wretch that
I am! -- Fool that I am, to hesitate, my misery is already past
addition, my everlasting peace is broke! Lost even to hope,
what can I more endure? -- No, since I must be ruined, I'll have
the satisfaction of dragging with me to perdition, the vile, the
cursed she that has undone me. I'll be revenged on her, than
dye my self, and free me from pollution. As she was in this last
thought, she perceived at a good distance from her the Chevalier
Brillian and Ansellina in discourse; the sight of him imme--


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 155


diately put a new contrivance into her head, and she composed
her self as well as she could, and went to meet them.

Ansellina having been left alone, while her sister was entertaining
the Baron, had walked down into the garden to divert
herself, where the Chevalier, who was on the watch for such an
opportunity, had followed her; he could not forbear, tho' in
terms full of respect, taxing her with some little unjustice for
her late usage of him, and breach of promise, in not letting him
know her reasons for it. She, who by nature was extreamly
averse to the disguising her sentiments, suffered him not long to
press her for an edaircisment, and with her usual freedom, told
him what she had done, was purely in complyance with her sister's
request, that she could not help having the same opinion
of him as ever, but that she had promised Alovysa to defer any
thoughts of marrying him, till his brother should confess his
error. The obliging things she said to him, tho' she persisted in
her resolution, disipated great part of his chagreen, and he was
beginning to excuse D'elmont, and perswade her that her sister's
temper was the first occasion of their quarrel when
Alovysa interrupted them. Ansellina was a little out of countenance
at her sister's presence, immagining she would be
insenced at finding her with the Chevalier; but that distressed
lady was full of other thoughts, and desiring him to follow her
to her chamber, as soon as they were set down, confessed to
him, how, fired with his brother's falshood, she had endeavoured
to revenge it upon him, that she had been his enemy, but
was willing to enter into any measures for his satisfaction, provided
he would comply with one, which she should propose,
which he faithfully promising, after she had sworn him to
secrecy, discovered to him every circumstance, from her first
cause of jealousy, to the assignation she had made with the
Baron; "Now," said she, "it is in your power to preserve both
your brother's honour, and my life (which I sooner will resign
than my virtue) if you stand concealed in a little closet, which I
shall convey you to, and the moment he has satisfied my curiosity
by telling me her name that has undone me, rush out and be
my protector." The Chevalier was infinitely surprized at what
he heard, for his brother had not given him the least hint of his


156 ELIZA HAYWOOD


passion, but thought the request she made, too reasonable to be
denied.

While they were in this discourse, Melliora, who had been
sitting indulging her melancholly in that closet which Alovysa
spoke of, and which did not immediately belong to that chamber,
but was a sort of an entry or passage into another, and tired
with reflection was fallen asleep, but on the noise which
Alovysa and the Chevalier made in coming in, waked, and
heard to her inexpressible trouble, the discourse that passed
between them. She knew that unknown rival was herself, and
condemned the Count of the highest imprudence, in making a
confidant, as she found he had of the Baron; she saw her fate, at
least that of her reputation was now upon the crisis, that, that
very night she was exposed to all the fury of an enraged wife,
and was so shook with apprehension, that she was scarce able to
go out of the closet time enough to prevent their discovering
she was there; what could she do in this exigence, the thoughts
of being betrayed, was worse to her than a thousand deaths, and
it was to be wondred at, as she has since confest, that in that
height of desparation, she had not put an end to the tortures of
reflection, by laying violent hands on her own life. As she was
going from the closet hastily to her own apartment, the Count
and Baron passed her, and that sight heightening the distraction
she was in, she stept to the Count, and in a faultring, scarce
intelligible accent, whispered, "for Heaven's sake let me speak
with you before night, make some pretence to come to my
chamber, where I'll wait for you." And as soon as she had spoke
these words darted from him so swift, that he had no opportunity
of replying, if he had not been too much overwhelmed
with joy at this seeming change of his fortune to have done it;
he misunderstood part of what was said, and instead of her
desiring to speak with him "before night," he imagined, she
said "at night." He presently communicated it to the Baron,
who congratulated him upon it; and never was any night more
impatiently longed for, than this was by them both. They had
indeed not many hours of expectation, but Melliora thought
them ages, all her hopes were, that if she could have an opportunity
of discovering to Count D'elmont what she had heard


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 157


between his wife and brother, he might find some means to
prevent the Baron's treachery from taking effect. But when
night grew on, and she perceived he came not, and she considered
how near she was to inevitable ruin, what words can
sufficiently express her agonies? So I shall only say, they were
too violent to have long kept company with life; guilt horour,
fear, remorse, and shame at once oppressed her, and she was
very near sinking beneath their weight, when somebody
knocked softly at the door; she made no doubt but it was the
Count, and opened it immediately, and he catching her in his
arms with all the eagerness of transported love, she was about
to clear his mistake, and let him know it was not an amourous
entertainment she expected from him; when a sudden cry of
murder, and the noise of clashing swords made him let go his
hold, and draw his own, and run along the gallery to find out
the occasion, where being in the dark, and only directed by the
noise he heard in his wife's chamber, something met the point,
and a great shriek following it, he cried for lights, but none
coming immediately, he stepping farther stumbled at the body
which had fallen; he then redoubled his outcrys, and Melliora
frightened as she was, brought one from her chamber, and at
the same instant that they discovered it was Alovysa, who coming
to alarm the family, had by accident run on her husband's
sword, they saw the Chevalier pursuing the Baron, who mortally
wounded, dropt down by Alovysa's side; what a dreadful
view was this? The Count, Melliora, and the servants, who by
this time were most of them rowzed, seemed without sence or
motion, only the Chevalier had spirit enough to speak, or
think, so stupified was every one with what they saw. But he
ordering the servants to take up the bodies, sent one of 'em
immediately for a surgeon, but they were both of them past his
art to cure. Alovysa spoke no more, and the Baron lived but
two days, in which time the whole account, as it was gathered
from the mouths of those chiefly concerned, was set down, and
the tragical part of it being laid before the King, there appeared
so much of justice in the Baron's death, and accident in
Alovysa's, that the Count and Chevalier found it no difficult
matter to obtain their pardon. The Chevalier was soon after


158 ELIZA HAYWOOD


married to his beloved Ansellina; but Melliora looked on herself
as the most guilty person upon earth, as being the primary
cause of all the misfortunes that had happened, and retired
immediately to a monastery, from whence, not all the entreaties
of her friends, nor the implorations of the amorous D'elmont
could bring her; she was now resolved to punish by a voluntary
banishment from all she ever did, or could love, the guilt of
indulging that passion, while it was a crime. He, not able to live
without her, at least in the same climate, committed the care of
his estate to his brother, and went to travel, without an inclination
ever to return. Melantha who was not of a humour to take
any thing to heart, was married in a short time, and had the
good fortune not to be suspected by her husband, though she
brought him a child in seven months after her wedding.


Finis.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 159


LOVE IN EXCESS;

OR,
THE FATAL ENQUIRY.


A NOVEL The Third and Last Part.


Success can then alone your vows attend,

When worth's the motive, constancy the end.


-- Epilogue to The Spartan Dame.1 By Mrs. Haywood.


1 A play by Thomas Southerne (1660--1746), best known for his popular dramatic
adaptation of Aphra Behn's novel Oroonoko; the epilogue is by Major Richardson
Pack.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 161



LOVE IN EXCESS;

OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY

The Third and Last Part.


tho' Count D'elmont never had any great tenderness for
Alovysa, and her extravagance of rage and jealousy, joyned to
his passion for Melliora had every day abated it, yet the manner
of her death was too great a shock to the sweetness of his disposition
to be easily worn off; he could not remember her
uneasiness, without reflecting that it sprung only from her too violent affection for him; and tho' there was no possibility of
living happily with her, when he considered that she died, not
only for him, but by his hand, his compassion for the cause, and
horror for the unwished, as well as undesigned event, drew
lamentations from him, more sincere, perhaps, then some of
those husbands, who call themselves very loving ones, would
make.

To alleviate the troubles of his mind, he had endeavoured all
he could, to perswade Melliora to continue in his house; but
that afflicted lady was not to be prevailed upon, she looked on
her self, as, in a manner, accessary to Alovysa's death, and
thought the least she owed to her reputation was to see the
Count no more, and tho' in the forming this resolution, she felt
torments unconceivable, yet the strength of her virtue enabled
her to keep it, and she returned to the monastery, where she
had been educated, carrying with her nothing of that peace of
mind with which she left it.

Not many days passed between her departure, and the Count's; he took his way towards Italy, by the perswasions of his
brother, who, since he found him bent to travel, hoped that garden
of the world might produce something to divert his sorrows;
he took but two servants with him, and those rather for
conveniency than state.1 Ambition, once his darling passion, was
now wholly extinguished in him by these misfortunes, and he


1 The number of servants signalled wealth and social importance, so this is a symptorn that the Count has abandoned ambition.


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 163


no longer thought of making a figure in the world; but his love nothing could abate, and 'tis to be believed that the violence of
that would have driven him to the use of some fatal remedy, if
the Chevalier Brillian, to whom he left the care of Melliora's
and her brother's fortune as well as his own, had not, tho' with
much difficulty, obtained a promise from her of conversing
with him by letters.

This was all he had to keep hope alive, and indeed it was no
inconsiderable consolation, for she that allows a correspondence of that kind with a man that has any interest in her
heart, can never persuade herself, while she does so, to make
him become indifferent to her. When we give our selves the
liberty of even talking of the person we have once loved, and
find the least pleasure in that discourse, 'tis ridiculous to imagine
we are free from that passion, without which, the mention
of it would be but insipid to our ears, and the remembrance to
our minds; tho' our words are never so cold, they are the effects
of a secret fire, which burns not with less strength for not being
dilated. The Count had too much experience of all the walks
and turns of passion to be ignorant of this, if Melliora had
endeavoured to disguise her sentiments, but she went not so
far, she thought it a sufficient vindication of her virtue to withhold
the rewarding of his love, without feigning a coldness to
which she was a stranger, and he had the satisfaction to observe
a tenderness in her stile, which assured him that her heart was
unalterably his, and very much strengthed his hopes that one
day her person might be so too, when time had a little effaced
the memory of those circumstances, which had obliged her to
put this constraint on her inclinations!

He wrote to her from every post--town, and waited till he
received her answer; by this means his journey was extreamly
tedious, but no adventures of any moment, falling in his way
'till he came to Rome, I shall not trouble my readers with a
recital of particulars which could be no way entertaining.

But, how strangely do they deceive themselves, who fancy
that they are lovers, yet on every little turn of Fortune, or
change of circumstance, are agitated, with any vehemence, by
cares of a far different nature? Love is too jealous, too arbitrary a


164 ELIZA HAYWOOD


monarch to suffer any other passion to equalize himself in that
heart where he has fixed his throne. When once entered, he
becomes the whole business of our lives, we think -- we dream
of nothing else, nor have a wish not inspired by him. Those
who have the power to apply themselves so seriously to any
other consideration as to forget him, tho' but for a moment, are
but lovers in conceit, and have entertained desire but as an
agreeable amusement, which when attended with any inconvenience,
they may without much difficulty shake off. Such a sort
of passion may be properly enough called liking, but falls widely
short of love. Love, is what we can neither resist, expel, nor even
alleviate, if we should never so vigorously attempt it; and tho'
some have boasted, "Thus far will I yield and no farther," they
have been convinced of the vanity of forming such resolutions
by the impossibility of keeping them. Liking is a flashy flame,
which is to be kept alive only by ease and delight. Love, needs
not this fewel to maintain its fire, it survives in absence, and disappointments,
it endures, unchilled, the wintry blasts of cold
indifference and neglect, and continues its blaze, even in a
storm of hatred and ingratitude, and reason, pride, or a just sensibility
of conscious worth, in vain oppose it. Liking, plays gayly
round, feeds on the sweets in gross, but is wholly insensible of
the thorns which guard the nicer, and more refined delicacies
of desire, and can consequently give neither pain, nor pleasure
in any superlative degree. Love creates intolerable torments!
unspeakable joys! raises us to the highest heaven of happiness,
or sinks us to the lowest hell of misery.

Count D'elmont experienced the truth of this assertion; for
neither his just concern for the manner of Alovysa's death
could curb the exuberance of his joy, when he considered himself
beloved by Melliora; nor any diversion, of which Rome
afforded great variety, be able to make him support being
absent from her with moderation. There are I believe, but few
modern lovers, how passionate and constant soever they pretend
to be, who would not in the Count's circumstances have
found some matter of consolation; but he seemed wholly dead
to gaiety. In vain, all the Roman nobility courted his acquaintance;
in vain the ladies made use of their utmost artifice to


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 165


engage him. He preferred a solitary walk, a lonely shade, or the
bank of some purling stream, where he undisturbed might
contemplate on his beloved Melliora, to all the noisy pleasures
of the Court, or the endearments of the inviting fair. In fine, he
shunned as much as possible all conversation with the men, or
correspondence with the women; returning all their billet--deux, of which scarce a day past, without his receiving some, unanswered.

This manner of behaviour in a little time delivered him from
the persecutions of the discreet; but having received one letter
which he had used as he had done the rest, it was immediately
seconded by another; both which contained as follows:

Letter I.
To The Never Enough Admired Count D'elmont.


In your country, where women are allowed the previledge of
being seen and addressed to, it would be a crime unpardonable to
modesty, to make the first advances. But here, where rigid rules
are bar's, as well to reason, as to nature, it would be as great a
one, to feign an insensibility of your merit. I say, feign, for I look
on it, as an impossibility really to behold you with indifferency.
But, if I could believe that any of my sex were in good earnest so
dull, I must confess, I should envy that happy stupidity, which
would secure me from the pains such a passion as you create
must inflict; unless, from the millions whom your charms have
reached, you have yet a corner of your heart unprepossessed, and
an inclination willing to receive the impression of,


Your most Passionate and Tender,
(but 'till she receives a favourable
Answer) Your unknown Adorer.


166 ELIZA HAYWOOD


Letter II.
To the Ungrateful D'elmont.


Unworthy of the happiness designed you! Is it thus, that you
return the condescention of a lady? How fabulous is report, which
speaks those of your country, warm and full of amorous desires?
-- Thou, sure, ar't colder than the bleak northern islanders -- Dull, stupid wretch! insensible of every passion which give lustre
to the soul, and differ man, from brute! -- Without gratitude -- Without love -- Without desire -- Dead, even to curiosity! -- How I could dispise theefor this narrowness of mind, were there
not something in thy eyes and mein which assure me, that this
negligent behaviour is but affected; and that there are within thy
breast, some seeds of hidden fire, which want but the influence of
charms, more potent perhaps, then you have yet beheld, to kindle
into blaze. Make hast then to be enlivened, for I flatter my self
'tis in my power to work this wonder, and long to inspire so lovely
a form with sentiments only worthy of it. -- The bearer of this,
is a person who I dare confide in -- Delay not to come with him,
for when once you are taught what 'tis to love; you'll not be ignorant
that doubtful expectation is the worst of racks, and from your
own experience. Pity what I feel, thus chilled with doubt, yet
burning with desire.


Yours, Impatiently.


The Count was pretty much surprized at the odd turn of
this billet; but being willing to put an end to the ladies trouble,
as well as his own, sat down, and without giving himself much
time to think, writ these lines in answer to hers.


To the Fair Incognita.


Madam,

If you have no other design in writing to me, than your diversion,
methinks my mourning habit, to which my countenance
and behaviour are no way unconformable, might inform you, I


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 167


am little disposed for raillery. If in earnest you can find any thing
in me which pleases you, I must confess my self entirely unworthy
of the honour, not only by my personal demerits, but by the
resolution I have made of conversing with none of your sex while
I continue in Italy. I should be sorry however to incurr the aspersion
of an unmannerly contemner of favours, which tho' I do not
desire, I pretend not to deserve. I therefore beg you will believe
that I return this, as I did your former, only to let you see, that
since I decline making any use of your condescendons to my
advantage, I am not ungenerous enough to do so to your prejudice,
and to all ladies deserving the regard of a disinterested well--
wisher shall be an,


Humble Servant, D'Elmont.


The Count ordered one of his servants to deliver this letter
to the person who brought the other; but he returned immediately
with it in his hand, and told his lordship that he could not
prevail on the fellow to take it; that he said he had business
with the Count, and must needs see him, and was so importunate,
that he seemed rather to demand than entreat a grant of
his request. D'elmont was astonished, as well he might, but
commanded he should be admitted.

Nothing could be more comical than the appearance of this
fellow; he seemed to be about threescore years of age, but time
had not been the greatest enemy to his face, for the number of
scars, was far exceeding that of wrincles; he was tall above common
stature, but so lean, that, till he spoke, he might have been
taken for one of those wretches who have passed the hands of
the anatomists,1 nor would his walk have disipated that opinion,
for all his motions, as he entered the chamber, had more of
the air of clockwork, than of nature; his dress was not less particular,
he had on a suit of cloaths, which might perhaps have
been good in the days of his great grand--father, but the person
who they fitted must have been five times larger about the
body than him who wore them; a large broad buff belt how--


1 A skeleton, perhaps a criminal's, for executed criminals' bodies were used for medical
dissection.


168 ELIZA HAYWOOD


ever remedied that inconvenience, and girt them close about
his waste, in which hung a fauchion,1 two daggers, and a sword
of a more than ordinary extent; the rest of his equipage was a
cloak, which buttoning round his neck fell not so low as his
hips, a hat, which in rainy weather kept his shoulders dry much
better than an Indian umberrello, one glove, and a formidable
pair of whiskers. As soon as he saw the Count, "My lord," said
he, with a very impudent air, "my orders were to bring your
self, not a letter from you, nor do I use to be employed in affairs
of this nature, but to serve one of the richest, and most beautiful
ladys in Rome, who I assure you, it will be dangerous to disoblige."
D'elmont eyed him intentively all the time he spoke,
and could scarce, notwithstanding his chagreen, forbear laughing
at the figure he made, and the manner of his salutation. "I
know not," answered he, ironically, "what employments you
have been used to, but certainly you appear to me, one of the
most unfit persons in the world for what you now undertake,
and if the contents of the paper you brought me had not
informed me of your abilities this way, I should never have suspected
you for one of Cupid's agents." "You are merry my
lord," replied the other, "but I must tell you I am a man of family
and honour, and shall not put up an affront; but," continued
he, shaking the few hairs which frequent skirmishes had left
upon his head, "I shall deferr my own satisfaction 'till I have
procured the ladies; therefore, if your lordship will prepare to
follow, I shall walk before, at a perceivable distance, and without St. Peter's key open the gate of heaven." "I should be apt," said
the Count, not able to keep his countenance at these words,
"rather to take it for the other place; but be it as it will, I
have not the least inclination to make the experiment; therefore,
you may walk as soon as you please without expecting me
to accompany you." "Then you absolutely refuse to go," cried
the fellow, clapping his hand on his forehead, and staring at
him, as if he meant to scare him into complyance! "Yes,"
answered the Count laughing more and more, "I shall neither
go, nor waste any farther time or words with you, so would


1 A falchion, a broad curved sword.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 169


advise you not to be saucy, or tarry till my anger gets the better
of my mirth, but take the letter and be gone, and trouble me no
more." The other, at these words laid his hand on his sword,
and was about to make some very impudent reply, when
D'elmont, growing weary of his impertinence, made a sign to
his servants, that they should turn him out, which he perceiving,
took up the letter without being bid a second time, and
muttering some unintelligible curses between his teeth,
marched out, in the same affected strutt, with which he
entered.

This adventure, tho' surprizing enough to a person so
entirely unacquainted with the character and behaviour of
these bravo's1 as D'elmont was, gave him but very little matter of
reflection, and it being the time for evening service at St.
Peter's, he went, according to his custom to hear vesper s there.

Nothing is more common than for the nobility and gentry
of Rome to divert themselves with walking, and talking to one
another in the collonade after mass, and the Count tho' averse to
all other publick assemblies, would sometimes spend an hour or
two there.

As he was walking there this evening, a lady of a very gallant
mein passed swiftly by him, and Hurting2 out her handkerchief
with a careless air, as it were by chance, dropped an Agnus De? set round with diamonds at his feet; he had too much complaisance
to neglect endeavouring to overtake the lady, and prevent
the pain he imagined she would be in, when she should miss so
rich a jewel. But she, who knew well enough what she had
done, left the walk where the company were, and crossed over
to the fountain, which being more retired was the most proper
for her design. She stood looking on the water, in a thoughtful
posture, when the Count came up to her, and bowing, with an
air peculiar to himself, and which all his chagreen could not


1 Hired murderers; the English viewed Italy as a place of fanatical pride of rank,
duels, and elaborate corruption.

2 To flirt in this sense is "to throw anything with a quick elastick motion" (Johnson).

3 An image of Christ as the lamb of God (see John 1.29), carrying a cross or flag; here
an ostentatious jewel but traditionally a wax medallion bearing this image and
blessed by the Pope.


170 ELIZA HAYWOOD


deprive of an irresistable power of attraction, presented the Agnus Dei to her. "I think my self, madam," said he, "highly
indebted to Fortune, for making me the means of your recovering
a jewel, the loss of which would certainly have given you
some disquiet." "Oh Heavens!" cried she, receiving it with an
affected air of surprize, "could a trifle like this which I knew
not that I had let fall, nor perhaps should have thought on
more, could this, and belonging to a woman too, meet the
regard of him, who prides in his insensibility? Him! who has no
eyes for beauty, nor no heart for love!" As she spoke these
words she contrived to let her vail fall back as if by accident,
and discovered a face, beautiful even to perfection! eyes black
and sparkling, a mouth formed to invite, a skin dazling white,
thro' which a most delightful bloom diffused a chearful
warmth, and glowed in amorous blushes on her cheeks. The
Count could not forbear gazing on her with admiration, and
perhaps, was, for a moment, pretty near receeding from that
insensibility she had reproached him with; but the image of
Melliora, yet unenjoyed, all ravishingly kind and tender, rose
presently in his soul, filled all his faculties, and left no passage
free for rival charms. "Madam," said he after a little pause, "the
Italian ladies take care to skreen their too dazling lustre behind
a cloud, and, if I durst take that liberty, have certainly reason to
tax your accusation of injustice; he, on whom the sun has never
vouchsafed to shine, ought not to be condemned for not
acknowledging its brightness; yours is the first female face I
have beheld, since my arrival here, and it would have been as
ridiculous to have feigned my self susceptible of charms which
I had never seen, as it would be stupidity, not to confess those I
now do, worthy adoration." "Well," resumed she smiling, "if not
the lovers, I find, you know to act the courtiers part; but," continued
she, looking languishingly on him, "all you can say, will
scarce make me believe, that there requires not a much brighter
sun than mine, to thaw a certain frozen resolution, you pretend
to have made." There needed no more to confirm the Count in
the opinion he had before conceived, that this was the lady
from whom he had received the two letters that day, and
thought he had now the fairest opportunity in the world to put


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 171


an end to her passion, by assuring her how impossible it was for
him ever to return it, and was forming an answer to that purpose;
when a pretty deal of company coming toward them, she
drew her vail over her face, and turning hastily from him, mingled
with some ladies, who seemed to be of her acquaintance.

The Count knew by experience, the unutterable perturbations
of suspence, and what agonizing tortures rend an amorous
soul, divided betwixt hope and fear. Dispair itself is not so cruel
'as uncertainty, and in all ills, especially in those of love, it is less
misery to know, than dread the worst. The remembrance of
what he had suffered thus agitated, in the beginning of his passion
for Melliora, made him extreamly pity the unknown lady,
and regret her sudden departure; because it had prevented him
from letting her into so much of his circumstances, as he
believed were necessary to induce her to recall her heart. But
when he considered how much he had struggled, and how far
he had been from being able to repell desire, he began to wonder
that it could ever enter into his thoughts that there was
even a possibility for woman, so much stronger in her fancy, and
weaker in her judgment, to suppress the influence of that powerful
passion; against which, no laws, no rules, no force of reason,
or philosophy, are sufficient guards.
These reflections gave no small addition to his melancholy;
Amena's retirement from the world; Alovysa's jealousy and
death; Melliora's peace of mind and reputation, and the despair
of several, whom he was sensible, the love of him, had rendred
miserable, came fresh into his memory, and he looked on himself
as most unhappy, in being the occasion of making others so.

The night which succeeded this day of adventures, chancing
to be abroad pretty late, as he was passing thro' a street, he heard
a clashing of swords, and going nearer to the place where the
noise was, he perceived by some lights which glimmered from
a distant door, a gentleman defending himself with much bravery
against three, who seemed eager for his death. D'Elmont
was moved to the highest indignation at the sight of such baseness;
and drawing his sword, flew furiously on the assassins, just
as one of them was about to run his sword into the breast of
the gentleman; who, by the breaking of his own blade, was left


172 ELIZA HAYWOOD


unarmed. "Turn villain," cried D'Elmont, "or while you are
acting that inhumanity, receive the just reward of it from me."
The ruffian faced about immediately, and made a pass at him,
while one of his comrades did the same on the other side; and
the third was going to execute on the gentleman, what his fellows
surprize had made him leave undone. But he had now
gained time to pull a pistol out of his pocket, with which he1 shot him in a moment dead; and snatching his sword from him
as he fell, ran to assist the Count, who 'tis likely would have
stood in need of it, being engaged with two, and those the most
desparate sort of bravo's, villains that make a trade of death. But
the noise of the pistol made them apprehensive there was a farther
rescue, and put 'em to flight. The gentleman seemed agitated
with a more than ordinary fury; and instead of staying to
thank the Count, or enquire how he had escaped, ran in pursuit
of those who had assaulted him, so swiftly, that it was in vain for
the Count, not being well acquainted with the turnings of the
streets, to attempt to follow him, if he had a mind to it. But
seeing there was a man killed, and not knowing either the persons
who fought, or the occasion of their quarrel, he rightly
judged, that being a stranger in the place, his word would not
be very readily taken in his own vindication; therefore thought
his wisest course would be to make off, with what speed he
could, to his lodging. While he was considering, he saw something
on the ground which glittered extreamly; and taking it
up, found that it was part of the sword which the assaulted gentleman
had the misfortune to have broke. The hilt was of a fine
piece of agat, set round on the top with diamonds, which made
him believe the person whom he had preserved, was of considerable
quality, as well as bravery.

He had not gone many paces from the place where the skirmish
hapned, before a cry of murder met his ears, and a great
concourse of people his eyes. He had received two or three
slight wounds, which, tho' not much more than skin--deep, had
made his linnen bloody, and he knew would be sufficient to
make him be apprehended, if he were seen, which it was very


1 4th d.; 1st d. reads "she."


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 173


difficult to avoid. He was in a narrow street, which had no
turning, and the crowd was very near him; when looking
round him with a good deal of vexation in his thoughts, he discerned
a wall, which in one part of it seemed pretty low. He
presently resolved to climb it, and trust to fortune for what
might befall him on the other side, rather than stay to be
exposed to the insults of the outrageous mob; who, ignorant of
his quality, and looking no farther than the outside of things,
"would doubtless have considered him, no otherwise, than a
midnight rioter.

When he was got over the wall, he found himself in a very
fine garden, adorned with fountains, statues, groves, and every
ornament, that art, or nature, could produce for the delight of
the owner. At the upper end there was a summer--house, into
which he went, designing to stay there 'till the search was over.

But he had not been many moments in his concealment
before he saw a door open from the house, and two women
come out; they walked directly up to the place where he was;
he made no doubt but that they designed to enter, and retired
into the farthest corner of it. As they came pretty near, he
found they were earnest in discourse, but could understand
nothing of what they said, 'till she, who seemed to be the chief,
raising her voice a little higher than she had done, "Talk no
more, Brione," said she, "if e're thy eyes are blest to see this
charmer of my soul, thou wil't cease to wonder at my passion;
great as it is, 'tis wanting of his merit. -- Oh! He is more than
raptured poets feign, or fancy can invent!" "Suppose him so,"
cried the other, "yet still he wants that charm which should
endear the others to you -- softness -- Heavens! to return your
letters! to insult your messenger! to slight such favours as any
man of soul would dye to obtain! Methinks such usage should
make him odious to you, -- even I should scorn so spiritless a
wretch." "Peace, thou prophaner," said the lady in an angry
tone, "such blasphemy deserves a stab -- But thou hast never
heard his voice, nor seen his eyes, and I forgive thee." "Have
you then spoke to him?" interrupted the confident. "Yes,"
answered the lady, "and by that conversation, am more undone
than ever; it was to tell thee this adventure, I came to night into


174 ELIZA HAYWOOD


this agreeable solitude." With these words, they came into the
summer--house, and the lady seating her self on a bench, "Thou
know'st," resumed she, "I went this evening to Saint Peter's,
there I saw the glorious man; saw him in all his charms; and
while I bowed my knee, in show to heaven, my soul was prostrate
only to him. When the ceremony was over, perceiving he
stayed in the collonade, I had no power to leave it, but stood,
regardless who observed me, gazing on him with transports,
which only those who love like me, can guess! -- God! With
what an air he walked! What new attractions dwelt in every
motion -- And when he returned the salutes of any that passed
by him, how graceful was his bow! How lofty his mein, and
yet, how affable! -- A sort of an inexpressible awful grandeur,
blended with tender languishments, strikes the amazed beholder
at once with fear and joy! -- Something beyond humanity
shines round tym! Such looks descending angels wear, when
sent on heavenly embassies to some favorite mortal! Such is
their form! Such radient beams they dart; and with such smiles
they temper their divinity with softness! -- Oh! with what pain
did I restrain my self from flying to him! from rushing into his
arms! from hanging on his neck, and wildly1 uttering all the
furious wishes of my burning soul! -- I trembled -- panted raged
with inward agonies. Nor was all the reason I could
muster up, sufficient to bear me from his sight, without having
first spoke to him. To that end I ventured to pass by him, and
dropped an Agnus Dei at his feet, believing that would give him
an occasion of following me, which he did immediately, and
returning it to me, discovered a new hoard of unimagined
charms -- All my fond soul confessed before of his perfections
were mean, to what I now beheld! Had'st thou but seen how
he approached me -- with what an awful reverence -- with what
a soft beseeching, yet commanding air, he kissed the happy
trifle, as he gave it me, thou would'st have envied it as well as I!
At last he spoke, and with an accent so divine, that if the sweetest
musick were compared to the more celestial harmony of his
voice, it would only serve to prove how vastly nature do's excell


1 4th d.; 1st d. reads "wilding."


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 175


all art'.'"But, madam," cried the other, "I am impatient to know
the end of this affair; for I presume you discovered to him both
what, and who you were?" "My face only," replied the lady, "for
e're I had opportunity to do more, that malicious trifler, Violet--
ta, perhaps envious of my happiness, came toward us with a
crowd of impertinents at her heels, curse on the interruption,
and broke off our conversation; just at that blest, but irrecoverable
moment, when I perceived in my charming conqueror's
eyes, a growing tenderness, sufficient to encourage me to reveal
my own. Yes, Brione, those lovely eyes, while fixed on mine,
shone, with a lustre, uncommon, even to themselves -- A livelier
warmth o'respread his cheeks -- Pleasure sat smiling on his
lips -- those lips, my girl, which even when they are silent,
speak; but when unclosed, and the sweet gales of balmy breath
blow on you, he kills you in a sigh; each hurried sence is ravished,
and your soul glows with wonder and delight. Oh! to be
forced to leave him in this crisis, when new desire began to
dawn; when love in its most lively symptoms was apparent, and
seemed to promise all my wishes covet, what separation ever
was so cruel?" "Compose your self, dear madam," said Brione,
"if he be really in love; as who so senseless as not to be so, that
(ince has seen your charms? That love will teach him speedily
to find out an opportunity as favourable as that which you have
lately missed; or if he should want contrivance to procure his
own happiness, 'tis but your writing to appoint a meeting." "He
must -- he shall be mine!" cried the lady in a rapture, "my love,
fierce as it was before, from hope receives addition to its fury; I
rave -- I burn -- I am mad with wild desires -- I dye, Brione, if I
not possess him." In speaking these words, she threw her self
down on a carpet which was spread upon the floor; and after
sighing two or three times, continued to discover the violence
of her impatient passion in this manner: "Oh that this night,"
said she, "were past -- the blissful expectation of tomorrows
joys, and the distracting doubts of disappointment, swell my
unequal beating heart by turns, and rack me with vicissitudes
of pain -- I cannot live and bear it -- Soon as the morning
breaks, I'll know my doom -- I'll send to him -- But 'tis an age
till then -- Oh that I could sleep -- Sleep might perhaps antici--


176 ELIZA HAYWOOD


pate the blessing, and bring him in idea to my arms -- But 'tis in
vain to hope one moment's cool serenity in love like mine -- My anxious thoughts hurry my senses in eternal watchings! Oh
D'Elmont! D'Elmont! Tranquill, cold, and calm D'Elmont!
Little doest thou guess the tempest thou hast raised within my
soul, nor know'st to pity these consuming fires!"

The Count list'ned to all this discourse with a world of
uneasiness and impatience; and tho' at first he fancied he
remembered the voice, and had reason enough from the beginning,
especially when the Agnus Dei was mentioned, to believe
it could be no other than himself, who the lady had so passionately
described; yet he had not confidence to appear till she had
named him; but then, no consideration was offeree to make
him neglect this opportunity of undeceiving her; his good
sence, as well as good nature, kept him from that vanity, too
many of his sex imitate the weaker in, of being pleased that it
was in his power to create pains, which it was not in his power,
so devoted as he was, to ease.

He stept from his retirement as softly as he could, because he
was loath to alarm them with any noise, 'till they should discover
who it was that made it, which they might easily do, in his
advancing toward them never so little, that part of the bower
being much lighter than that where he had stood; but with his
over--caution in sliding his feet along, to prevent being heard,
one of them tangled in the corner of the carpet, which hapned
not to lie very smooth, and not being sensible presently what it
was that embarrassed him, he fell with part of his body cross the
lady, and his head in Brione's lap, who was sitting on the
ground by her. The manner of his fall was lucky enough, for it
hindered either of them from rising, and running to alarm the
family, as certainly in such a fright they would have done, if his
weight had not detained them; they both gave a great shriek,
but the house being at a good distance, they could not easily be
heard; and he immediately recovering himself, begged pardon
for the terror he had occasioned them; and addressing to the
lady, who at first was dying with her fears, and now with consternation,
"D'Elmont madam," said he, "could not have had
the assurance to appear before you, after hearing those undeserved
praises your excess of goodness has been pleased to


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 177


bestow upon him, but that his soul would have reproached him
of the highest ingratitude, in permitting you to continue longer
in an error, which may involve you in the greatest of misfortunes,
at least I am --" As he was speaking, three or four servants
with lights came running from the house; and the lady, tho' in
more confusion than can be well exprest, had yet presence of
mind enough to bid the Count retire to the place where he
had stood before, while she and Brione went out of the summerhouse
to learn the cause of this interruption. "Madam,"
cried one of the servants, as soon as he saw her, "the officers of
justice are within; who being raised by an alarm of murther,
come to beg your ladyships permission to search your garden,
being, as they say, informed that the offender made his escape
over this wall." "'Tis very improbable," replied the lady, "for I
have been here a considerable time, and have neither heard the
least noise, nor seen any body. However, they may search, and
satisfy themselves -- go you, and tell them so." Then turning to
the Count, when she had dismissed her servants; "My lord,"
said she trembling, "I know not what strange adventure
brought you here to night, or whether you are the person for
whom the search is made; but am sensible, if you are found
here, it will be equally injurious to your safety, and my reputation;
I have a back-door, thro' which you may pass in security.
But, if you have honour," continued she sighing, "gratitude, or
good nature, you will let me see you to--morrow night."
"Madam," replied he, "assure yourself that there are not many
things I more earnestly desire than an opportunity to convince
you, how sensibly I am touched with your favours, and how
much I regret my want of power to --" "You," interrupted she,
"can want nothing but the will to make me the happiest of my
sex -- But this is no time for you to give, or me to receive any
proofs of that return which I expect -- Once more I conjure
you to be here to--morrow night at twelve, where the faithful
Brione shall attend to admit you. Farewell -- be punctual and
sincere -- Tis all I ask." -- "When I am not," answered he, "may
all my hopes forsake me." By this time they were come to the
door, which Brione opening softly, let him out, and shut it
again immediately.

The Count took care to remark the place that he might


178 ELIZA HAYWOOD


know it again, resolving nothing more than to make good his
promise at the appointed hour, but could not help being
extreamly troubled, when he considered how unwelcome his
sincerity would be, and the confusion he must give the lady,
when instead of those raptures the violence of her mistaking
passion made her hope, she should meet with only cold civility,
and the killing history of the pre--engagement of his heart. In
these and the like melancholy reflections he spent the night;
and when morning came, received the severest augmentation
of them, which fate could load him with.

It was scarce full day when a servant came into his chamber
to acquaint him, that a young gentleman, a stranger, desired to
be admitted, and seemed so impatient till he was that, said the
fellow, "not knowing of what consequence his business may be,
I thought it better to risque your lordship's displeasure for this
early disturbance, than by dismissing him, fill you with an
unsatisfied curiosity." The Count was far from being angry, and
commanded that the gentleman should be brought up, which
order being immediately obeyed, and the servant withdrawn
out of respect, putting his head out of the bed, he was surprized
with the appearance of one of the most beautiful chevaliers he
had ever beheld, and in whose face, he imagined he traced
some features not unknown to him. "Pardon me, sir," said he,
throwing the curtains more back than they were before, "that I
receive the honour you do me, in this manner -- But being
ignorant of your name, quality, the reason of your desire to see
me, or any thing but your impatience to do so, in gratifying
that, I fear, I have injured the respect, which, I believe, is due;
and which, I am sure, my heart is inclinable to pay to you."
"Visits, like mine," replied the stranger, "require but little ceremony,
and I shall easily remit that respect you talk of, while I
am unknown to you, provided you will give me one mark of it,
that I shall ask of you, when you do." "There are very few,"
replied D'Elmont, "that I could refuse to one, whose aspect
promises to deserve so many." "First then," cried the other pretty
warmly, "I demand a sister of you, and not only her, but a
reparation of her honour, which can be done no otherwise
than by your blood." It is impossible to represent the Count's


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 179


astonishment at these words, but conscious of his innocence in
any such affair, "I should be sorry Signior," said he cooly, "that
precipatation should hurry you to do any action, you would
afterwards repent; you must certainly be mistaken in the person
to whom you are talking -- Yet, if I were rash like you, what
fatal consequences might ensue; but there is something in your
countenance which engages me to wish a more friendly interview
than what you speak of; therefore would persuade you to
consider calmly, and you will soon find, and acknowledge your
mistake; and, to further that reflection, I assure you, that I am so
far from conversing with any lady, in the manner you seem to
hint, that I scarcely know the name, or face of any one. -- Nay,
more, I give you my word, to which I joyn my honour, that, as
I never have, I never will make the least pretensions of that kind
to any woman during the time of my residence here." "This
poor evasion," replied the stranger with a countenance all inflamed,
"ill suits a man of honour. -- This is no Roman, no
Italian bono--roba,1 who I mean -- but French like you -- like
both of us. -- And if your ingratitude had not made it necessary
for your peace, to erace all memory of Monsieur Frankville,
you would before now, by the near resemblance I bear to him,
have known me for his son, and that 'tis Melliora's -- the fond -- the lost -- the ruined Melliora's cause which calls for vengeance
from her brother's arm!" Never was any soul agitated with
more violent emotions, than that of Count D'Elmont at these
words. Doubt, grief, resentment, and amazement, made such a
confusion in his thoughts, that he was unable for some
moments to answer this cruel accusation; and when he did,
"the brother of Melliora," said he with a deep sigh, "would certainly
have been, next to her self, the most welcome person
upon earth to me; and my joy to have embraced him as the
dearest of my friends, at least have equalled the surprize I am
in, to find him without cause my enemy. -- But, sir, if such a
favour may be granted to an unwilling foe, I would desire to
know, why you joyn ruin to your sisters name?" "Oh! give me
patience heaven," cried young Frankville more enraged; "Is this


1 Bona--roba, "a whore" (Johnson).


180 ELIZA HAYWOOD


a question fit for you to ask, or me to answer? Is not her honour
tainted -- fame betrayed -- her self a vagabond, and her
house abused, and all by you; the unfaithful guardian of her
injured innocence? -- And can you ask the cause? -- No, rather
rise this moment, and if you are a man, who dare maintain the
ill you have done, defend it with your sword; not with vain
words and womanish excuses." All the other passions which
had warred within D'Elmont's breast, now gave way to indignation.
"Rash young man," said he, jumping hastily out of the
bed, and beginning to put his cloths on. "Your father would
not thus have used me; nor, did he live, could blame me, for
vindicating as I ought my wounded honour -- That I do love
your sister is as true, as that you have wronged me -- basely
wronged me. But that her virtue suffers by that love, is false! And
I must write the man that speaks it, 'lyar,' tho' in her
brothers heart." Many other violent expressions to the same
effect, passed between them, while the Count was dressing
himself, for he would suffer no servant to come in, to be witness
of his disorder. But the steddy resolution with which he
had attested his innocence, and the inexpressible sweetness of
deportment, equally charming to both sexes, and which not
even anger could render less graceful, extreamly cooled the heat
Frankville had been in a little before, and he in secret, began to
receed very much from the ill opinion he had conceived, tho'
the greatness of his spirit kept him from acknowledging he had
been in an error; 'till chancing to cast his eyes on a table which
stood in the chamber, he saw the hilt of the broken sword
which D'Elmont had brought home the night before, lying on
it; he took it up, and having first looked on it with some confusion
in his countenance, "My lord," said he, turning to the
Count, "I conjure you, before we proceed further, to acquaint
me truely, how this came into your possession." Tho' D'Elmont
had as great a courage, when any laudable occasion appeared to
call it forth, as any man that ever lived; yet his natural disposition
had such an uncommon sweetness in it, as no provocation
could sowre; it was always a much greater pleasure to him to forgive than punish injuries; and if at any time he was angry, he
was never rude, or unjust. The little starts of passion, Frankvilles
rash behaviour had occasioned, all dissolved in his more accus


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 181


ternary softness, when he perceived the other growing calm.
And answering to his question, with the most obliging accent
in the world, "It was my good fortune," said he, "to be instrumental
last night, in the rescue of a gentleman who appeared to have much bravery, and being attacked by odds, behaved himself
in such a manner, as would have made him stand but little
in need of my assistance, if his sword had been equal to the arm
which held it; but the breaking of that, gave me the glory of
not being unserviceable to him. After the skirmish was over, I
took it up, hoping it might be the means sometime or other of
my discovering who the person was, who wore it; not out of
vanity of receiving thanks for the little I had done, but that I
should be glad of the friendship of a person, who seems so
worthy my esteem." "Oh far!" cried Frankville, with a tone and
gesture quite altered, "infinitely far from it -- It was my self
whom you preserved; that very man whose life you but last
night so generously redeemed, with the hazard of your own,
comes now prepared to make the first use of it against you -- Is
it possible that you can be so heavenly good to pardon my wild
passions heat?" "Let this be witness, with what joy I do,"
answered the Count, tenderly embracing him, which the other
eagerly returning; they continued locked in each others arms
for a considerable time, neither of them being able to say more,
than -- "And was it Frankville I preserved!" -- "And was it to
D'Elmont I owe my life!"

After this mutual demonstration of a perfect reconcilement
was over, "See here, my lord," said Frankville, giving a paper to
the Count, "the occasion of my rashness, and let my just concern
for a sisters honour, be at least some little mitigation of my
temerity, in accosting your lordship in so rude a manner." D'Elmont
made no answer, but looking hastily over the paper found
it contained these words.


To Monsieur Frankville.

While your sisters dishonour was known but to few, and the
injurious destroyer of it, out of the reach of your revenge, I
thought it would ill become the friendship I have always professed
to your family, to disquiet you with the knowledge of a


182 ELIZA HAYWOOD


misfortune, which it was no way in your power to redress.

But Count D'Elmont, having, by the sollicitations of his
friends, and the remembrances of some slight services, obtained a
pardon from the King, for the murder of his wife; has since taken
but little care to conceal the reasons which induced him to that
barbarous action; and all Paris is now sensible that he made that
unhappy lady's life a sacrifice to the more attractive beauties of
Melliora in bloody recompence for the sacrifice she had before
made him of her virtue.

In short, the noble family of the Frankvilles is for ever dishonoured
by this unfaithful guardian; and all who wish you well,
rejoice to hear that his ill genius has led him to a place which, if
he knew you were at, certainly prudence would make him of all
others most avoid; for none believes you will so far degenerate
from the spirit of your ancestors, as to permit him to go unpunished.

In finding the Count, you may probably find your sister too;
for tho', after the death of Alovysa, shame made her retire to a
monastry, she has since privately left it without acquainting the
abbess, or any of the sisterhood, with her departure; nor is it
known to any one, where, or for what cause she absconds; but
most people imagine, as indeed it is highly reasonable, that the
violence of her guilty passion for D'Elmont has engaged her to
follow him.

I am not unsensible how much I shock your temper by this
relation, but have too much real concern for your honour to
endure you should, thro' ignorance of your wrongs, remain passive
in such a cause, and perhaps hug the treacherous friend in
your most strict embrace. Nor can I forbear, tho' I love not blood,
urging you to take that just revenge, which next to heaven you
have the greatest claim to.

I am, Sir, with all due Respect
Yours, Sanseverin.


The Count swelled with indignation at every paragraph of
this letter; but when he came to that which mentioned Melliora's
having withdrawn her self from the monastry, he seemed to
be wholly abandoned by his reason; all endeavours to represent


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 183


his agonies would be vain, and none but those who have felt
the same, can have any notion of what he suffered. He read the
fatal scroll again and again, and every time grew wilder than
before; he stamped, bit his lips, looked furiously about him,
then, starting from the place where he had stood, measured the
room in strange, disordered, and unequal paces; all his motions,
all his looks, all his air were nothing but distraction. He spoke
not for some time, one word, either prevented by the rising
passions in his soul, or because it was not in the power of language
to express the greatness of his meaning; and when, at last,
he opened his mouth, it was but to utter half sentences, and
broken complainings. "Is it possible," he cried, "-- gone; -- left
the monastry unknown -- and then again -- false -- false woman? -- Wretched -- wretched man! There's no such thing on earth as
faith -- Is this the effect of all her tender passion? -- So soon forgot -- What can be her reason? -- This action suits not with her
words, or letters." In this manner he raved with a thousand
such--like breathings of a tormented spirit, tossed and confounded
between various sentiments.

Monsieur Frankville stood for a good while silently observing
him; and if before, he were not perfectly assured of his
innocence, the agonies he now saw him in, which were too
natural to be suspected for counterfeit, entirely convinced him
he was so. When the first gust of passion was blown over, and
he perceived any likelyhood of being heard, he said a thousand
tender and obliging things to perswade him to moderation, but
to very little effect, 'till finding that, that which gave him the
most stinging reflection was, the belief that Melliora had forsook
the monastry, either because she thought of him no more,
and was willing to divert her enfranchaised inclination with the
gaieties of the town, or that some happier man had supplanted
him in her esteem, "Judge not, my lord," said he, "so rashly of
my sister's fidelity, nor know so little of your own unmatched
perfections, as to suspect that she, who is blest with your affection,
can consider any other object as worthy her regard. For
my part, since your lordship knows, and I firmly believe, that
this letter contains a great many untruths, I see no reason why
we should not imagine it all of a piece. I declare I think it


184 ELIZA HAYWOOD


much more improbable that she should leave the monastry,
unless sollicited thereto by you, than that she had the power to
deny you any thing your passion might request." The Count's
disorder visibly abated at this remonstrance; and stepping hastily
to his cabinet, he took out the last letter he received from
Melliora, and found it was dated but two days before that from
Monsieur Sanseverin; he knew she had not art, nor was accustomed
to endeavour to disguise her sentiments; and she had
written so many tender things in that, as, when he gave himself
leave to consider, he could not, without believing her to be
either the most dissembling, or most fickle of her sex, continue
in the opinion which had made him, a few moments before, so
uneasy, that she was no longer, what she always subscribed her
self, entirely his.

The tempest of rage and grief being hushed to a little more
tranquillity, Count D'Elmont, to remove all scruples which
might be yet remaining in the breast of Monsieur Frankville,
entertained him with the whole history of his adventures, from
the time of his gallantry with Amena, to the misfortunes which
had induced him to travel, disguising nothing of the truth, but
some part of the discourses which had passed between him and
Melliora that night when he surprized her in her bed, and in
the wilderness. For tho' he freely confessed the violence of his
own unbounded passion, had hurried him beyond all considerations
but those of gratifying it; yet he was too tender of Melliora's
honour, to relate any thing of her, which modesty might
not acknowledge, without the expence of a blush.

Frankville listned with abundance of attention to the relation
he made him, and could find very little in his conduct to
accuse. He was himself too much susceptible of the power of
love, not to have compassion for those that suffered by it, and
had too great a share of good sense not to know that, that passion
is not to be circumscribed; and being not only, not subservient,
but absolutely controller of the will, it would be meer
madness, as well as ill nature, to say a person was blameworthy
for what was unavoidable.

When love once becomes in our power, it ceases to be worthy
of that name; no man really possest with it, can be master of


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 185


his actions; and whatever effects it may enforce, are no more to
be condemned, than poverty, sickness, deformity, or any other
misfortune incident to humane nature. Methinks there is nothing
more absurd than the notions of some people, who in other
things are wise enough too; but wanting elegance of thought,
delicacy, or tenderness of soul, to receive the impression of that
harmonious passion, look on those to be mad, who have any
sentiments elevated above their own, and either censure, or
laugh, at what they are not refined enough to comprehend.
These insipids, who know nothing of the matter, tell us very
gravely, that we ought to love with moderation and discretion, -- and take care that it is for our interest, -- that we should never
place our affections, but where duty leads, or at least, where
neither religion, reputation, or law, may be a hindrance to our
wishes. -- Wretches! We know all this, as well as they; we know
too, that we both do, and leave undone many other things,
which we ought not; but perfection is not to be expected on
this side the grave. And since 'tis impossible for humanity to
avoid frailties of some kind or other, those are certainly least
blameable, which spring only from a too great affluence of the
nobler spirits. Covetousness, envy, pride, revenge, are the effects of
an earthy, base, and sordid nature, ambition and love, of an exalted
one; and if they are failings, they are such as plead their own
excuse, and can never want forgiveness from a generous heart,
provided no indirect courses are taken to procure the ends of the former, nor inconstancy, or ingratitude, stain the beauty of
the latter.
Notwithstanding all that Monsieur Frankville could say, the
Count, tho' not in the rage of temper he had been in, was yet
very melancholy; which the other perceiving, "Alass, my lord,"
said he sighing, "if you were sensible of the misfortunes of
others, you would think your own more easy to be born. You
love, and are beloved; no obstacle remains between you and
your desires, but the formality of custom, which a little time
will remove, and at your return to Paris you will doubtless be
happy, if 'tis in my sister's power to make you so. You have a
sure prospect of felicity to come, but mine is past, never, I fear, to
be retrieved." "What mean you?" cried the Count pretty much


186 ELIZA HAYWOOD


surprized at his words, and the change which he observed in
his countenance; "I am in love!" replied he, "beloved! Nay, have
enjoyed -- Ay, there's the source of my dispair -- I know the
heaven I have lost, and that's my hell."-- The interest D'Elmont
had in his concerns, as being son to the man who he had loved
with a kind of filial affection, and brother to the woman who
he adored above the world, made him extreamly desirous to
know what the occasion of his disquiet was, and having exprest
himself to that purpose; "I shall make no difficulty," replied
Frankville, "to reveal the secret of my love, to him who is a
lover, and knows so well, how to pity, and forgive, the errors
which that passion will sometimes lead us into." The Count
was too impatient to hear the relation he was about to give
him, to make any other answer to these words than with a half
smile; which the other perceiving, without any farther prelude,
began to satisfy his curiosity in this manner.


The History of Monsieur Frankville.


"You know, my lord," said he, "that I was bred at Rhiems with
my uncle, the bishop of that place, and continued with him 'till
after, prompted by glory, and hope of that renown you have
since so gallantly acquired, you left the pleasures of the Court
for the fatigues and dangers of the field. When I came home, I
never ceased sollicking my father to permit me to travel, 'till
wearied with my continual importunities, and perhaps, not
much displeased with my thirst of improvement, he at last gave
leave. I left Paris a little before the conclusion of the peace, and
by that means remained wholly a stranger to your lordship's
person, tho' perfectly acquainted with those admirable accomplishments
which fame is every--where so full of.

"I have been in the courts of England, Spain and Portugal,
but nothing very material hapning to me in any of those places,
it would be rather impertinent, than diverting, to defer, for
trifles, the main business of my life, that of my love, which had
not a being 'till I came into this city.

"I had been here but a little time before I had a great many
acquaintance; among the number of them, was Signior Jaques


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 187

Honorius Cittolini. He, of all the rest, I was most intimate with; and tho' to the generality of people he behaved himself
with an air of imperiousness, he was to me, all free, and easy; he
seemed as if he took a pleasure in obliging me; carried me
everywhere with him; introduced me to the best company.
When I was absent he spoke of me, as of a person who he had
the highest esteem for; and when I was present, if there were
any in company whose rank obliged him to place them above
me in the room; he took care to testify that I was not below
them in his respect; in fine, he was never more happy than when
he was giving me some proof how much he was my friend; and
I was not a little satisfied that a man of almost twice my years
should believe me qualified for his companion in such a manner
as he made me.

"When the melancholly account of my fathers death came
to my ears, he omitted nothing to persuade me to sell my estate
in France, and settle in Rome; he told me he had a daughter,
whose heart had been the aim of the chiefest nobility; but that
he would buy my company at that price, and to keep me here,
would give me her. This proposition was not altogether so
pleasing to me, as perhaps, he imagined it would be. I had
heard much talk of this ladies beauty, but I had never seen her;
and at that time, love was little in my thoughts, especially that
sort which was to end in marriage. However, I would not
absolutely refuse his offer, but evaded it, which I had the better
pretence for, because Violetta (so was his daughter called) was
gone to Vitterbo to visit a sick relation, and I could not have
the opportunity of seeing her. In the mean time, he made me
acquainted "with his deepest secrets; among many other things
he told me, that tho' their family was one of the greatest in
Rome, yet by the too great liberality of his father, himself and
one sister was left with very little to support the grandeur of
their birth; but that his sister who was acknowledged a woman
of an uncommon beauty, had the good fortune to appear so, to
Signior Marcarius Fialasco; he was the possessor of immense
riches, but very old; but the young lady found charms enough
in his wealth to ballance all other deficiencies; she married, and
buried him in a month's time, and he died so full of fondness to


188 ELIZA HAYWOOD


his lovely bride, that he left her mistress of all he had in the
world; giving only to a daughter he had by a former wife, the
fortune which her mother had brought him, and that too, and
herself to be disposed of, in marriage, as this triumphant widow
should think fit; and she, like a kind sister, thought none worthy
of that alliance, but her brother; and in a few days he said, he
did not doubt but that I should see him a bridgegroom. I asked
him if he was happy enough to have made an interest in the
young lady's heart; and he very frankly answered, that he was
not of a humour to give himself much uneasiness about it, since
it was wholly in his sisters power to make him master of her
person, and she resolved to do that, or confine her in a monastry for ever. I could not help feeling a compassionate concern
for this lady, tho' she was a stranger to me, for I could not
believe, so beautiful and accomplished a woman, as he had
often described her to be, could find any thing in her designed
husband which could make this match agreeable. Nothing can
be more different from graceful, than the person of Cittolini; he
is of a black swarthy complexion, hooked nosed, wall eyed,
short of stature, and tho' he is very lean, the worst shaped man I
ever saw; then for his temper, as friendly as he behaved to me, I
discerned a great deal of treachery, and baseness in it to others;
a perpetual peevishness and pride appeared in his deportment
to all those who had any dpendance on him. And I had been
told by some who knew him perfectly well, that his cruel usage
of his first lady had been the means of her death; but this was
none of my business, and tho' I pitied the lady, yet my gratitude
to him engaged me to wish him success in all his undertakings.
'Till one day, unluckily both for him and me, as it has since
proved; he desired me to accompany him to the house of Ciamara, for so is his sister called, being, willing I suppose, that I
should be a witness of the extraordinary state she lived in; and
indeed, in all the courts I had been at, I never saw any thing
more magnificent than her apartments; the vast quantity of
plate, the richness of the furniture, and the number of servants
attending on her, might have made her be taken rather for a princess, than a private woman. There was a very noble collation,
and she sat at table with us, her self, a particular favour


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 189


from an Italian lady. She is by many years younger than her
brother, and extreamly handsome; but has I know not what of
fierceness in her eyes, which renders her, at least to me, a beauty,
without a charm. After the entertainment, Cittolini took me
into the gardens, which were answerable to what I had seen
within, full of curiosities; at one end there was a little building
of marble, to which he led me, and entering into it; 'see here,
monsieur,' said he, 'the place where my sister spends the greatest
part of her hours, and tell me if'tis in this kind of diversion that
the French ladies take delight.' I presently saw it was full of
books, and guessed those words were designed for satyr1 on our
ladies, whose disposition to gallantry seldom affords much time
for reading; but to make as good a defence for their honour as I
was able, 'Signior,' replied I, 'it must be confest, that there are
very few ladies of any nation, who think the acquisition of
knowledge, worth the pains it must cost them in the search, but
that ours is not without some examples, that all are not of that
mind, our famous D'anois and D'acier2 may evince.' 'Well, well,'
interrupted he laughing; 'the propensity which that sex bears to
learning is so trifling, that I shall not pretend to hold any argument
on its praise; nor did I bring you here so much to engage
you to admire my sisters manner of amusement, as to give you
an opportunity of diverting your self, while I go to pay a compliment
to my mistress; who, tho' I have a very great confidence
in you, I dare not trust with the sight of so
accomplished a chevalier.' With these words he left me, and I,
designing to do as he had desired, turned to the shelves to take
down what book I could find most suitable to my humour; but
good God! as I was tumbling them over, I saw thro' a window
which looked into a garden behind the study, tho' both belonging
to one person, a woman, or rather angel, coming down a
walk directly opposite to where I was; never did I see in one
person such various perfections blended, never did any woman


1 Satire.

2 Marie--Catherine La Mothe, baronne d'Aulnoy (c. 1650--1705), influential writer of
fictionalized court memoirs and travels; Anne Dacier (c. 1654--1720), Hellenist and
Latinist most famous for her translations of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey.


190 ELIZA HAYWOOD


wear so much of her soul in her eyes, as did this charmer. I saw
that moment in her looks, all I have since experienced of her
genius, and her humour; wit, judgment, good nature and generosity
are in her countenance, conspicuous as in her actions;
but to go about to make a description were to wrong her; she
has graces so peculiar, that none, without knowing her, can be
able to conceive; and tho' nothing can be finer than her shape,
or more regular than her features; yet those, our fancy or a painters art may copy. There is something so inexpressibly striking
in her air, such a delightful mixture of awful and attractive
in every little motion, that no immagination can come up to.
But if language is too poor to paint her charms, how shall I
make you sensible of the effects of them on me! the surprize -- the love -- the adoration which this fatal view involved me in,
but by that which, you say, your self felt at the first sight of Mel liora. I was, methought, all spirit, -- I beheld her with raptures,
such as we imagine souls enjoy when freed from earth, they
meet each other in the realms of glory; 'twas heaven to gaze
upon her. But Oh! the bliss was short, the envious trees
obscured her lustre from me. -- The moment I lost sight of her,
I found my passion by my pain; the joy was vanished, but the sting remained -- I was so buried in thought, that I never so
much as stirred a step to endeavour to discover which way she went; tho' if I had considered the situation of the place, it
would have been easy for me to have known there was a communication
between the two gardens, and if I had gone but a
few paces out of the study, must have met her; but love had for
the present deprived me of my senses; and it but just entered
into my head that there was a possibility of renewing my happiness
when I perceived Cittolini returning. When he came
pretty near, 'Dear Frankville,' said he, 'pardon my neglect of
you; but I have been at Camilla's1 apartment, and am told she is
in the lower garden; I will but speak to her, snatch a kiss and be
with you again.' He went hastily by me without staying for any
answer, and it was well he did so, for the confusion I was in, had
made me little able to reply. His words left me no room to


1 The name of a warrior famous for her speed in Virgil's Aeneid.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 191


hope it was any other than Camilla I had seen, and the treachery
I was guilty of to my friend, in but wishing to invade his
right, gave me a remorse which I had never known before. But
these reflections lasted not long; love generally exerts himself
on these occasions, and is never at a loss for means to remove
all the scruples that may be raised to oppose him. 'Why,' said I
to my self, 'should I be thus tormented? She is not yet married,
and 'tis almost impossible she can with satisfaction, ever yield to
be so, to him. Could I but have opportunity to talk to her, -- to
let her know my passion, -- to endeavour to deliver her from
the captivity she is in, perhaps she would not condemn my
temerity.' I found a great deal of pleasure in this thought, but I
was not suffered to enjoy it long. Honour suggested to me, that
Cittolini loved me, had obliged me, and that to supplant him
would be base and treacherous. 'But would it not be more so,'
cried the dictates of my love, 'to permit the divine Camilla to
fall a sacrifice to one so every way undeserving of her; one
who 'tis likely she abhors; one who despises her heart, so he
may but possess her fortune to support his pride, and her person
to gratify a passion far unworthy of the name of love; one,
who 'tis probable, when master of the one, and satiated with
the other, may treat her with the utmost inhumanity.' Thus, for
a time, were my thoughts at strife; but love at length got the
victory, and I had so well composed my self before Cittolini's
return, that he saw nothing of the disorder I had been in; but it
was not so with him, his countenance, at the best displeasing
enough, was now the perfect representative of ill nature, malice,
and discontent. Camilla had assured him, that nothing could be
more her aversion, and that she was resolved, tho' a monastick
life was what she had no inclination to, yet she would fly to
that shelter, to avoid his bed. You may imagine, my lord, I was
transported with an excess of joy, when he told me this; but
love taught me to dissemble it, 'till I had taken leave of him,
which I made an excuse to do, as soon as possible.

"Now all that troubled me was to find an opportunity to
declare my passion; and I confess, I was so dull in contrivance,
that tho' it took up all my thoughts, none of them were to any
purpose. Three or four days I spent in fruitless projections, the


192 ELIZA HAYWOOD


last of which I met with a new embarrassment; Cittolini's
daughter was returned, he renewed his desires of making me his
son, and invited me the next evening to his house, where I was
to be entertained with the sight of her; I could not well avoid
giving him my promise to be there, but resolved in my mind to
behave my self in such a manner as should make her disapprove
of me. While I was thus busied in contriving how to avoid
Violetta, and engage Camilla, a woman wrapt up very closely in
her vail came to my lodgings, and brought me a note, in which
I found these words.


To Monsieur Frankville.


My father is resolved to make me yours; and if he has your consent,
mine will not be demanded; he has commanded me to
receive you tomorrow, but I have a particular reason to desire to
see you sooner; I am to pass the night with Camilla at my Aunt
Ciamara's; there is a little wicket that opens from the garden,
directly opposite to the convent of St. Francis;1 if you will favour
me so far as to come there at ten a clock to night, and give seven
gentle knocks at the gate, you shall know the cause of my
entreating this private interview, which is of more moment than
the life of


Violetta.


"Never had I been more pleasingly surprized, than at the
reading these lines; I could not imagine the lady could have any
other reason for seeing me in private, than to confess that her
heart was pre-engaged, and disswade me from taking the
advantage of her father's authority; a secret hope too, sprung
within my soul that my adorable Camilla might be with her,
and after I had dismissed the woman, with an assurance that I
would attend her lady, I spent my time in vast idea's of
approaching happiness 'till the appointed hour arrived.

"But how great was my disappointment, when being admit-

1 4th d.; :st d. reads "Sir Francis" here but St. Francis elsewhere.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 193


ted, I could distinguish, tho' the place was very dark, that I was
received but by one and accosted by her, in a manner very different
from what I expected. 'I know not, monsieur,' said she,
'how you interpret this freedom I have taken; but whatever we
pretend, our sex, of all indignities, can the least support those
done to our beauty; I am not vain enough of mine, to assure
my self of making a conquest of your heart; and if the world
should know you have seen, and refused me, my slighted charms
would be the theme of mirth to those whose envy now they are.
I therefore beg, that if I am disliked, none but my self may
know it; when you have seen my face, which you shall do so
immediately, give me your opinion freely; and if it is not to my
advantage, make some pretence to my father to avoid coming
to our house.' I protest to you, my lord, that I was so much surprized
at this odd kind of proceeding, that I knew not presently
how to reply, which she imagining by my silence, 'Come,
come, monsieur,' said she, 'I am not yet on even terms with
you, having often seen your face, and you wholly a stranger to mine. But when our knowledge of each other is mutual, I hope
you will be as free in your declaration as I have been in my request.' These words I thought were as proper for my purpose
as I could wish, and drawing back a little, as she was about to
lead me, 'Madam,' said I, 'since you have that advantage,
methinks it were but just, you should reveal what sort of sentiments
the sight of me has inspired, for I have too much reason
from the knowledge of my demerit, to fear, you have no other
designs in exposing your charms, than to triumph in the captivating
a heart you have already doomed to misery'; 'I will tell
you nothing,' answered she, 'of my sentiments 'till I have a perfect
knowledge of yours.' As she spoke this, she gave me her
hand to conduct me out of that place of darkness; as we went, I
had all the concern at the apprehension of being too much
approved of by this young lady, as I should have had for the
contrary, if I had imagined who it was I had been talking with,
for as soon as we came out of the grotto, I saw by the light
of the moon, which shone that night with an uncommon
lustre, the face which in those gardens had before so charmed
me, and which had never since been absent from my thoughts.

194 ELIZA HAYWOOD


What joy, what a mixture of extacy and wonder, then filled my
raptured soul at this second view; at first I could not trust my
eyes, or think my happiness was real. I gazed, and gazed again in
silent transport, for the big bliss surpassed the reach of words.
'What monsieur,' said she, observing my confusion, 'are you yet
dumb, is there anything so dreadful in the form of Violetta, to
deprive you of your speech.' 'No madam,' replied I, "tis not
Violetta has that power, but she, who unknowing that she did
so, caught at first sight the victory o're my soul, she, for whom I
have vented so many sighs; she for whom I languished and
almost died for, while Violetta was at Vitterbo. She! the divine
Camilla only could inspire a passion such as mine'; -- 'Oh heavens!'
cried she, and at that instant I perceived her lovely face all
crimsoned o're with blushes; 'is it then possible that you know
me, have seen me before, and that I have been able to make any
impression on you?' I then told her of the visit I had made to
Ciamara with Cittolini, and how by his leaving me in the marble--study,
I was blest with the sight of her; and from his friend
became his rival. I let her know the conflicts my honour and
my obligations to Cittolini had engaged me in; the thousand
various inventions love had suggested to me, to obtain that happiness
I now enjoyed, the opportunity of declaring my self her
slave; and in short, concealed not the least thought tending to
my passion from her. She, in requital, acquainted me, that she
had often seen me from her window, go into the convent of St.
Francis, walking in the collonade at St. Peter's, and in several
other places, and, prompted by an extravagance of good nature,
and generosity, confessed, that her heart felt something at those
views, very prejudicial to her repose; that Cittolini, always disagreeable,
was now grown odious; that the discourse she had
heard of my intended marriage with his daughter, had given
her an alarm impossible to be expressed, and that, unable longer
to support the pangs of undiscovered passion, she had writ to
me in that ladies name, who she knew I had never seen, resolving,
if I liked her as Violetta, to own her self Camilla, if not, to
go the next day to a monastry, and devote to Heaven those
charms which wanted force to make a conquest where alone
she wished they should.


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 195


"I must leave it to your lordship's imagination to conceive
the wild tumultuous hurry of disordered joy which filled my
ravished soul at this condescention; for I am now as unable to
discribe it, as I was then to thank the dear, the tender author of
it, but what words had not power to do, looks and actions tesitfyed.
I threw my self at her feet, embraced her knees, and kissed
the hand she raised me with, with such a fervor, as no false love
could feign; while she, all softness, all divinely kind, yielded to
the pressure of my glowing lips, and suffered me to take all the
freedom, which honour and modesty would permit. This
interview was too felicitous to be easily broken off; it was
almost broad day when we parted, and nothing but her
promise, that I should be admitted the next night, could have
enabled me to take leave of her.

"I went away highly satisfied, as I had good reason, with my
condition, and after recollecting all the tender passages of our
conversation, I began to consider after what manner I should
proceed with Cittolini; to visit and address his daughter, I
thought would be treacherous and deceitful to the last degree;
and how to come off, after the promise I made of seeing her
that evening, I could not tell; at last, since necessity obliged me
to one, I resolved of the two evils to chuse the least, and rather
to seem rude, then base, which I must have been, had I by counterfeiting
a desire to engage Violetta, left room for a possibility
of creating one in her. I therefore, writ to Cittolini an excuse
for not waiting on him and his daughter, as I had promised,
telling him that I, on more serious reflection found it wholly
inconsistent, either with my circumstances, or inclinations, to
think of passing all my life in Rome; that I thanked him for the
honour he intended me, but that it was my misfortune, not to
be capable of accepting it. Thus, with all the artifice I was master
of, I endeavoured to sweeten the bitter pill of refusal, but in
vain; for he was so much disgusted at it, that he visited me no
more. I cannot say, I had gratitude enough to be much concerned
at being compelled to use him in this fashion; for, since
I had beheld, and adored Camilla, I could consider him no
longer as a friend, but as the most dangerous enemy to my
hopes and me. All this time I spent the best part of the nights


196 ELIZA HAYWOOD


with Camilla, and in one of them, after giving, and receiving a
thousand vows of ever-lasting faith, I snatched a lucking1 moment, and obtained from the dear melting charmer, all that
my fondest, and most eager wishes could aspire to. Yes, my lord,
the soft, the trembling fair, dissolved in love; yielded without
reserve, and met my transports with an equal ardor; and I truely
protest to your lordship, that what in others, palls desire, added
fresh force to mine; the more I knew, the more I was inflamed,
and in the highest raptures of enjoyment, the bliss was dashed
with fears, which proved alass, but too prophetick, that some
curst chance might drive me from my heaven. Therefore, to
secure it mine for ever, I pressed the lovely partner of my joys,
to give me leave to bring a priest with me the next night; who by giving a sanction to our love, might put it past the power of
malice to disunite us. Here, I experienced the greatness of her
soul, and her almost unexampled generosity; for in spite of all
her love, her tenderness, and the unbounded condescentions
she had made me, it was with all the difficulty in the world, that
I persuaded her to think of marrying me without a fortune;
which by her father's will, was wholly in the disposal of Ciama--
ra, who it would have been madness to hope, would ever
bestow it upon me. However, my arguments at last prevailed; I
was to bring a fryar of the order of St. Francis, who was my
intimate friend, the next night to join our hands; which done,
she told me, she would advise to leave Rome with what speed
we could, for she doubted not but Cittolini would make use of
any means, tho' never so base or bloody, to revenge his disappointment.
This proposal infinitely pleased me, and after I had
taken leave of her, I spent the remainder of the night, in contriving
the means of our escape. Early in the morning I secured
post--horses, and then went to the convent of St. Francis, a
purse of Lewis d'ors soon engaged the fryar to my interest, and I
had every thing ready in wonderful order, considering the
shortness of time, for our design; when returning home towards
evening, as well to take a little rest after the fatigue I had had, as
to give some other necessary directions concerning the affair to


1 Possibly an error -- Haywood uses "lucky moment" below (288)-- but "to luck" is
dialect for "to be lucky, prosper, succeed" (OKD).


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 197


my servants, when one of them gave me a letter, which had
been just left for me."

Monsieur Frankville could not come to this part of his story,
without some sighs, but suppressing them as well as he was
able, he took some papers out of his pocket, and singling out
one, read to the Count as follows.


To Monsieur Frankville.


With what words can I represent the greatness of my misfortune,
or exclaim against the perfidy of my woman? I was obliged to
make her the confidant of my passion, because without her assistance,
I could not have enjoyed the happiness of your conversation,
and 'tis by her that I am now betrayed -- undone, -- lost to
all hopes of ever seeing you more -- What have I not endured
this day, from the upbraidings of Ciamara and Cittolini, but that
I should dispise, nay, my own ruin too, if you were safe -- But
Oh! their malice aims to wound me most, through you -- Bravo's
are hired, the price of your blood is paid, and they have sworn to
take your life -- Guard it I conjure you, if you would preserve
that of Camilla's -- Attempt not to come near this house, nor
walk alone, when night may be an umbrage1 to their designs. -- I
hear my cruel enemies returning to renew their persecutions, and
I have time to inform you no more, than that 'tis to the generous
Violetta you are indebted for this caution. She, in pity of my
agonies, and to prevent her father from executing the crime he
intends, conveys this to you, slight it not, if you would have me
believe you love,


Camilla.


"What a turn was ere," continued he, sadly, "in my fortune?
How on a sudden was my scene of happiness changed to the
blackest dispair? -- But not to tire your lordship, and spin out
my narration, which is already too long with unavailing complainings.
I every day expected a challenge from Cittolini,


1 A cover; literally, a shade.


198 ELIZA HAYWOOD


believing he would, at least, take that method at first, but it
seems he was for chusing the surest, not the fairest way. And I
have since proved, that my dear Camilla had too much reason
for the caution she gave me. Ten days I lingred out without
being able to invent any means, either to see her, or write to
her; at the end of which, I received another letter from her,
which, if I were to tell you the substance of, would be to wrong
her; since no words but her own are fit to express her meaning,
and 'tis for that reason only, I shall read it.


To Monsieur Frankville.


Of all the woes which wait on humane life, sure there is none
equal to that a lover feels in absence; 'tis a kind of hell, an
earnest of those pains, we are told, shall be the portion of the
damned -- Ten whole nights, and days, according to the vulgar
reckoning, but in mine, as many ages, have rolled their tedious
hours away since last I saw you, in all which time my eyes have
never known one moments cessation from my tears, nor my sad
heart from anguish; restless I wander thro' this hated house -- kiss
the closed wicket -- stop, and look at every place which I remember
thy dear steps have blest, then, with wild ravings, think of
past joys, and curse my present woes -- yet, you perhaps are calm,
no sympathizing pang invades your soul, and tells you what
mine suffers, else, you would -- you must have found some means
to ease your self and me -- 'tis true, I bid you not attempt it -- but
Oh! if you had loved like me, you could not have obeyed -- Desire has no regard to prudence, it dispises danger, and overlooks
even impossibilities -- but whether am I going? -- I say, I
know not what -- Oh, mark not what distraction utters! Shun
these detested walls! -- 'Tis reason now commands! Fly from this
house, where injured love's enslaved, and death and treachery
reign -- I charge thee come not near, nor prove thy faith so hazardous
a way -- Forgive the little fears, which ever dwell with love -- I know thou art all sincerity! -- all godlike truth, and can'st not
change -- yet, if thou shouldst, -- tormenting thought! -- Why1


1 Preceding dash supplied from previous page's catchword.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 199


then, there's not a heaven--abandoned wretch, so lost -- so curst as
I. -- What shall I do to shake off apprehension? In spite of all
thy vows -- thy ardent vows, when I but think of any maid, by
love and fond belief undone, a deadly cold runs thro' my veins,
congeals my blood, and chills my very soul! -- Gazing on the
moon last night, her lustre brought fresh to my memory those
transporting moments, when by that light I saw you first a lover;
and, I think inspired me, who am not usually fond of versifying
to make her this complaint.


The unfortunate Camilla's Complaint to the Moon, for the
Absence of her Dear Henricus Frankville.


Mild queen of shades! Thou sweetly shining light!

Once, more then Phoebus, welcome to my sight:

'Twas by thy beams I first Henricus saw

Adorned with softness, and disarmed of awe!

Never did'st thou appear more fair! more bright!

Than on that dear, that cause-remembred night!

When the dull tyes of friendship he disclaimed,

And to inspire a tend'rer passion aimed.

Alas! he could not long, in vain, implore
For that, which tho' unknown, was his before;

Nor had I art the secret to disguise,

My soul spoke all her meaning thro' my eyes,

And every glance bright'ned with glad surprize!

Lost to all thought, but his transporting charms,

I sunk, unguarded! melting in his arms!

Blest at that lavish rate, my state, that hour

I'd not have changed for all in Fortune's pow'r;

Nay, had discending angel's from on high

Spread their bright wings, to waft me to the sky,

Thus clasped! coelestial charms had failed to move

And heav'n been slighted, for Henricus love.

How did I then thy happy influence bless?

How watch each joyful night, thy lights encrease?

But Oh! how altered since -- Dispairing now,

I view thy lustre with contracted brow,


200 ELIZA HAYWOOD


Pensive, and sullen from thy rays would hide,

And scarce the glimmering star's my griefs abide,

In death--like darkness would my fate deplore

And wish thee to go down, to rise no more!


Pity the extravagance of a passion which only charms like thine
could create, nor too severely chide this soft impertinence, which I
could not refrain sending you, when I can neither see you, nor
hear from you, to write, gives some little respite to my pains,
because I am sure of being in your thoughts, while you are reading
my letters. The tender hearted Violetta prefering the tyes of
friendship to those of duty, gives me this happy opportunity, but
my ill--fortune deprives me too of her, she goes to morrow to her
fathers villa, and heaven knows when I shall find means to send
to you again.

Farewel, thou loveliest, dearest, and divine charmer -- Think
of me with a concern full of tenderness, but that is not enough,
and you must pardon me, when I confess, that I cannot forbear
wishing you might feel some of those pains, impatient longings
bring. -- All others be far away, as far, as joy is, when you are
absentfrom


Your Unfortunate
Camilla.


P.S. Since I writ this, a fancy came into my head, that if you
could find a friend trusty enough to confide in, and one unknown
to our family, he might gain admittance to me in Cittolini's
name, as sent by him, while he is at the villa. I flatter my self
you will take as much pleasure in endeavouring to let me hear
from you, as I do in the hope of it. Once more Adieu.


"Your lordship may judge, by what I have told you of the
sincerity of my passion, how glad I should have been to have
complied with her request, but it was utterly impossible to find
any body fit for such a business. I passed three or four days
more, in disquietudes too great to be exprest; I sauntered up
and down the street where she lived, in hopes to see her at


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 201


some of the windows, but fortune never was so favourable to
me; thus I spent my days, and left the sight of those dear walls at
nights, but in obedience to the charge she had given me of preserving
my life.

"Thus, my lord, has the business of my love engrossed my
hours, ever since your lordships arrival, and tho' I heard that
you were here, and extreamly wished to kiss your hands, yet I
could never get one moment composed enough to wait on
you in, 'till what my desires could not do, the rashness of my
indignation effected. Last night, being at my bankers where all
my bills and letters are directed, I found this, from Monsieur
Sanseverin; the rage which the contents of it put me in, kept
me from remembring that circumspection, which Camilla had
enjoyned, and I thought of nothing but revenging the injury I
imagined you had done me. As I was coming home I was
attacked as you saw, when you so generously preserved me, the
just indignation I conceived at this base procedure of Cittolini's
transported me so far, as to make me forget what I owed to my
deliverer, to run in pursuit of those who assaulted me, but soon
lost sight of them, and returning, as gratitude and honour called
me, to seek, and thank you for your timely assistance, I found a
throng of people about the body of the villain I had killed,
some of them were for examining me, but finding no wounds
about me, nor any marks of the engagement I had been in, I
was left at my liberty.

"Thus, my lord, have I given you, in as brief a manner as the
changes of my fortune would permit, the account of my present
melancholly circumstances, in which, if you find many
things blameable, you must acknowlege there are more which
require compassion."

"I see no reason," answered the Count, "either for the one or
the other, you have done nothing but what any man, who is a
lover, would gladly have it in his power to do, and as for your
condition it certainly is more to be envied than pitied. The
lady loves, is constant, and doubtless will some way or other,
find means for her escape. --""Impossible!" cried Frankville,
interrupting him, "she is too strictly watched to suffer such a
hope." "If you will prepare a letter," resumed D'Elmont, "my


202 ELIZA HAYWOOD


self will undertake to be the bearer of it; I am intirely a stranger
to the people you have been speaking of, or if I should chance
to be known to them, cannot be suspected to come from you,
since our intimacy, so lately born, cannot yet be talked of, to
the prejudice of our design; and how do you know, continued
he smiling, but, if I have the good fortune to be introduced to
this lady, that I shall not be able to assist her invention to form
some scheme, for both your future happiness." This offer was
too agreeable to be refused, Frankville accepted it with all the
demonstrations of gratitude and joy inimaginable, and setting
himself down to the Count's scrutore, was not long writing the
following billet which he gave him to read before he sealed it.


To the most Lovely and Adorable
Camilla.


If to consume with inward burnings, to have no breath but sighs,
to wish for death, or madness to relieve me, from the racks of
thought, be misery consummate, such is mine! and yet my too
unjust Camilla thinks I feel no pain, and chides my cold tranquility;
could I be so, I were indeed a wretch deserving of my fate,
but far unworthy of your pity or regard. No, no, thou loveliest,
softest, most angelic creature that heaven, in lavish bounty, ever
sent to charm the adoring world; he that could know one
moments stupid calm in such an absence, ought never to be blest
with those unbounded joys thy presence brings. What would I
not give, what would I not hazard but once more to behold thee,
to gaze upon thy eyes, those suns of kindling transports, to touch
thy enlivening hand, to feed upon the ravishing sweetness of thy
lips; Oh the immagination's extacy, life were too poor to set on
such a cast, and you should long e're this have proved the little
value I have for it, in competition with my love, if your commands
had not restrained me. Cittolini's malice, however, had last
night been gratified, if the noble Count D'Elmont had not been
inspired for my preservation; it is to him I am indebted, not only
for my life, but a much greater favour, that of conveying to you
the assurance, how much my life, my soul, and all the faculties of
it are eternally yours. Thank him, my Camilla, for your


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 203


Frankville, for words like thine are only jit to praise, as it
deserves, such an exalted generosity; 'tis with an infinite deal of
satisfaction I reflect how much thy charms will justify my conduct
when he sees thee, all that excess of passion, which my fond souls
too full of to conceal, that highth of adoration, which offered to
any other woman would be sacriledge, the wonders of thy beauty
and thy wit, claim as their due, and prove Camilla, like heaven,
can never be too much reverenced! be too much loved! -- But,
Oh! how poor is language to express what 'tis I think, thus raptured
with thy idea, thou best, thou brightest -- thou most perfect
-- thou something more than excellence itself-- thou far surpassing
all that words can speak, or heart, unknowing thee, conceive;
yet I could dwell for ever on the theme, and swell whole volumes
with enervate, tho' well--meaning praises, if my impatience, to
have what I have already writ, be with you, did not prevent my
saying any more than, that but in you I live, nor could support
this death--like absence, but for some little intervals of hope, which sometimes flatter me, that fortune will grow weary of persecuting
me, and one day re-unite my body to my soul and make
us both inseparably yours,


Frankville.


These new made friends having a fellow--feeling of each
others sufferings, as proceeding from one source, passed the
time in little else but amorous discourses, till it was a proper
hour for the Count to perform his promise, and taking a full
direction from Frankville how to find the house, he left him at
his lodgings to wait his return from Ciamara's, forming, all the
way he went, a thousand projects to communicate to Camilla
for her escape; he was still extreamly uneasy in his mind concerning
Melliora, and longed to be in Paris to know the truth
of that affair, but thought he could not in honour leave her
brother in this embarrassment, and resolved to make use of all
his wit and address to perswade Camilla to hazard every thing
for love, and was not a little pleased with the imagination, that
he should lay so considerable an obligation on Melliora, as this
service to her brother would be. Full of these reflections he


204 ELIZA HAYWOOD


found himself in the portico of that magnificent house he was
to enter, and seeing a crowd of servants about the door, desired
to be brought to the presence of Donna Camilla Fialaso, one of
them, immediately conducted him into a stately room, and
leaving him there, told him, the lady should be made acquainted
with his request; presently after came in a woman, who, tho'
very young, seemed to be in the nature of a duenna;1 the
Count stood with his back toward her as she entered, but hearing
somebody behind him, and turning hastily about, he
observed she startled at sight of him, and appeared so confused
that he knew not what to make of her behaviour, and when he
asked if he might speak with Camilla, and said he had a message
to deliver from Cittolini, she made no other answer than several
times, with an amazed accent, ecchoing the names of Camilla
and Cittolini, as if not able to comprehend his meaning; he
was obliged to repeat his words over and over before she could
recollect herself enough to tell him, that she would let him
know her lady's pleasure instantly. She left him in a good deal
of consternation, at the surprize he perceived the sight of him
had put her into; he formed a thousand uncertain guesses what
the occasion should be, but the mistery was too deep for all his
penetration to fathom, and he waited with abundance of impatience
for her return, or the appearance of her lady, either, of
which, he hoped, might give a solution to this seeming riddle.

He attended a considerable time, and was beginning to grow
excessive uneasy, at this delay, when a magnificent anti-porta being drawn up, he saw, thro' a glass door, which opened into a
gallery, the duenna approaching. She had now entirely composed
her countenance, and with an obliging smile told him,
she would conduct him to her lady. She led him thro' several
rooms, all richly furnished and adorned, but far inferior to the
last he came into, and in which he was again left alone, after
being assured that he should not long be so.

Count D'Elmont could not forbear giving truce to his more
serious reflections, to admire the beauties of the place he was
in, where e'er he turned his eyes, he saw nothing but what was


1 A chaperon, "an old woman kept to guard a younger" (Johnson).


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 205


splendidly luxurious, and all the ornaments contrived in such a
manner, as might fitly be a pattern, to paint the palace of the
Queen of Love by. The ceiling was vastly high and beautified
with most curious paintings, the walls were covered with tapestry,
in which, most artificially were woven, in various
couloured silk, intermixed with gold and silver, a great number
of amorous stories; in one place he beheld a naked Venus sporting
with Adonis;1 in another, the love-transformed Jupiter, just
resuming his shape, and rushing to the arms of Leda;2 there, the
seeming chast Diana embracing her entranced Endimion;3 here, the god of soft desires himself, wounded with an arrow of
his own, and snatching kisses from the no less enamoured
Psiche.4 Betwixt every one of these pieces hung a large looking-glass,
which reached to the top of the room, and out of
each sprung several crystal branches, containing great waxtapers, so that the number of lights vied with the sun, and made
another, and more glorious day, than that which lately was
withdrawn. At the upper end of this magnificent chamber,
there was a canopy of crimson velvet, richly embossed, and
trimmed with silver, the corners of which were supported by
two golden Cupids, with stretched out wings, as if prepared to
fly; two of their hands grasped the extremity of the valen,5 and
the other, those nearest to each other, joyned to hold a wreath
of flowers, over a couch, which stood under the canopy. But tho' the Count was very much taken at first with what he saw,
yet he was too true a lover to be long delighted with any thing
in the absence of his mistress. "How heavenly," said he to himself
sighing, "would be this place, if I expected Melliora here!
But Oh! how preferable were a cottage blest with her, to all this


1 The goddess of love herself loved the mortal Adonis, who was later killed by a boar.

2 Jupiter, the amorous ruler of the gods, transformed himself into a swan to approach
Leda, who later gave birth to Helen of Troy.

3 The moon goddess (usually called Selene in this story) loved Endymion, a mortal
who was placed in a permanent sleep where she visited him nightly.

4 Cupid loves the mortal woman Psyche in an episode in Apuleius' late--classical
satire The Golden Ass; her beauty provokes his mother Venus'jealousy, but after
secret love, separation, and the ordeals Venus imposes on Psyche, the lovers are united
in heaven.

5 The valence, a short curtain.


206 ELIZA HAYWOOD


pomp and grandeur with any other"; this consideration threw
him into a deep musing, which made him forget either where
he was, or the business which brought him there, till roused
from it by the dazling owner of this sumptuous apartment;
nothing could be more glorious than her appearance; she was
by nature, a woman of a most excellent shape, to which, her
desire of pleasing, had made her add all the aids of art; she was
drest in a gold and silver stuff petticoat, and a wastcoat of plain
blue sattin, set round the neck and sieves, and down the seams
with diamonds, and fastned on the breast, with jewels of a
prodigious largeness and lustre; a girdle of the same encompassed
her waste; her hair, of which she had great quantity, was
black as jet, and with a studied negligence, fell part of it on her
neck in careless ringlets, and the other was turned up, and fastened
here and there with bodkins, which had pendant diamonds
hanging to 'em, and as she moved, glittered with a
quivering blaze, like stars darting their fires from out a sable
sky; she had a vail on, but so thin, that it did not, in the least,
obscure the shine of her garments; or her jewels, only she had
contrived to double that part of it which hung over her face, in
so many folds, that it served to conceal her as well as a vizard mask.

The Count made no doubt but this was the lady for whom
he waited, and throwing off that melancholly air he had been
in, assumed one, all gay and easy, and bowing low, as he
advanced to meet her, "Madam," said he, "if you are that
incomparable Camilla whose goodness, nothing but her beauty
can equalize, you will forgive the intrusion of a stranger, who
confesses himself no other way worthy of the honour of your
conversation, but by his desires to serve him who is much more
so." "A friend of Cittolini's," answered she, "can never want
admittance here, and if you had no other plea, the name you
come in, is a sufficient warrant for your kind reception." "I
hope," resumed he, in a low voice, and looking round to see if
there were no attendants in hearing, "I bring a letter from
Frankville, madam, the adoring Frankville, I have these credentials
to justify my visit"; in speaking this he delivered the letter
to her, which she retiring a few paces from him to read, gave


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 207


him an opportunity of admiring the majesty of her walk, and
the agreeable loftiness of her mein, much more than he had
time to do before.

She dwelt not long on the contents of the letter, but throwing
it carelessly down on a table which stood near her, turned
to the Count and with an accent which expressed not much
satisfaction; "and was it to you, my lord," said she, "that Monsieur
Frankville owed his preservation?" "I was so happy,"
replied he, "to have some little hand in it, but since I have
known how dear he is to you, think my self doubly blest by
Fortune for the means of acting any thing conducive to your
peace." "If you imagine that this is so," resumed she hastily, "you
are extreamly mistaken, as you will always be, when you
believe, where Count D'Elmont appears, any other man seems
worthy the regard of a discerning woman; but," continued she,
perceiving he looked surprized, "to spare your suspence, and
my self the trouble of repeating what you know already, behold
who she is, you have been talking to, and tell me now, if
Frankville has any interest in a heart to which this face
belongs?" With these words she threw off her vail, and instead
of lessening his amazement, very much encreased it, in discovering
the features of the lady, wih whom he had discoursed
the night before in the garden. He knew not what to think, or
how to reconcile to reason, that Camilla, who so latety loved,
and had granted the highest favours to Frankville should on a
sudden be willing, uncourted, to bestow them on another, nor
could he comprehend how the same person should at once live
in two several places, for he conceived the house he was in, was
far distant from the garden which he had been in the night
before.

They both remained for some moments in a profound
silence, the lady expecting when the Count should speak, and
he endeavouring to recollect himself enough to do so, 'till she,
at last, probably guessing at his thoughts, resumed her discourse
in this manner. "My lord," said she, "wonder not at the power
of love, a form like yours might soften the most rugged heart,
much more one, by nature so tender as is mine. -- Think but
what you are," continued she sighing, and making him sit down


208 ELIZA HAYWOOD


by her on the couch, "and you will easily excuse whatever my
passion may enforce me to commit." "I must confess, madam,"
answered he very gravely, "I never in my life wanted presence
of mind so much as at this juncture, to see before me here, the
person, who, I believed, lived far from hence, who, by appointment,
I was to wait on this night at a different place. -- To find
in the mistress of my friend, the very lady, who seems
unworthily to have bestowed her heart on me, are circumstances
so incoherent as I can neither account for, or make evident
to reason, tho' they are too truly so to sense." "It will be
easy," replied she, "to reconcile both of these seeming contradictions,
when you shall know that the gardens belonging to
this house, are of a very large extent, and not only that, but the
turning of the streets are so ordered, as make the distance
between the fore and back door appear much greater than realy
it is; and for the other, as I have already told you, you ought to
be better acquainted with your self, than to be surprized at
consequences which must infallibly attend such charms"; in
saying this, she turned her head a little on one side, and put her
handkerchief before her face, affecting to seem confused at
what she spoke; but the Count redned in good earnest, and
with a countenance which expressed sentiments, far different
from those she endeavoured to inspire. "Madam," said he, "tho'
the good opinion you have of me is owing entirely to the error
of your fancy, which too often, especially in your sex, blinds the judgment, yet, 'tis certain, that there are not many men, whom
such praises, coming from a mouth like yours, would not make
happy and vain; but if I was ever of a humour to be so, it is now
wholly mortified in me, and 'tis but with the utmost regret, that
I must receive the favours you confer on me to the prejudice of
my friend." "And is that," interrupted she hastily, "is that the only cause? Does nothing but your friendship to Frankville prevent
my wishes?" "That, of itself," answered he, "were a sufficient
bar to sunder us for ever, but there's another, if not a
greater, a more tender one, which, to restore you to the path,
which honour, gratitude, and reason call you to, I must inform
you of, yes, I must tell you, madam, all lovely as you are, that
were there no such man as Frankville, in the world -- Were you
as free as air, I have a defence within, which all your charms can


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 209


never pierce, nor softness melt -- I am already bound, not with
the weak tyes of vows or formal obligations, which confine no
farther than the body, but inclination! -- the fondest inclination!
that ever swelled a heart with rapturous hopes." The lady had
much ado to contain herself till he had done speaking; she was
by nature extreamly haughty, insolent of her beauty, and impatient
of any thing she thought looked like a slight of it, and this
open defyance of her power, ANd acknowledging anothers, had
sHE been less in love would have been insupportable to her;
"ungrateful and uncourtly man," said she, looking on him with
eyes that sparkled at once with indignation and desire, "you
might have spared yourself the trouble of repeating, and me the
confusion of hearing in what manner you stand engaged; it had
been enough to have told me you never could be mine, without
appearing transported at the ruin which you make; if my
too happy rival possesses charms, I cannot boast, methinks your good manners might have taught you not to insult my wants, and your good nature, to have mingled pity with your justice"; with
these words she fell a weeping, but whether they were tears of
love or anger, is hard to determine, 'tis certain that both those
passions raged this moment in her soul with equal violence,
and if she had, had it in her power, would doubtless have been
glad to have hated him, but he was, at all times, too lovely to
suffer a possibility of that, and much more so at this; for in spite
of the shock, that infidelity he believed her guilty of to
Frankville, gave him, he was by nature so compassionate, he felt the woes he saw, or heard of, even of those who were most
indifferent to him, and could not now behold a face, in which
all the horrors of dispair were in the most lively manner represented,
without displaying a tenderness in his, which in any
other man, might have been taken for love; the dazling radience
of his eyes, gave place to a more dangerous, more bewitching
softness, and when he sighed, in pity of her anguish, a soul
inchanting languishment diffused itself thro' all his air, and
added to his graces; she presently perceived it, and forming new
hopes, as well from that, as from his silence, took hold of his
hand, and pressing it eagerly to her bosom, "Oh my lord!"
resumed she, "you cannot be ungrateful tho' you would. -- I see
you cannot --""Madam," interrupted he, shaking off as much as


210 ELIZA HAYWOOD


possible that show of tenderness, which he found had given her
incouragement;"! wish not to convince you how nearly I am
touched, with what you suffer, least it should encrease an esteem,
which, since prejudicial to your repose, and the interest of my
friend, I rather ought to endeavour to lessen. -- But, as this is not
the entertainment I expected from Camilla, I beg to know an
answer to the business I came upon, and what you decree for
the unfortunate Frankville." If the lady was agitated with an
extremity of vexation at the Count's declaration of his passion
for another, what was she now, at this disappointment of the
hopes she was so lately flattered with; instead of making any
direct reply to what he said, she raged, stamped, tore her hair,
cursed Frankville, all mankind, the world, and in that height of
fury, scarce spared heaven itself; but the violence of her pride
and resentment being a little vented, love took his turn, again
she wept, again she prest his hand, nay she even knelt, and hung
upon his feet, as he would have broke from her, and begged
him with words as eloquent as wit could form, and desperate
dying love suggest, to pity and relieve her misery. But he had
now learned to dissemble his concern, lest it should a second
time beguile her, and after raising her, with as careless and
unmoved an air, as he was capable of putting on. "My presence,
madam," said he, "but augments your disorder, and 'tis only by
seeing you no more, that I am qualified to conduce to the
recovery of your peace." With these words he turned hastily
from her, and was going out of the room, when she, quick as
thought, sprung from the place where she had stood, and being
got between him and the door, and throwing herself into his
arms, before he had time to prevent her; "you must not, shall
not go," she cried, "till you have left me dead." "Pardon me,
madam," answered he fretfully, and struggling to get loose from
her embrace, "to stay after the discovery you have made of your
sentiments, were to be guilty of an injustice almost equal to
your's, therefore I beg you'd give me liberty to pass." -- "Hear
me but speak," resumed she, grasping him yet harder; "return
but for a moment, -- lovely barbarian, -- hell has no tortures like
your cruelty." Here, the different passions working in her soul,
with such uncommon vehemence, hurried her spirits beyond
what nature could support; her voice faultered in the accent,


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 211


her trembling hands by slow degrees relinquished what so
eagerly they had held, every sense forgot its use, and she sunk,
in all appearance, lifeless on the floor. The Count was, if possible,
more glad to be released, than grieved at the occasion, and
contented himself with calling her women to her assistance,
without staying to see when she would recover.

He went out of that house with thoughts much more discomposed
than those with which he had entered it, and when
he came home, where Frankville impatiently waited his return,
he was at the greatest loss in the world, how to discover his
misfortune to him; the other observing the trouble of his mind,
which was very visible in his countenance; "my lord," said he,
in a melancholly tone, "I need not ask you what success, the
gloom which appears on your brow, tells me, my ill fortune has
denied you means of speaking to Camilla"; "accuse not fortune,"
answered D'Elmont, "but the influence of malicious stars
which seldom, if ever, suits our dispositions to our circumstances;
I have seen Camilla, have talked to her, and 'tis from
that discourse that I cannot forbear reflecting on the miseries
of humanity, which, while it mocks us with a show of reason, gives us no power to curb our will, and guide the erring
appetites to peace." Monsieur Frankville at these words first felt
a jealous pang, and as 'tis natural to believe every body admires
what we do, he presently imagined Count D'Elmont had forgot
Melliora in the presence of Camilla, and that it was from
the consciousness of his own weakness and inconstancy, that he
spoke so feelingly. "I wonder not my lord," said he coldly, "that
the beauties of Camilla should inspire you with sentiments,
which, perhaps for many reasons, you would desire to be free
from, and I ought, in prudence, to have considered, that tho'
you are the most excellent of your kind, you are still a man, and
have the passions incident to man, and not have exposed you to
those dangers the sight of Camilla must necessarily involve you
in." "I wish to heaven," answered the Count, easily guessing what his thoughts were, "no greater threatned you, and that
you could think on Camilla with the same indifference as I
can, or she of me with more;" then, in as brief a manner as he
could, he gave him the substance of what had happened.
Frankville, whose only fault was rashness, grew almost wild at


212 ELIZA HAYWOOD


the recital of so unexpected a misfortune, he knew not for a
good while what to believe, loath he was to suspect the Count,
but leather to suspect Camilla, yet flew into extremities of rage
against both, by turns. The Count pityed and forgave all that
the violence of his passion made him utter, but offered not to
argue with him, 'till he found him capable of admitting his reasons,
and then, that open sincerity, that honest noble assurance
which always accompanied his sweetness, and made it difficult
to doubt the truth of any thing he said, won the disordered
lover to an entire conviction; he now concludes his mistress
false, repents the tenderness he has had for her, and tho' she still
appears as lovely to his fancy as ever, she grows odious to his judgement, and resolves to use his utmost efforts to banish her
idea from his heart.
In this humour he took leave of the Count, it growing late,
and his last nights adventure taught him the danger of nocturnal
walks, but how he spent his time till morning, those can
only guess, who have loved like him, and like him, met so cruel
a disappointment.

The Count passed not the night in much less inquietude
than Frankville; he grieved the powerful influence of his own
attractions, and had there not been a Melliora in the world, he would have wished himself deformed, rather than have been
the cause of so much misery, as his loveliness produced.

The next morning the Count designed to visit Frankville, to
strengthen him in his resolution of abandoning all thoughts of
the unconstant Camilla, but before he could get drest, the other
came into his chamber. "My lord," said he, assoon as they were
alone, "my perfidious mistress, failing to make a conquest of
your heart, is still willing to preserve that she had attained over
mine, but all her charms and her delusions are but vain, and to
prove to your lordship that they are so, I have brought the letter
I received from her, scarce an hour past, and the true copy of
my answer to it."


To Monsieur Frankville.


Tho' nothing proves the value of our presence, so much as the
pangs our absence occasions, and in my last I rashly wished you


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 213


might be sensible of mine, yet on examining my heart, I presently
recalled the hasty prayer, and found I loved with that extravagance
of tenderness, that I had rather you returned it too little
than too much, and methinks could better bear to represent you
to my fancy, careless and calm as common lovers are, than think,
I saw you, burning, -- bleeding, -- dying, like me, with hopeless
wishes, and unavailing expectations; but Ah! I fear such apprehensions
are but too un--necessary -- You think not of me, and, if
in those happy days, when no cross accident interveened to part
me from your sight, my fondness pleased, you now find nothing
in Camilla worth a troubled thought, nor breath one tender sigh
in memory of our transports past. -- If I wrong your love, impute
it to distraction, for Oh! 'tis sure I am not in my senses, nor
know to form one regular desire. I act, and speak, and think, a
thousand incoherent things, and tho' I cannot forbear writing to
you, I write in such a manner, so wild, so different from what I
would, that I repent me of the folly I am guilty of, even while I
am committing it; but to make as good a defence as I am able for
these, perhaps, unwelcome lines, I must inform you that they
come not so much to let you know my sentiments, as to engage a
discovery of yours. Ciamara has discharged one of her servants
from her attendance, who no longer courting her favour, or regarding her frowns, I have prevailed upon, not only to bring this to
you, but to convey an answer back to me, by the help of a string
which I am to let down to him from my window; therefore, if you
are but as kind, as he has promised to be faithful, we may often
enjoy the blessing of this distant conversation; heaven only
knows when we shall be permitted to enjoy a nearer. Cittolini is
this evening returned from his villa, and nothing but a miracle
can save me from the necessity of making my choice of him, or a
monastery, either of which is worse than death, since it must
leave me the power to wish, but take away the means, of being
what I so oft have swore to be


Eternally Yours, and

Yours alone,

Camilla.


214 ELIZA HAYWOOD


The Count could not forbear lifting up his eyes and hands in
token of amazement, at the unexampled falshood this woman
appeared guilty of, but perceiving Monsieur Frankville was
about to read the following answer, would not interrupt him,
by asking any questions 'till he had done.


To Donna Camilla.


If vows are any constraint to an inclination so addicted to liberty
as yours, I shall make no difficulty to release you, of all you ever
made to me! Yes madam, you are free to dispose both of your
heart and person wheresoever you think fit, nor do I desire you
should give your self the pains of farther dissimulation. I pay too
entire an obedience to your will, then to continue in a passion
which is no longer pleasing, nor will by an ill timed and unmannerly
constancy disturb the serenity of your future enjoyments
with any happier man than


Frankville.


"You see, my lord," said he with a sigh, "that I have put it out
of her power to triumph over my weakness, for I confess my heart still wears her chains, but e'er my eyes or tongue betray to
her the shameful bondage, these hands should tear them out;
therefore I made no mention of her behaviour to you, nor of
my sending any letter by you, not only because I knew not if
your lordship would think it proper, but lest she should imagine
my resentment proceeded from jealousy, and that I loved her
still. --(No, she shall ne'er have cause to guess the truth of what
I suffer. -- Her real perfidy shall be repaid with seeming inconstancy and scorn. -- Oh! how 'twill sting her pride, -- by heaven, I feel
a gloomy kind of pleasure in the thought, and will indulge it,
even to the highest insults of revenge."

"I rather wish," replied the Count, "you could in earnest be
indifferent, than only feign to be so, her unexampled levity and
deceit, renders her as unworthy of your anger as your love, and
there is too much danger while you preserve the one, that you
will not be able to throw off the other'' -- "Oh! I pretend not to
it," cried Frankville, interrupting him, "she has too deep a root


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 215


within my soul ever to be removed -- I boast no more than a
concealment of my passion, and when I dress the horrors of a
bleeding, breaking heart, in all the calm of cold tranquility;
methinks, you should applaud the noble conquest." "Time," said
the Count, after a little pause, "and a just reflection how little
she deserves your thoughts, will teach you to obtain a nobler; that of numbring your love, among things that were, but are no
more, and make you, with me, acknowledge that 'tis as great an
argument of folly and meanness of spirit to continue the same
esteem when the object ceases to deserve, which we professed
before the discovery of that unworthyness, as it would be of villany and inconstancy of mind, to change, without an efficient
cause." A great deal of discourse passed between them to the
same effect, and it was but in vain that Count D'Elmont
endeavoured to perswade him to a real forgetfulness of the
charmer, tho' he resolved to seem as if he did so.

While they were disputing, one of D'Elmont's servants gave
him a letter, which, he told him, the person who brought it,
desired he would answer immediately; he no sooner broke it
open, and had cast his eye over it, than he cried out in a kind of
transport, "Oh, Frankville, what has fate been doing! You are
happy. -- Camilla is innocent, and perhaps the most deserving
of her sex; I only am guilty, who, by a fatal mistake have
wronged her virtue, and tormented you; but read," continued
he, giving him the letter, "read, and satisfy your self."

Monsieur Frankville was too much astonished at these
words to be able to make any reply, but immediately found the
interpretation of them in these lines.


To the dear cruel Destroyer of my Quiet,
the never too much Admired Count D'Elmont.


'Tis no longer the mistress of your friend, a perjured and unjust
Camilla, who languishes and dyes by your contempt, but one, whom all the darts of love had strove in vain to reach, 'till from
your charms they gained a god-like influence, and unerring
force! One, who tho' a widow, brings you the offering of a virgin
heart.

As I was sitting in my closet, watching the progress of the


216 ELIZA HAYWOOD


lazy hours, which flew not half so swift as my desires to bring on
the appointed time in which you promised to be with me in the
garden; my woman came running in, to acquaint me, that you
were in the house, and waited to speak with Camilla. Surprize,
and jealousy at once assaulted me, and I sunk beneath the apprehension
that you might by some accident have seen her, and also
loved her; to ease my self of those tormenting doubts I resolved to
appear before you, in her stead, and kept my vail over my face,
'till I found that hers was unknown to you. -- You are not ignorant
what followed, the deceit passed upon you for truth, but I
was sufficiently punished for it, by the severity of your usage. I
was just going to discover who I was, when the violence of my
love, my grief, and my dispair threw me into that swoon, in
which, to compleat your cruelty, you left me; 'twould be endless to
endeavour to represent the agonies of my soul, when I recovered,
and heard you were gone, but all who truly love, as they fear
much, so they hope much; my tortures at length abated, at
least, permitted me to take some intervals of comfort, and I began
to flatter my self that the passion you seemed transported with,
for a nameless mistress, was but a feint to bring me back to him
you thought I was obliged to love, and that there was a possibility,
that my person and fortune might not appear despicable to
you, when you should know, I have no tyes but those of inclination,
which can be only yours while I am


Ciamara.


P.S. If you find nothing in me worthy of your love, my sufferings
are such, as justly may deserve your pity; either relieve or put
an end to them I conjure you -- Free me from the ling'ring death
of doubt, at once decree my fate, for, like a god, you rule my very
will, nor dare I, without your leave, throw off this wretched
being; Oh then, permit me once more to behold you, to try, at
least, to warm you into kindness with my sighs, to melt you with
my tears, -- to sooth you into softness by a thousand yet undiscovered
fondnesses -- and, if all fail, to dye before your eyes.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 217


Those who have experienced the force of love, need not to
be informed what joy, what transport swelled in the heart of
Monsieur Frankville, at this unexpected eclaircissment of his
dear Camilla's innocence; when every thing concurs to make
our woes seem real, when hopes are dead, and even desire is
hushed by the loud clamours of dispair and rage, then, -- then,
to be recalled to life, to light, to Heaven and love again, is such
a torrent of o're powering happiness, -- such a surcharge of
extacy, as sence can hardly bear.

What now would Frankville not have given that it had been
in his power to have recalled the last letter he sent to Camilla?
His soul severely reproached him for so easily believing she
could be false; tho' his experience of the sweetness of her disposition,
made him not doubt of a pardon from her, when she
should come to know what had been the reason of his jealousy;
his impatience to see her, immediately put it into his
head, that as Ciamara had been the occasion of the misunderstanding
between them, Ciamara might likewise be made the
property to set it all right again; to this end, he entreated the
Count to write her an answer of complyance, and a promise to
come to her the next day, in which visit, he would, in a disguise
attend him, and being once got into the house, he thought it
would be no difficulty to steal to Camilla's apartment.

But he found it not so easy a task as he imagined, to perswade Count D'Elmont to come into this design, his generous
heart, averse to all deceit, thought it base and unmanly to abuse
with dissimulation the real tenderness this lady had for him,
and tho' pressed by the brother of Melliora, and conjured to it,
even by the love he professed for her, it was with all the reluctance
in the world, that he, at last, consented, and his servant
came several times into the room to remind him that the person
who brought the letter, waited impatiently for an answer,
before he could bring himself into a humour to write in the
manner Monsieur Frankville desired; and tho', scarce any man
ever had so sparkling a fancy, such a readiness of thought, or
aptitude of expression, when the dictates of his soul, were the
employment of his tongue or pen, yet he now found himself at
a loss for words, and he wasted more time in these few lines,


218 ELIZA HAYWOOD


than a thousand times as many on any other subject would have
cost him.


To the Beautiful and Obliging
Ciamara.


Madam

If I did not sin against truth when I assured you that I had a
mistress to whom I was engaged by inclination, I certainly did,
when I appeared guilty of a harshness which was never in my
nature; the justice you do me in believing the interest of my
friend was the greatest motive for my seeming unkindness, I have
not the power sufficiently to acknowledge, but, could you look
into my soul, you would there, find the effects of your inspiration,
something so tender, and so grateful, as only favours, such as
you confer, could merit or create.

I design to make my self happy in waiting on you to morrow--
night about eleven, if you will order me admittance at that back-gate, which was the place of our first appointment, 'till then, I am
the ovely Ciamara's


Most Devoted Servant
D'Elmont


P.S. There are some reasons why I think it not safe to come
alone, therefore beg you'll permit me to bring a servant with me,
on whose secrecy I dare rely.


When the Count had sent away this little billet, Monsieur
Frankville grew very gay on the hopes of his design suceeding;
and laughing, "my lord," said he, "I question whether Melliora
would forgive me, for engaging you in this affair; Ciamara is
extreamly handsome, has wit, and where she attempts to
charm, has doubtless a thousand artifices to obtain her wish";
the Count was not in a temper to relish his raillery, he had a
great deal of compassion for Ciamara, and thought himself
inexcusable for deceiving her, and all that Frankville could do
to disipate the gloom that reflection spread about him, was but
vain.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 219


They spent the greatest part of this day together, as they had
done the former; and when the time came that Frankville
thought it proper to take leave, it was with a much more chearful
heart, than he had the night before; but his happiness was
not yet secure, and in a few hours he found a considerable
alteration in his condition.

As soon as it was dark enough for Camilla to let down her
string to the fellow whom she had ordered to wait for it, he
received another letter fastened to it, and finding it was directed
as the other, for Monsieur Frankville, he immediately
brought it to him.

It was with a mixture of fear and joy, that the impatient lover
broke it open, but both those passions gave place to an adequate
dispair, when having un-sealed it, he read these lines.


To Monsieur Frankville.


I have been already so much deceived, that I ought not to boast of
any skill in the art of divination, yet, I fancy, 'tis in my power to
form a juster guess than I have done, what the sentiments of
your heart will be when you fast open this -- Methinks, I see you
put on a scornful smile, resolving to be still unmoved, either at
upbraidings or complaints, for to do one of these, I am satisfied,
you imagine is the reason of my troubling you with a letter. But
sir, I am not altogether silly enough to believe the tenderest supplications
the most humble of my sex could make, has efficacy to
restore desire, once dead, to life; or if it could, I am not so mean
spirited as to accept a return thus caused; nor would it be less
impertinent to reproach; to tell you that you are perjured -- base -- ungrateful, is what you know already, unless your memory is
so complaisant as not to remind you of either vows or obligations.
But, to assure you, that I reflect on this sudden change of your
humour without being faed with rage, or stupified with grief, is
perhaps, what you least expect. -- Yet, strange as it may seem, it
is most certain, that she, whom you have found the softest, fondest,
tenderest of her kind, is in a moment grown the most indifferent,
for in spight of your inconstancy, I never shall deny that I
have loved you, -- loved you even to dotage; my passion took
birth long before I knew you had a thought of feigning one for


220 ELIZA HAYWOOD


me, which frees me from that imputation women too frequently
deserve, of loving for no other reason than because they are beloved, for if you ne'er had seemed to love, I should have continued
to do so in reality. I found a thousand charms in your
person and conversation, and believed your soul no less transcending
all others in excellent qualities, than I still confess your
form to be in beauty; I drest you up in vain imagination, adorned
with all the ornaments of truth, honour, good nature, generosity,
and every grace that raise mortal perfection to the highest pitch,
and almost reach divinity, -- but you have taken care to prove
your self, meer man, to like, dislike, and wish you know not
what, nor why! If I never had any merits, how came you to think
me worthy the pains you have taken to engage me? and if I had,
how am I so suddenly deprived of them? -- No, I am still the
same, and the only reason I appear not so to you, is, that you behold me now, no more, with lover's eyes; the few charms, I am
mistress of, looked lovely at a distance, but lose their lustre, when
approached too near; your fancy threw a glittering burnish o're
me, which free possession has worn off, and now, the woman only stands exposed to view, and I confess I justly suffer for the
guilty folly of believing that, in your sex, ardors could survive
enjoyment, or if they could, that such a miracle was reserved for
me; but thank Heaven my punishment is past, the pangs, the tortures
of my bleeding heart, in tearing your idea thence, already
are no more! The fiery tryal is over, and I am now arrived at the
Elizium of perfect peace, entirely unmolested by any warring passion; the fears, the hopes, the jealousies, and all the endless
train of cares which waited on my hours of love and fond delusion,
serve but to endear re--gained tranquility; and I can cooly
scorn, not hate yourfalshood; and tho' it is a maxim very much
in use among the women of my country, that, not to revenge,
were to deserve ill--usage, yet I am so far from having a wish
that way, that I shall always esteem your virtues, and while I
pardon, pity your infirmities; shall praise your flowing wit,
without an indignant remembrance how oft it has been employed
for my undoing; shall acknowledge the brightness of your eyes,
and not in secret curse the borrowed softness of their glances, shall
think on all your past endearments, your sighs, your vows, your
melting kisses, and the warm fury of your fierce embraces, but as a


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 221


pleasing dream, while reason slept, and wish not to renew at such
a price.

I desire no answer to this, nor to be thought of more; go on in
the same course you have began, change 'till you are tired with
roving, still let your eyes inchant, your tongue delude, and oaths
betray, and all who look, who listen, and believe, be ruined and
forsaken like

Camilla.


The calm and resolute resentment which appeared in the
stile of this letter, gave Frankville very just grounds to fear,
it would be no small difficulty to obtain a pardon for what he
had so rashly written; but when he reflected on the seeming
reasons, which moved him to it, and that he should have
an opportunity to let her know them, he was not altogether
inconsolable; he passed the night however in a world of anxiety
and as soon as morning came, hurried away, to communicate to
the Count this fresh occasion of his trouble.

It was now D'Elmont's turn to railly, and he laughed as
much at those fears, which he imagined causeless, as the other
had done, at the assignation he had perswaded him to make
with Ciamara, but, tho' as most of his sex are, he was pretty
much of the Count's opinion, yet, the re--instating himself in
Camilla's esteem, was a matter of too great importance to him,
to suffer him to take one moment's ease, 'till he was perfectly
assured of it.

At last, the wished for hour arrived, and he, disguised so as it
was impossible for him to be known, attended the Count to
that dear wicket, which had so often given him entrance
to Camilla; they waited not long for admittance, Brione
was ready there to receive them; the sight of her, inflamed
the heart of Monsieur Frankville with all the indignation
inimaginable, for he knew her to be the woman, who, by her
treachery to Camilla, had gained the confidence of Ciamara,
and involved him in all the miseries he had endured; but he
contained himself, 'till she taking the Count by the hand, in
order to lead him to her lady, bad him wait her return, which
she told him should be immediately, in an outer room which
she pointed him to.


222 ELIZA HAYWOOD


In the mean time she conducted the Count to the door of
that magnificent chamber, where he had been received by the
supposed Camilla, and where he now beheld the real (Ciamara,
drest, if possible, richer than she was the night before, but loose
as wanton fancy could invent; she was lying on the couch when
he entered, and affecting to seem as if she was not presently
sensible of his being there, rose not to receive him till he was
very near her; they both kept silence for some moments, she,
waiting till he should speak, and he, possibly, prevented by
uncertainty after what manner he should form his address, so as
to keep an equal medium between the two extreams, of being
cruel, or too kind, till at last the violence of her impatient
expectation burst out in these words, -- "Oh that this silence
were the effect of love!" -- and then perceiving he made no
answer; "tell me," continued she, "am I forgiven for thus intruding
on your pity for a grant, which inclination would not have
allowed me?" "Cease madam, replied he,"to encrease that confusion
which a just sence of your favours, and my own ingratitude
has cast me in. How can you look with eyes so tender and
so kind, on him who brings you nothing in return? Rather
despise me, hate me, drive me from your sight, believe me as I
am, unworthy of your love, nor squander on a bankrupt wretch
the noble treasure." "Oh inhuman!" interrupted she, "has then
that mistress of whose charms you boasted, engrossed all your
stock of tenderness? and have you nothing, nothing to repay
me for all this waste of fondness, -- this lavish prodigality of passion,
which forces me beyond my sexes pride, or my own natural
modesty, to sue, to court, to kneel and weep for pity."
"Pity," resumed the Count, "would be a poor reward for love
like yours, and yet alass!" continued he sighing, "'tis all I have to
give; I have already told you, I am tyed by vows, by honour,
inclination, to another, who tho' far absent hence, I still preserve
the dear remembrance of! My fate will soon recall me
back to her, and Paris; yours fixes you at Rome, and since we
are doomed to be for ever separated, it would be base to cheat
you with a vain pretence, and lull you with hopes pleasing
dreams a --while, when you must quickly wake to added tor


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 223


tures, and redoubled woe." "Heavens," cried she, with an air full
of resentment, "are then my charms so mean, my darts so weak,
that near, they cannot intercept those, shot at such a distance?
And are you that dull, cold Platonist, which can prefer the
visionary pleasures of an absent mistress, to the warm transports
of the substantial present?" The Count was pretty much
surprized at these words, coming from the mouth of a woman
of honour, and began now to perceive what her aim was,
but willing to be more confirmed, "Madam," said he, "I
dare not hope your virtue would permit." -- "Is this a time,"
interrupted she, looking on him with eyes which sparkled with
wild desires, and left no want of further explanation of
her meaning, "Is this an hour to preach of virtue? -- Married, -- betrothed, -- engaged by love or law, what hinders but this
moment you may be mine, this moment, well improved, might
give us joys to baffle a whole age of woe; make us, at once, forget
our troubles past, and by its sweet remembrance, scorn
those to come"; in speaking these words, she sunk supinely on
D'Elmont's breast; but tho' he was not so ill-natured, and
unmannerly as to repel her, this sort of treatment made him
lose all the esteem, and great part of the pity he had conceived
for her.

The woes of love are only worthy commiseration, according
to their causes; and tho' all those kinds of desire, which the difference of sex creates, bear in general, the name of love, yet they are as vastly wide as heaven and hell; that passion which aims
chiefly at enjoyment, in enjoyment ends, the fleeting pleasure is
no more remembred, but all the stings of guilt and shame
remain; but that, where the intrieur beauties are consulted,
and souls are devotees, is truly noble; love there is a divinity
indeed, because he is immortal and unchangeable, and if our
earthy part partake the bliss, and craving nature is in all obeyed,
possession thus desired, and thus obtained, is far from satiating; reason is not here debased to sense, but sense elevates itself to reason, the different powers unite, and become pure alike.

It was plain that the passion with which Ciamara was animated,
sprung not from this last source; she had seen the


22 ELIZA HAYWOOD


charming Count, was taken with his beauty, and wished no farther
than to possess his lovely person, his mind was the least of
her thoughts, for had she the least ambition to reign there, she
would not have so meanly sought to obtain the one, after he
had assured her, the other, far more noble part of him was disposed
of. The grief he had been in, that it was not in his power
to return her passion, while he believed it meritorious, was
now changed to the utmost contempt, and her quality, and the
state she lived in, did not hinder him from regarding of her, in
as indifferent a manner, as he would have done a common courtizan.
Lost to all sense of honour, pride or shame, and wild to gratify
her furious wishes, she spoke, without reserve, all they suggested
to her, and lying on his breast, beheld, without concern,
her robes fly open, and all the beauties of her own exposed, and
naked to his view. Mad at his insensibility, at last she grew more
bold, she kissed his eyes, -- his lips, a thousand times, then
pressed him in her arms with strenuous embraces, -- and snatching
his hand and putting it to her heart, which fiercely bounded
at his touch, bid him to be witness of his mighty influence
there.

Tho' it was impossible for any soul to be capable of a greater,
or more constant passion than his felt for Melliora, tho' no man
that ever lived, was less addicted to loose desires, -- in fine, tho'
he realy was, as Frankville had told him, the most excellent of his kind, yet, he was still a man! and, 'tis not to be thought
strange, if to the force of such united temptations, nature and
modesty a little yielded; warmed with her fires, and, perhaps,
more moved by curiosity, her behaviour having extinguished all
his respect, he gave his hands and eyes a full enjoyment of
all those charms, which had they been answered by a mind
worthy of them, might justly have inspired the highest raptures,
while she, unshocked, and unresisting, suffered all he did, and
urged him with all the arts she was mistress of, to more, and it is
not altogether improbable, that he might not1 entirely have
forgot himself, if a sudden interruption had not restored his


1 Another teasing negative; D'elmont might well have forgotten himself.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 225


reason to the consideration of the business which had brought
him here.

Monsieur Frankville had all this time been employed in a far
different manner of entertainment; Brione came to him,
according to her promise, assoon as she had introduced the
Count to Ciamara, and having been commanded by that lady
to discourse with the supposed servant, and get what she could
out of him, of the Count's affairs, she sat down and began to
talk to him with a great deal of freedom; but he, who was too
impatient to lose much time, told her he had a secret to discover,
if the place they were in was private enough to prevent his
being over-heard, and she assuring him that it was, he immediately
discovered who he was, and clapped a pistol to her breast,
swearing that moment should be the last of her life, if she made
the least noise, or attempted to intercept his passage to Camilla.
The terror she was in, made her fall on her knees, and conjuring
him to spare her life, begged a thousand pardons for her
infidelity, which she told him was not occasioned by any particular
malice to him; but not being willing to leave Rome
herself, the fear of being exposed to the revenge of Ciamara
and Cittolini, when they should find out that she had been the
instrument of Camilla's escape, prevailed upon her timerous
soul to that discovery, which was the only means to prevent what she so much dreaded. Frankville contented himself with
venting his resentment in two or three hearty curses, and taking
her roughly by the arm, bid her go with him to Camilla's
apartment, and discover before her what she knew of Ciamara's
entertaining Count D'Elmont in her name, which she trembling
promised to obey, and they both went up a pair of back
stairs which led a private way to Camilla's chamber; when they
entered, she was sitting in her night dress on the bed-side, and
the unexpected sight of Brione, who, till now, had never ventured
to appear before her, since her infidelity, and a man with
her whom she thought a stranger, filled her with such a surprize,
that it deprived her of her speech, and gave Frankville
time to throw off his disguise, and catch her in his arms with all
the transports of unfeigned affection, before she could enough
recover herself to make any resistance, but when she did, it was


220 ELIZA HAYWOOD


with all the violence imaginable, and indeavouring to tear herself
away, "Villain," said she, "comest thou again to triumph ore
my weakness, -- again to cheat me into fond belief?" There
needed no more to make this obsequious lover relinquish his
hold, and falling at her feet, was beginning to speak something
in his vindication, when she, quite lost in rage, prevented him,
by renewing her reproaches in this manner; "have you not
given me up my vows?" resumed she, "have you not abandoned
me to ruin, -- to death, -- to infamy, -- to all the stings of self--
accusing conscience and remorse? And come you now, by your
detested presence, to alarm remembrance, and new-point my
tortures? -- That woman's treachery," continued she, looking on
Brione, "I freely pardon, since by that little absence it occasioned,
I have discovered the wavering disposition of your soul,
and learned to scorn what is below my anger." "Here me but
speak," cried Frankville, "or if you doubt my truth, as I confess
you have almighty cause, let her inform you, what seeming reasons,
what provocations urged my hasty rage to write that fatal, -- that accursed letter." "I will hear nothing," replied Camilla,
"neither from you nor her, -- I see the base design, and scorn to
joyn in the deceit, -- you have had no cause, -- not even the least
pretence for your incontinency but one, which, tho' you are
guilty of, you all disown, and that is, being loved too well. -- I
lavished all the fondness of my soul, and you, unable to reward,
despized it. -- But think not that the rage, you now behold me in, proceeds from my dispair -- No, your inconstancy is the fault
of nature, a vice which all your sex are prone to, and 'tis we, the
fond believers only are to blame; that I forgave, my letter told
you that I did -- But thus to come -- thus insolent in imagination,
to dare to hope I were that mean souled wretch, whose
easy tameness, and whose doating love, with joy would
welcome your return, clasp you again in my deluded arms, and
swear you were as dear as ever, is such an afront to my understanding,
as merits the whole fury of revenge"; as she spoke
these words, she turned disdainfully from him with a resolution
to leave the room, but she could not make such hast to go away
as the dispairing, the distracted Frankville did to prevent her,
and catching hold of her garments, "stay madam," said he


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 227


wildly, "either permit me to clear my self of this barbarous
accusation, or, if you are resolved, unhearing, to condemn me,
behold me, satiate all your rage can wish, for by heaven," continued
he, holding the pistol to his own breast, as he had done a
little before to Brione's, "by all the joys I have possest, by all the
hell I now endure, this moment I'll be received your lover, or
expire your martyr" These words pronounced so passionately,
and the action that acompanied them made a visible alteration
in Camilla's countenance, but it lasted not long, and resuming
her fierceness, "your death," cried she, "this way would give me
little satisfaction, the world would judge more nobly of my
resentment, if by my hand you fell -- Yet," continued she,
snatching the pistol from him, and throwing it out of the window,
which happened to be open, "I will not -- cannot be the
executioner. -- No, live! and let thy punishment be, in reality to
endure what thou well dissemblest, the pangs, the racking pangs
of hopeless, endless love! -- May'st thou indeed love me, as thou a
thousand times hast falsely sworn, -- for ever love, and I, for ever hatel" In this last sentence, she flew like lightning to her closet,
and shut her self in, leaving the amazed lover still on his knees,
stupified with grief and wonder; all this while Brione had been
casting about in her mind, how to make the best use of this
adventure with Ciamara, and encouraged by Camilla's behaviour,
and taking advantage of Frankville's confusion, made but
one step to the chamber door, and running out into the gallery,
and down the stairs, cried "Murder, -- help, a rape -- Help, or
Donna Camilla will be carried away." -- She had no occasion to
call often, for the pistol which Camilla threw out of the window
chanced to go off in the fall, and the report it made, had
alarmed some of the servants who were in an out house
adjoyning to the garden, and imagining there were thieves,
were gathering to search, some armed with staffs, some with
iron bars, or any thing they could get in the hurry they were
in; as they were running confusedly about, they met Monsieur
Frankville pursuing Brione, with a design to stop her mouth,
either by threatnings or bribes, but she was too nimble for him,
and knowing the ways of the house much better than he did,
went directly to the room where Ciamara was, carressing the


228 ELIZA HAYWOOD


Count in the manner already mentioned. "Oh madam," said
she, "you are imposed on, the Count has deceived your expectations,
and brought Monsieur Frankville in disguise to rob you
of Camilla." These words made them both, tho' with very
different sentiments, start from the posture they were in, and
Ciamara changing her air of tenderness for one all fury,
"Monster!" cried she to D'Elmont, "have you then betrayed
me?" "This is no time," replied he, hearing a great bustle, and
Frankville's voice pretty loud without, "for me to answer
you, my honour calls me to my friend's assistance"; and drawing
his sword, run as the noise directed him to the place
where Frankville was defending himself against a little army of
Ciamara's servants; she was not much behind him, and enraged
to the highest degree, cried out, "Kill, kill them both!" but that
was not a task for a much greater number of such as them to
accomplish, and tho' their weapons might easily have beat
down, or broke the gentlemens sword; yet their fears kept from
coming too near, and Ciamara had the vexation to see them both retreat with safety, and her self disappointed as well in her
revenge, as in her love.

Nothing could be more surprized, than Count D'Elmont
was, when he got home, and heard from Frankville all that had
passed between him and Camilla, nor was his trouble less, that
he had it not in his power to give him any advice in any exigence
so uncommon. He did all he could to comfort and
divert his sorrows, but in vain, the wounds of bleeding love
admit no ease, but from the hand which gave them; and he,
who was naturally rash and fiery, now grew to that height of
desparation and violence of temper, that the Count feared some
fatal catastrophe, and would not suffer him to stir from him that
night, nor the next day, till he had obliged him to make a vow,
and bind it with the most solemn imprecations, not to offer any
thing against his life.

But, tho' plunged into the lowest depth of misery, and lost, to
all human probability, in an inextricable labyrinth of woe, Fortune
will find, at last, some way to raise, and disentangle those,
whom she is pleased to make her favorites, and that Monsieur
Frankville was one, an unexpected adventure made him know.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 229


The third day from that, in which he had seen Camilla, as he
was sitting in his chamber, in a melancholly conversation with
the Count, who was then come to visit him, his servant
brought him a letter, which he said had been just left, by a
woman of an extraordinary appearance, and who the moment
she had given it into his hand, got from the door with so much
speed, that she seemed rather to vanish than to walk.

While the servant was speaking, Frankville looked on the
Count with a kind of a pleased expectations in his eyes, but
then casting them on the direction of the letter, "Alas!" said he,
"how vain was my imagination, this is not Camilla's, but a
hand, to which I am utterly a stranger"; these words were
closed with a sigh, and he opened it with a negligence which
would have been unpardonable, could he have guessed at the
contents, but assoon as he saw the name of Violetta at the bottom,
a flash of hope re-kindled in his soul, and trembling with
impatience he read.


To Monsieur Frankville.


I think it cannot be called treachery, if we betray the secrets of a
friend, only when concealment were an injury; but however I
may be able to answer this breach of trust, I am about to make,
to my self, 'tis your behaviour alone, which can absolve me to
Camilla and by your fidelity she must judge of mine.

Tho' daughter to the man she hates, she finds nothing in me
unworthy of her love and confidence, and as I have been privy,
ever since your mutual misfortunes, to the whole history of your
amour, so I am now no stranger to the sentiments, your last conversation
has inspired her with -- She loves you still, monsieur with
an extremity of passion loves you -- But, tho' she ceases to
believe you unworthy of it, her indignation for your unjust suspicion
of her will not be easily removed -- She is resolved to act the heroine, tho' to purchase that character it should cost her life.
She is determined for a cloyster, and has declared her intention,
and a few days will take away all possibility of ever being yours;
but I, who know the conflicts she endures, wish it may be in your
power to prevent the execution of a design which cannot but be


230 ELIZA HAYWOOD


fatal to her. My father and Ciamara, I wish I could not call her aunt, were last night in private conferrence, but I over heard
enough of their discourse, to know there has been some ungenerous
contrivance carried on to make you, and Camilla appear
guilty to each other, and 'tis from that knowledge I derive my
hopes that you have honour enough to make a right use of this
discovery; if you have any thing to say to farther the intercessions
I am imployed in, to serve you, prepare a letter,1 which I will
either prevail on her to read, or oblige her, in spite of the resolution
she has made, to hear. But take care, that, in the least,
you hint not that you have received one from me, for I shall per--
swade her that the industry of your love has found means of conveying
it to me without my knowledge. Bring it with you this
evening to St. Peter's, and as soon as divine service is over, follow
her who shall drop her handkerchief as she passes you, for by that
mark you shall distinguish her whom you yet know, but by the
name of

Violetta.


P.S. One thing, and indeed not the least which induced me to
write, I had almost forgot, which is, that your friend the accomplished
Count D'Elmont is as much endangered by the resentment
of Ciamara, as your self by that of my father; bid him
beware how he receives any letter, or present from a hand
unknown, lest he should experience, what he has doubtless heard
of, our Italian art of poysoning by the smell.2


When Monsieur Frankville had given this letter to the
Count to read, which he immediately did, they both of them
broke into the highest encomiums on this young lady's generosity,
who contrary to the custom of her sex, which seldom
forgives an affront of that kind, made it her study to serve the
man who had refused her, and make her rival blest.

These testimonies of a grateful acknowledgement being


1 1st ed. reads "discovery, if you ... Prepare ..."; 4th ed. reads "discovery if you... you;
Prepare ...."

2 Witch--like treachery fits the English stereotype of Italy; Tatler No. 63 applies this
image to Delarivier Manley's political satire.


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 231


over, Frankville told the Count he believed the most, and
indeed the only effectual means to extinguish Camilla's resentment
would be entirely, to remove the cause, which could be
done no other way, than by giving her a full account of Ciamara's
behaviour, while she passed for her. D'Elmont readily consented,
and thought it not at all inconsistent with his honour to
expose that of the woman who had shewn so little value for it
her self. And when he saw that Frankville had finished his letter,
which was very long, for lovers cannot easily come to a
conclusion, he offered to writ a note to her, enclosed in the
other, which should serve as an evidence of the truth of what
he had alledged in his vindication. Frankville gladly embraced
the kind proposal, and the other immediately made it good in
these words.


To Donna Camilla.
Madam,


If the severity of your justice requires a victim, I only am guilty,
who being imposed upon my self, endeavoured, for I cannot say I
could accomplish it, to involve the unfortunate Frankville in the
same fatal error, and at last prevailed on him to write, what he
could not be brought, by all my arguments to think.

Let the cause which led me to take this freedom, excuse the
presumption of it, which, from one so much a stranger, would be
else unpardonable. But when we are conscious of a crime, the fast
reparation we can make to innocence, is, to acknowledge we have
offended; and, if the confession of my faults, may purchase an
absolution for my friend, I shall account it in the noblest work of
superogation.

Be assured, that as inexorable as you are, your utmost rigour
would find it's satisfaction, if you could be sensible of what I
suffer in a sad repentance for my sin of injuring so heavenly a
virtue, and, perhaps, in time be moved by it to pity and forgive


The Unhappily deceived
D'Elmont.


232 ELIZA HAYWOOD


The time in which they had done writing, immediately
brought on that of Violetta's appointment, and the Count
would needs accompany Monsieur Frankville in this assignation,
saying, he had an acknowledgment to pay to that lady,
which he thought himself obliged, in good manners and gratitude,
to take this opportunity to do; and the other being of the
same opinion, they went together to St. Peter's.

When prayers were done, which, 'tis probable, one of these
gentlemen, if not both, might think too tedious, they stood up,
and looking round, impatiently expected when the promised
signal should be given; but among the great number of ladies,
which passed by them, there were very few, who did not stop a
little to gaze on these two accomplished chevaliers, and they
were several times tantalized with an imaginary Violetta, before
the real one appeared. But when the crowd were almost dispersed,
and they began to fear some accident had prevented her
coming, the long expected token was let fall, and she who
threw it, tripped hastily away to the farther end of the collonade, which hapned to be entirely void of company. The Count and
his companion, were not long behind her, and Monsieur
Frankville being the person chiefly concerned, addressed himself
to her in this manner. "With what words madam," said he,
"can a man so infinitely obliged, and so desirous to be grateful
as Frankville, sufficiently make known his admiration of a generosity
like yours? Such an unbounded goodness, shames all
description! makes language vile since it affords no phrase to
suit your worth, or speak the mighty sense my soul has of it." "I
have no other aim," replied she, "in what I have done, than justice;
and 'tis only in the proof of your sincerity to Camilla that I
am to be thanked." Frankville was about to answer with some
assurances of his faith, when the Count stepping forward, prevented
him. "My friend, madam," said he bowing, "is most
happy in having it in his power to obey a command, which is
the utmost of his wishes; but how must I acquit my self of any
part of that return which is due to you for that generous care
you have been pleased to express for the preservation of my
life?" "There needs no more," interrupted she, with a perceivable
alteration in her voice, "than to have seen Count D'Elmont

love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 233


to be interested in his concerns." -- She paused a little after
speaking these words, and then, as if she thought she had said
too much, turned hastily to Frankville, "the letter, monsieur,"
continued she, "the letter, -- 'tis not impossible but we may be
observed, -- I tremble with the apprehension of a discovery."
Frankville immediately delivered it to her, but saw so much
disorder in her gesture, that it very much surprized him. She
trembled indeed, but whether occasioned by any danger she
perceived of being taken notice of, or some other secret agitation
she felt within, was then unknown to any but herself, but
whatever it was, it transported her so far, as to make her quit
the place, without being able to take any other leave than a
hasty curtsy, and bidding Frankville meet her the next morning
at mat tins.

Here was a new cause of disquiet to D'Elmont; the experience
he had of the too fatal influence of his dangerous attractions,
gave him sufficient reason to fear this young lady was not
insensible of them, and that his presence was the sole cause of
her disorder; however, he said nothing of it to Frankville 'till
the other mentioning it to him, and repeating her words, they
both joyned in the opinion that love had been too busy in her
heart, and that it was the feeling the effects of it in herself, had
inclined her to so much compassion for the miseries she saw it inflicted upon others. The Count very well knew that when
desires of this kind are springing in the soul, every sight of the
beloved object, encreases their growth, and therefore, tho' her
generous manner of proceeding had created in him a very great
esteem, and he would have been pleased with her conversation,
yet he ceased to wish a farther acquaintance with her, lest it
should render her more unhappy, and forbore going the next
day to church with Frankville as else he would have done.

Violetta failed not to come as she had promised, but instead
of dropping her handkerchief, as she had done the evening
before, she knelt as close to him as she could, and pulling him
gently by the sleeve, obliged him to regard her, who else, not
knowing her, would not have suspected she was so near, and
slipped a note into his hand, bidding him softly not take any
father notice of her. He obeyed, but 'tis reasonable to believe,


234 ELIZA HAYWOOD


was too impatient to know what the contents were, to listen
with much attention and devotion to the remainder of the ceremony;
as soon as he was released, he got into a corner of the cathedral, where, unobserved he might satisfy a curiosity which
none who love, will condemn him for, any more than they will
for the thrilling extacy which filled his soul at the reading these li nes.


To Monsieur Frankville.


For fear I should not have an opportunity of speaking to you, in
safety, I take this method to inform you, that I have been so successful
in my negotiation, as to make Camilla repent the severity
of her sentence, and wish for nothing more than to recall it; you
are now entirely justified in her opinion, by the artifice which was
made use of to deceive you, and she is, I believe, no less enraged
at Ciamara for depriving her of that letter you sent by the
Count, than she was at you for that unkind one, which came to
her hands. She is now under less restraint, since Brione's report of
her behaviour to you, and the everlasting resentment she vowed,
and I have prevailed on her to accompany me in a visit I am to
make, to-morrow in the evening, to Donna Clara Metteline, a
nun, in the monastery of St. Augustine, and if you will meet us
there, I believe it not impossible but she may be brought to a confession
of all I have discovered to you of her thoughts.

The Count's letter was of no small service to you, for tho'
without that evidence she would have been convinced of your
constancy, yet she would hardly have acknowledged she was so;
and if he will take the pains to come with you to-morrow, I
believe his company will be acceptable; if you think it proper, you
may let him know as much from


Violetta.


P.S. I beg a thousand pardons both of you and the Count for
the abruptness of my departure last night; something happened to
give me a confusion from which I could not at that time recover,
but hope for the future to be more mistress of my self.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 235


Monsieur Frankville hasted to the Count's lodgings, to communicate
his good fortune, but found him in a humour very
unfit for congratulations; the post had just brought him a letter
from his brother, the Chevalier Brillian, the contents whereof
were these.


To Count D'Elmont.


My Lord,

'Tis with an inexpressible grief that I obey the command you left
me, for giving you from time to time an exact account of Melliora's
affairs, since what I have now to acquaint you with, will
make you stand in need of all your moderation to support it.
But, not to keep your expectation on the rack, loth as I am, I
must inform you, that Melliora is, by some unknown ravisher
stolen from the monastery -- The manner of it, (as I have since
learned from those who were with her) was thus. As she was
walking in the fields, behind the cloyster gardens, accompanied by
some young lady's, pensioners there as well as her self, four men
well mounted, but disguised and muffled, rode up to them, three
of them jumped off their horses, and while one seized on the
defenceless prey, and bore her to his arms, who was not alighted,
the other two caught hold of her companions, and prevented the
out--cryes they would have made, 'till she was carried out of
sight, then mounting again their horses, immediately lost the
amazed virgins all hopes of recovering her.

I conjure my dearest brother to believe there has been nothing
omitted for the discovery of this villany, but in spite of all the
pains and care we have taken in the search, none of us have yet
been happy enough to hear the least account of her. That my
next may bring you more welcome news, is the first wish of


My Lord,

Your Lordship's most
Zealously Affectionate

Brother, and Humble Servant
Brillian


236 ELIZA HAYWOOD


P.S. There are some people here, malicious enough to report,
that the design of carrying away Melliora, was contrived by you,
and that it is in Rome she only can be found. It would be of
great advantage to my peace, if I could be of the number of those
who believe it, but I am too well acquainted with your principles
to harbour such a thought. Once more, my dear lord, for this
time, Adieu.


After the Count had given this letter to Frankville to read,
he told him, he was resolved to leave Rome the next day, that no body had so great an interest in her recovery as himself, that
he would trust the search of her to no other, and swore with
the most dreadful imprecations he could make, never to rest,
but wander, knight-errand like, over the whole world 'till he had
found her.

Tho' Monsieur Frankville was extreamly concerned at what
had happened to his sister, yet he endeavoured to disswade the
Count from leaving Rome till he knew the result of his own
affair with Camilla; but all his arguments were for a long time
ineffectual, 'till, at last, showing him Violetta's letter, he prevailed
on him to defer his journey till they had first seen
Camilla, on condition, that if she persisted in her rigour, he
should give over any further fruitless solicitations, and accompany
him to Paris. This Frankville promised to perform, and
they passed the time in very uneasy and impatient cogitations,
'till the next day about five in the evening they prepared for the
apointment.

Count D'Elmont and his longing companion were the first
at the rendezvous, but in a very little while they perceived two
women coming towards them. The idea of Camilla was always
too much in Frankville's thoughts, not to make him know her,
by that charming air (which he so much adored her for) tho'
she was veiled never so closely, and the moment he had sight of
them, "Oh heaven," cried he to D'Elmont, "yonder she comes,
that, -- that my lord, is the divine Camilla"; as they came pretty
near she that indeed proved to be Camilla, was turning on one
side, in order to go to the grate where she expected the nun. "Hold! hold Donna Camilla," cried Violetta, "I cannot suffer


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 237


you should pass by your friends with an air so unconcerned; if
Monsieur Frankville has done any thing to merit your displeasure,
my lord the Count certainly deserves your notice, in the
pains he has taken to undeceive you." "One so much a stranger
as Count D'Elmont is," answered she, "may very well excuse
my thanks for an explanation, which had he been acquainted
with me, he would have spared." "Cruel Camilla!"1 said
Frankville, "is then the knowledge of my innocence unwelcome? -- Am I become so hateful, or are you so changed, that
you wish me guilty, for a justification of your rigour? If it be so,
I have no remedy but death, which tho' you deprived me of,
the last time I saw you, I now can find a thousand means to
compass"; he pronounced these words in so tender, yet so
resolved an accent, that Camilla could not conceal part of the
impression they made on her, and putting her handkerchief to
her eyes, which in spite of all she had done to prevent it, overflowed
with tears; "talk not of death," said she, "I am not cruel to
that degree; live Frankville, live! -- But live, without Camilla!"
"Oh, 'tis impossible!" resumed he, "the latter part of your command
entirely destroys the first. -- Life without your love,
would be a hell, which I confess my soul's a coward, but to
think of."

The Count and Violetta were silent all this time, and perceiving
they were in a fair way of reconciliation, thought the
best they could do to forward it, was to leave 'em to themselves,
and walking a few paces from them, "You suffer my
lord," said she, "for your generosity in accompanying your
friend, since it condemns you to the conversation of a person
who has neither wit, nor gaiety sufficient to make her self
diverting." "Those," replied he, "who would make the excellent
Violetta a subject of diversion, ought never to be blest with the
company of any, but such women who merit not a serious
regard. But you indeed, were your soul capable of discending
to the follys of your sex, would be extreamly at a loss in conversation
so little qualified as mine, to please the vanities of the
fair; and you stand in need of all those more than manly virtues

1 4th d.; 1st d. reads "he would have spared the cruel Camilla! said Frankville, is...."

238 ELIZA HAYWOOD

you possess, to pardon a chagreen, which even your presence
cannot dissipate." "If it could," interrupted she, "I assure your
lordship, I should much more rejoyce in the happy effects of it
on you, than pride my self in the power of such an influence And
yet," continued she with a sigh, "I am a very woman, and if
free from the usual affectations and vanities of my sex, I am not
so from faults, perhaps, less worthy of forgiveness." The Count
could not presently resolve what reply to make to these words;
he was unwilling she should believe he wanted complaisance,
and affraid of saying any thing that might give room for a
declaration of what he had no power of answering to her wish;
but after the consideration of a moment or two, "Madam," said
he, "tho' I dare not question your sincerity in any other point,
yet you must give me leave to disbelieve you in this, not only,
because, in my opinion, there is nothing so contemptibly
rediculous as that self sufficiency, and vain desire of pleasing,
commonly known by the name of coquetry, but also because she
who escapes the contagion of this error, will not without much
difficulty be led into any other." "Alas my lord," cried Violetta,
"how vastly wide of truth is this assertion? That very foible,
which is most pernicious to our sex, is chiefly by coquetry prevented.
I need not tell you that 'tis love I mean, and as blameable
as you think the one, I believe the other would find less
favour from a person of your lordship's judgment." "How
madam," interrupted the Count pretty warmly, "have I the
character of a stoick? -- Or do you immagine that my soul is
composed of that course stuff, not to be capable of receiving, or
approving a passion, which, all the brave, and generous think it
their glory to profess, and which can only give refined delight,
to minds enobled. -- But I perceive," continued he growing
more cool, "I am not happy enough in your esteem, to be
thought worthy the influence of that god." "Still you mistake
my meaning," said Violetta, "I doubt not of your sensibility,
were there a possibility of finding a woman worthy of inspiring
you with soft desires; and if that should ever happen, love
would be so far from being a weakness, that it would serve
rather as an embelishment to your other graces; it's only when
we stoop to objects below our consideration, or vainly wing


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 239


our wishes to those above our hopes that makes us appear
rediculous or contemptible; but either of these is a folly which, -- ""which the incomparable Violetta," interrupted D'Elmont,
"never can be guilty of." "You have a very good opinion of my
wit," resumed she, in a melancholly tone, "but I should be
much happier than I am, if I were sure I could secure my self
from doing any thing to forfeit it." "I believe," replied the
Count, "there are not many things you have less reason to
apprehend than such a change; and I am confident were I to
stay in Rome as many ages, as I am determined to do but hours, I should, at last leave it, with the same esteem and admiration of
your singular vertues, as I now shall do." Violetta could not prevent
the disorder these words put her into, from discovering it
self in the accent of her voice, when, "How! my lord," said she,
"are we then to lose you? -- Lose you in so short a time." As the
Count was about to answer, Frankville and Camilla joyned
them, and looking on Frankville, "if any credit," said he, "may
be given to the language of the eyes, I am certain yours speak
success, and I may congratulate a happiness you lately could
not be persuaded to hope"; "had I a thousand eyes," cried the
transported lover, "a thousand tongues, they all would be but
insignificant to express the joy! -- the unbounded extacy, my
soul is full of, -- but take the mighty meaning in one word, --
Camilla's mine -- for ever mine -- the storm is past, and all the
sunny heaven of love returns to bless my future days with
ceaseless raptures. Now, my lord, I am ready to attend you in
your journy, this bright! this beautious guardian angel will partake
our flight! and we have nothing now to do, but to prepare
with secrecy and speed fit means for our escape." As soon as
Frankville had left off speaking, Count D'Elmont addressing
himself to Camilla, made her abundance of retributions, for the
happiness she gave his friend, which she receiving with a
becoming chearfulness, and unaffected gayety,"! am afraid," said
she, "your lordship will think a woman's resolution is, henceforth,
little worth regarding; but," continued she, taking Violetta
by the hand, "I see well, that this unfaithful creature has
betrayed me, and to punish her infidelity, will, by leaving her,
put it out of her power to deceive my confidence again."


240 ELIZA H AY WOOD


Violette either did not hear, or was not in a condition to return
her railery, nor the praises which the Count and Monsieur
Frankville concurred in of her generosity, but stood motionless
and lost in thought, 'till Camilla seeing it grow towards night,
told the gentlemen, she thought it best to part, not only to
avoid any suspicion at home of their being out so long, but also
that the others might order every thing proper for their departure,
which it was agreed on between Frankville and her,
should be the next night, to prevent the success of those
mischievous designs she knew Ciamara and Cittolini were
forming against both the Count and Monsieur Frankville.

Matters being thus adjusted to the entire satisfaction of the
lovers, and not in a much less proportion to the Count, they all
thought it best to avoid making any more appointments till
they met to part no more, which was to be at the wicket at
dead of night. When the Count took leave of Violetta, this
being the last time he could expect to see her, she was hardly
able to return his civilities, and much less to answer those
which Frankville made her, after the Count had turned from
her to give him way; both of them guessed the cause of her
confusion, and D'Elmont felt a concern in observing it, which
nothing but that for Melliora could surpass.

The next day found full employment for them all, but the
Count as well as Frankville was too impatient to be gone, to
neglect any thing requisite for their departure; there was not
the least particular wanting, long before the time they were to
wait at the wicket for Camilla's coming forth. The Count's
lodging being the nearest, they stayed there, watching for the
longed for hour; but a little before it arrived, a youth, who
seemed to be about 13 or 14 years of age, desired to be admitted
to the Count's presence, which being granted, pulling a letter
out of his pocket, and blushing as he approached him, "I
come, my lord," said he, "from Donna Violetta, the contents of
this will inform you on what business; but lest the treachery of
others, should render me suspected, permit me to break it
open, and prove it carries no infection." The Count looked
earnestly on him while he spoke, and was strangely taken with
the uncommon beauty and modesty which he observed in


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 241


him. "You need not give your self the trouble of that experiment,"
answered he, "Donna Violetta's name, and your own
engaging aspect, are sufficient credentials, if I were liable to
doubt"; in saying this, he took the letter and full of fears that
some accident had happened to Camilla, which might retard
their journey, hastily read over these lines.


To the Worthy Count D'Elmont.


My Lord,

If any part of that esteem you professed to have for me, be real,
you will not deny the request I make you to accept this youth,
who is my relation, in quality of a page. He is inclined to travel,
and of all places, France is that which he is most desirous of
going to. If a diligent care, a faithful secrecy, and an unceasing
watchfulness to please, can render him acceptable to your service, I
doubt not but he will, by those, recommend himself, hereafter. In
the mean time beg you will receive him on my word. And if that
will be any inducement to prejudice you in his favour, I assure
you, that tho' he is one degree nearer in blood1 to my father, he is
by many in humour and principles to


Violetta.


P.S. May health, safety, and prosperity attend you in your
journey, and all the happiness you wish for, crown the end.


The young Fidelio,2 for so he was called, could not wish
to be received with greater demonstrations of kindness than
those the Count gave him. And perceiving that Violetta had
trusted him with the whole affair of their leaving Rome in
private, doubted not of his conduct, and consulted with him,
who they found knew the place perfectly well, after what


1 A brother would be equally near in blood, not nearer; this riddling claim seems to
mean that Fidelio is male like Violetta's father rather than female like Violetta.
D'elmont fails to see through the riddle -- or the disguise.

2 An Italianate (and operatic) name suggesting fidelity; Imogen, the wronged wife in
Shakeseare's Cymbelene, adopts the similar name Fidle with her male disguise.


242 ELIZA HAYWOOD


manner they should watch, with the least danger of being
discovered, for Camilla's opening the wicket. Frankville was
for going alone, lest if any of the servants should happen to
be about, one person would be less liable to suspicion than if
a company were seen; the Count thought it most proper to
go all together, remembring Frankville of the danger he had
lately scaped, and might again be brought into; but Fidelio told
them, he would advise that they two should remain concealed
in the portico, of the convent of St. Francis, while himself would
watch alone at the wicket for Camilla, and lead her to them,
and then afterwards they might go altogether to that place
where the horses and servants should attend them; the page's
counsel was approved by both of them, and the time being
arrived, what they had contrived was immediately put in
execution.

Every thing happened according to their desire, Camilla got
safely to the arms of her impatient lover, and they all taking
horse, rode with such speed, as some of them would have been
little able to bear, if any thing less than life and love had been at
stake.
Their eager wishes, and the goodness of their horses brought
them, before day-break many miles from Rome; but tho' they
avoided all high-roads, and travelled cross the country to prevent
being met, or overtook by any that might know them, yet
their desire of seeing themselves in a place of security was so
great, that they refused to stop to take any refreshment 'till the
next day was almost spent; but when they were come into the
house where they were to lye that night, not all the fatigue they
had endured, kept the lovers from giving and receiving all the
testimonies imaginable of mutual affection.

The sight of their felicity added new wings to Count
D'Elmont's impatience to recover Melliora, but when he considered
the little probability of that hope, he grew inconsolable,
and his new page Fidelio, who lay on a pallet in the same room
with him, put all his wit, of which he had no small stock, upon
the stretch to divert his sorrows; he talked to him, sung to him,
told him a hundred pretty stories, and, in fine, made good the
character Violetta had given him so well, that the Count


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 243


looked on him as a blessing sent from heaven to lessen his
misfortunes, and make his woes sit easy.

They continued travelling with the same expedition as
when they first set out, for three or four days, but then, believing
themselves secure from any pursuit, began to slacken their
pace, and make the journey more delightful to Camilla and
Fidelio, who, not being accustomed to ride in that manner,
would never have been able to support it, if the strength of
their minds, had not by far, exceeded that of their bodies.
They had gone so much about, in seeking the by-roads, that
they made it three times as long before they arrived at Avigno,
a small village on the borders of Italy, as any, that had come the
direct way would have done; but the caution they had
observed, was not altogether needless, as they presently found.

A gentleman who had been a particular acquaintance of
Monsieur Frankville's, overtook them at this place, and after
expressing some amazment to find 'em no farther on their
journey told Monsieur Frankville he believed he could inform
him of some things which had happened since his departure,
and could not yet have reached his knowledge, which the other
desiring him to do, the gentleman begun in this manner.

"It was no sooner day," said he, "than it was noised over all
the city, that Donna Camilla, Count D'Elmont, and your self,
had privately left Rome; every body spoke of it, according to
their humour, but the friends of Ciamara and Cittolini were
outragious, a complaint was immediately made to the consistory,1 and all imaginable deligence used, to overtake, or stop
you, but you were so happy as to escape, and the pursuers
returned without doing any thing of what they went about.
Tho' Cittolini's disappointment to all appearance, was the
greatest, yet Ciamara bore it with the least patience, and having
vainly raged, offered all the treasure she was mistress of, and
perhaps spent the best part of it in fruitless means to bring you
back; at last she swallowed poyson, and in the raving agonies of
death, confessed, that it was not the loss of Camilla, but Count
D'Elmont which was the cause of her dispair. Her death gave a


1 A court or Church court where Ciamara can obtain a legal warrant for the return
of Camilla.


244 ELIZA HAYWOOD


fresh occasion of grief to Cittolini, but the day in which she
was interred, brought him yet a nearer; he had sent to his villa for his daughter Violetta to assist at the funeral, and the messenger
returned with the surprizing account of her not having
been there as she pretended she was; nothing was ever equal to
the rage, the grief, and the amazement of this distracted father,
when after the strictest enquiry, and search that could be made,
she was no where to be found or heard of, it threw him into a
fever, of which he lingered but a small time, and died the same
day on which I left Rome."

The gentleman who made this recital, was entirely a stranger
to any of the company but Monsieur Frankville, and they were
retired into a private room during the time of their conversation,
which lasted not long; Frankville was impatient to communicate
to Camilla and D'Elmont what he had heard, and as
soon as civility would permit, took leave of the gentleman.

The Count had too much compassion in his nature not to
be extreamly troubled when he was told this melancholly catastrophe;
but Camilla said little, the ill usage of Ciamara, and the
impudent, and interested pretensions of Cittolini to her, kept
her from being so much concerned at their misfortunes as she
would have been at any other persons, and the generosity of
her temper, or some other reason which the reader will not be
ignorant of hereafter, from expressing any satisfaction in the
punishment they had met. But when the Count, who most of
all lamented Violetta, expressed his astonishment and affliction,
at her elopement, she joyned with him in the praises of that
young lady, with an eagerness which testified she had no part in
the hatred she bore her father.

While they were discoursing Camilla observed that Fidelio
who was all this while in the room, grew very pale, and at last
saw him drop down on the ground, quite senseless; she run to
him, as did his lord, and Monsieur Frankville, and after, by
throwing water in his face, they brought him to himself again,
he appeared in such an agony that they feared his fit would
return, and ordered him to be laid on a bed, and carefully
attended.

After they had taken a short repast, they began to think of
setting forward on their journey, designing to reach Piedmont


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 245


that night. The Count went himself to the chamber where his
page was laid, and finding he was very ill, told him he thought
it best for him to remain in that place, that he would order
physicians to attend him, and that when he was fully recovered,
he might follow them to Paris with safety. Fidelio was ready to
faint a second time at the hearing these words, and with the
most earnest conjurations accompanied with tears, begged that he might not be left behind. "I can but dye," said he, "if I go with you, but I am sure, that nothing if I stay, can save me." The Count seeing him so pressing, sent for a litter, but there was
none to be got, and in spite of all Camilla or Frankville could
say to disswade him, having his lord's leave, he ventured to
attend him as he had done the former part of the journey.
They travelled at an easy rate, because of Fidelio's indisposition, and it being later than they imagined, night came upon
'em before they were aware of it, ushered in, by one of the
most dreadful storms that ever was; the rain, the hail, the thunder, and the lightning, was so violent that it obliged 'em to mend their pace to get into some place of shelter, for there was
no house near. But to make their misfortune the greater, they
missed the road, and rode considerably out of their way, before they perceived that they were wrong; the darkness of the night,
which had no illumination than now and then, a horrid flash of
lightning, the wildness of the desart, which they had strayed into, and the little hopes they had of being able to get out of it, at least 'till day, were sufficient to have struck terror in the boldest heart. Camilla stood in need of all her love, to protect her if from the fears which were beginning to assault her; but poor Fidelio felt an inward horror, which, by this dreadful scene
encreased, made him appear wholly desparate. "Wretch that I
am," cried he, "'tis for me the tempest rises! I justly have
incurred the wrath of heaven, -- and you who are innocent, by
my accursed presence are drawn to share a punishment only
due to crimes like mine!" In this manner he exclaimed, wringing
his hands in bitter anguish, and rather exposing his lovely
face to all the fury of the storm, than any way endeavouring to defend it. His lord, and the two generous lovers, tho' harassed
almost to death themselves, said all they could to comfort him;


246 ELIZA HAYWOOD


the Count and Monsieur Frankville considered his words
rather as the effects of his indisposition, and the fatigue he
endured than remorse for any crime he could have been guilty
of, and the pity they had for one so young and innocent, made
the cruelty of the weather more insuportable to them.

At last, after long wandring, and the tempest still encreasing,
one of the servants, who was before,1 was happy enough to
explore a path, and cried out to his lord with a great deal of joy,
of the discovery he had made; they were all of opinion that it
must lead to some house, because the ground was beat down, as
if with the feet of passengers, and intirely free from stubble,
stones, and stumps of trees, as the other part of the desart they
come thro' was encumbered with.

They had not rode very far before they discerned lights; the
reader may imagine the joy this sight produced, and that they
were not slow in making their approach encouraged by such a
wished for signal of success. When they came pretty near, they
saw by the number of lights, which were dispersed in several
rooms distant from each other, that it was a very large and magnificent
house, and made no doubt, but that it was the country-seat of some person of great quality. The wet condition they
were in, made them almost ashamed of appearing, and they
agreed not to discover who they were, if they found they were
unknown.

They had no sooner knocked than the gate was immediately
opened by a porter, who asking their business, the Count told
him they were gentlemen, who had been so unfortunate to
mistake the road to Piedmont, and desired the owners leave for
refuge in his house, for that night; that is a curtesy, said the
porter, which my lord never refuses; and in confidence of his
assent, I may venture to dsire you to a-light, and bid you welcome.
They all accepted the invitation, and were conducted
into a stately hall where they waited not long before the Marquess
De Saguillier, having been informed they appeared like
people of condition, came himself to confirm the character his
servant had given of his hospitality. He was a man perfectly well

1 Who was ahead of the rest.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 247


bred, and in spite of the disadvantages their fatigue had subjected
them to, he saw something in the countenance of these travellers, which commanded his respect, and engaged him to
receive them with a more than ordinary civility.

Almost the first thing the Count desired, was that his page
might be taken care of; he was presently carried to bed, and
Camilla (to whom the Marquess made a thousand apology's
that being a batchellor, he could not accomodate her, as he
could the gentlemen) was showed to a chamber, where some of
the maid servants attended to put her on dry cloaths.

They were splendidly entertained that night, and when
morning came, and they were preparing to take leave, the Marquess,
who was strangely charmed with their conversation,
entreated them to stay two or three days with him to recover
themselves of the fatigue they had suffered. The Count's impatience
to be at Paris, to enquire after his dear Melliora would
never have permitted him to consent, if he had not been obliged
to it, by being told that Fidelio was grown much worse, and
not in a condition to travel. Frankville and Camilla had said
nothing, because they would not oppose the Count's inclination,
but were extreamly glad of an opportunity to rest a little
longer, tho' sorry for the occasion.

The Marquess omitted nothing that might make their stay
agreeable; but tho' he had a longing inclination to know the
names, and quality of his guests, he forbore to ask, since he
found they were not free to discover themselves. The conversation
between these accomplished persons was extreamly entertaining,
and Camilla, tho' an Italian, spoke French well enough
to make no inconsiderable part of it; the themes of their discourse
were various, but at last happning to mention love, the
Marquess spoke of that passion so feelingly, and expressed himself
so vigorously when he attempted to excuse any of those
errors, it leads its votarys into, that is was easy to discover, he
felt the influence he endeavoured to represent.

Night came on again; Fidelio's distemper encreased to that
degree, that they all began to despair of his recovery, at least
they could not hope it for a long time, if at all, and Count
D'Elmont fretted beyond measure at this unavoidable delay of


248 ELIZA HAYWOOD

the progress of his journey to that place, where he thought
there was only a possibility of hearing of Melliora. As he was in
bed, forming a thousand various idea's, tho' all tending to one
object, he heard the chamber door unlock, and opening his
curtains, perceived somebody come in; a candle was burning in
the next room, and gave light enough at the opening the door,
to show it was a woman, but what sort of one he could not discern,
nor did he give himself the trouble of asking who was
there, believing it might be one of the servants come in to fetch
something she wanted, 'till coming pretty near the bed, she
cried twice in a low voice, "Are you a sleep"; "No," answered
he, a little surprized at this disturbance, "What would you
have?" "I come," said she, "to talk to you, and I hope you are
more a chevalier than to prefer a little sleep, to the conversation
of a lady, tho' she visits you at midnight." These words made
D'Elmont believe he had met with a second Ciamara, and lest
he should find the same trouble with this as he had done with
the former, he resolved to put a stop to it at once, and with an
accent as peevish as he could turn his voice to, "The conversation
of lady's," replied he, "is a happiness I neither deserve, nor
much desire at any time, especially at this; therefore whoever
you are, to oblige me, you must leave me to the freedom of my
thoughts, which at present afford me matter of entertainment
more suitable to my humour than any thing I can find here!"
"Oh heavens!" said the lady, "Is this the courtly, the accomplished
Count D'Elmont? So famed for complaisance and
sweetness? Can it be he, who thus rudely repels a lady, when
she comes to make him a present of her heart?" The Count was
very much amazed to find he was known in a place where he
thought himself wholly a stranger;"! perceive," answered he,
with more ill-humour if possible than before, "you are very
well acquainted with my name, which I shall never deny (tho'
for some reasons I concealed it) but not at all with my character,
or you would know, I can esteem the love of a woman, only
when 'tis granted, and think it little worth acceptance, proffered" "Oh unkind!" said she, "but perhaps the sight of me, may
inspire you with sentiments less cruel." With these words she
went hastily out of the room to fetch the candle she had left


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 249


within; and the Count was so much surprized and vexed at the
immodesty and imprudence he believed her guilty of, that he
thought he could not put a greater affront upon her, than her
behaviour deserved, and turned himself with his face the other
way, designing to deny her the satisfaction even of a look; she
returned immediately, and having set down the candle pretty
near the bed, came close to it her self, and seeing how he was
laid; "this is unkind indeed," said she, "'tis but one look I ask,
and if you think me unworthy of another, I will for ever shun
your eyes." The voice in which these words were delivered, for
those she spoke before were in a feigned accent, made the
heart-ravished D'Elmont turn to her indeed, with much more hast, than he had done to avoid her; those dear, those well-remembered sounds infused an extacy, which none but Melliora's
could create; he heard, -- he saw, -- 'twas she, that very she, whose loss he had so much deplored, and began almost to
despair of ever being able to retrieve! Forgetting all decorum,
he flew out of the bed, catched her in his arms, and almost
stifled her with kisses; which she returning with pretty near an
equal eagerness, "you will not chide me from you now?" she
cried; those who have ever experienced any part of that transport,
D'Elmont now was in, will know it was impossible for
him to give her any other answer, than repeating his caresses;
words were too poor to express what 'twas he felt, nor had he
time to spare for speech, employed in a far dearer, softer oratory,
than all the force of language could come up to!

But, when at last, to gaze upon her with more freedom he
released her from that strict embrace he had held her in, and
she blushing, with down cast eyes began to reflect on the
effects of her unbounded passion, a sudden pang seized on his
soul, and trembling, and convulsed between extremity of joy, and extremity of anguish, "I find thee Melliora," cried he, "but
oh, my angel! where is it thou art found? -- in the house of the
young amorous Marquese D'Saguillier!" "Cease, cease," interrupted
she, "your causeless fears, -- where ever I am found, I
am, -- I can be only yours. -- And if you will return to bed, I
will inform you, not only what accident brought me hither, but
also every particular of my behaviour since I came."


250 ELIZA HAYWOOD


These words first put the Count in mind of the indecency
his transport had made him guilty of, in being seen in that
manner, and "was going hastily to throw on his night gown,
when Melliora perceiving his intent, and fearing he would take
cold, told him she would not stay a moment, unless he granted
her request of returning to his bed, which he, after having made
her sit down on the side of it, at last consented to. And contenting
himself with taking one of her hands, and pressing it
between his, close prisoner in his bosom, gave her liberty to
begin in this manner the discovery she had promised.

"After the sad accident of Alovysa's death," said she, "at my
return to the monastry I found a new pensioner there; it was the
young Madamoiselle Charlotta D'Mezray, who being lately left
an orphan, was entrusted to the care of our Abbess being her
near relation, 'till her time of mourning was expired, and she
should be married to this Marquess D'Sanguillier, at whose
house we are; they were contracted by their parents in their
infancy, and nothing but the sudden death of her mother had
put a stop to the consummation of what then, they both wished
with equal ardour. But alas! Heaven which decreed the little
beauty I am mistress of, should be pernicious to my own
repose, ordained it so, that this unfaithful lover, seeing me one
day at the grate with Charlotta, should fancy he found something
in me more worthy of creating a passion, than he had in
her, and began to wish himself released from his engagement
with her that he might have liberty to enter into an other,
which he imagined would be more pleasing. Neither she, nor I
had the least suspicion of his sentiments, and, we having commenced
a very great friendship, she would for the most part
desire me to partake in the visits he made her. He still continued
to make the same protestations of affection to her as ever,
but if on any occasion, she but turned her head, or cast her eyes
another way, he would give me such looks, as, tho' I then but
little regarded, I have since understood the meaning of, but too
well; in this manner he proceeded for some weeks, 'till at last he
came one day extreamly out of humour and told Charlotta the
occasion of it was, that he had heard she gave encouragement
to some other lover; she, amazed, as well she might, avowed her


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL ENQUIRY 251

innocence, and endeavoured to undeceive him, but he who
resolved not to be convinced, at least not to seem as if he was,
pretended to be more enraged at what he called weak excuses,
said he was satisfied she was more guilty, even than he would
speak, --that he knew not if it were consistent with his honour,
ever to see her more. -- And in short, behaved himself in so
unaccountable a manner, that there was no room to doubt that
he was either the most imposed on, or most base of men. It
would be endless for me to endeavour to represent poor Charlotta's afliction. So I shall only say, it was answerable to the tenderness
she had for him, which could by nothing be exceeded,
but by that, continued she sighing, and looking languishly on
him, which, contrary to all the resolutions I had made brings me to seek the arms of my enchanting D'Elmont, to rouze
remembrance of his former passion! to strengthen my idea in
his heart! and influence him a new with love and softness!"
This kind digression made the Count give truce to his curiosity, that he might indulge the raptures of his love, and raising himself
in bed, and pressing her slender fine proportioned body
close to his, would permit her no otherwise, than in this posture
to continue her discourse.

"Several days," resumed Melliora, "were past, and we heard
nothing of the Marquess, all which, as he has since told me,
were spent in fruitless projections to steal me from the monastry; but at last, by the means of a lay sister, he found means to
convey a letter to me; the contents of it, as near as I can
remember were these.


To the Divine Melliora.


'Tis not the falshood of Charlotta, but the charms of Melliora
have produced this change in my behaviour; do not therefore, at
the reading this, affect a surprize at effects, which I am sure cannot
be uncommon to such excellence! Nor accuse an inconstancy,
which I rather esteem a virtue than a vice. To change from you
indeed would be the highest sin, as well as stupidity; but to
change for you, is what all must, and ought to do, who boast a
capacity of distinguishing. I love you, Oh divinest Melliora, I


252 ELIZA HAYWOOD


burn, I languish for you in unceasing torments, and you would
find it impossible for you to condemn the boldness of this declaration,
if you could be sensible of the racks which force me to it, and
which must shortly end me, if not happy enough to be received


Your Lover,
D'Sanguillier.


'"Tis impossible for me to express the grief, and vexation
this letter gave me, but I forbore showing it to Charllotta,
knowing how much it would encrease her anguish, and
resolved when I next saw him, as I made no doubt but I should
quickly do, to use him in such a fashion, as in spite of his vanity,
should make him know I was not to be won in such a manner,
for I confess, my dear D'Elmont, that his timerity gave no
less a shock to my pride, then his infidelity to her I really loved
did to my friendship. The next day I was told a gentleman
enquired for me; I presently imagined it was he, and went to
the grate, with a heart full of indignation; I was not deceived in
my conjecture, it was indeed the Marquess who appeared on
the other side, but with so much humility in his eyes, and awful
fear, for what he saw in mine, as half disarmed my anger for
what concerned my self, and had his passion not proceeded
from his inconstancy, I might have been drawn to pity what was
not in my power to reward; but his base usage of a woman so
deserving as Charlotta made me express my self in terms full of
disdain and detestation, and without allowing him to reply or
make any excuses plucked the letter he had sent me out of my
pocket, with a design to return it him just at that moment
when a nun came hastily to call me from the grate. Some body
had overheard the beginning of what I said, and had told the
Abbess, who, tho' she was not displeased at what she heard of
my behaviour to him, yet she thought it improper for me hold
any discourse with a man, who declared himself my lover. I did
not, however, let her know who the person was, fearing it
might come to Charlotta's ears, and encrease an affliction,
which was already too violent. I was vext to miss the opportunity
of giving back his letter, but kept it still about me, not in


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 253


the least questioning, but that boldness which had encouraged
him to make a discovery of his desires, would again lead him to
the prosecution of them in the same manner, but I was
deceived, his passion prompted him to take other, as he
believed, more effectual measures. One day, at least a fortnight
after I had seen the Marquess, as I was walking in the garden
with Charlotta, and another young pensioner, a fellow who was
imployed in taking away rubbish, told us there were some statues
carried by the gate, which opened into the fields, which
were the greatest master-pieces of art that had ever been seen.
"They are going," said he, "to be placed in the Seiur Valier's
garden, if you step but out, you may get a sight of them." We,
who little suspected any deceit, run without consideration to
satisfie our curiosity, but instead of the statues we expected to
see, four living men disguised, muffled, and well mounted came
galloping up to us, and, as it were surrounded us, before we had
time to get back to the gate we came out at. Three of them
alighting, seized me, and my companions, and I, who was the
destined prey, was in a moment thrown into the arms of him
who was on horseback, and who no sooner received me, than
as if we had been mounted on a Pegasus, we seemed rather to fly than ride; in vain I strugled, shrieked, and cried to heaven for
help, my prayers were lost in air, as quickly was my speech; surprize,
and rage, and dread, o'rewhelmed my sinking spirits, and
unable to sustain the rapidity of such violent emotions I fell
into a swoon, from which I recovered not, till I was at the door
of some house, but where, I yet am ignorant; the first thing I
saw, when I opened my eyes was one of those men who had
been assistant in my carying away, and was now about to lift me
from the horse. I had not yet the power to speak, but when I
had, I vented all the passions of my soul in terms full of distraction
and dispair. By what means the people of the house were
gained to my ravishers interest, I know not, but they took little
notice of the complaints I made, or my implorations for succour.
I had now, not the least shadow of a hope, that any thing
but death could save me from dishonour, and having vainly
raged, I at last sat down meditating by what means, I should
compass that only relief from the worse ruin which seemed to


254 ELIZA HAYWOOD


threaten me. While my thoughts were thus employed, he who
appeared the chief of that insolent company, making a sign that
the rest should withdraw, fell on his knees before me, and
plucking off his vizard discovered to me the face of the Marquess
D'Saguillier. Heavens! How did this sight inflame me?
Mild as I am, by nature, I that moment was all fury! -- 'Till now
I had not the least apprehension who he was, and believed 'twas
rather my fortune than my person, which had prompted some
daring wretch to take this method to obtain it, but now, my
woes appeared, if possible, with greater horror, and his quality
and engagement with Charlotta made the act seem yet more
base. 'I blame you not,' said he, 'Oh divinest Melliora! The presumption
I am guilty of, is of so high a nature as justly may
deserve your utmost rigour! -- I know, and confess my crime. -- Nay, hate my self for thus offending you. -- But Oh! 'Tis
unavoidable. -- Be then, like Heaven, who when injured most,
takes most delight to pardon.' 'Crimes unrepented,' answered I,
'can have no plea for mercy, still to persist, and still to ask forgiveness,
is mocking of the power we seem to implore and but
encreases sin. -- Release me from this captivity, which you have
betrayed me into, restore me to the monastry -- And for the future, cease to shock my ears with tales of violated faith, detested
passion! Then, I perhaps, may pardon what is past! His reply
to all this was very little to the purpose, only I perceived he was
so far from complying with my request, or repenting what he
had done, that he resolved to proceed yet further, and one of his
associates coming in, to tell him that his chariot, which it seems
he had ordered to meet him there, was ready, he offered to take
me by the hand to lead me to it, which I refusing, with an air
which testified the indignation of my soul, 'Madam,' said he,
'you are not here less in my power, than you will be in a place,
where I can accommodate you in a manner more suitable to
your quality, and the adoration I have for you. If I were capable
of a base design on you, what hinders but I now might perpetrate
it? But be assured your beauties are not of that kind,
which inspire sentiments dishonourable; nor shall you ever find
any other treatment from me, than what might become the
humblest of your slaves; my love, fierce as it is, shall know it's


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 255

limits, and never dare to breath an accent less chast than your
own virgin dreams, and innocent as your desires.'

"Tho' the boldness he had been guilty of, and still persisted
in, made me give but little credit to the latter part of his speech,
yet the beginning of it awaked my consideration to a reflection,
that I could not indeed be any where in a greater danger
of the violence I feared, than where I was; but on the contrary
it might so happen that in leaving that place I might possibly
meet some persons who might know me, or at least be carried
somewhere whence I might with more likelyhood, make my
escape. In this last hope I went into the chariot, and indeed, to
do him justice, neither in our journey, nor since I came into his
house, has he ever violated the promise he made me; nothing
can be with more humility than his addresses to me, never visiting
me without first having obtained my leave! But to return
to the particulars of my story, I had not been here many days,
before a servant--maid of the house, being in my chamber doing
something about me, asked me if it were possible I could forget
her; the question surprized me, but I was much more so, when
looking earnestly in her face, which I had never done before, I
perfectly distinguished the features of Charlotta. 'Oh heavens!'
cried I, 'Charlotta!' 'The very same,' said she, 'but I dare not stay
now to unfold the mistery, lest any of the family take notice; at
night when I undress you, you shall know the history of my
transformation.'

"Never any day seemed so long to me as that, and I feigned
my self indisposed, and rung my bell for some body to come
up, several hours before time I used to go to bed, Charlotta
guessing my impatience, took care to be in the way, and as soon
as she was with me, not staying for my requesting it of her,
begun the information she had promised, in this manner.

'"You see,' said she forcing her self to put on a half smile,
'your unhappy rival follows to interrupt the triumph of your
conquest, but I protest to you, that if I thought you esteemed
my perjured lover's heart an offering worthy your acceptance, I
never would have disturbed your happiness, and 'tis as much
the hopes of being able to be instrumental in serving you in
your releasement, as the prevention of that blessing the injuri-

256 ELIZA HAYWOOD


ous D'Saguillier aims at, which has brought me here. Of all the
persons that bewailed your being carried away, I was the only
one who had any guess at the ravisher, nor had I been so wise,
but that the very day on which it happened, you dropped a letter,
which I took up, and knowing it the Marquess's hand, made
no scruple of reading it. I had no opportunity to upbraid you
for the concealment of his falshood, but the manner of your
being seized, convinced me you were innocent of favouring his
passion, and his vizard slipping a little on one side, as he took
you in his arms, discovered enough of that face, I have so much
adored, for me to know who it was, that had took this method
to gain you. I will not,' continued she, weeping, 'trouble you
with any recital of what I endured from the knowledge of my
misfortune, but you may judge it by my love; however, I bore
up against the oppressive weight, and resolved to struggle with
my fate, even to the last; I made an excuse for leaving the
monastry the next day, without giving any suspicion of the
cause, or letting any body into the secret of the Marquess, and
disguised as you see found means to be received by the housekeeper,
as a servant; I came here in three days after you, and
have had the opportunity of being confirmed by your behaviour,
of what I before believed, that you were far from being an
assistant in his design.'

"Here the sorrowful Charlotta finished her little account,
and I testified the joy I felt in seeing her, by a thousand
embraces, and all the protestations of eternal friendship to her,
that I could make. All the times we had any opportunity of
talking to each other, were spent in forming schemes for my
escape, but none of them appeared feasible; however the very
contrivance was a kind of pleasure to me, for tho' I began to
banish all my fears of the Marquess's offering any violence to
my virtue, yet I found his passion would not permitt him to
suffer my departure, and I was almost distracted when I had no
hopes of being in a capacity of hearing from you, or writing to
you. In this fashion my dearest D'Elmont have I lived, sometimes
flattering my self with vain projects, sometimes desponding
of being ever free. But last night, Charlotta coming up,
according to her custom, told me in a kind of rapture that you,


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 257


and my brother were in the house; she, it seems knew you at
Paris while her mother was yet living, and to make her entirely
easy as to the Marquess, I had now made her the confident of
my sentiments concerning you. I need not tell you the extacy
this news gave me, you are too well acquainted with my heart, not to be able to conceive it more justly than language can
express; but I cannot forbear informing you of one thing, of
which you are ignorant, tho' had prudence any share in this
love-directed soul, I should conceal it. My impatience to
behold you, was almost equal to my joy to think you were so
near, and transported with my eager wishes, by Charlotta's
assistance, I last night found the way into your chamber. I saw
you, Oh D'Elmont! My longing eyes enjoyed the satisfaction
they so much desired, but yours were closed, the fatigue of
your journey had laid you fast a sleep, so fast, that even fancy
was unactive, and no kind dream, alarmed you with one
thought of Melliora!"

She could not pronounce these last words very intelligibly,
the greedy Count devoured 'em as she spoke, and tho' kisses
had made many a parenthesis in her discourse, yet he restrained
himself as much as possible for the pleasure of hearing her; but
perceiving she was come to a period, he gave a loose to all the
furious transports of his ungoverned passion. A while their lips
were cemented! rivetted together with kisses, such kisses! as
collecting every sence in one, exhale the very soul, and mingle
spirits! Breathless with bliss, then would they pause and gaze,
then joyn again, with ardour still encreasing, and looks, and
sighs, and straining grasps were all the eloquence that either
could make use of. Fain would he now have obtained the aim
of all his wishes, strongly he pressed, and faintly she repulsed.
Dissolved in love, and melting in his arms, at last she found no
words to form denials, while he, all fire, improved the lucky
moment, a thousand liberties he took. -- A thousand joys he
reaped, and had infallibly been possest of all, if Charlotta, who
seeing it broad day, had not wondered at Melliora's stay, and
come and knocked at the chamber door, which not being fastend, gave way to her entrance, but she made not such hast, but
that they had time enough to disengage themselves from that


258 ELIZA HAYWOOD


close embrace they had held each other in. "Heavens! Melliora," cried the careful interrupter, "what mean you by this stay,
which may be so prejudicial to our designs, the Marquess is
already stirring, and if he should come into this room, or send
to yours, what might be the consequence?" "I come, I come,"
said Melliora alarmed at what she heard, and rising from the
bed--side. "Oh, you will not," said the Count in a whisper, and
tenderly pressing her hand, "you must not leave me thus!" "A
few hours hence," answered she aloud, "I hope to have the
power to own my self all yours, nor can the scheme we have
laid fail of the effects we wish, if no discovery happens to postpone
it." She was going with Charlotta out of the chamber,
with these words, but remembring her self, she turned hastily
back, "let not my brother," resumed she, "know my weakness,
and when you see me next, feign a surprize equal to his own."

It is not to be supposed that after she was gone, D'Elmont,
tho' kept awake all night, could suffer any sleep to enter his
eyes; excess of joy, of all the passions, hurries the spirits most,
and keeps 'em longest busied. Anger or grief, rage violently at
first, but quickly flag, and sink at last into a lethargy, but pleasure warms, exhillerates the soul, and every rapturous thought infuses
new desires, new life, and added vigour.

The Marquess De Saguillier was no less happy in imagination
than the Count, and it was the force of that passion which
had rouzed him so early that morning, and made him wait
impatiently for his guests coming out of their chambers, for he
would not disturb them. As soon as they were all come into the
drawing-room, "I know not messeiures," said he, with a voice
and eyes wholly changed from those he wore the day before,
"whether you have ever experienced the force of love to that
degree that I have, but I dare believe you have generosity
enough to rejoyce in the good fortune I am going to be possessed
of; and when I shall inform you how I have long languished
in a passion, perhaps, the most extravagant that ever
was, you will confess the justice of that god, who soon or late,
seldom suffers his faithful votaries to miss their reward." The
Count could not force himself to a reply to these words, but
Frankville and Camilla who were entirely ignorant of the cause


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 259


of them, heartily congratulated him. "I am confident," resumed
the Marquess, "that dispair has no existance but in weak and
timerous minds; all women may be won by force or stratagem,
and tho' I had, almost, invincible difficulties to struggle with,
patience, constancy, and a bold, and artful management at
length surmounted them. Hopeless, by distant courtship to
obtain the heart of my adorable, I found means to make my self
master of her person, and by making no other use of the power
I had over her, than humbly sighing at her feet, convinced her
my designs were far from being dishonourable; and last night,
looking on me, with more kindness than she had ever done
before, 'My lord,' said she, 'your usage of me has been too
noble, not to vanquish what ever sentiments I may have been
possest with to your prejudice; therefore since you have company
in the house, who may be witness of what I do, I think I
cannot chuse a fitter time, than this, to bestow my self, before
them, on him who most deserves me.' I will not now," continued
he, "delay the confirmation of my happiness so long, as to
go about to describe the extacy I felt, for this so wished, and so
unhoped a condescension, but when, hereafter, you shall be
told the whole history of my passion, you will be better able to
conceive it"; the Marquess had scarce done speaking, when his
chaplain came into the room, saying he believed it was the
hour his lordship ordered him to attend; "It is! It is," cried the
transported Marquess. "Now my worthy guests you shall
behold the lovely author of my joys"; with these words he left
them, but immediately returned, leading the intended bride.
Monsieur Frankville, tho' he had not seen his sister in some
years, knew her at the first glimpse, and the surprize of meeting
her -- meeting her in so unexpected a manner was so great, that
his thoughts were quite confounded with it, and he could no
otherwise express it, than by throwing his eyes wildly sometimes
on her, sometimes on the Count, and sometimes on the
Marquess; the Count tho' apprised of this, felt a consternation
for the consequence little inferior to his, and both being kept
silent by their different agitations, and the Marquess, by the
sudden change, which he perceived in their countenances,
Melliora had liberty to explain her self in this manner. "I have


260 ELIZA HAYWOOD


kept my word, my lord," said she to the Marquess, "this day shall give me to him who best deserves me; but who that is, my
brother and Count D'Elmont must determine; since heaven has
restored them to me, all power of disposing of my self must
cease; 'tis they must, henceforth, rule the will of Melliora, and
only their consent can make me yours"; all endeavours would
be vain to represent the Marquess's confusion at this sudden
turn, and 'tis hard to say whether his astonishment, or vexation
was greatest; her brother he would little have regarded, not
doubting but his quality, and the riches he was possest of,
would easily have gained his compliance; but Count D'Elmont,
tho' he knew him not (having, for some disgust he received at
Court, been many years absent from Paris,) yet he had heard
much talk of him; and the passion he had for Melliora, by the
adventure of Alovysa's death had made too great a noise in the
world not to have reached his ears; he stood speechless for some
time, but when he had a little recovered himself, "have you then
deceived me, madam?" said he; "No," answered she, "I am still
ready to perform my promise, whenever these gentlemen shall
command me. -- The one my brother, the other my guardian,
obtain but their consent, and --" "Mine, he can never have,"
interrupted Frankville hastily, and laying his hand on his sword.
"Nor mine," cried the Count, "while I have a breath to form
denials, or my arm strength to guard my beautious charge";
"Hold brother, -- Hold my lord," said Melliora, fearing their
fury would produce some fatal effects, "the Marquess has been
so truly noble, that you rather ought to thank, than resent his
treatment of me, and tho' I see rage in your eyes, and all the
stings of disappointment glowing fierce in his, yet I have hopes,
a general content may crown the end. -- Appear!" continued
she, raising her voice, "Appear! thou lovely faithful maid! Come
forth and charm thy roving lover's heart again to constancy, to
peace, and thee!" She had no sooner spoke, then Charlotta
entred, drest like a bride indeed, in a suit of cloaths, which she
had brought with her, in case any happy opportunity should
arise for her to discover herself. If the Marquess was before
confounded, how much more so was he now? That injured
lady's presence, just at this juncture, and the surprize by what


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 261


means she came there, made him. utterly unable to resolve on
any thing, which she observing, and taking advantage of his
confusion, run to him, and catching hold of his hand; "wonder
not my lord," said she, "to see Charllotta here, nothing is
impossible to love like mine; tho' slighted and abandoned by
you, still I pursue your steps with truth, with tenderness, and
constancy untired!" -- Then, perceiving he still was silent,
"come, my lord," continued she, "you must at last take pity on
my sufferings; my rival, charming as she is, wants a just sencibility
of your deserts, and is by that less worthy even than I; Oh,
then remember, if not to me, what 'tis you owe your self your
own exalted merits, and you will soon determine in my favour,
and confess that she, who knows you best, ought most to have
you"; she spoke these words in so moving an accent, and they
were accompanied with so many tears, that the most rocky
heart must have relented, and that the Marquess was sensibly
touched with em, his countenance testified, when sighing, and
turning his head a little away, not with disdain, but remorse, for
the infidelity he had been guilty of, "Oh cease," said he, "this
flood of softness, it gives me pains I never felt before, for 'tis
impossible you can forgive." -- "Oh Heaven!" cried the transported
Charlotta, "all you have done, or ever can do of unkindness,
is by one tender word made full amends for; see at your
feet," continued she falling on her knees, "thus, in this humble
posture, which best becomes my prostrate soul, I beg you to
accept the pardon which I bring, to banish from your mind all
thoughts that you have injured me, and leave it free from1 all
the generous joys the making others happy must create." This
action of Charlotta's joyned to the reflection how strangly
every thing happened to prevent his designs on the other, won
him entirely, and raising her with a tender embrace, put it out
of her power to regret his ever being false, since his return gave
her a tast of joys, which are not, but in reconciliation to be
found.

The Count, Monsieur Frankville, and the two ladys who
had waited all this while in an impatient expectation for the


1 Sic, though the sense seems to require "for."


262 ELIZA HAYWOOD


end of this affair, now paid their several congratulations, all
highly applauding the constancy of Charlotta, and the timely
repentance of the Marquess. These ceremonies being over, the
Marquess desired Charlotta to acquaint him by what means she
had gained admittance to his house unknown to him; which
curiosity she immediately satisfying, engaged a new the praises
of the whole company, and more endeared her self to her
beloved Marquess's affections.

Tranquillity now reigned in those hearts which lately heaved
with various and disturbed emotions, and joy sat smiling upon
every cheek; entirely happy in their several wishes, they could
now talk of past woes with pleasure, and began to enter into a
very delightful conversation, when Frankville on a sudden
missing Camilla, and asking for her, one of the servants told
him she was gone to the sick page's chamber; this news gave
him some little alarm, and the rather because he had observed
she expressed a more than ordinary tenderness and care for this
page all the time of their journey; he ran immediately to the
room where he heard she was, and found her lying on the bed,
with her arms round Fidelio's neck, and her face close to his;
this shocking sight, had certainly driven the rashness of his temper
to commit some deed of horror, if the amazement he was
in had not prevented it; he drew his sword half out, but then, as
if some spell had charmed his arm, remained in that posture,
fixed and motionless as marble. Camilla half blinded with the
tears which fell from her eyes, saw not the confusion he was in,
nor considered the seeming reason he had to be so, but raising
her head a little to see who it was that came into the chamber,
"Oh Frankville!" said she, "see here the ruins of love; behold
the tyranny of that fatal passion in this expiring fair! But hast,"
continued she, finding him ready to faint, "let Count D'Elmont
know, the faithful, generous Violetta! dies. -- She dies for him,
and asks no other recompence, than a last farewell." -- "Violetta,"
interrupted Frankville, "what means Camilla?" "This, this is
Violetta," resumed she, "who like a page disguised has followed
the too lovely Count, and lost her self." The rage, which at his
first entrance had possest the heart of Frankville, now gave way
to grief, and coming near the bed, he began to testify it, by all

love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 263


the marks which an unfeigned concern could give; but this
unfortunate languisher, finding her strength decay, prevented
him from making any long speeches, by renewing that request,
which Camilla had already made known, of seeing her dear
lord before she died, which Frankville making hast to fulfill, she
called to him as loud as her weakness would permit to come
back, and as soon as he was, "Camilla," said she, "has informed
me of my lord's good fortune in meeting with the charmer of
this soul, I would not deprive him of a moments happiness. I
therefore beg she'd give a dying rival, leave to wish her joy, and as neither my death, nor the cause of it can be a secret, to any
of the company here, I desire they all may be witnesses with
what pleasure I welcome it"; Frankville fiery as he was, had a vast deal of compassion in his nature, and could not see so
beautiful a young lady, and one whom he had so many obligations
to, on the account of his affair with Camilla, in this dispairing,
and dying condition without being seized with
anguish inexpressible; but all the pangs he felt were nothing,
compared to those he gave D'Elmont in the delivery of her
message; he ran into the room like a man distracted, and in the
hurry of his grief, forgot even the complaisance he owed to
Melliora, but she was too generous to disapprove his concern,
immediatly followed with her brother, the Marquess, and
Charlotta. "What is it that I hear, madam?" cried the Count,
throwing himself on the bed by her, "can it be possible that the
radmired Violetta could forsake her father, -- country, -- friends, -- foregoe her sexes pride, -- the pomp of beauty, -- gay dresses, and all the equipage of state, and grandeur, to follow in a mean disguise, a man unworthy of her thoughts?" "Oh! No more,"
said she weeping, "you are but too, too worthy adoration, nor
do I yet believe my love a crime, tho' the consequence is so; I
might in Rome, with honour and innocence have dyed, but by
my shameful flight, I was the murderer of my father -- that, --
that's a guilt, which all these floods of penitence can never wash
away -- Yet, bear me witness heaven, how little I suspected the
sad event, when first, unable to support your absence, I contrived
this way, unknown, to keep for ever in your sight; I
loved, 'tis true, but if one unchast wish, or an impure desire, er'e


264 ELIZA HAYWOOD


stained my soul, then, may the purging fire to which I am
going, miss it's effect, my spots remain, and not one saint
vouchsafe to own me." Here the force of her passion, agitating
her spirits with too much violence for the weakness of her
body, she sunk fainting in the bed. And tho' the Count and
Camilla felt the most deeply her afflictions, the one because
they proceeded from her love to him, and the other as having
long been her friend, and partner of her secrets, yet those in the
company who were most strangers to her, participated in her
sufferings, and commiserated the woes they could not heal, and
assoon as she recovered from her swoon, the generous Melliora
(not in the least possest with any of those little jealousies, which
women of narrow souls harbour on such occasions) came nearer
to the bed, and taking her kindly by the hand, "Live, and be
comforted," said she, "a love so innocent shall never give me
any disquiet. -- Live and enjoy the friendship of my lord, and if
you please to favour me with yours, I shall esteem it, as it
deserves, a blessing." "No madam," answered the now almost
expiring Violetta, "life, after this shameful declaration,1 would
be the worst of punishments, but, not to be ungrateful to so
generous an offer, for a few moments I accept it, and like children,
placeing their darling play things on their pillow, and then
contented to go to sleep, so I would keep your lord, would
view him still while I awake to life, then drop incensibly into a
slumber of eternal peace." This mournful tenderness pierced
D'Elmont, to the very soul, and putting his arm gently under
her head, which, he perceived she was too weak to raise when
she endeavoured it, and laying his face on one of her hands,
could not forbear washing it in tears; she felt the cordial drops,
and, as if they gave her a new vigour, exerting her voice to the
utmost of her strength; "this is too kind," said she, "I now can
feel none of those agonies which render death the king of terrors,
and thus, thus happy in your sight, -- your touch -- your
tender pity, I can but be translated from one heaven to another,
and yet, forgive me heaven if it be a sin, I could wish, methinks,
to know no other paradise than you, to be permitted to hover


1 Chaste and dying, Violetta has nevertheless transgressed against the expectation that
women not declare their love.


love in excess; or, the fatal enquiry 265


round you, to form your dreams, to sit upon your lip all day, to
mingle with your breath, and glide in unfelt air into your
bosom." She would have proceeded, but her voice faultered in
the accent, and all she spoke distinguishable was, "Oh D'Elmont receive in this one sigh my latest breath" -- it was indeed
her last, she died that moment, died in his arms, whom more
than life she prized, and sure there are none who have lived in
the anxietys of love, who would not envy such a death!

There was not in this noble company, one whose eyes were
dry, but Count D'Elmont for some time was inconsolable, even
by Melliora; he forbore the celebrating of his so eagerly desired
nuptials, as did the Marquess and Monsieur Frankville theirs, in
complaisance to him, 'till after Violetta was interred, which the
Count took care should be in a manner becoming her quality,
her merit, and the esteem he professed to have born her. But
when this melancholly scene was past, a day of joy succeeded,
and one happy hour confirmed the wishes of the three longing
bridegrooms; the weddings were all kept in a splendid manner
at the Marquess's, and it was not without a great deal of reluctance,
that he and Charlotta suffered the Count, Monsieur
Frankville, and their ladies to take leave of them; when they
came to Paris, they were joyfully received by the Chevalier
BriUian and Ansellina, and those who in the Count's absence
had taken a liberty of censuring and condemning his actions,
awed by his presence, and in time won by his virtues, now swell
his praises with an equal vehemence. Both he and Frankville,
are still living, blest with a numerous and hopeful issue, and
continue, with their fair wives, great and lovely examples of
conjugal affection.


Finis.


266 ELIZA HAYWOOD


Appendix: Some Eighteenth-Century Responses to
Eliza Haywood


[Two poems praising Haywood appear at the beginning of the
second part of Love in Excess. This appendix adds other poems
of praise or blame, two early accounts of Haywood's career, and
Clara Reeve's 1785 prose appraisal of the fiction written by
Haywood and the two writers commonly associated with her
as authors of explicitly sexual fiction and scandal romances,
Aphra Behn and Delarivier Manley.

Haywood was a woman as well as a writer whose subject
was love. Since contemporaries respond first to her gender, an
uneasy gallantry colours their praise. By 1722, the earlier
poems by Savage and Unknown Hand join "Verses Wrote in
the Blank Leaf of Mrs. Haywood's Novel" at the start of the
novel, replacing the Dedication. Its awareness of Haywood's
inexperience suggests that it originates close to the author or
her bookseller, perhaps from Chetwood or Aaron Hill. In the
first Female Spectator, Haywood credits it to "a justly celebrated
Poet." Unusually, the poet addresses the recipient not as her
lover but as her male friend. Addressing "my fair" but wishing
her "an happy D'elmont," he commends Haywood's novels for
serving "The cause of honour, and the cause of love." The
Ladies Journal also registers Haywood's presence. Its author
invites the language of gallantry by presenting himself in his
first number as a "Champion" who,"tho' he wears not a sword,
yet he always carries about him a little instrument, called, a pen,
as sharp as the best point of them all." Accepting his invitation,
Love More, an anonymous correspondent, complains in gentlemanly
verse "Writ on a Blank Leaf of a Lady's Love in Excess"
that he lacks Haywood's mastery of language. He can only
hope that his unresponsive lady will recognize his suffering in
Haywood's exemplary account of D'elmont's. But since he
modestly recalls that heroes are women's most eminent admirers,
he cedes little male authority to the novelist. James Sterling
is less coy. In a poem "hastily inserted in the fourth volume of
Secret Histories, Novels, and Poems when that collection had


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 267


reached its third edition (1732)" (Whicher 161122), he directly
addresses the mastery the fashionable woman writer paradoxically
embodies. Playfully adapting the tag "arbiter of fashion,"1 he memorably dubs Haywood the "Great arbitress of passion."

Whether viciously personal or contemptuously Olympian,
poems of blame caricature the professional novelist of love as a
prostitute. Richard Savage seems to betray his professional jealousy
even when he praises Haywood's Rash Resolve (December
1723), for he contrasts his own "unfriended" muse with Hay--
wood's "rising name." In his Authors of the Town; A Satire (1725),
it seems that he rather than Haywood "burns with envy's
blaze." He attacks Aaron Hill, satirizes the poet John Gay
(another very successful former friend), and condemns his former
lover Haywood as "a printer's drudge" and ranting actress,
the infernal opposite of his heavenly current mistress. More
impersonally, Jonathan Swift satirizes the woman writer so
generally that the target of his "Corinna" is uncertain. The
name "Corinna" belongs ambiguously both to an ancient
Greek poet famous for her lyrics and to the poet Ovid's mistress
in Amores, which is perhaps why it also appears in condescending
poems of praise written by men for women writers.2 Swift's "Corinna" is often read as an attack on Delarivier Man--
ley, a writer whom contemporaries associated with Haywood,
but Swift elsewhere refers sympathetically to Manley, who succeeded
him as editor of The Examiner. Haywood seems as likely
a candidate.3

In the most famous and comprehensively misogynist attack
on Haywood, the satiric portrait of her in The Dunciad (1728),
Alexander Pope is characteristically both general and acutely
personal. Motivated by slights to women in his circle, especially
Martha Blount, Pope targets Haywood's offending scandal


1 Tacitus applied the phrase arbiter elegantiae ("judge of elegance") to Petronius, the
Roman courtier who probably wrote The Satyricon, a Latin satire about a man
cursed with impotence by Venus!

2 Dryden applies the name to Elizabeth Thomas (1675--1731), possibly one of Swift's
targets (Heinemann, "Swift's 'Corinna' Again"; Me Whir); on such poems, see Lip--
king.

3 See Elwood, "Swift's 'Corinna'"; Rogers's helpful edition of Swift's poems annotates
with Manley in mind,but see also the Haywood entry in Blain et al.. The Feminist
Companion.


268 APPENDIX


novels as part of his comprehensive attack on hireling writers.
His Haywood is a cow--like concubine offered as a prize in a
mock--epic pissing contest between two rival publishers,
William Chetwood (who published Love in Excess) and the
notorious Edmund Curll. Though Haywood had two children
and no husband in evidence, Pope's "Two babes of love" (illegitimate
children) are books, or are also books, the books his
note refers to as "those most scandalous books, called The Court
of Carimania and The New Utopia." The prolific author who
wrote them is caricatured as an offensively teeming and lactating
woman. In the event, impudence carries the day for Curll,
who "the pleased dame soft--smiling leads away" (Dundad Variorum [1729] 2.182); his public performance disabled by his bashfulness,
Chetwood makes do with the second prize, a chamber
pot. Within a patriarchal society, women are vessels. When a
woman transgresses against entrenched expectations by writing,
she finds that the language of gallantry sours into contempt
for the vessels into which men discharge fluids.

Nevertheless, Pope slanders no frail damsel. Haywood
deployed the same caustic blend of gossip with gender stereotypes
when she vividly represented "Marthalia's" alleged sexual
impropriety in Memoirs of a Certain Island adjacent to the Kingdom
of Utopia. Nor is Pope impartial. Pilloried with Haywood
in The Dundad, her publisher William Chetwood wryly comments
in A General History of the Stage (1749) that "she need not
blush in such good company." A writer and theatrical jack--ofall--trades
who had knocked around with her in Dublin and
London, he cites the 1715 Dublin production of Timon of
Athens; or, The Man--Hater in which Haywood played Chloe.
His brief appreciation of her early career offers what Haywood
surely deserves, not pity but sympathy and respect.

In Biographia Dramatica (1764), David Erskine Baker too
objects to Haywood's satire of particular persons in her scandal--
romances, but he rejects scandalous inferences drawn from her
fiction. They led her, he suggests, to suppress biographical
information. And though Clara Reeve represents Haywood's
career through a familiar narrative pattern, the reform of the
fallen woman, she like Baker emphasizes Haywood's contributions
to the domestic fiction that replaced amatory fiction by


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 269


mid--century. Contemporary accounts do more justice to Eliza
Haywood than most subsequent histories of the novel.

Early eighteenth--century editions are modernized on the
same principles as Haywood's novel; later editions are modernized
lightly where a reader might be puzzled. I reverse italic
and Roman type in poems originally printed in italic.]

Some Eighteenth--Century Responses to Eliza Haywood
I. Anonymous

Verses Wrote in the Blank Leaf of Mrs. Haywood's Novel (1722)


Of all the passions given us from above,
The noblest, truest, and the best, is love;
'Tis love awakes the soul, informs the mind,
And bends the stubborn temper to be kind,
Abates the edge of ev'ry poi'nant1 care
Succeeds the wishes of the trembling fair,
And ravishes the lover from despair.
'Tis love Eliza's soft affections fires,2 Eliza writes, but love alone inspires;
'Tis love, that gives D'Elmont his manly charms,
And tears Amena from her father's arms;
Relieves the fair one from her maiden fear,
And gives Melliora all her soul holds dear,
A generous lover, and a bliss sincere.


Receive, my fair, the story, and approve,
The cause of honour, and the cause of love; With kind concern, the tender page peruse,
And aid the infant labours of the muse.3 So never may those eyes forget to shine,
And bright Melliora's fortune be as thine;


1 Poignant; that is, sharp, piercing.

2 A poetic inversion of normal word order: it is love that fires Eliza's soft affections.

3 The reader's sympathy for Haywood's lovers aids Haywood's muse, perhaps called
"infant" because Love in Excess is her first novel.


270 APPENDIX


On thy best looks, an happy D'Elmont feed,
And all the wishes of thy soul succeed.


2. Richard Savage


a. To Mrs. Eliza Haywood, on Her Novel, called The Rash Resolve

(1724)


Doom'd to a fate which damps the poet's flame,
A muse, unfriended, greets thy rising name!
Unvers'd in envy's, or in flatt'ry's phrase,
Greatness she flies, yet merit claims her praise;
Nor will she, at her with'ring wreath, repine, But smile, if fame and fortune cherish thine.

The sciences in thy sweet genius charm,
And, with their strength, thy sex's softness arm.
In thy full figures, painting's force we find,
As music fires, thy language lifts the mind.
Thy pow'r gives form, and touches into life
The passions imag'd in their bleeding strife:
Contrasted strokes, true art and fancy show,
And lights and shades in lively mixture flow.
Hope attacks Fear, and Reason loves Control,1 Jealousy wounds, and Friendship heals the soul:
Black Falshood wears bright Gallantry's disguise,
And the gilt cloud enchants the fair--one's eyes.
Thy dames, in grief and frailties lovely shine,
And when most mortal half appear divine.
If, when some godlike, fav'rite passion sways,
The willing heart too fatally obeys,
Great minds lament what cruel censure blames,
And ruin'd Virtue gen'rous pity claims.

Eliza, still impaint Love's pow'rful Queen!
Let Love, soft Love! exalt each swelling scene.
Arm'd with keen wit, in fame's wide lists2 advance!


1 Corrected following Poetical Works, ed. Tracy (p. 50 & n.); Works (1777) reads
"Hope attacks Fear and Reason, Love's control."

2 The arena within which knights tilted for honour.


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 271


Spain yields in fiction,1 in politeness, France.

Such orient light, as the first poets knew,

Flames from thy thought, and brightens ev'ry view!

A strong, a glorious, a luxuriant fire,

Which warms cold wisdom into wild desire!

Thy Fable glows so rich thro' ev'ry page,

What moral's force can the fierce heat assuage?

And yet--but say, if ever doom'd to prove
The sad, the dear perplexities of love!
Where seeming transport softens ev'ry pain,
Where fancy'd freedom waits the winning chain!
Varying from pangs to visionary joys,
Sweet is the fate, and charms as it destroys!
Say then--if Love to sudden rage gives way,
Will the soft passion not resume its sway?
Charming and charm'd, can Love from Love retire?
Can a cold convent quench th' unwilling fire?
Precept, if human, may our thoughts refine,
More we admire! but cannot prove divine.


b. From The Authors of the Town; A Satire (1725)


A cast--off dame,2 who of intrigues can judge,
Writes scandal in romance--a printers drudge!
Flushed with success, for stage--renown she pants,
And melts, and swells, and pens luxurious rants.

But while her muse a sulph'rous flame displays,
Glows strong with lust, or burns with envy's blaze!
While some black fiend, that hugs the haggard shrew,
Hangs his collected horrors on her brow!
Clio,3 descending angels sweep thy lyre,
Prompt thy soft lays, and breathe seraphic fire.
Tears fall, sighs rise, obedient to thy strains,
And the blood dances in the mazy veins! ...


1 Spain was famous for both chivalric fiction and Cervantes' enormously influential
parody of it in Don Quixote.

2 Savage presents his former lover, Haywood, as a jilted mistress expert in love affairs.

3 Apparently Savage's current lover, Martha Fowke Sansome, named for the classical
muse of history to suggest that she (unlike Haywood) writes the truth.


272 APPENDIX


3-- Anonymous letter from The Ladies Journal (Dublin, 1727),
39--40 (No. 5, Thursday February 16,1726--7)


To the Author of the Ladies Journal


Sir,

I am one of that infinite number, who wait impatiently for the
return of every Thursday, finding that to be the day on which
you have chose to publish your ingenious and agreeably
instructive paper; in the perusal whereof I confess to have
reaped a great deal of pleasure. Sir, I entirely concur with you,
in your opinion of the excellence of the fair sex above ours,
nor is it a small addition to their praise, that the most famous
warriours and greatest conquerors have been their most eminent
admirers; an infinite number of instances might be
brought to confirm the truth of this assertion. I shall at present
only mention one, our great Edward the third is no less famous
for his military atchievements than his devotion to the ladies,
and in particular to the celebrated Countess of Salisbury, to
whom we owe the institution of the most noble order in the
world,1 on which perhaps I may hereafter enlarge, if you think
the following lines worth publishing.


Writ on a blank Leaf of a Lady's Love in Excess


Ingenious Haywood writes like one who knew

The pangs of love and all it's raptures too;

O could I boast that more than common skill,

Which guides her fancy and directs her quill

When she so lively to her reader shows,

A tender heart oppressed with amorous woes;

My passion I so clearly would display,

And to your view my soul so open lay,

Describe in words well chose and apt to move,

The agonizing torments of my love--


i The order of the garter, the oldest English order of knighthood; by popular legend,
it began after Edward III restored to the Countess of Salisbury a garter she lost during
a dance.


LOVE IN EXCESS; OR, THE FATAL INQUIRY 273


The thousand wrecking sighs that rend my breast,
And pangs of jealousy, that foe to rest,
With all the train of ills which constant wait
On the distressed dispairing lover's fate-- That you, unkind and cruel should confess
Count Delmont never loved to such excess.
Love makes many poetasters, one of whom is Sir,
Your Humble Servant,

Love More.


4. Jonathan Swift


Corinna (1728)


This day (the year I dare not tell)
Apollo1 play'd the midwife's part;

Into the world Corinna fell,

And he endued her with his art.


But Cupid with a Satyr2 comes;

Both softly to the cradle creep;
Both stroke her hands, and rub her gums,

While the poor child lay fast asleep.


Then Cupid thus: "This little maid
Of love shall always speak and write;"

"And I pronounce," the Satyr said,

"The world shall feel her scratch and bite."


Her talent she displayed betimes;

For in twice twelve revolving moons,
She seemed to laugh and squall in rhymes,

And all her gestures were lampoons.3


1 The god of poetry and learning, who endows Corinna with the art of writing.

2 The god of love decrees her subject, love; one of the rowdy goat--footed classical
beings conventionally associated with biting satire, the satyr decrees her devotion to
satire (then spelled "satyr").

3 A lampoon is "A personal satire; abuse; censure written not to reform but to vex"
(Johnson).


274 APPENDIX


At six years old, the subtle jade1

Stole to the pantry--door, and found

The butler with my lady's maid:

And you may swear the tale went round.


She made a song, how little miss
Was kiss'd and slobber'd by a lad:

And how, when master went to p[iss],
Miss came, and peep'd at all he had.


At twelve, a wit and a coquette;

Marries for love, half whore, half wife;
Cuckolds, elopes, and runs in debt;2

Turns authoress, and is Curll's3 for life.


Her commonplace--book all gallant is,
Of scandal now a cornucopia;4

She pours it out in Atalantis,5

Or memoirs of the New Utopia.6


1 "A sorry woman. A word of contempt noting sometimes age, but generally vice";
literally "A horse of no spirit; a hired horse; a worthless nag" (Johnson). Swift like
Pope resents the professionalization and commodification of writing; hence the
gentlemanly (and readily sexualized) contempt for the much--used hireling.

2 In Swift, the typical progress of the coquette duped by love stories; see his "Phillis;
or, The Progress of Love."

3 Edmund Curll, the notorious bookseller who also wins Haywood in Pope's Dunti--
ad.

4 The mythical horn of plenty.

5 Delarivier Manley's most famous scandal romance was Secret Memoirs and Manners of
Several Persons of Quality, of Both Sexes. From the New Atalantis, an bland in the Mediteranean
[sic] (1709), commonly called Atalantis or the New Atalantis.

6 Haywood's first scandal romance was Memoirs of a Certain Island Adjacent to the Kingdom
of Utopia (1724).


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 275


5-- Alexander Pope


From The Dunciad, Variorum. With the Prolegomena of Scriblerus (1729)


[Pope first published his mock--epic attack on Grub--Street
writing in 1728; in later editions, he elaborated the mock--
scholarly apparatus, added a New Dunciad, and finally produced
a four--book version. This passage (taken from the 1729 Dundad
Variorum) conies complete with the notes of a pedantic mock--
editor, Martinus Scriblerus. Although the conventions are
Homeric, the passage parodies the epic contests in which
heroes compete for prizes. The goddess who presides is Dulness;
the heroes are the rival booksellers William Chetwood
(who published Love in Excess) and Edmund Curll; the event is
a pissing contest; the prizes are Haywood herself and, for the
loser, a chamber pot.]


See in the circle next,* Eliza** placed,
Two babes of love1 close clinging to her waste;
Fair as before her works she stands confessed,
In flowers and pearls by bounteous Kirkall2 dressed.
The Goddess then: "Who best can send on high
The salient spout, far--streaming to the sky;
His be yon Juno of majestic size,
With cow--like udders, and with ox--like eyes.3 This china--jordan,4 let the chief o'ercome
Replenish, not ingloriously, at home....
(2.149--58)


*In this game is exposed in the most contemptuous manner,
the profligate licenciousness of those shameless scriblers (for the


1 Illegitimate children.

2 A contemporary engraver, as Pope notes (see Dunciad, ed. Sutherland); his frontispieces
include the one for the 1722 edition of Love in Excess.

3 "Ox--eyed" translates a Homeric epithet for Juno (Hera), the Queen of Heaven;
Homer's heroes compete for captured women and heifers alike, so Pope makes
Haywood at once a goddess (object of love), a concubine, and a cow.

4 Chamber pot.


276 APPENDIX


most part of that sex, which ought least to be capable of such
malice or impudence) who in libellous memoirs and novels,
reveal the faults and misfortunes of both sexes, to the ruin or
disturbance of publick fame or private happiness. Our good
poet (by the whole cast of his work being obliged not to take
off the irony), where he could not show his indignation, hath
shewn his contempt as much as possible: having here drawn as
vile a picture as could be represented in the colours of epic
poesy.--Scriblerus


**Eliza Haywood] This woman was authoress of those most
scandalous books, called The Court of Carimania and The New
Utopia....


6. James Sterling


To Mrs. Eliza Haywood on Her Writings (1732)


If but thro' fine organs, souls shine forth,
And polished matter marks the mental worth;
Sure spirit free, by no dull mass controuled, Exerts full vigour in fair female mold--


Let tyrant man, with Salic laws1 submit,
Nor boast the vain prerogative of wit:
See! from Eliza in a flood of day
With vast effulgence streams the pow'rful ray!
But Nature, in an elegance of care,
At once creates our wonder and our fear;
So delicate's the texture of our brain,
We wish it less refined, and nearer man;
For weak s the clock with over--curious springs,2


1 The widely adopted law code of the Salian Franks prevented women from inheriting
property, including the French throne. Haywood challenges the law by showing
that wit is not a male prerogative.

2 We wonder at Haywood's writing but fear that such subtle elegance will weaken
the texture of her brain, as an over--elaborate mechanism weakens a clock. The
English were famous for fine clockwork.


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 277


And frail the voice that too divinely sings-- See! Handmaid--Nature guides her godlike fires,
Each grace adorns what ev'ry muse inspires;
The charming page pale Envy's gloom beguiles,
She low'rs,1 she reads, forgets herself and smiles:
Proportioned to the image, language swells,
Both leave the mind suspended, which excels--


Great arbitress of passion! (wond'rous art)
As the despotick will the limbs, thou mov'st the heart;2 Persuasion waits on all your bright designs,
And where you point the varying soul inclines:
See! love and friendship, the fair theme inspires,
We glow with zeal, we melt in soft desires!
Thro' the dire labyrinth of ills we share
The kindred sorrows of the gen'rous pair;
Till, pleased, rewarded vertue we behold,
Shine from the furnace pure as tortured gold:3 You sit like Heaven's bright minister on high,
Command the throbbing breast, and watry eye,
And, as our captive spirits ebb and flow,
Smile at the tempests you have raised below:
The face of guilt a flush of vertue wears,
And sudden burst the involuntary tears:
Honour's sworn foe, the libertine4 with shame,
Descends to curse the sordid lawless flame;
The tender maid here learns man's various wiles,
Rash youth, hence dread the wanton's venal smiles-- Sure 'twas by brutal force of envious man,
First learning's base monopoly began;
He knew your genius, and refused his books,


1 That is, lours, scowls.

2 Haywood moves our hearts as tyrannically as our wills move our limbs.

3 Tormented by refining in a furnace; but literally "twisted" or "stretched," suggesting
finely worked gold.

4 Someone devoted to pleasure, especially sexual pleasure, and so free from the constraints
of honour; a seducer. Touching the reader's feelings with a noble passion,
Haywood reforms the seducer, alerts the maiden to his tricks, and teaches young
men to avoid the mercenary smiles of prostitutes.


278 APPENDIX


Nor thought your wit less fatal than your looks.1 Read, proud usurper, read with conscious shame,
Pathetic Behn, or Manley's greater name;2 Forget their sex, and own when Haywood writ,
She closed the fair triumvirate of wit;3 Born to delight as to reform the age,
She paints example thro' the shining page;
Satiric precept warms the moral tale,
And causticks burn where the mild balsam fails;4 A task reserved for her, to whom 'tis given,
To stand the proxy of vindictive Heaven.


7. William Rufus Chetwood


From A General History of the Stage; (More Particularly the Irish
Theatre) From its Origin in Greece down to the Present Time. With
the Memoirs of the Principal Performers, that have appeared on the
Dublin Stage in the Last Fifty Years (Dublin, 1749), 57. [note to a
1715 performance of Timon of Athens; or, The Man--Hater at the
theatre in Smock Alley, Dublin]


Mrs. Haywood has made herself eminent to the polite world
by her writings; she is still alive. Her numerous novels will be
ever esteemed by lovers of that sort of amusement. She is likewise
authoress of three dramatic pieces, ist, The Fair Captive, a
tragedy. 2d, A Wife to be Let, a comedy. Mrs. Haywood performed
the capital part in this play. 3rd, Frederick, Duke of
Brunswick, a tragedy. She also joyned with Mr. Hatchet, in
making songs to Mr. Fielding's Tom Thumb which were com1
The male reader guiltily recognizes that men, out of jealous fear of women's intellect
and beauty, have usurped rather than inherited their monopoly of learning
(formal education was largely male).

2 Aphra Behn admired for her pathos, and Delarivier Manley, at this time still more
famous than Behn.

3 A coalition of three people who govern together. Literature ("wit") is ruled by
these three women writers as Rome was ruled by the original triumvirates (first by
Julius Caesar, Pompey, and Crassus; later by Mark Antony, Lepidus, and Octavian).

4 A balsam was a soothing ointment, a caustic a burning one. Haywood's examples of
love inspire emulation; her corrosive satire serves heaven by scourging the wicked.


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 279


posed by the ingenious Mr. Frederick Lampe, and performed
often with the title of the Opera of Operas. As the Pen is her
chief means of subsistence, the world may find many books of
her writing, tho' none have met with more success than her novels more particularly her Love in Excess, &c. Her dramatic
works have all died in their first visiting the world, being exhibited
in very sickly seasons for poetry. Mr. Pope has taken her
for his goddess of Dulness in his Dundad, but she need not
blush in such good company.


8. David Erskine Baker


From Biographica Dramatica; or, A Companion to the Playhouse, 2 vols. (1764; new d. 1782), 1:215--16.


heywood, Mrs. eliza. This lady was perhaps the most
voluminous female writer this kingdom ever produced. Her
genius lay for the most part in the novel kind of writing. In the
early part of her life, her natural vivacity, her sex's constitutional
fondness for gallantry, and the passion which then prevailed in
the public taste for personal scandal, and diving into the
intrigues of the great, guided her pen to works, in which a
scope was given for great licentiousness. The celebrated Atalan--
tis of Mrs. Manley served her for a model, and the court of Carimania, the New Utopia, and some other pieces of a like
nature, were the copies her genius produced. Whether the
looseness of the pieces themselves, or some more private reasons,
provoked the resentment of Mr. Pope against her, I cannot
pretend to determine; but, certain it is, that that great poet has
taken some pains to perpetuate her name to immortal infamy;
having, in his Dundad, proposed her as one of the prizes to be
run for, in the games instituted in honour of the inauguration
of the monarch of Dulness. This, however, I own I cannot readily
subscribe to; for, although I should be far from vindicating
the libertinism of her subjects, or the exposing with aggravation
to the public the private errors of individuals, yet, I think,
it cannot be denied, that there is great spirit and ingenuity in
Mrs. Heywood's manner of treating subjects, which the friends
of virtue may perhaps wish she had never entered on at all; and


280 appendix


that in those of her novels, where personal character has not
been admitted to take place, and where the stories have been of
her own creation, such as her Love in Excess, Fruitless Enquiry, &c. she has given proofs of great inventive powers, and a perfect
knowledge of the affections of the human heart. And thus
much must be granted in her favour, that whatever liberty she
might at first give to her pen, to the offence either of morality
or delicacy, she seemed to be soon convinced of her error, and
determined not only to reform, but even atone for it; since, in
the numerous volumes which she gave to the world towards
the latter part of her life, no author has appeared more the
votary of virtue, nor are there any novels in which a stricter
purity, or a greater delicacy of sentiment, has been preserved. It
may not, perhaps, be disagreeable in this place to point out
what these latter works were, as they are very voluminous, and
are not perfectly known to every one. They may therefore,
though somewhat foreign to the purpose of this work, be
found in the following list, viz.


The Female Spectator, 4 vols. Epistles for the Ladies, 2 vols. Fortunate Foundling, i vol. Adventures of Nature, i vol. Hist, of Betsy Thoughtless, 4 vols. Jenny and Jemmy Jessamy, 3 vols. Invisible Spy, 2 vols. Husband and Wife, 2 vols,
and a pamphlet entitled, A Present for a Serving Maid.


When young, she dabbled in dramatic poetry, but with no great
success; none of her plays either meeting with much approbation
at the first, nor having been admitted to repetition since.
Their tides were as follow:

1. Fair Captive. T. 8vo. 1721.

2. Wife to be let. C. 8vo. 1724.

3. Frederick Duke of Brunswick. T. 8vo. 1729.

4. Opera of Operas (joined with Mr. Hatchet.) 8vo. 1733.


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 281


She had also an inclination for the theatre as a performer, and
was on the stage at Dublin in the year 1715. She also acted a
principal part in her own comedy of the Wife to be let; and her
name stands in the drama of a tragedy, entitled, The Rival Father, written by Mr. Hatchet; a gentleman with whom she appears
to have had a close literary intimacy.

As to the circumstances of Mrs. Heywood's life, very little
light seems to appear; for, though the world was inclinable,
probably induced by the general tenor of her earlier writings,
to affix on her the character of a lady of gallantry, yet I have
never heard of any particular intrigues or connections directly
laid to her charge; and have been credibly informed that, from a
supposition of some improper liberties being taken with her
character after death, by the intermixture of truth and falshood
with her history, she laid a solemn injunction on a person, who
was well acquainted with all the particulars of it, not to communicate
to any one the least circumstance relating to her; so
that probably, unless some very ample account should appear
from that quarter itself, whereby her story may be placed in a
true and favourable light, the world will still be left in the dark
with regard to it. All I have been able to learn is, that her father
was in the mercantile way, that she was born at London, and
that, at the time of her death, which was on the 25th of February,
1756, she was about sixty--three years of age.

With respect to her genius and abilities, her works, which
are very numerous, must stand in evidence; but I cannot help
observing as to her personal character, that I was told by one,
who was well acquainted with her for many years before her close of life, that she was good--natured, affable, lively, and entertaining;
and that, whatever errors she might in any respect have
run into in her youthful days, she was, during the whole course
of his knowledge of her, remarkable for the most rigid and
scrupulous decorum, delicacy, and prudence, both with respect
to her conduct and conversation.


282 appendix


p. Clara Reeve


From The Progress of Romance, through Times, Countries, Manners;
with Remarks on the Good and Bad Effects of It, on Them Respectively;
in a Course of Evening Conversations, "Evening VII" (1785)


[Now best known for The Old English Baron, a Gothic novel
first published as The Champion of Virtue: A Gothic Story (1777),
Clara Reeve (1729--1807) published her study of the development
of fiction, The Progress of Romance, in 1785. It takes the
dialogue form popular in the eighteenth century; Euphrasia
and her friend Sophronia discuss the subject in a series of
evening meetings with Hortensius.]


Euphrasia. ... Let us next consider some of the early novels of
our own country.

We had early translations of the best novels of all other
countries,1 but for a long time produced very few of our own.
One of the earliest I know of is the Cyprian Academy, by
Robert Baron2 in the reign of Charles the First. -- Among our
early novel--writers we must reckon Mrs. Behn. -- There are
strong marks of genius in all this lady's works, but unhappily,
there are some parts of them, very improper to be read by, or
recommended to virtuous minds, and especially to youth.3 She
wrote in an age, and to a court of licentious manners,4 and
perhaps we ought to ascribe to these causes the loose turn of
her stories. -- Let us do justice to her merits, and cast the veil of
compassion over her faults. -- She died in the year 1689, and lies
buried in the cloisters of Westminster Abbey. -- The inscription
will shew how high she stood in estimation at that time.

Hortensius. Are you not partial to the sex of this genius? --


1 In addition to early romances and picaresque tales, they mention, as "a very unexceptionable
and entertaining work of its kind," La Belle Assemble, written by
Madeleine Anglique de Gomez (1684--1770); Haywood translated this collection
of tales and another from the same author, Entretien des beaux esprits.

2 Robert Baron, Erotopageion; or, the Cyprian Academy (1647), a romance.

3 Reeve ends Progress with lists of books that can be safely recommended, one to
children and the other to young ladies.

4 The court of Charles II, notorious for sexual licentiousness.


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 283


when you excuse in her, what you would not to a man?

Euphrasia. Perhaps I may, and you must excuse me if I am so,
especially as this lady had many fine and amiable qualities,
besides her genius for writing.

Sophronia. Pray let her rest in peace, -- you were speaking of
the inscription on her monument, I do not remember it.

Euphrasia. It is as follows:


Mrs. APHRA BEHN, 1689.

Here lies a proof that wit can never be
Defence enough against mortality.


Let me add that Mrs. Behn will not be forgotten, so long as
the tragedy of Oroonoko is acted, it was from her story of that
illustrious African, that Mr. Southern wrote that play, and the
most affecting parts of it are taken almost literally from her.1

Hortensius. Peace be to her manes!2 -- I shall not disturb her,
or her works.

Euphrasia. I shall not recommend them to your perusal
Hortensius.

The next female writer of this class is Mrs. Manley, whose
'works are still more exceptionable than Mrs. Behn's, and as
much inferior to them in point of merit. -- She hoarded up all
the public and private scandal within her reach, and poured it
forth, in a work too well known in the last age, though almost
forgotten in the present; a work that partakes of the style of the
romance, and the novel. I forbear the name,3 and further observations
on it, as Mrs. Manley s works are sinking gradually into
oblivion. I am sorry to say they were once in fashion, which
obliges me to mention them, otherwise I had rather be spared
the pain of disgracing an author of my own sex.

Sophronia. It must be confessed that these books of the last
age, were of worse tendency than any of those of the present.

Euphrasia. My dear friend, there were bad books at all times,


1 First acted in 1695, Thomas Southerne's adaptation of Oroonoko, Behn's best--
known novel, became one of the most popular plays of the eighteenth century.

2 The remains or the spirits of the dead (Latin, pronounced man--ace).

3 Her Atalantis,"the capital [chief] work" mentioned below.


284 APPENDIX



for those who sought for them. -- Let us pass them over in
silence.

Hortensius. No not yet. -- Let me help your memory to one
more lady--author of the same class. --Mrs. Heywood. -- She has
the same claim upon you as those you have last mentioned.

Euphrasia. I had intended to have mentioned Mrs. Heywood
though in a different way, but I find you will not suffer any part
of her character to escape you.

Hortensius. Why should she be spared any more than the
others?

Euphrasia. Because she repented of her faults, and employed
the latter part of her life in expiating the offences of the former. -- There is reason to believe that the examples of the two
ladies we have spoken of, seduced Mrs. Heywood into the
same track; she certainly wrote some amorous novels in her
youth, and also two books of the same kind as Mrs. Manley's
capital work, all of which I hope are forgotten.

Hortensius. I fear they will not be so fortunate, they will be
known to posterity by the infamous immortality, conferred
upon them by Pope in his Dunciad.

Euphrasia. Mr. Pope was severe in his castigations, but let us
be just to merit of every kind. Mrs. Heywood had the singular
good fortune to recover a lost reputation, and the yet greater
honour to atone for her errors. -- She devoted the remainder of
her life and labours to the service of virtue. Mrs. Heywood was
one of the most voluminous female writers that ever England
produced, none of her latter works are destitute of merit,
though they do not rise to the highest pitch of excellence. -- Betsy Thoughtless is reckoned her best novel; but those works by
which she is most likely to be known to posterity, are the Female Spectator, and the Invisible Spy. -- This lady died so lately
as the year 1758.

Sophronia. I have heard it often said that Mr. Pope "was too
severe in his treatment of this lady, it was supposed that she had
given some private offence, which he resented publicly as was too much his way.

Hortensius. That is very likely, for he was not of a forgiving
disposition. -- If I have been too severe also, you ladies must forgive
me in behalf of your sex.


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 285



Euphmsia. Truth is sometimes severe. -- Mrs. Heywood's wit
and ingenuity were never denied. I would be the last to vindicate
her faults, but the first to celebrate her return to virtue, and
her atonement for them.

Sophronia. May her first writings be forgotten, and the last
survive to do her honour!


286 appendix


Select Bibliography


In addition to helpful studies and backgrounds, this list includes
items cited parenthetically or consulted for the Chronology
and Appendix.


Haywood's Works:


Scholars still rely on editions and collections published in Hay--
wood's lifetime (see Chronology). Several of her early works
appear in photographic facsimile in Garland Publishing's Foundations
of the Novel or Flowering of the Novel series, and Anti--Pamela appears in Garland's collection of Richardsoniana.
Although some modern editions and facsimilies are, like these
series, available only in university and research libraries, it is
getting easier to read Haywood:


The Adventures of Eovaai, Princess of Ijaveo. 1736. Ed. Earla A.

Wilputte. Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press, 1999. Bath Intrigues: In Four Letters to a Friend. 1725. Intro. Simon Varey.

Augustan Reprint Society No. 236. Los Angeles: William

Andrews Clark Memorial Library, 1986. The British Recluse and Fantomina. Popular Fiction by Women 1660--1730:

An Anthology. Ed. Paula R. Backscheider and John J. Richetti.

Oxford: Clarendon, 1996. The Distress'd Orphan; or, Love in a Mad--House. 2nd ed. 1726. Int.

Deborah Nestor. ARS Nos. 267--268. New York: AMS, 1995. The Female Spectator. Ed. Gabrielle M. Firmager. Bristol: Bristol Classical
Press, 1992 [selection]. Four Novels of Eliza Haywood. Introd. Mary Anne Schofield. Delmar,

NY: Scholars' Facsimiles and Reprints, 1983. The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless. 1751. Ed. Christine Blouch.

Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press, 1998. and Ed. Beth

Fowkes Tobin. Oxford and New York: Oxford UP, 1997. The Injur'd Husband and Lasselia. Ed. Jerry C. Beasley. Lexington: UP

of Kentucky, 1999. Love in Excess; or, The Fatal Enquiry: A Novel. London: W Chetwood,


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 287


IJI9--2O. and 4th d. corrected. London: D. Browne.Jr., W.

Chetwood, and S. Chapman, 1722. The Masquerade Novels of Eliza Haywood. Introd. Mary Anne

Schofield. Delmar, NY: Scholars' Facsimiles and Reprints, 1986. The Plays of Eliza Haywood. Ed. with an introd. by Valrie C.

Rudolph. New York: Garland, 1983 [facsimile reprints with a

brief introduction]. Philidore and Placentia; or, L'Amour Trop Dlicat. 1727. Four Before

Richardson: Selected English Novels, 1720--27. Ed. William H.

McBurney. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 1963. 153--231 [modernized
text with notes]. Secret Histories, Novels and Poems. 3rd ed. 4 vols. London: A. Bettes--

worth, 1732. Selected Fiction and Drama of Eliza Haywood. Ed. Paula R. Backschei--

der. New York and Oxford: Oxford UP, 1999. Selections from The Female Spectator. Ed. Patricia Meyer Spacks, New

York and Oxford: Oxford UP, 1999. Three Novellas by Eliza Haywood: The Distress'd Orphan, The City Jilt,

and The Double Marriage [1726]. Ed. with an Introduction and

Notes by Earla A. Wilputte. East Lansing, MI: Colleagues, 1995.


Selected Secondary Sources:


Ballaster, Ros. Seductive Forms: Women's Amatory Fiction from 1684--1740. Oxford: Clarendon, 1992.

Benedict, Barbara M. "The Curious Genre: Female Inquiry in Amatory
Fiction." Studies in the Novel 30 (1998): 194--210.

Blain, Virginia, Patricia Clements, and Isobel Grundy. The Feminist
Companion to Literature in English: Women Writers from the Middle
Ages to the Present. New Haven: Yale UP, 1990.

Blouch, Christine. "Eliza Haywood and the Romance of Obscurity."
SL3I (1991): 535--51--.
"Haywood, Eliza (i693?--i756)." Eighteenth--Century AngloAmerican
Novelists: A Critical Reference Guide. Ed. Doreen Alvarez Saar
and Mary Anne Schofield. New York: G.K. Hall, 1996. 263300.
Bowers, Toni O'Shaughnessy. "Sex, Lies, and Invisibility: Amatory
Fiction from the Restoration to Mid--Century." Columbia


288 SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY


History of the British Novel. Ed. John Richetti et al. New York:

Columbia UP, 1994. 50--72.
Craft--Fairchild, Catherine. Masquerade and Gender: Disguise and Female

Identity in Eighteenth--Century Fictions by Women. University

Park, PA: Pennsylvania State UP, 1993.
Defoe, Daniel. The Life and Strange Surprizing Adventures of Robinson

Crusoe, of York, Manner. 1719. Ed. J. Donald Crowley. 1972.

World's Classics. Oxford: Oxford UP, 1983.
Doody, Margaret Anne. A Natural Passion: A Study of the Novels of

Samuel Richardson. Oxford: Clarendon, 1974.
Elwood,John R. "Swift's 'Corinna.'" N&Q n.s. 2 (1955): 529--30.

------. "Henry Fielding and Eliza Haywood: A Twenty Year War." Albion 5 (1973): 184--92

------. "The Stage Career of Eliza Haywood." Theatre Survey 5 (1974):

107--16.
Fielding, Henry. The Author's Farce (Original Version). 1730. Ed.

Charles B. Woods. Lincoln: U of Nebraska P, 1966 [satirizes

Haywood as Mrs. Novel].
Firmager, Gabrielle M. "Eliza Haywood: Some Further Light on Her

Background?" N&Q n.s. 38 (1991): 181--83 [prints two letters].
Hammond, Brean. Professional Imaginative Writing in England, 16701740:
'Hackney for Bread'. Oxford: Clarendon, 1997.
Heinneman, Marcia. "Swift's 'Corinna' Again." N&Q n.s. 19 (1972):

218--21.

------. "Eliza Haywood's Career in the Theatre." N&Q n.s. 20 (1973):


9--13Herbage,
Julian. " The Opera of Operas." The Monthy Musical Record (May--June 1959): 83--89.

Hollis, Karen. "Eliza Haywood and the Gender of Print." The Eighteenth
Century 38 (1997): 43--62.

Hume, Robert D. Henry Fielding and the London Theatre 1728--1737.
Oxford: Clarendon, 1988 [detailed account of theatre scene,
incidental refs. to EH, Wm. Hatchett, etc.].

Ingrassia, Catherine. Authorship, Commerce, and Gender in Early Eighteenth--Century
England: A Culture of Paper Credit. Cambridge:
Cambridge UP, 1998.

Koon, Hlne. "Eliza Haywood and the Female Spectator" Huntington
Library Quarterly 42 (1978): 43--55love
in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 289


Lipking, Joanna. "Fair Originals: Women Poets in Male Commendatory
Poems." Eighteenth--Century Life 12.2 (1988): 58--72.

Lockwood, Thomas. "Eliza Haywood in 1749: Dalinda, and Her Pamphlet
on the Pretender." N&Q n.s. 36 (1989): 475--77.

London, April. "Placing the Female: The Mtonymie Garden in
Amatory and Pious Narrative, 1700--1740." Schofield and
Macheski 101--23.

McBurney, William H. "Mrs. Penelope Aubin and the Early Eighteenth--Century
English Novel." Huntington Library Quarterly 20
(1957): 245--67.

Me Whir, Anne. "Elizabeth Thomas and the Two Corinnas: Giving
the Woman Writer a Bad Name." ELH 62 (1995): 105--119.

Merritt, Juliette. '"That Devil Curiosity Which Too Much Haunts
the Minds of Women': Eliza Haywood's Female Spectators." Lumen 16 (1997): 131--46.

Pope, Alexander. The Dunciad, Variorum. With the Prolegomena of
Scriblerus. London: "A. Dod," 1729.

------. The Dunciad. Ed. James Sutherland. 3rd ed. The Poems of

Alexander Pope, Vol. 5. London: Methuen; New Haven: Yale

UP, 1963 [thoroughly annotated].
Prescott, Sarah. "The Palace of Fame and the Problem of Reputation:

The Case of Eliza Haywood." Baetyl 1.4 (Summer--Autumn

1994): 9--35.
Reeve, Clara. The Progess of Romance, through Times, Countries, and

Manners; ...in a Course of Evening Conversations. Colchester: W

Keymer, 1785.

------. The Progress of Romance and The History of Charoba, Queen of
Aegypt: Reproduced from the Colchester Edition 0f 1785. With a Bibliographical
Note by Esther M. McGill. New York: Facsimile
Text Society, 1930.

Richetti, John J. Popular Fiction before Richardson: Narrative Patterns 1700--1739. Oxford: Clarendon, 1969.

Savage, Richard. The Authors of the Town; a Satire. London: J. Roberts,
1725.

------. The Poetical Works. Ed. Clarence Tracy. Cambridge: Cambridge
UP, 1962 [ist complete collection; helpful notes].

------. The Works of Richard Savage, Esq.... With an Account of the Life
and Writings of the Author, by Samuel Johnson, LL.D. New ed. 2
vols. London: T. Evans, 1777290
SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY


Saxton, Kirsten T. and Rebecca P. Bocchicchio, eds. The Passionate

Fictions of Eliza Haywood: Essays on Her Life and Work. Lexing--

ton: UP of Kentucky, 2000.
Schofield, Mary Anne. '"Descending Angels': Salubrious Sluts and

Pretty Prostitutes in Haywood's Fiction." Schofield and Mach--

eski 186--200.

------. Eliza Haywood. Twayne's English Authors Series 411. Boston:
Twayne, 1985.

------. Quiet Rebellion: The Fictional Heroines of Eliza Haywood. Washington:
UP of America, 1981.

Schofield, Mary Anne, and Cecilia Macheski, eds. Fetter'd or Free?
British Women Novelists 1670--1815. Athens, Ohio: Ohio UP,
1986.

Spencer, Jane. The Rise of the Woman Novelist from Aphra Behn to Jane
Austen. Oxford: Blackwell, 1986.

Stanton, Judith Phillips. '"This New--Found Path Attempting':
Women Dramatists in England, 1660--1800." Curtain Calls:
British and American Women and the Theatre. Ed. Mary Anne
Schofield and Cecilia Macheski. Athens, Ohio: Ohio UP, 1963.
325--54 [includes checklist of plays by author].

Swift, Jonathan. The Complete Poems. Ed. Pat Rogers. New Haven:
Yale UP, 1983 [modernized text with excellent notes].

------. The Works of Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick's, Dublin ... With
Notes and a Life of the Author by Sir Walter Scott. 2nd ed. 19 vols.
London: Bickers and Son, 1883.

Todd, Janet. The Sign of Angellica: Women, Writing and Fiction, 16601800. London: Virago, 1989.

Tracy, Clarence. The Artificial Bastard: A Biography of Richard Savage. Toronto: U of Toronto P with the U of Saskatchewan, 1953.

Warner, William B. Licensing Entertainment: The Elevation of Novel
Reading in Britain, 1684--1750. Berkeley and Los Angeles: U of
California P, 1998.

Whicher, George Frisbie. The Life and Romances of Mrs. Eliza Hay--
wood. New York: Columbia UP, 1915.


love in excess; or, the fatal inquiry 291


